#inevitably losing the last of their footing

[apostacism]

maybe i should make an aeducan... it's the only way i can ever see myself restoring the anvil of the void

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Big Guy Big Belly

König is a big man, and with a big man comes a big appetite. We’re talking about a 6’10 man constantly maintaining his peak physique. He needs to be consuming as many calories and as much protein, carbs, fats, fiber and more to keep himself in fit and fighting shape.

At the canteen, he’s a nightmare. I bet that people rush to the cafeteria just to make sure they get something to eat before the big man on base rolls up. He’ll clear out the bins if he gets a chance. There’s a rumour on base that the reason König fought so hard to climb the ranks so quickly was just to be able to eat more and get away with it. Little do they know that they’re absolutely right, but König will never say that out loud. Ever. There’s some secrets you take to your grave. 

Either way, König is a menace in the canteen. He’ll pile his plate as high as he can when he gets a chance. He’s packing away all he can get in the shortest amount of time he can, and everyone has to suffer for it. The worst part is that everyone has to rush to get to the caf before König, and König knows exactly what others are doing, so he’s in a daily race against the entire base to eat his fill. It’s always a photo-finish to see who gets to the cafeteria first.  König currently has been slacking, so he’s not been eating like he normally has. Is he mad? Not really. He’ll clean out the snack cart later. 

He’s a monster late at night. Everyone knows that you need to leave the big man to his snacks, lest you face the wrath of the colossus on base. Well, wrath in a peculiar way. He just gets quiet and angry, but it’s still not a fun experience to try and fight him for a sandwich. If you take the last egg salad sandwich you’ll be at the top of his shit list for the next week. Don’t even think he won’t track you down. He’ll throw around his rank just to get his hands on the poor bastard. Nobody is safe, either.

Stiletto only once took the last pudding cup. Once. She never made that mistake again. For a week he was giving her dirty looks over a cold shoulder as he bumbled down the hall. She eventually had to give in and sacrifice a desert to be able to get back in his good graces. She still thinks he’s a massive bitch because of it. And you know what? She’s right. Everybody knows she’s right, König included, but he’ll keep going after whoever ‘steals’ ‘his’ snacks. They get along a bit better now that they’ve both advanced in rank and worked together, but there was a good period of time where Stiletto had to sleep with one eye open.

It gets a bit better for everyone when König finally finds a partner and doesn’t stay on base so often. Everyone takes a moment to pray for the poor soul who has to cook for König whenever he gets home from deployment.

See, during deployment, König can’t be such a massive bitch about food. He gets his rations, and that’s that. He can’t steal from anybody else, so he gets stuck with these pitiful MREs that barely fill him up. It’s miserable, and he’s losing weight like crazy when on the field. He’s running on fumes and burning calories like crazy as he’s risking his life out there. It’s gotten to a point where König has taken to eating with hostages post-rescue to ‘help them feel safer’ (read: get more food into his gullet). Thankfully, he puts his best foot forward when dealing with victims of trauma and ensures that he has somebody else do all the socializing while he plays with the kids after dinner. Apparently, after the inevitable shower of tears whenever kids have to face König, he becomes pretty popular. They love to use him as a jungle gym (and make fun of him) and he’s just happy to get more to eat. He’ll take being called ‘bigger than even my dad!’, being told ‘you’re weird’ or being asked ‘why are you so big and scary all the time?’ any day for a little extra to eat. He can tolerate a few kids. He won’t ever admit that hanging around them makes him want some kids of his own, or at least not to Horangi, who’s already teasing König about being a surrogate father to the kids. König tells him to keep it to himself, but Horangi is already buying things for the baby shower.

Once König finally comes home, that’s when all Hell breaks loose. This man has been starving and he needs food NOW. He won’t take no for an answer. If you don’t have something prepared, he’ll be ordering a massive order of takeout the likes of which you’ve never seen before in your life. He’ll hit multiple places on his way back to your place if he doesn’t think you’ve been able to get something together for him. If you can’t cook, he won’t even bother telling you to cook for him and just focus on getting a whole banquet of junk food ready for when he arrives home. He brings the pizzas in the door before he even brings in his own bags. You’ll have to go out and grab his bag as he sets up his personal buffet table. The worst part is despite how much he can shove down, he always buys more than he can eat, so you’ve got a couple of days worth of food to shove in the fridge at the end of the night.

If you can cook, this is a multi-day experience. Is it rewarding? Absolutely. Is it painful? Abso-fucking-lutely. He’s got you slaving for hours a day just to get him a nice home cooked meal. You’ll be going all out to get him a big enough meal. We’re thinking a tray of mac and cheese, a whole roast chicken, easily a handful of loaded baked potatoes. If you have something from your traditional cuisine, he’s not picky, he’ll gobble it up in a heartbeat. Knowing you made it for him is more than enough for him. Food is the way to a man’s heart, some say, and König will never let you go if you treat him like the king he is.

The good thing about cooking König such a big meal is that he gives back. He’s not a fan of cooking, but for the next few days he’ll take over cooking and cleaning in the kitchen. It’s just an easy way for him to give back, you know? He can’t thank you enough with words, so why not with actions?

But the best part of König giving back is that he’s an excellent cook. He cooks mostly traditional food from his culture, but he’s down for some french or italian cooking if you’re into it. He can make a mean lasagne. He does not skimp on the cheese, this man. No he’s a cheese fiend. If you’re lactose intolerant, you’ve got another thing coming for you. He will hand feed you lactaid just for the meal. If you have a dietary restriction, he’ll learn how to cook your types of meals in abundance. He’s perfect that way. Vegetarian, vegan, keto, no matter what, he’s got your back. He’s learned how to make an excellent spread for a dinner party, and part of learning to cater to others is to work around other people’s diets; his mother drilled that rule into his little head as a kid. He does it without complaint, too. For at least a week after coming home, he’s just so happy to be around food in abundance again. He’s absolutely thriving in the kitchen before the thrill wears off and he’s back to avoiding cooking like the plague again.

He loves to eat, but usually hates to cook. He’ll mostly eat takeout until he actually has to eat a nutritious meal again for a change. It’s not that cooking is awful, it’s just that he hates doing the dishes. He’d be far more inclined if he didn’t have to do the dishes afterwards. If you take over dishes, he’ll definitely step up his game for the both of you.

All in all, König loves to eat. He’s a big man with a bigger appetite, as hard as that is to believe. Once he retires he has to learn to cut back a fair bit, but he never loses his taste for sweets and snacks. It’s just something you’ll have to learn to live with.

[formula-nyoom]

Grid Dads

Summary: The Grid Dads, their Grid Kids, and their first F1 win

Sequel to Grid Kids

A/N: So originally the plan was for this fic to be told in the perspectives of the Grid Dads, but then I mainly focused on the section of Logan winning his first race and this just ended up turning into the Grid Kids winning their first F1 races and their Grid Dads being there to support them. Tried to keep the reader gender neutral for this one, though I apologize if a “she” or “her” slipped in. Logan’s is the longest because it’s the first one I wrote and I wanted to avoid repetition so Oscar’s and (Y/N)’s sections are a bit shorter. If you want to read just (Y/N)'s section, it's the last one.

Oscar

Triple header race weekends were never easy. The constant back to back of race weekends where there never seemed to be a time to breathe always hit heavy on the drivers.

And yet in the middle of it, Oscar was driving like it was the best race weekend of his life. Topping all three Free Practice Sessions, Oscar felt like Austria was going to be the best race this season.

And then he gets pole in qualifying for the first time.

Now, getting pole should be another good thing to add to Oscar’s already phenomenal weekend. But as the race drew closer and closer, Oscar felt like expectations were getting higher and higher. Everyone is expecting him to win, and while that is always Oscar’s goal during races, the high expectations were not helping his nerves.

“Are you nervous?” Mark asked him as Oscar was getting ready in his driver’s room.

 “Yea…I’m starting on pole for the first time, why wouldn’t I be nervous?” Oscar said as he tied his shoes.

“I didn’t say you had to be. It’s ok to be nervous.” Mark said. “You’ve got a real shot at winning this race.”

 “Unless someone passes me. Which is inevitable.” Oscar said. Mark stood up and placed his hand on Oscar’s shoulder, getting the younger driver to look at him. 

“Then don’t let them pass you.” Mark said. Oscar scoffed.

 “Is that the only advice you have for me?”

“It’s the only advice you need.” Mark said, patting Oscar’s shoulder before leaving the driver’s room. Oscar watched him go with confusion. He did expect Mark to give him a bit more advice, but then again Mark was always confident in Oscar’s abilities when he was on track. 

Rolling into the P1 spot after the formation lap, Oscar took a breath and glanced to his right to see the scarlet Ferrari of Charles in P2. While McLaren have been able to keep pace with Ferrari throughout the season, it was unsure of who could be quickest on the start. Oscar didn’t need to be told that it had to be him, Oscar knew that. He also knew that if Charles passed him at the beginning, he had the potential of overtaking him later in the race as long as he kept pace.

“Don’t let them pass you.”

Oscar wasn’t going to let Charles get the upper hand. 

Lights out and Oscar’s foot was on the pedal at lighting speed. He was able to pull ahead of Charles, but the Monagas driver stayed close to Oscar all the way into the first turn.  Charles almost pulled ahead of him in turn 4 and 5, but Oscar was able to defend against him and when the first lap was finally over, Oscar managed to build a one second gap between him and Charles.  

Oscar stayed in first for about 20 laps but his tires were starting to wear down and Oscar knew that if he pitted now with only a 6 second gap between him and Charles, he would lose the lead. Oscar would either need to build up a big enough gap on his wearing tires for him to be able to pitstop without losing P1…or a red flag needed to happen so his tires could get changed with no consequence of a time loss. But a red flag seemed almost impossible. Oscar started discussing with his engineer the possibilities of even a yellow flag happening so the time loss wouldn’t be significant, when his engineer’s voice came over the radio with exactly what Oscar needed to hear.

“Red Flag! Red Flag!” His engineer said. “Come to the pits. There is a car turned over in the middle of the track.”

“Are they ok?” Oscar asked. While the red flag was exactly what Oscar needed to keep his P1, it wasn’t something Oscar was wishing or hoping for, as red flagged crashes are serious matters. All Oscar was grateful for was that he was able to pit and change tires without losing his position, and he hoped that whoever was involved with the crash was ok. 

But the race was going to have to be restarted. Which means it would give others the chance to pass Oscar going into the restart. 

 “You’re driving great out there.” Mark told him while everyone was waiting for the track to be cleared.

 “Yea, but now I have to do it all over again.” Oscar said.

“You know what to do.” Mark said, patting Oscar’s shoulder.

 ‘Don’t let them pass.’

Oscar could do that.

A sense of deja vu hit Oscar as he watched Charles pull into the P2 spot next to him. The Ferrari driver somehow was able to maintain his position like Oscar had, and Oscar was going to have to do everything to make sure Charles stayed in P2.

The lights went on again

And then they were off. And so was Oscar and Charles. 

Charles managed to get a bit of a jump on Oscar at the restart, with the two going side by side into turn one. But Charles ended up breaking late and Oscar was able to pull ahead, still in the lead.

Still in P1.

‘Don’t let them pass.’

And that’s what Oscar did. Everytime Charles tried to overtake, Oscar defended like his life depended on it while maintaining his speed. How he was able to stay calm and keep the Ferrari at bay, Oscar may not fully know. But Oscar was eventually able to see the checkered flag waving. And as he blocked Charles from overtaking him as they made it to the last corner, Oscar’s foot didn’t leave the pedal till he crossed that finish line.

“FROM POLE TO P1! OSCAR PIASTRI HAS WON THE AUSTRIAN GRAND PRIX!”

“You, Oscar Piastri, are a race winner! Congratulations!” Oscar’s race engineer said to him over the radio. 

 “Woooooo! What a race. That was a tough one, keeping pole the whole race. Wow.” Oscar said as he did his cool down lap and waved to the crowds as he passed by. 

He pulled into the P1 spot and took his time undoing his steering wheel before he stood up and climbed on to the nose of his car. The McLaren crew at the barriers cheered as Oscar raised his fist in the air. Oscar jumped down from the car and was met with the sight of Charles who raised his hand up for a high five.

“Another Leclerc 1-2! You fought me hard for that win.” Charles said, bringing Oscar in for a brief hug.

 “I was so worried about messing up. I couldn’t let you get by.” Oscar said. Charles laughed.

Oscar then turned his attention to the McLaren team at the barriers. Oscar ran over and jumped into their arms, receiving various pats and high fives. As Oscar pulled away, he saw Mark there, standing at the barriers with the McLaren team. Oscar went over and Mark pulled him in for a hug.

 “What did I tell you?” Mark said as he hugged Oscar.

“Don’t let them pass.”

 “And what did you do?”

 “I didn’t let them pass.” Oscar said as he smiled.

“It was good advice if I do say so myself.” Mark said. Oscar rolled his eyes.

 “I’ll make sure to come to you for more advice the next time I’m on pole.”

Logan

“Welcome back to Sky Sports. I’m Jenson Button, joined by one of my co-hosts Bernie Collins, and a welcome surprise: Nico Rosberg, who I usually don’t get to do this with.”

 “Yes, it's very rare that Jenson and I get to host together.” Nico said. “But since I’m commentating the race this Sunday, I thought I’d fill in for one of your other co-hosts and spice things up.”

 “I’m sure things will get spiced up this weekend as it is the United States Grand Prix!” Bernie said. 

“Now there’s been an interesting development in the standings from the last couple races.” Nico said.

“Yea. There’s still a championship fight between Redbull, Ferrari, and McLaren. But the bottom field has had a sudden shift with Williams seeming to be closer points wise to Aston Martin and RB than they are to Alpine and KickSauber.” Bernie said.

“It will be interesting to see what the teams…” Jenson’s sentence trailed off as his attention was drawn to what was going on behind him. 10 feet away and in view of the cameras, the young F1 drivers, Logan and (Y/N) were making funny faces or giving Jenson bunny ears. Jenson chuckled.

 “Well it seems we’ve got a couple of trouble makers standing behind us. Sargent and (L/N) are photo bombing us.” Jenson said. Logan and (Y/N) burst out laughing at the act of them being caught. Jenson smiled, seeing the two young drivers finding amusement. He waved them over and their expressions morphed into partial guilt.

 “Since the two of you are so keen to be on camera, do you two have any thoughts about the upcoming race? It’s a home race for you, Logan. Are you feeling confident?” Jenson asked, leaning his microphone towards Logan.

 “Yea I’m feeling confident. I got my first point in Formula One here last year, though it was due to the disqualification of other drivers. I’m hoping that I can earn points properly this time and doing so at a home race would make it even better.” Logan said. 

 “I think he actually has a chance of getting a podium this weekend but he doesn’t believe me.” (Y/N) said. Nico scoffed

 “You discount yourself too early, Logan.” Nico said. “Before we went on air, Jenson informed me of all the progress you’ve made throughout the season.”

 “Really?” Logan asked, looking at Jenson with a bit of disbelief.

“I told him nothing but the truth.” Jenson said. “You’ve been making steady progress throughout the season, You scored your first points this season in Silverstone, and have been matching Alex’s pace with both of you scoring points for Williams in the last couple races. You’ve really been growing as a driver.”

Logan smiled. Sure, the Williams team has told him stuff like this, but it coming from Jenson felt sincere and genuine.

 “Well, I’m glad to hear that you guys have confidence in me. I’m gonna try my best this weekend. Maybe keep my elbows out, sorry (Y/N).” Logan said. (Y/N) rolled her eyes.

 “Keep your elbows away from me, I’m gonna have to fight you for that podium.” (Y/N) said.

“Well we look forward to hopefully seeing that podium fight.” Bernie said. “We won’t keep you any longer. I’m sure your teams are waiting for you.”

 “Sorry for interrupting your very important business of photo bombing us.” Jenson said.

“It was Logan’s idea.” (Y/N) said before she and Logan waved goodbye to Jenson, Nico, and Bernie before heading off.

 “I’d like to see Logan on a podium. I think he could do it.” Jenson said.

“We’ve seen that when given the right car, he can really bring the points home. Everytime he gets an upgrade, his pace improves and luckily for him, Williams has brought the upgrades for this weekend.” Nico said.

 “Well, we’ll just have to wait and see when the cars get going on the track.” Bernie said.

~~~

Logan took a deep breath as he slotted his car into the P9 spot and waited for the lights to go out. To say he was nervous was an understatement. This had been his best weekend overall this season with Logan being in the top ten for all three practice sessions and making it to Q3. But Logan’s done this dance before and he expects the other shoe to drop at any moment to ruin his so far amazing weekend. 

 “Radio check, Logan.” The voice of Gaten, his race engineer, resonates through his ear and brings him back into focus.

“Do you think Nico or Jenson are going to conduct the post race interviews?” Logan asked.

 “Let’s get you on the podium to find out. I believe you can make it Logan.” Gaten told him. Logan didn’t smile but he felt his nerves lessen a bit knowing at least someone believed in him. 

*Blink* *Blink* *Blink* *Blink* *Blink*

Logan breathed.

“IT’S LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO!”

He wasn’t quick enough on the pedal and fell down to 11th in the first corner. Logan went into defensive mode to try and keep that position but on lap 12, his team gave him a crucial call.

“Box Box.” 

“Sargent is the first to pit. Is there an issue with the car or is this Williams trying to strategize with their tires?” Crofty said from the commentary box.

 “Pitting now puts Logan at the back of the grid. Seems Williams may be favoring Albon in this race.”

“Actually, if Logan is putting on the hard tires then Williams must think that he can go to the end because pitting now would give Sargent a massive advantage for when the other teams pit.” Nico said.

“Well, we’ll just have to wait and see if this gamble will work in the American’s favor.”

The pitstop did put Logan into last place. There was no time to doubt or think about how many overtakes he needed to make to get back into point scoring position as Logan focused on going forward and keeping the car on track. 

He managed two overtakes before a collision happened.

“MAGNUSSEN AND ALBON MAKE CONTACT! BOTH OF THEM SPIN OUT AND INTO THE BARRIERS! ”

 “His tyres locked up and he just couldn’t keep it together. That’s gonna be a safety car for sure.”

“Here we can see William’s strategy of pitting Sargent first and putting him on the hard was a good move. We can see that most of the other drivers are heading into the pit under the safety car, and this shoots Logan up from P18 to P10.” Nico commentated

  “Safety Car. Magnussen and Alex made contact. Alex is out of the race. You are currently P10 with other drivers making pit stops now.” Gaten said over the radio.

“Is Alex ok?” Logan asked as he slowed his speed for the safety car.

“Alex is ok. We need to focus on the race. You are in the points now with some of the drivers in front having yet to pit and are on old tires.” Gaten told him. 

The drivers who had yet to pit, did move into the pitlane, moving Logan up to P6. After a couple more laps, the safety car was called in and the flags switched from yellow to green.

“Let’s do some overtaking.”

Logan didn’t need to be told twice as he started gaining on the car in front of him.

“Stroll .05 seconds in front. You have DRS. Go push.” Gaten told him.

“As we follow the Williams of Logan Sargent into Sector 2, he’s gaining on Lance Stroll. He goes for the outside AND OVERTAKES HIM AS SARGENT MOVES UP INTO P5!” Crofty exclaimed.

 “That was a clean overtake. Lance didn’t even have the time to fight him.” Nico said.

“Good job. Let’s do that again at least two more times.” Gaten told Logan.

 “Understood.” Logan knew that Gaten was intentionally not telling him what position he was in to not stress him out. But Logan could guess where he was in terms of current placement.

A couple laps later he was able to overtake Hamilton going into Turn 1, something Logan couldn’t help but smile at. He had just overtaken a 7 Time World Champion. That alone could have made Logan’s whole race. But now the question was, could he overtake another World Champion?

“Verstappen .08 seconds ahead. Push.”

Logan had never found himself in this position. The only time he saw Max’s rear wing was when he was letting him by to lap him. 

But now…now he had an attempt at a genuine overtake on the man everyone always says wins.

“Sargent’s behind Verstappen! He’s within DRS range! Is he going to overtake the championship leader? Sargent goes to the outside, Verstappen follows and as they get into turn six, is the Williams going to make it past?”

Logan tried to go from the outside to the inside of the turn but he wasn’t quick enough as he pulled behind Max again. But as both of them turned into Sector 2, Logan knew he would have another chance.

“They’re going down the straight! Sargent’s again within DRS range! Is he going to be successful this time? He dives to the outside!”

Logan’s foot felt like it was glued to the gas pedal as his car drove right next to the Red Bull. engaging the DRS, Logan used that extra boost as his car sped past Max.

“SARGENT OVERTAKES VERSTAPPEN! I DON’T BELIEVE IT!” Crofty exclaimed.

 “Logan really treated Max like he was just another car to overtake, but I’m sure that boy is celebrating at the fact he just overtook both Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton.” Nico said, a smile on his face.

“Excellent job Logan. You are currently P3 with (L/N) in front of you. The margin between you two is 1.5 seconds. Let’s close that gap.” Gaten said.

 “Copy. I did tell them I would keep my elbows out.” Logan said, a smile ghosting over his face for a brief moment.

“I’m glad to hear that Logan is enjoying this race. This really has been one of his best races.” Nico said.

“I couldn’t agree with you more, Nico.”

Logan was soon able to close the gap and got within DRS range of (Y/N). (Y/N) seemed more focused on making it past the corner, they didn’t see Logan until he was already past and speeding away. 

 “You’re doing amazing Logan. Piastri’s ahead with a 5 second gap. Let’s start trying to gain on him. 15 laps to go.” Gaten told him.

Though Logan didn’t need to wait long to try and catch up to Oscar. 

“There’s a yellow flag in Turn 12 and we can see that Ocon has hit the wall. He’s not in a good spot and that will surely bring out another safety car.” 

Logan had never been more thankful for a Safety Car as his and Oscar’s cars slowed down and Logan could see his best friend's rear wing clearly. He knew that a restart was imminent, this race wasn’t going to be finished under a safety car. 

Logan actually had a chance at winning this race.

“Safety Car is coming in this lap. You will have the chance to attempt an overtake on Piastri, with (L/N) behind you.”

“Copy.” Was all Logan said. He couldn’t tell if his hands were shaking from nerves or the vibrations from the car. This was the highest he had ever gone during a Formula One race. Throughout the season, Logan was starting to believe that a win for him wasn’t possible. Yet as he stared at the rear wing of the Mclaren in front of him, Logan could almost feel the glory of a first place finish in his hands.

“The Safety Car comes in as the cars on track make their way to the start line…” 

Oscar hits the gas.

Logan hits it faster.

Suddenly the Williams and the Mclaren are right next to each other–two best friends fighting for first place. Logan dives to the outside of Oscar’s car as they approach the turn…

“SARGENT OVERTAKES PIASTRI AND IS NOW IN THE LEAD!” Crofty exclaimed. A smile formed on Nico’s face as he watched the Williams car driven by Logan speed away from the Mclaren. The cheers from the crowd even reach the commentary box.

 “What a brilliant overtake from Sargent. He made sure to really hit the gas on the restart so that he could bring himself close enough to Piastri for that overtake.” Nico said.

“With ten laps to go, let’s see if he can keep that lead.”

Logan tries his hardest to keep it together and keep the car on track. Anything can happen in a Formula One race. Knowing his luck, Logan is constantly expecting his tires to lock up, or for him to lose control of the steering and spin out as the laps tick down. 

 “Last Lap. Bring it home Logan.”

But reality sets in.

He just needs to make it past the finish line.

“If you don’t mind Crofty, I'd like to do the victory narration.” Nico said, his eyes glued to the Williams car he had been following throughout the whole race. The whole reason his smile has stayed on his face.

“Go right ahead Nico.” Crofty said. Nico took a breath.

“As he starts his final lap, we see the Williams car of Logan Sargent speeding by. After his car was taken away in Australia, he has been trying to prove himself to the team, to everyone, who said he had no place in Formula One. And I can say for certain that throughout this race, Logan has proven himself. He has shown Williams and everyone that he has gotten what it takes to be in Formula One, as he comes around the last corner. He got one point at this track last year and now he’s going for the win. The young man from Florida, the first American in Formula One in 8 years, has fought his way from the bottom, all the way to the top as LOGAN SARGENT WINS THE UNITED STATES GRAND PRIX!”

Nico’s smile grows as wide as it can go, as he watches the blue number 2 car cross the finish line. He sees Logan wave his fist in the air, celebrating his victory and Nico can practically hear the scream that the American driver must be letting out right now. He puts his microphone down, not caring that there’s still commentary that he needs to do as he leaves the commentary box. Nico wants to be there for Logan and see him stand on the top step of the podium. 

“You did it mate! You won!” Gaten says over the radio. Logan can barely hear it over the sound of him screaming and the cheers from the audience.

 “YESSSSSSS! COME ON! OH MY GOD!” Logan yells. He can feel tears start to well up in his eyes but blinks them away as he makes his way to Parc Ferme so he can park his car in the #1 spot.

Getting there, Logan sat in the car for a moment, taking in the moment that he had just won his first Formula 1 race. He closes his eyes and breathes.

 “I did it.” He says to himself, before standing up.

He stands on the nose of his car, tucking his arms into him before spreading them out, like an eagle spreading his wings. He hadn’t been able to do this since F2. God did he miss this feeling. 

As soon as he steps down from the car, he’s getting tackled from both sides. Oscar to his right, and (Y/N) to his left. This winning feeling felt even better at the fact that he got to share the podium with his two best friends. 

 “Congrats mate! That was a hard earned win.” Oscar says, patting his back.

“I told you you’d get a podium.” (Y/N) says, putting both hands on the side of Logan’s helmet and shaking him a bit. Logan laughs before batting his friend’s arms away. 

He dives into the waiting arms of the William’s team, who hold him and pat his helmet like he just won the World Championship. In a way, Logan feels like he has. 

There’s a couple more pats and shakes before a steward is directing him to a spot for the post interview and Logan’s smile grows wider as he sees Jenson’s the one to do it. Jenson wraps Logan in a big hug, one hand cradling his head close to his own and Logan can’t help but let a tear roll down his face.

 “You were flying out their champ.” Jenson whispers into his ear before he has to pull away and Logan is handed a microphone. 

“Logan…take it all in. You’ve just won your first Formula One race. How are you feeling?”

 “It’s unreal, Jenson. That was a very nerve wracking race with the amount of overtakes I had to do. Throughout the week, I honestly didn’t expect that I would be winning this one.”

“I was on the edge of my seat the whole race. I felt like a proud dad watching you overtake both Hamilton and Verstappen.”

 “You did say that you had hoped to see me on the podium. Glad I could live up to your expectations.” Logan said.

 “You’ve done more than that, Logan. You’ve truly proven yourself as a Formula One driver. Soak it in, champ. You’re a Formula One race winner.” Jenson said. Logan can only nod and laugh as he takes it all in.

Yea, he’s a Formula One race winner. 

Jenson knows that he shouldn’t, considering they’re on live television, but he can’t help but pull Logan in for one more hug before the next interview starts. Logan seems to hold on for a bit longer and Jenson would have given him all the time in the world to stay in this hug. But they have to pull away as Logan heads to the cool down room and Oscar takes Logan’s place to be interviewed.

Logan can still feel the adrenaline and he doesn’t think it’s going to calm down anytime soon. He jumps as someone’s hands land on his shoulders and Alex is suddenly behind him, shaking his shoulders before coming around to the front and giving him a big hug.

 “You just needed to prove yourself and you did! That’s my teammate!” Alex said. Logan laughs. As soon as Alex breaks the hug and steps away, George is right in front of him, pulling him into his own hug before lifting him up into the air. Logan can’t help but hold on tighter as his feet leave the ground.

 “I knew you could do it, Logs.” He says. Logan lets out a laugh as he’s placed back down on the ground. 

 “Thanks guys. I truly don’t know how I made it to the end.” Logan said.

“Rubbish. You made it to the end because you are a phenomenal driver.” George said, pointing a finger at Logan before patting his shoulder.

Before he walks out to the podium, someone hands him an American flag that he drapes across his shoulders. When he first joined Formula One, to Logan the American flag felt heavy, like he was carrying the country on his shoulders.

Now, Logan felt like he was flying.

“In 1st Place…Williams Driver: Logan Sargent!”

He takes his place on the top step of the podium and looks out into the crowd. Amongst the sea of Blue, White, and Orange, Logan’s eyes land on Jenson with Nico standing right next to him. They’re smiling at him with nothing but proudness in their eyes at the fact that their grid kid won his first race. 

And to Logan, their smiles are the only ones that matter.

(Y/N)

It was the weekend of the Belgium Grand Prix and instead of being in the team garage, (Y/N) was standing at the VIP entrance, watching everyone that entered. Were there countless rumors going around that Sebastian Vettel would attend this race? Yes. Were they confirmed? Not really. Did (Y/N) believe them? If it meant the young driver could see their grid dad, then yes. That was the whole reason (Y/N) was at the VIP entrance, looking for any sight of the German World Champion. But it was getting too close to Free Practice for (Y/N) to stay, and thinking the rumors were false, (Y/N) turned around to head to their team’s garage.

 “Off to go racing, honey bee?”

(Y/N) turned back around so quickly, they almost got whiplash. Standing there was Sebastian with a VIP badge around his neck. 

 “Seb!” (Y/N) exclaimed as they ran to the retired German driver and engulfed him in a hug. Seb chuckled as he returned the hug. 

 “I was starting to think that you weren’t coming.” (Y/N) said as they broke away from the hug.

“And miss you racing? That’s ridiculous.” Seb said. Someone next to Seb cleared their throat and (Y/N)’s eyes widened.

 “Kimi!” (Y/N) immediately wrapped the Finnish driver in a hug, like they did with Seb. Kimi stumbled a bit but did return the hug.

To others, having two former world champions at a Formula One race is a welcoming sight with not much meaning. But to (Y/N), having their former mentor and grid dad here to watch them race meant the whole world.

“You came…” (Y/N) said to the two, voice wavering a bit still in disbelief.

 “You called.” Kimi said. (Y/N) smiled.

“Why don’t you show us around the paddock. I’m sure it’s changed since we’ve last been here.” Seb said. (Y/N)’s face lit up as they eagerly grabbed both Seb and Kimi’s hand to start showing them around the paddock

~~~

Seb enjoyed being back at a Formula One race. Being surrounded by the same chaos he once knew gave him a sort of comforting feeling that stayed all the way to race day. And while Kimi wanted to stay in the VIP room to avoid all the crowds and cameras, Seb was down on the grid with all the other celebrities and reporters, walking along the starting grid before the race officially started. He was only able to speak with (Y/N) briefly before their engineer pulled them into a last minute strategy talk. So Seb walked the grid, saying hello to other drivers and previous colleagues as he walked past.

“Look it’s It's former World Champion, Sebastian Vettel.” Sky Sports Reporter Martin Brundle approached Seb during his pre-race grid walk. “How are you Sebastian?”

 “I'm doing great Martin. How are you?” Seb asked.

“I’m doing well. It’s good to see you back at a race.” Martin said. “Are you rooting for any team in particular?”

“I'm here to support my grid kid.” Seb said with a smile.

 “I’m sure the Ferrari garage is happy to have you back.” Martin said. Seb let out a chuckle and shook his head.

 “I’m here to support my other grid kid, (Y/N).”

“Do you think they’ll do well today?” Martin asked. Seb smiled.

 “I don’t doubt it. No matter what happens I’ll be rooting for them all the way.” Seb said.

After the national anthem was played, Seb was able to pull (Y/N) aside for a brief moment.

“Good luck. Be safe. Kimi and I will be watching from the VIP room.” Seb said before (Y/N) had to get in the car. He clipped the straps of their helmet, “Remember: Fight like a bull.” 

 “And sting like a bee!” (Y/N) said with a smile Seb could see peak out from the visor. 

“That’s right!” The two high fived and Seb ruffled (Y/N)’s helmet as if ruffling the driver’s hair, before leaving to join Kimi in the VIP room. 

Watching the race seemed more stressful to Seb than if he was the one driving it. He tenses anytime (Y/N) gets close to making contact with other cars or anytime they experience oversteering. But he cheers alongside Kimi after every successful overtake.

 “(L/N) goes to the outside of Alonso into turn six! Are they going to make it past the Aston Martin? Going into the straight, (L/N)’s within DRS, they pull ahead and (L/N) speeds past as the younger generation leaves the older one in the dust!” Crofty narrates and Seb and Kimi cheer. 

 “(Y/N)’s got the pace to make it to first.” Seb said. Kimi only nodded as two mens’ eyes stayed glued to the screen. And Seb was right. Soon enough (Y/N)’s car was in P2 with only a 1 second gap between her and Carlos, who was P1. Seb and Kimi watched as the gap got smaller and smaller till (Y/N) was right behind the Ferrari. 

 “Come on (Y/N)...” Kimi mumbled. The sound in the VIP room seemed to deafen as (Y/N) attempted an overtake on Carlos. The two cars go into the turn right next to each other, wheels centimeters from touching. 

(Y/N) pulls out of the turn ahead of Carlos and speeds off to take the lead.

“(Y/N) (L/N) is the new race leader!” Seb and Kimi erupted into applause as their grid kid took the P1 spot. But that didn’t make the stress go away, as there were still a couple more laps to go. 

 “Come on honey bee, bring it home.” Seb said, rubbing his hands in anticipation. And that’s what (Y/N) did. The gap they had built was enough that no car could catch up to them in the final lap. And as they crossed the finish line, Seb and Kimi cheered and applauded so loud, they were sure (Y/N) would be able to hear it from the track.

“(Y/N) (L/N) WINS THE BELGIUM GRAND PRIX!”

“P1! You are P1, (Y/N)! Congratulations.” (Y/N)’s race engineer said in their ear as (Y/N) almost burst into tears.

 “YEEEEESSSSS! LET’S FUCKING GOOOOO!” They yelled. They waved to the fans in the grandstands as they slowly did their cool down lap while trying to wipe tears from their eyes.

 They eventually pulled their car into parc ferme and parked their car in front of the #1 board. Getting out of the car, (Y/N) beat their chest twice in celebration as they stood on the nose of the car before jumping down and running to their team, who gave congratulatory pats on the head and shoulders. 

After the post race interview, (Y/N) started to make her way to the cool down room, passing other drivers along the way who gave their own congratulations to the driver.

“Congratulations, niño/a.” Fernando said as he pulled (Y/N) into a side hug. “I almost had you on that overtake.”

 “Sorry that I had to pass you to be able to win.”

“Don’t apologize. Though if you keep winning, I may have to retire.” Fernando said. (Y/N) laughed and shook their head.

 “Everyone knows that you’re going to be racing well into 2046 ‘Nando’.” (Y/N) said. Fernando chuckled and patted their shoulder one more time before leaving to meet with his team. 

The race winning high was something (Y/N) didn’t want to come down from. As they kept making their way to the cool down room, (Y/N)’s smile continued to grow as their win felt more and more real.

And then there’s Seb and Kimi, waiting for them at the end. (Y/N) didn’t waste any time as they threw themselves into Seb’s arms and gave him a big hug.

“Congratulations, honeybee.” Seb whispered into their ear. “You’re a Formula One race winner.”

 “I feel like I’m dreaming.” (Y/N) said as they pulled away from Seb and turned to Kimi. 

Kimi didn’t say anything as he patted (Y/N)’s shoulder and pulled her into a side hug. That was ok. (Y/N) didn’t need him to say anything as she turned the side hug into a full one. 

 “Does this prove that you have to come to more than one race every season? I’m always close to winning when you’re here, Seb.” (Y/N) said.

“Actually, I think this proves that Kimi has to come to your races more often, as you always win when Kimi’s here.” Seb said, patting his friend on the shoulder. Kimi only smiled.

[totallynotcoffeeturtle]

Long(?) Distance Relationship

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Genshin masterlist || Scaramouche masterlist

Tags: fluff, gn!reader, pre-established relationship, mild crack ig Summary: is a long-distanced relationship even possible when your boyfriend can just travel on foot cross nations for you?

A/N: so uhhhh this kinda sucks but it's midnight here and i'm losing my marbles or however that saying goes. happy reading yall w/c: 1.3k

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You place your luggage down onto the wooden floor of the rental in Mondstadt city, sighing under your breath. The week-long boat trip from Sumeru to the docks and then another few days worth of slime balloon flight had not been easy on your body, especially since you mostly bury yourself in research upon research instead of strengthening your body.

A sense of peace wells up as you take in the bustling atmosphere of the people and the music carried by the wind through the window as you sit down onto the bed. It was the right choice to go to Mondstadt for your new project! You do miss Wanderer much more than you would ever admit after all the traveling though.

Quickly clearing up your mind, you put away your things and tidy up the room a little so that it is more livable than before. As you hang up the last of your clothes, a piece of paper falls down to the ground. You pick it up and freeze at the realization that it is the note you wanted to leave for Wanderer about leaving. A few moments pass and you give up on trying to think. Whatever will happen is for the future you to worry about!

Meanwhile, your poor boyfriend just returns to your shared abode after having to help the Dendro Archon out in the desert. Wanderer was expecting to see you excitedly rushing to greet him, or at least hear you in the living doing random things but is met with an empty home. His non-existent heart stops beating for a split second. Where did you go!? So the only reasonable action Wanderer can take is to rush out and grab the nearest familiar looking scholar for interrogation.

While questioning his victim, his brain is filled with the worst possibilities he knows, what if you finally realized that he is unsuitable for you, or you got kidnapped or- The poor scholar can barely answer him before getting thrown onto the ground and feeling a gust of wind rushing by, followed by a trail of dust. Wanderer breathes a sigh of relief knowing you are safe and sound. He thanks the Dendro Archon that you are simply on a work trip to Mondstadt of all places.

The anemo vision on his waist glows as he pushes the limit on speed before he inevitably is forced to go on foot once again. The puppet complains under his breath. He did not realize the way to Mondstadt is this long but at least this would be faster than to travel on any other transportation method. He also simply cannot believe that you would leave for your research now of all times. The puppet was away for two, t-w-o weeks(!) and you dare to leave without even informing him beforehand! Admittedly, he was released from his duties much earlier than expected but you could have left a note! (Even if technically you did, the results still matter more in this case)

Wanderer is immediately stopped at the gate of the city. The guards both looked at each other when they saw him rushing over at the speed of light and anger (?) practically radiating off him and swiftly concluded that he is, in fact, a danger. He stops when they block his entry because he is a law-abiding citizen! The scholar stands there in annoyance, one of his feet tapping the ground impatiently as his eyes flit over the two soldiers trying to do their jobs. Even if he would love to just go right over their heads, he can already hear Nahida nagging at him the moment he steps foot in the vicinity of Sumeru.

He zones out slowly at the mind-bogglingly boring questioning and profiling despite its necessity. The puppet wonders if you are doing fieldwork or writing out your plans at the moment. Wanderer is already planning how he would punish you for your lack of communication and- He snaps out of his thoughts at the guards handing back his identification papers with a polite apology for stopping him. He simply nods and walks in. Paperwork is always so tedious!

Meanwhile, you walk around the library of the Knights of Favonius, in awe at the sheer collection of books available and the crisp cleanliness somehow maintained despite everything. The librarian is an oddball but that is just how scholars are sometimes. Not the oddest one you have had the pleasure of meeting, at least. You run your fingers over the leather book spines as you hum along with the music selection from the gramophone. One book, and then another, and another one… They begin to stack up higher than you had expected. You stare at the pile in mild contemplation. How are you supposed to bring all of this back?

Lisa, ever the sweetheart, taps your shoulder and promises to help you reserve the books until your next visit. With that out of the way, you carry a comfortable amount in your (not) noodle arms back to your humble abode.

Wanderer walks into the bustling city while looking for your silhouette in the crowds. The guards said that there has been no scholar leaving the city for the last few days so you should still be around the place. He regrets not having planned this out better so he would not have to be walking around like a headless fly right now. He stops for a moment at the water fountain and allows himself to take a breather. You would tease the living hell out of him if you ever find out that he was in such a rush to see you again. Despite the way Wanderer acts, the corners of his mouth rise subconsciously at the thought of your surprised expression when meeting him. Maybe you would even be so happy that you hug him tightly and shower him with affection…

Instead he gets attacked right in the face with a thick encyclopedia on Mondstadt’s oral legends and a frantic scream that threatens to blow out his eardrums. Truly makes him wonder if he stepped out of the house with the wrong foot or something like that… Wanderer still catches the books flying at him, despite the urge to watch the world burn, and looks at the perpetrator in anger until he realizes it is you who did that. You know what, he can forgive you as long as you promise not to leave him without notice again.

You tumble, full Inazuman rom com novel style, sending you and your books flying at the fountain. A blood curdling scream makes its way out of your throat, effectively stunning everyone in the plaza. Honestly, for a moment, you wish that a hole would open up on the ground beneath you and swallow you up. You push yourself up from the ground, your knees still aching from the impact. You slowly look up at your victim and you rub your eyes vigorously at the sight that greets you. Isn’t Wanderer supposed to be in Sumeru right now? Are you somehow hallucinating in the middle of the day??

Regardless if this is an illusion whatever twisted god up in Celestia may be subjecting you to, you stand up and rush into your beloved boyfriend’s arms for a hug, deftly avoiding the books and the possibility of falling right into the water. As awkwardly as he is, Wanderer returns your affection. He pats your back lightly while maintaining a delicate balance with the books in his hand and you. Feeling your warmth against him is more than enough to make the trip here worth it.

The touching moment is cut short when you push him away. The puppet pouts a little but allows you to do so either way. “So uhh, how did you get here? Are you free from your deadlines yet?” He freezes up. Oh no.

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Taglist: @amyminhminh @xrmywaifxx @samyayaya

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Could you please write a G!P Donna fic where Reader finds it incredibly hot whenever Donna finishes inside of her. Idk I just want more Donna smut in my life. I appreciate your contributions to the Fandom.

Yess!!!! Thank you for your request and for your kind words!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes :))))

Take me in the church

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, smut, Minors DNI

Word count: 4,904

Summary: Maybe to go to church was a good idea after all...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

“Give me another one,” the Angie doll said, pretending to think about what her master move was going to be in such a simple game.

“As you wish...” You hummed, amused by her lack of care, taking another card from the small pile. “Mm, 23, you went too far, I win again.”

“What? 23 is greater than 17,” the doll protested, indignant at your invincible list of victories. You rolled your eyes and shuffled the cards again.

“I've told you a thousand times, Angie. If you go over 21, you lose,” you explained, putting a card in front of each one again.

“Cheater!” The puppet screeched, enraged because she was unable to defeat you. You laughed amused, taking the opportunity to give the puppet a gentle push.

“I never cheat... Only in love,” you joked, looking at your card and bringing the rest closer to Angie.

“Donna won't like to know that,” the doll threatened, to which you raised your eyebrow.

“Give me a card and shut up," you said, making another attempt to destabilize Angie's fragile balance.

Why were you playing blackjack with a porcelain doll? The answer was anything but simple.

Born and raised in a remote village, your life was never interesting. Only that strange cult, those creatures, could make you live some kind of adventure. But not even the adrenaline that you and your friends experienced while running away from some Lycans could compare to what you felt that day, the day when your desire for exploration took you to go to forbidden places.

Nobody knew what exactly was behind that blazon of a moon and a sun. No one knew exactly what or who Donna Beneviento was. She was a Lord, serving the supreme witch, Mother Miranda. Her dark and mysterious figure gave rise to many legends, many rumors, each one more extravagant.

You figured you must have been afraid to meet her, when she caught you snooping around her grounds. Quite the opposite. That air of mystery, that stoic pose, that black cloth hiding her face. Fear was the last thing you felt.

Surely that attitude of yours of ignoring or evading problems with a good dose of charisma was what scared Donna, at least enough for her not to kill you by setting foot on her estate.

A simple villager, that's what you were, but one who wasn't afraid of her, one who didn't hesitate to smile at her presence. Saving your life was the first of her miracles. Falling in love was the second.

Shy, sick and lonely, Donna had no one but her doll, anyone who wanted to talk to her, or at least try to. You came into her life the same way she came into yours, accidentally, but that didn't mean it was something temporary. No, it wasn’t temporary at all.

The talks became a routine. You even left your friends aside to enter that dark forest every day, becoming more and more interested in her, until her interest inevitably turned into attraction.

Donna had a lot of things to learn. She didn't know about love, about people. You weren't a particularly patient girl, but with her, it was different. After an innocent time, of kisses, of caresses, of Donna's fear of showing her face. The rainy afternoon in which your lips did the work arrived, colliding with hers. “You are beautiful,” you said as you looked at her wounded face, the beauty that horrible black fabric hid.

Everything else was a matter of time. You stopped living in the village to live with her, you left everything behind, and you didn't regret it. You have never been happier.

“What do you have?” You asked, carefully studying your possibilities.

“18,” Angie said, with a threatening tone. It would be better to let her win that time...

“Wow, I'm 16, you win,” you said amused, preventing the doll from seeing what cards you really had. A sinister laugh invaded the room. Oh, maybe it was a mistake, now she’d be rubbing her victory in your face for all eternity.

Fortunately the sound of the elevator interrupted the doll's mocking songs. Donna spent hours in her workshop and you didn't want to bother her, well, most of times.

Her mourning figure appeared in front of you, walking slowly and elegantly. You frowned.

“Look, the Ghost of Christmas Past,” you murmured amused, getting up from the ground and walking towards the lady in black. “Donna, what are you doing with the veil on?” You asked curiously, moving the black fabric away to kiss her lips.

“Mother Miranda is going to give a sermon in the church,” the lady explained, with that soft, hoarse voice that betrayed its lack of use. You rolled your eyes, disappointed.

“Today?” You asked with disappointment in your eyes. She nodded slowly, caressing your cheek in a sweet, messy way. You loved that innocent way of loving you. Well, innocent most of times.

“That's how Mother Miranda wanted it,” she said, making your stomach clench because of your anger. You hated that the priestess was always one step above you.

“But, Donna...” You sighed, lowering your hands to her waist and gently pulling her body, putting on your best pleading face. “Today is our special day,” you lamented.

She tilted her head, curious about that phrase.

“If I haven't counted wrong, there are still three months until our anniversary, (Y/N),” she said, amused, letting to be hugged.

You shook your head.

“No, is not that. You don’t remember? Today is the day you lost your…” You purred in her ear, making the lady in black step back, embarrassed.

“Okay, okay, yes, I remember. You don't need to say it,” she said shyly, avoiding your gaze. You laughed amused, raising and lowering your eyebrows seductively.

You knew that sex, like love or human relationships, was a unknown subject for Donna. She was never with anyone. She never had the chance to experience something like that, at least until you came. That fact made her feel stupid, a loser. You kept reminding her that she wasn't and, well, you didn't care about her body, nor about the changes that the Cadou had caused on it.

“I had thought we could celebrate... Maybe in the forest, like that time,” you whispered in the best seductive voice you could muster, one that you knew made her shiver.

Donna laughed, but she shook her head, putting the hands on your chest to keep you from coming any closer. Surely if you did, she would have fallen into temptation.

“I'm sorry, tesoro... But I have to go,” she said with a sad tone, alleviating your disappointment with a kiss on the cheek. “You can come with me.”

“Me? To church?” You asked ironically, crossing your arms. The lady nodded again, picking Angie up from the floor and holding her in her arms.

“Mother Miranda knows you all. It's not the first time she's asked about you,” Donna commented, walking towards the door, closely followed by your disappointed figure. You mumbled something incomprehensible, luckily.

“Well, let her keep asking,” you said with a dry tone, looking away from the lady. “I don't care.”

“Please, my love, do it for me. I don't want anything to happen to you,” your girlfriend pleaded, holding your hand and trying to destabilize your cocky pose. You looked away with a disinterested gasp.

“Oh...” You sighed, shaking your head. “No, I better wait for you here.”

"Come on, then we could take a romantic walk in the forest, like you wanted,” Donna said, insisting almost desperately.

“Donna...” You growled, in the face of that cruel blackmail that certainly wasn't that cruel. “Oh, okay, okay, you win, I'll go with you. But then we'll do what I want, deal?”

“Thank you, tesoro,” she said, happy to have won that dialectical battle, giving you another kiss on the cheek as a reward and taking your hand, dragging your reluctant body towards the door.

“You owe me one, huh?” You said, closing the door behind you. Donna nodded effusively and pulled you across the grounds. You certainly didn't really want to go to that church.

The road was hectic, but it was true that walking with her in a place other than the old house was refreshing, and not just because of the cold of that place.

The church was packed, full of villagers who used to be your neighbors. The regret of being there hit you hard when their gaze was directed towards you, followed by an indiscreet whisper, which was surely talking about you.

“What are you looking at?” You asked one of your former friends, who immediately turned his head away as Donna led you by the hand to a secluded corner of the building.

“Stay here, my love... Don't worry, I won't be long,” Donna whispered to you, caressing your hand and leaning to kiss you through the black fabric of her face.

You sighed and shook your head, watching as she walked away from to take her traditional spot near the altar. Looking around, you leaned against the wall with your arms crossed. At least you weren't around those suspicious glances.

“(Y/N), what a surprise,”  a velvety voice brought you out of your thoughts. Her winged figure and her ridiculous priestess robes gave her away from miles. Miranda.

“Mother Miranda,” you said without much interest. Maybe you were putting too much trust in the relationship you had with Donna. Maybe you shouldn't be so brazen, showing your disdain for the village leader.

“I'm very happy to know that Donna has managed to bring you back to the path of the Black Gods,” she said amused, with a sardonic smile under that golden mask. You frowned and sighed, holding back your urge to swear.

“She’s very convincing,” you murmured, looking at the lady in black, who didn't take her gaze off of you.

“I guess so,” the priestess commented, placing a cold hand on your shoulder and walking, fortunately, away from you.

At least you were standing and didn't have the ability to fall asleep. The sermon was boring, sinister as always. You were very tired of pretending that this woman was a Goddess or something, but it would be better to play along and pretend, for your own sake, and maybe Donna's.

Even so, you couldn't help but look at the lady in black from time to time, with a mocking smile, mocking Miranda's words with extravagant grimaces. Just as you thought, that had its effect, causing Donna to shift nervously in her chair, hiding her laughter from her siblings and her Goddess.

“Go with the blessing of the Gods, dear subjects,” Miranda finally said, extending her arms in an extravagant way, making those present bow and little by little left the building along with the rest of the Lords, except Donna, who stood up slowly, walking towards you.

“I shouldn't have brought you here,” she whispered, annoyed but amused, crossing her arms. You shrugged, pushing that horrible fabric away again and kissing her lips quickly and exaggeratedly.

“You sure had fun,” you joked, to which she responded with a quick tap on your shoulder and one of those adorable shy giggles.

“Yes, and that's not right,” she protested, taking your hand, caressing it slowly while Angie surrounded you with her usual teasing.

“I can't help it, I love seeing you smile,” you whispered in her ear, making her laugh again and shake her head.

“You haven't seen me,” she said, pointing to her veil.

“But I know you smiled,” you joked again, taking a look at that small chapel. “This place gives me chills. What about that walk?”

“I would love to, (Y/N),” Donna sighed, walking towards the exit.

You felt relieved, but before you could leave the church, something caught your attention. You had never been the best of believers, and you had never paid attention to the altar of that building. Your curiosity made you walk towards it, where some old photographs were framed next to the annoying Mother Miranda's prayer to the Black Gods.

“What are you doing?” The lady in black asked, following you cautiously. You pointed to one of the photographs, hers.

“Nothing, just taking a look," you said. “Seriously, Donna, that photo?”

“What’s wrong with it?” She asked curiously, looking at her own gray and sad portrait.

“Why do you always look like a wandering soul?” You joked, making her step back confused.

“It's just a photo, (Y/N)” she whispered, annoyed by your comment. “Let's take that walk.”

The tug she gave on your wrist was useless, since you had no intention of moving from that place. The empty and mysterious church stopped giving you chills to send other types of ideas and sensations to your body, some dangerous ideas.

“Come on, (Y/N), we can't stay here,” she told you hurriedly, as if your look was giving away your intentions.

“Why not? Is prohibited?” You asked amused, playing with the offerings that were on a small table.

“Well, not technically, but...” Donna murmured, stopping you from putting a grape in your mouth and leaving it back in the basket. “Come on, stop fooling around and…”

“What? I'm not doing anything wrong,” you said amused, with a dark look, sitting in the chair occupied by the lady in black during the sermons.

“Didn't you want to go for a walk that much?” Donna asked, looking around her, checking that the doors were closed and no one could see your audacity.

“Yes, but now I feel like being here,” you said ironically, crossing your legs. “You, heretic, you are going to be devoured by wolves for hiding your beauty,” you joked, making her sigh and shake her head.

“Heretic, heretic!” Angie repeated, jumping up and pointing at poor Donna, who snorted in annoyance.

“Look what you've done, you've excited Angie,” the lady in black complained, who extended her hand toward the puppet to keep it still.

“Have I excited you too?” You purred standing up from the chair and hanging tenderly around her neck, making Donna walk backwards until her back hit the wall.

“What? Oh, (Y/N), please don't...” She said, her breathing labored by your approach, being interrupted by a finger that was placed under her veil and rested on her lips.

“Shh, be quiet, Beneviento, this is a church,” you whispered in her ear, biting her earlobe, making her squirm, trapped between you and the wall.

“You're making me nervous, tesoro,” she said, avoiding your caresses as best she could. Your lust had been unleashed and the naughty thoughts that ran through your mind only grew stronger and stronger, as did your desire.

“Am I? Great,” you joked, tilting the black fabric from her face to be able to kiss her better, to be able to deepen that kiss in a hot and sensual way.

“We must, we must go,” Donna stammered, releasing from your grip and adjusting her veil.

“No, no,” you joked, grabbing her wrist and moving poor Donna against the wall again.

“Don't do that, per favore,” she begged, while you moved her veil away again and brought your body even closer to hers. You laughed when you saw her so nervous. Oh yeah, that was going to be funny.

“Your sweet words aren't going to save you now,” you whispered, enjoying her confused and nervous look. “If you want to get out of here, you have to confess yourself, my love.”

“What? Confess?” She asked, shaking her head. She was terribly nervous. You could see it in her trembling. That was something you planned to use to your advantage.

“Come on, it will be funny,” you said with a smile, this time more tender, caressing her cheek. You wanted to make her nervous, but you didn't want her to lose her temper. Anything but that.

“I think we have different concepts of what is funny, tesoro,” she said, laughing nervously, but also, with some amusement.

“Well, whatever you want, I'll start,” you said, still smiling, making her open her mouth to say something, but she regretted it at the last moment. Maybe you have gotten her curious. “Do you want to know what my confession is?”

Your hot words and cheeky whispers made her entire body suddenly tense, finally knowing what your intentions might be. Donna just stared at you and shook her head, slowly.

You bit your lip and approached her ear again, feeling her heavy breathing very close to you.

“I confess that I love when you cum inside of me,” you whispered with a low voice, with a mischievous smile. “Nothing makes me feel better than your sem…”

“(Y/N), stop that,” Donna said, getting even more upset, blushing at your rude words, something that always made her excited, even if she denied it. “You know I hate when you talk that way.”

You raised an eyebrow, but didn't move away from her, running your hand down her body to the small bulge noticeable between her legs.

“Well, it seems like your body is happy with my confession,” you joked, caressing her budding erection through the fabric of her dress, causing her to gasp in embarrassment and turn her head away. “You are so sensitive… I love it, Donna.”

“Come on, let's go. We can, we can continue talking about this at home,” she said, stammering, repressing her desire to close her eye and let herself be carried away by the pleasure of your caresses.

You shook your head, directing your lips to her neck, kissing it lovingly, sinking your teeth into her skin, making her gasps become less and less discreet.

“No, my love. Not at home,” you said seductively. “We’re going to talk here.”

She shook her head, grabbing your wrist so her erection wouldn't be released from her dress.

“W, wait, (Y/N), not here,” she said, almost surrendered to the pleasure, a terribly exciting sight for you.

You crossed your arms, but didn’t desist in your actions, kissing her on the lips to silence her fears. Donna was partly right, someone could show up there at any moment, but that only made it more exciting, even more so when Angie was lying limp on the floor.

“What is my punishment for my sins, Donna?” You asked, bringing her hand to your chest, making her caress your body inside your dress. No matter how much she denied it, the situation was also exciting for her.

“Your... Your punishment?” She asked, her voice cracking with pleasure, from feeling your naked skin in such a forbidden place. She was already yours, she couldn't escape anymore, and she didn't want to do it either.

You nodded with your most relaxed gaze, searching hers for any sign that this was too much for her. You could see her nervousness, but her arousal was much more evident, which made you continue.

“Maybe you want me to kneel and beg for your forgiveness, do you want that, darling?” You asked, lowering yourself to the floor slowly until the wood collided with your knees and your hands traveled along the black fabric of her dress.

Donna didn't know how to respond, she just looked around again and then at you, as if her conscience was fighting, deciding whether or not it was a good idea. After a sigh of relief, a slightly sinister smile formed on her face.

“Okay, fine, kneel, (Y/N), but if it's a punishment, it'll have to look like one, don't you think?” She told you with a nervous voice, but with that point of seduction that revealed her excitement, apart from her body, of course.

“Oh… And what is it going to be?” You asked, making big eyes and a face like a good girl who wanted to be punished.

“You won't see my face,” she whispered, bending down to take your chin and kiss you before covering herself with the veil, making you bite your lip again.

“Oh... Well, your face isn't exactly what I wanted to look at...” You teased, playing with the black fabric until her shaft was freed from its prison, shiny, hard from your words and your lack of sense of risk.

“You better use your mouth for something different than talking. I don't want to hear you,” she said, grabbing your hair with her hand, releasing a dominant side that you didn't know about, but that sent a wave of pleasure between your legs.

You laughed at the obvious shyness that her words still betrayed, but you obeyed immediately, grabbing her erection and kissing the tip, running your tongue delicately over her skin, making her entire body shiver with pleasure.

You moaned against her as her hand forced your mouth down, to surround her length with your lips in a hasty manner. In that way, her haste was revealed, but you, oh, no, you were in no hurry at all and you managed to be the one who controlled the pace.

“Hurry up, (Y/N),” the lady in black demanded as your hand joined the movements, matching the rhythm of your mouth. You smiled wickedly, licking her shaft again, ceasing the gentle movements of your hand to make her moan at the lack of contact.

You shook your head, lingering on the tip with an almost painful slowness, causing her grip on your hair to tighten, lifting your head towards her.

“What have I told you?” Donna asked, with her face hidden by her veil, something you didn't think would excite you that much. “Come on, hurry up, get it over with.”

“Hurrying is not good, Donna,” you said amused, only using your hand to stimulate her, making her protest with a snort and a strong tug on your hair. No, no, you weren't going to let the fun end so soon, but hey, you didn't want to make poor Donna suffer either. Her erection trembled anxiously as your lips surrounded it again, this time moving faster and faster, in a constant rhythm that elicited soft, discreet moans from the lady in black.

“That, that's it... I'm so close,” she murmured, following your movements with her hand buried in your hair. That was the signal for you to move away from her, for your mouth to abruptly leave her erection, causing Donna to protest by hitting her fist against the chapel wall.

“What the hell are you doing? Keep going, (Y/N),” she said nervously, annoyed by your attitude and the things you forced her to do. You ignored her words and grabbed her hand, leading her to the altar.

“Who's the rude one now, huh?” You ironized, putting your hand in your dress to let your underwear hang from one of your ankles while you sat on that small altar, next to the photographs and sermons of that sinister cult. “Come here, Donna.”

The doll maker breathed heavily, nervously, but she obeyed, approaching your outstretched legs and grabbing them tightly, digging her nails into your skin.

“I will never forgive you for this,” she hissed angrily, as her hips got closer and she positioned her erection at your wet and hungry entrance, making the moans now yours.

You murmured in satisfaction when you noticed her shaft slowly entering you, making your body stretch to let it pass, a sensation that you loved almost as much as what you had confessed a few minutes before.

“Wait, slow down, you're big, Donna,” you said when you saw how rushed she was. She looked at you, but you couldn't know how, that black veil hid her face, as well as her intentions.

“Does it hurt?” She asked, with a sinister tone, going deeper and deeper until she was completely inside of you. You shook your head, hissing at the feeling of your walls tightening around her prominent erection.

“It doesn’t, but you know that I need some time to...” You said amused, closing your eyes due to the sensations that her movements sent to your body.

“I already told you...” She said, grabbing your legs, spreading them further apart to gain more access when she began to move her hips. “…That we don't have time.”

“Oh, Donna,” you moaned, letting yourself be carried away by her erratic thrusts, by the sound of the objects on the altar shaking from the movement. “Yes, yes, keep going…”

She just moaned in response, keeping a steady pace, enjoying the way your body adapted to her seamlessly. It was a quick, improvised, passionate act, far from routine. You couldn't ask for more in a special day like that.

The possible dangers and risks of doing it in a place like that were clouded by the pleasure, by how Donna moved inside you, by how your advances had that effect on her. She was weak, susceptible to temptation. At that moment you were the tempting demon, and she was the poor sinner who let herself be carried away by your words.

That situation, combined with seeing the photograph of the stupid Mother Miranda trembling under Donna’s thrusts, was much better than you thought. An act of revenge on your part, an act of love that was superior to Miranda’s simple, confusing sermons.

“You're so tight, (Y/N),” Donna commented, letting you know that her modesty had disappeared the moment you made that confession. Donna was shy but her body made her say or do those kind of things when she was as excited as she was at the moment. You could feel it. You could feel her hard penis crying out for its release.

You smiled, biting your lip and reaching out your hand to take hers, so not to make this a purely carnal act. The love you felt was far superior to that pleasure and you knew that the lady in black loved to feel loved, to feel that for you it was more than just a funny time.

“I love you, Donna,” you whispered, moving your hips when she stopped, confused by your words, breathing hard.

“I love you too,” she whispered back, stopping digging her nails into your skin, forgetting what she was doing for a moment.

“Come on, keep going, I'm close,” you said, shaking your body to make her resume her movements, something she did hurriedly, but slower, romantically. Unexpected, impromptu sex was fine, but when Donna got romantic… That was something out of this world.

“Is that true, (Y/N)?” She asked, controlling the intensity of her movements, preventing her near release from preventing you from feeling yours. “Is it true that you like me to do it inside?”

You widened your eyes at those rude words coming out of her covered mouth. Her movements were becoming more precise, sliding smoothly inside you, making a feint to get out, which made you look at her with wide eyes.

“Yes, Donna, it’s true, please... I need it,” you said with a pleading tone, seeing her intentions, seeing what punishment she had thought for you.

“But what kind of punishment would that be?” Donna asked, amused, playing with her hips, continuing to give you that pleasure, that feeling that you wouldn't get what you wanted so much. “Maybe I should do it outside, don't you think? That's how you would learn.”

“You wouldn't dare,” you hissed, moving your hips closer until your body was completely on the edge of that sinister altar.

“I don’t know, it depends on you,” she said in a distracted voice, raising your legs and moving her hips elegantly, emphasizing the pleasure that her thrusts gave you.

“I'll be good, I promise,” you said pleadingly, noticing how tension began to form in your body. Just thinking about her release made yours even closer.

“Mm,” she murmured, increasing her speed, not being able to control the pleasure she felt. You noticed her erection trembling more and more, getting closer to filling you up.

When you knew the end was near, your body sent you one of the best orgasms you had ever experienced, releasing your legs from her grip and moving them in a disorderly manner, while your screams began to echo through that small chapel.

“How scandalous...” Donna said, suppressing her own moans as she felt your walls holding her tightly, preventing her from leaving your body.

Before you could respond, a loud moan followed yours. Donna leaned over you, releasing herself the way you wanted, inside of you. Her heat invaded your insides, caressing it in a wet and pleasant way, in a way that made your body cry out for another release, which did not take long to arrive, making you lean over her and hug her intensely while you felt her heat slid off your body, soaking your dress.

“It’s been good, huh?” You said amused, getting up from the altar, dedicating one last superb look at the priestess's portrait while Donna kept her shame in her dress, trying to catch her breath.

“We shouldn't have done that,” she murmured, shaking her head and picking up poor, inert Angie from the floor.

“That's what you say now. You loved it,” you joked, giving her a nudge, which made her head turn quickly towards you.

“Shut up. Don’t even mention it. I don't want to hear about this again, is that clear?” Donna said shyly, embarrassed, to which you rolled your eyes and ran after her, leaving the church.

“Should we take a walk?”

[swarvey]

paper rings | harvey x f!reader

summary -> you make a confession; harvey silently suffers in his thoughts. warnings -> panic attack + self deprecating thoughts wc -> 3159 tags -> @newtonfinnigan @minnieplier-blog @auroraa-o

a/n: sorry for the drag on this chapter everyone! mainly was struggling to find a song that matched my thoughts, but you're losing me became the clear answer.

to those who hoped harvey wouldn't mess things up, i hate to break this to you … but it had to be done </3 the angst begins.

what are your thoughts?? <33

ch. 8 | ch. 9 | ch. 10

paper rings masterlist

chapter nine: you're losing me -> "lose something, babe, risk something."

The first thing you noticed when your eyes opened was how your alarm wasn’t ringing, which immediately started your morning off on the wrong foot. The silence meant you had either forgotten to reset your alarm or you’d slept through it, both of which resulted in the same outcome — a late start to your day, which, inevitably, would lead to a late end. Annoying, sure, but it wasn’t like you hadn’t done it before. 

The second thing you noticed was the bed, because, well, it wasn’t yours.

This was new.

Your head was propped onto a pillow you didn’t recognize, though it still supported your neck just the way you liked. The blankets were nothing like the ones you brought from the city. They were a bit thinner, but much softer, and they smelled nothing like your laundry. They smelled—

Holy shit.

They smelled like Harvey, a mixture of the stupidly good cologne you told him to buy all those years ago and the laundry detergent he’d been using since college.

Suddenly, memories of the night before rushed your head — images of your lips crashing into his, your legs wrapped around his waist, his eyes screwed shut as his mouth fell open with pleasure — and you became painfully aware of the familiar shape already standing in the kitchen. The scent of freshly brewed coffee seemed to jumpstart your brain.

There’s no way I hooked up with Harvey. This has to be a dream, right? 

You pinched your arm as subtly as you could, biting down on your lip to cover up your wince. Nothing.

What could you even say to him? Surely, he would regret his decisions. You recalled how you stumbled upon him and Maru in the maze, how he protected her so easily at the thought of danger. It was clear he liked her. You’d heard rumors around town about how he had a massive crush on her when he first moved in.

But then you thought of the look he gave you when Blueberry appeared; how, for a split second, you swore he seemed lovestruck. Enough to render you speechless, at the very least. You knew it was a childish thought, that it was probably the lighting messing with your head. Nonetheless, how could you resist his offer for a drink? It wasn’t an uncommon thing to do between friends. Plus, it was known the two of you were more than acquaintances — you grew up together, and you would go as far to say Harvey was your platonic other half.

Though, you had a feeling it wasn’t as common to end the night naked and under the same covers with said platonic friend.

Slowly, you sat up and swung your legs over your side of the bed, shivering at the loss of warmth. You found most of your clothing easily, slipping everything on quickly as you searched for your missing top.

“Ah, are you . . . looking for your shirt?”

You froze, turning to see Harvey standing behind you with two mugs in his hand. “Yeah,” you replied softly. His knuckles were white from how tightly he was grasping the handles. “Have you seen it?” 

“It’s in the wash. I must’ve spilled some wine on you last night.” His voice was unnaturally delicate, as if he was scared of breaking you with his tone. “Y/N, listen, I think we should talk—”

“Can I borrow one of yours?” you blurted out, not wanting him to finish his sentence. “Until mine is clean, you know, I should go check on the farm as soon as I can. I’m already late.”

“Right,” he sounded slowly, setting the coffees in his hands down on the countertop. He looked at you with a gaze full of shame and sadness. “I take it you’re upset, then.” 

“Upset?” You couldn’t help the nervous laughter that left your mouth, crossing your arms after realizing you were still only in your bra. “Why would I be upset? I mean, you didn’t mean for any of that to happen last night, did you?”

“Wh-What?” 

Desperately trying to distract yourself, you made your way over to his closet, grabbing the first button-up you saw and throwing it over yourself. “It’s okay, Harvs,” you said, even though it really, really wasn’t. “I’ll spare you the apology, okay? It was my fault, I shouldn’t have pushed you. It was my mistake.” You paused, your heart pounding in your chest as you contemplated your next words. “You should know, though, um . . . I don’t actually see it that way. As a mistake, I mean. I wanted it. I’ve been wanting this,” you added, face flaming with embarrassment from your confession. “I like you, Harvey, a lot. I hope you can see past this, for our sake. I don’t want to lose you.”

Silence.

Fuck. Why did I say that? Harvey, for once in your life, say something.

You searched Harvey’s face for an answer. You typically prided yourself in being able to read him like a book, but for once, you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. His wide eyes stared at you in shock, his mouth just barely parted as if he wanted to say something, but couldn’t bring himself to.

You took that as enough of an answer. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, walking past him to find your shoes. “I’ll . . . I’ll go.”

You left with tears stinging your eyes, Harvey’s horrified expression burned into your head.

-

Harvey was a wreck.

Or, as Shane would say, a complete shitshow.

As soon as the door closed behind him, he realized what he had done, spinning around on his heel to catch up to you. 

He stopped with his hand on top of the knob. 

Would you even want to see him? Why would you, after he left you hanging like that? Hell, he hated himself for what he did, he couldn’t imagine how you felt.

No, he couldn’t bring himself to chase after you, he was too ashamed. Instead, he watched as hot tears fell down his face and onto the tile beneath him, a quiet panic taking over his body as his mind scrambled for an answer. Was that it? Did he just ruin a friendship he treasured more than anything, all because his stupid tongue couldn’t spit out the words he wanted? Would you ever speak to him again?

Before he could register what was going on, Harvey was curling up on the kitchen floor, his face buried in arms as he tried to calm his breathing. It reminded him of how you used to calm his panic attacks as a kid, usually when his parents would first leave him at Pelican Town.

“It’s okay, Harvey,” you said, giving him a tight hug. “They’ll be back soon.”

But would you?

His breaths were shaky and suddenly he was freezing, wrapping his arms around himself as he desperately tried to ground himself. Harvey hated panicking; he hated how powerless and weak it made him feel. It made all his insecurities come to fruition, bringing to life the countless insults he’d been hearing his entire life. 

You can’t do anything on your own, can you?

You’re just a loser who can’t stand up for himself.

You’re pathetic.

You’re going to end up alone.

Alone.

God, he felt lonely.

Then again, what’s new?

It took the town about two days to notice Harvey’s absence. When he heard someone knocking on his door, he expected to see his usual two friends, as he knew they’d been wondering about his strange behavior.

1 Unread Message from: Shane

Shane : u good, dude?

4 Unread Messages from: Elliott

Elliott : Are you alright?

Elliott : We haven’t seen you since Spirit’s Eve. Everyone’s wondering where you are.

Elliott : Did something happen with Y/N?

Elliott : Please call me, you’re worrying me a bit.

If the scenario had been any different, Harvey would’ve been a bit heart-warmed to see his friend’s concern. It was a testament to everything they’d been through, and the thought of them showing up at his doorstep was at least a bit comforting.

Upon opening the door, though, he was met with a letterman jacket and a deep scowl.

Harvey realized he hadn’t showered or changed and was still sporting his pajamas.

“I don’t know what the hell you said to her, man, but you fucked up,” Alex snapped, eyes narrowed into slits. “Haley was gonna come and tell you off, but I told Leah to hold her back. You’re welcome for that.”

“Thanks,” Harvey responded quietly, his voice weak and a bit scratchy from crying. “Can I help you?”

“You sure can,” the younger man shot back. “Talk to Y/N. She deserves better than this, asshole. Aren’t you supposed to be her best friend or something?” With that, he turned and quickly made his way down the stairs without looking back. Harvey sighed as he closed the door before heading back to bed. As much as it pained him to admit it, Alex was right. 

Thankfully, there weren’t any appointments to attend to, so he told Maru he wasn’t feeling too well and stayed in his apartment. He felt awful for lying, especially given his circumstances, but in that moment, he saw no other choice. He couldn’t stand the thought of everyone seeing him with bloodshot eyes that couldn’t seem to stop swelling with tears, your words echoing in his ears like some sick joke.

I wanted it. I’ve been wanting this.

Harvey had never been a superstitious man, but he was sure this was karma. 

I like you, Harvey, a lot.

How? Those were the last words he expected to leave your mouth when you got out of bed — he expected the nerves and was honestly surprised you weren’t more jittery. Part of him thought you would be angry at him, that you’d yell and call him an idiot; another part was prepared for panicked crying. A confession, though? He hadn’t been prepared for that, not at all, especially not after the past three seasons where Alex seemed to be smitten over you. Was it one-sided, then? Or had he read into that wrong as well? How much did the jock know that he didn’t?

Questions consumed Harvey as he miserably sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the wall with an empty feeling in his chest. He longed to see you again, and guilt was practically tearing him apart — he kept thinking back to how you’d looked at him before he left, so hurt and insecure and there was no one to blame but him. He’d done that, after swearing to take care of you all those years ago on your grandfather’s farm.

Fuck it.

Ignoring his unkept hair and the dark bags under his eyes, Harvey changed and threw on his coat before rushing out of his house, flying down the steps and into the clinic. He didn’t reply to Maru as she confusedly called his name; he didn’t give a second glance to Pierre or Caroline or whoever the hell else eyed him on the way to your farm; he didn’t even notice your loyal pet staring him down as he walked up the steps to the porch.

Why would he? There was only one person he needed to see.

With a deep breath and a heavy heart, Harvey knocked on your door, praying he could at least somewhat fix the mess he’d made.

-

Out of anyone on the planet, it was common knowledge you knew Harvey the best. You’d known green was his favorite color since the second day you talked to him, and you would always visit his favorite restaurant in Zuzu City whenever you thought of him, long after he moved away. You even made sure you were always the first one to text him “Happy Birthday” every year, no matter where the two of you were or what you were doing.

After everything you collected on Harvey over the years, though, nothing explained the words spilling out of Leah’s mouth as she explained to you what Elliott had told her.

“So, he’s been making it up?” you questioned quietly, unable to mask the hurt in your voice. “All because he’s actually liked me this entire time?”

“That’s what I gathered,” Leah replied, face grim. “I don’t know, Y/N, it sounded a bit complicated, and Elliott felt really bad for letting it get that far—”

“It’s fine.” Yeah, right. “Thanks for stopping by, Leah, I really appreciate it.”

“Of course. Please call me if you need anything.”

You didn’t move from your position at your dining table until the sun completely set. You’d been keeping more to yourself the last day or two to try and clear your head, especially after you left Harvey’s place so abruptly that morning. Initially, you convinced yourself you overreacted and that you hadn’t even given him a chance to think before he spoke. After all, it wasn’t like your confession to him was like every other one, unless going around and falling in love with their best friends was the new norm.

When Leah showed up in front of your door and explained to you the reality of the situation, though, you realized it was even deeper than you thought.

You’d never felt more conflicted in your life. Of course, half of you was happy to hear Harvey felt the same — apparently he’d felt that way for a while now, which was a whole other story — but the other half couldn’t believed he’d been lying to you the entire time. You honestly didn’t think he was capable of such an act. You were sure if you told this to college Harvey, he would faint on the spot. You knew you couldn’t fully blame him, seeing the stuff you pulled with Alex, but you had also made it clear on numerous occasions that you did not see him that way. You used to think he was super into Haley, anyway, but ever since she and Leah got together, you swore you noticed him beginning to question some parts of himself, too.

But that was beside the point. What mattered was Harvey lied to you for the first time in your life, and you couldn’t wrap your head around it.

Thankfully, you didn’t have to keep pondering alone.

Three gentle knocks echoed throughout your house, followed by a voice you didn’t realize you were beginning to miss.

“Y/N? Are you home?”

You rose from your chair and walked over to the front door, closing your eyes for a moment to gather yourself before swinging it open.

Dear Yoba, he looks like shit.

Harvey stood in front of you with his jacket sitting unevenly on his shoulders without a tie, looking more out of it than you’d ever seen him. Despite being a doctor, he was never very good at taking care of himself when things went downhill. 

You probably didn’t look much better, anyway.

“Y/N,” he sighed, as if he couldn’t believe you were real. “Can we talk?”

You looked at him silently for a few moments, memories flashing through your head like a photo album before landing on the look he gave you as you left his apartment.

“Leah told me,” you blurted, the same conflicting feeling rising in your chest. “Elliott spilled. She stopped by earlier and told me everything.”

He froze.

“So, you know? About Maru?” he asked, sounding numb. “How I made it up?”

“Yeah, and . . . how you feel about me.”

He paled, looking like he’d just seen a ghost. 

“I see.” He looked away for a moment before taking a small step forward, eyes filled with desperation as they met yours. “Please, let me explain—”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” you asked, crossing your arms. You ignored how cold the air was without a jacket. “Seriously, Harvs, I know you’re not stupid, and we tell each other everything.”

He shook his head as he pursed his lips in thought. “This was . . . different. Let’s go inside and talk.”

You didn’t move from your spot in the doorway. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” you softly replied. You felt a stab of guilt at the hurt in his eyes, but made yourself question him further. You needed to hear him, to have him prove you wrong. “Tell me. What made you hold back? I mean, how long have you even been feeling this way about me?”

His mouth opened, and then shut, his gaze moving to the ground. His hands were in his pockets, but you would bet all your gold that they were clenched tightly into fists.

You scoffed at his lack of an answer, a rising anger feeding your words. “Well? Say something, Harvey, now is not the time to have words stuck on your tongue,” you demanded, your voice beginning to waver with emotion. “The truth’s out, okay? There’s nothing to hide anymore, so you might as well be honest with me.”

“I—” He stopped himself, taking in a shaky breath. “I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember.” There was a hint of relief in his words as his shoulders fell.

Your eyes unexpectedly filled with tears at his words, and you silently begged them not to fall. “And those words you said in the saloon that night, they were about me?” You recalled the dreamy look in his eyes as he’d listed off all the traits he was enamored with about the girl he loved.

“Yes.” His voice was just barely above a whisper, and he still wouldn’t look at you. “Everything’s been about you.”

“Why didn’t you say that, then?” You shook your head. “You know what, forget about that. What about now? I told you I felt the same, didn’t I? Do something about it.”

“I can’t.”

You were in shock. “I don’t understand you,” you said, trying your best logic out his words. “I’m right here, literally right in front of you, saying I love you back. Is that not enough?” 

“It is,” he replied quickly, starting to reach a hand out to you before stopping. Finally, Harvey met your eyes, and he looked as if he was restraining himself, like he had a speech written to you in his head that he couldn’t bring himself to say out loud. “It’s more than enough, I promise. You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted this, wanted you .” 

“Then say it to my face!” The breeze sent chills down your body as you saw a tear fall down Harvey’s face. “Tell me it was worth it. Tell me you’ve been waiting for this moment, and that it all got fucked up but we’ll be okay.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, giving you one last, sad look before walking away. You could only watch helplessly as he left your farm, leaving you standing on the porch alone with the frigid air and a broken heart.

[taestarii]

✎ find a way - minho

[minho (tmr) x fem!reader]

synopsis - y/n runs into the maze after minho

warning! swearing outside of glader slang, mentions of death

is the tmr fandom still alive?? these movies were my whole childhood and i just rewatched the first one and needed to writeee

Something was wrong.

"Are they not here yet?" The entire glade was standing by the door waiting for Minho and Alby to arrive. They were never this late before, and it was almost sun down. The doors would be closing soon.

"Are they going to make it?" The greenie, Thomas, asked.

"They're gonna make it." Newt said.

"What if they don't?"

"They're gonna make it."

The sun was dipping lower below the walls with every agonizing minute. Your leg bounced anxiously, checking every shadow down the corridor for signs of Minho. The worst thoughts started to fill your head. What if you really lost you best friend? What if the person that means the most to you is lying on the concrete of this god-forsaken maze fighting for his life?

Newt's reassuring hand on your shoulder did very little to reassure you.

Another minute passed and the gladers were started to lose hope. They we're getting restless, some were already leaving. You knew, you just knew he was still alive in there. Your Minho was a fighter, fighter until the last second.

"There!" Someone pointed. Everyone held their breath, searching the shadows. Minho emerged, dragging himself along with every last ounce of willpower. Everyone erupted into cheers of encouragement, but you knew something was up.

"Is that Alby?"

He was slung, limp, over Minho's shoulder. They weren't gonna make it.

The ground started to shake, the aching rumble of the stone sounded as the doors inched closer.

"No!" you cried, as if your screams would reverse the doors. "Minho, you can do it!" You saw the pained expression cross his face at your voice, he knew he wasn't going to make it.

The doors were on the verge of closing as you took a step forward. This door was the barrier between your life and your death and you were right on the edge, deciding your fate.

Your time was running out as your heart acted faster than your head. The boys screamed after you as you pulled away from the gladers, ripping away from your life and throwing yourself into inevitable death as you ran through the narrow opening towards darkness. Towards your fate. Towards Minho.

You barely made it, collapsing on the floor as the doors shut behind you. "Congratulations, you just killed yourself."

"What?"

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Y/n?" Minho looked up at you with an unreadable expression. You stood up and dusted off your pants before taking in your surroundings. It just clicked how utterly stupid you are. You ran into a dark maze you've never even stepped foot in before, not to mention no one has ever spent a night in the maze and lived to tell the story. You must have been batshit crazy to run after Minho, that, or crazy in love.

"Minho, what do we do?" You asked, running your hand over some ivy that decorated the wall. It felt oddly.. fake.

"Nothing." He replied, letting his head fall.

"Are you serious?" You asked. You waited for him to give any sign that he was just joking, and that he had a plan.

"You did this to yourself, Y/n." He wasn't.

"I ran after you, Minho."

"No one asked you to do that." His voice was raising, yet he stayed calm and unwavering.

"You can't just give up, Minho!"

"Then what am I supposed to do, Y/n?" He looked up at you with tears in his eyes, his voice getting shakey. "I don't know what to do, Y/n. I'm scared. I'm scared, and lost, with no plan and no chance of surviving." He bowed his head again. "You ran after me and now were both here, both dead. You're dead because of me."

Your breath slowed as you approached him. "Living won't be living without you. We're not dead, and I will do everything in my power to get us through the night and out of the maze." You kneeled beside him and drew in a deep breath. "I ran after you because I love you, Minho. You being in here alone sounded like a nightmare, and I couldn't-" he cut you off by taking your face in his hands and pressing his lips to yours.

You felt the pressure of three years in the glade, three years by Minho's side every day and three years of liking him wash away in one kiss. "We'll have plenty more time to do that once we get out of here." Minho said, standing up and offering his hand.

[ariiadnes]

ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ ESCAPISM

you may be able to prolong your life , but it's not like you can escape your inevitable death , is it?

❧ ꒰ leon kennedy × resident evil 4 remake ꒱ ╰┈ ✎ ・・・ repost from my primary writing blog. reader is a separate companion / not meant to replace ashley.

( 1 ) : LOST LITTLE LAMBS, WELCOME HOME.

YOU ARE IN AN UNBELONGING, BODY IN LIMBO, HEART BURSTING AT THE SEAMS , TORN BETWEEN HOPE & DESPAIR. you are so far from home, you lonely little lambs, minds on the brink of corruption, blood spilled and meant to be stained with eternal damnation. you venture further into doom, surroundings crumbled into debris and desolation, places once full of life and vigor and a brewing evil now withered into a type of dead you have killed over and over again.

you are so far from home. something greater and something more sinister than nostalgia embeds itself in your existence, sinks itself in the crevices of a hauntening. everywhere you go -- zombie after zombie, death of the undead, every shot fired, every inch of a silver blade covered in red, you hear it, these whispers among the rot : welcome home, welcome home, welcome home, WELCOME HOME.

you wonder if you are losing your mind amidst the violence. in the quiet, it is easier to lose control, fall back into the rabbit hole you once desperately crawled out of before. you inhale, feel the dreadful air bring a heaviness into your lungs, threaten to crush a racing heart.

you ignore the feeling. some things are better that way.

you wrap leon's arm with bandages, movements delicate as to prevent further pain; your expression is somber, mind deep in thought, so you fail to notice the way leon looks at you, fail to notice how he calls your name in that firm yet somehow gentle tone.

"something tells me that you aren't thinking about me right now."

you blink. the trance is broken. you finish tending to him, and instead, your hand slides down and rests on his. it's almost instinct that he turns his hand over, grabs yours, thumb grazing over your knuckles in silent consolation. he leans in to take a better look at you, check if you're wounded-- and it's only just the slightest bit but somehow already too much.

"i'm not, sorry." he smiles wryly at your words. you run your fingers through his hair, find some comfort in this rare respite, force yourself to express the worries that run rampant. "i have a bad feeling... just--" a pause. "something is going to go wrong, leon. something bad is going to happen and--"

"and we'll survive it."

it is almost fascinating -- the shift of tenderness that hardens into resolve in those blue eyes. you almost feel a semblance of safety, but a paranoia, a guilt, accompanies it, engulfs it entirely until it is nothing in existence. gone, void, and leon knows this.

"look, nothing ever goes as planned. you know how it goes." he leans closer, and maybe there is something of reminiscent sorrow that lingers, and maybe he remembers raccoon city and the brutality of death there. "i can't promise nothing bad will happen, but i can promise that we'll make it out of here. both of us."

you nod. the numbness sinks in, one foot in the grave.

you are so far from home.

( 2 ) : LOST LITTLE LAMBS, YOU ARE MEANT FOR THE SAVING.

YOU ARE IN AN UNBELONGING, BODY IN LIMBO, HEART BURSTING AT THE SEAMS , TORN BETWEEN SURVIVAL & DEATH. you are so far from home ; the air becomes more suffocating as you continue forth. the weight of each step becomes heavier. you almost wonder if your footprints in the mud will become the last fragment of yourself, should you get lost in the dark.

the hollows of the earth you step on become a walking grave. it is a very tragic thing that you cannot see the crimson that seeps into the roots of her tragedies, this place corrupted with a madness of some higher being.

something in your chest hurts. it burns, almost -- a sensation akin to terror, and you have almost forgotten that feeling, last felt anything remotely similar when you first learned what it meant, killing another for the sake of survival, dead or undead. you force the calm, anchor it yourself, but you cannot see in this building, the staleness of the air suffocating.

you linger behind leon, keep to yourself. you should be stronger than this, but something in your gut, your instinct, tells you that something bad is coming. it is coming and it's coming soon and you've got to get him out of here, because better him than you and--

in the quiet, leon picks up on your breathing, senses a shift in the air -- a panic, a trembling, but there's something else he can't quite figure out, something else that isn't part of you. something approaches, silent, so he turns on his heel, hardly able to make you out in the dimness of this cramped room.

something is coming. something bad is coming. it is coming and it's coming soon and it's coming now. you hear nothing, but you feel it : this ominous presence, this dreadful dance with death and something that will infect your bloodstream, try to make you something that you're not.

SOMETHING IS COMING.

neither of you can think, fail to move in time from an omniscient being. the last thing either of you remember is a loud chaos, the destruction of a temporary safekeeping, then the collision of your bodies, then nothing.

nothing.

( 3 ) : LOST LITTLE LAMBS, IT HAS BEGUN. I HOPE YOU'RE READY.

YOU ARE IN AN UNBELONGING, BODY IN LIMBO, HEART INFECTED WITH A DEPRAVITY , TORN BETWEEN SURVIVAL & DEATH. you are so far from home, but this is where you are meant to be, you foolish little lambs. you should know your place, know that you are destined to be at the altar, worship in your veins, adoration drowned in black.

you wake up with an ache. when you come to, you are surrounded by a familiar warmth and comfort, realize that leon is holding you, arms supporting your frame. you have seen fear in those eyes too many times before, but there is something so visceral and heart wrenching this time. your vision blurs for a moment, head throbbing so violently that you can't quite make out what he says to you, but you understand the urgency in his voice.

"--with me?"

"leon, sorry, i--" you can hardly hear yourself. you feel the way his muscles tense as he pulls you closer. "hold on, i-- it's okay, it's okay-- i'm with you." you shut your eyes tight, feel that recognizable yet painful sensation in your chest.

you open your eyes, see the horror in your visage reflected by a cool blue. there's a relief to be found somewhere, if you looked hard enough, but you feel guilty for worrying him so much, so you look away, pat his arm gently in silent request for him to let go.

"you're with me." he tells you, breathless.

you nod. there's a lump in your throat.

"always with you."

there is something heavy in your chest and you know it is not grief. you know what that feels like. this is different. unnatural. you wonder if he feels it, too.

"how are you feeling? you okay?"

"yeah. yeah, i'm okay. i'm okay if you are."

neither of you have enough clarity to understand what happened-- to deem something as strange or out of place is rare nowadays, given both of your histories and roles in these catastrophes. but what need, what purpose is there to attack and flee? it would have been easy to rid of both of you, bring an end to the disruption to this corruption.

something is wrong.

( 3.5, REVERSED ) : LOST LITTLE LAMBS, A FALSE SAVIOR WILL DEEM THIS AS CORROSION, TELL YOU THAT THERE IS A WAY OUT. BUT THEY ARE SIN THEMSELVES, AREN'T THEY? BE CAREFUL.

YOU ARE IN AN UNBELONGING, BODY IN LIMBO, HEART INFECTED WITH A DEPRAVITY , TORN BETWEEN SURVIVAL & DEATH. you are so far from home, but the reluctant acquaintance you find company with is neither unwelcomed or welcomed.

"las plagas, huh? some vacation."

luis's words echo in your mind. a parasite made for the end of all things, set to blossom, devour, destroy, and it's in your heart. there's a small inkling of hope-- something like that, you guess, had it not been for the former umbrella researcher's roundabout words.

you lean your head against the wall, shoulder to shoulder with leon. the taste of blood lingers on your tongue.

"some vacation." you repeat those words, mind in a fog. "some vacation."

he takes your hand in his, all too aware that his other one is stained with his own blood. no pep talk this time, you muse. that's okay. the silence is enough for now. even with a wavering resolve, you both know that this story is yours and that there is always an ending to reclaim.

"you with me, leon?"

you rest your head against his shoulder. he smiles, bittersweet. there will be an end to this, and it will be a good one. you've got a future together, after all.

"always with you."

( 4 ) : LOST LITTLE LAMBS, THIS IS MERCY. SALVATION. WON'T YOU GIVE IN?

YOU ARE IN AN UNBELONGING, BODY IN DARK WATERS, HEART INFECTED WITH A DEPRAVITY , TORN BETWEEN SURVIVAL & DEATH. you are so far from home and you are closer to losing yourself forever. you can feel it, that numbness and burning in your chest, in your heart. in your dreams, you find yourself drowning, surrounded by figures cloaked in black. unfamiliar.

when you dream, leon never leaves your side. call it love, call it fear, call it cowardice, but he holds you tightly, the shelter you have found a temporary haven. in the dimness, he makes out the foreign lines that run haphazard on his skin. a grimace.

there is an malevolence and hatred flowing in his veins, but such a thing does not exist in his heart. the black flows through his body, consumes the red entirely, spreads its parasite and curse. it grows more and more, and he almost wonders if this is how his story will end. his jaw clenches. he shakes his head, knows he cannot humor such thoughts. he has too many people to save, too many people he cares for. it can't happen again. not this time.

his vision distorts. everything becomes heavy. he is so tired. the taste of rust overwhelms his senses, suffocates him. maybe he is underwater too, drowning just like you are.

time is running out. he has to hurry.

it can't happen again. not this time.

( 4.5, REVERSED ) : LOST LITTLE LAMBS, TIME IS NEARING. I HOPE YOU'RE READY.

YOU ARE IN AN UNBELONGING, BODY IN DARK WATERS, HEART INFECTED WITH A DEPRAVITY , TORN BETWEEN SURVIVAL & DEATH. you are so far from home and everything you know, everyone you know. something poisonous engulfs you, takes over your mind and body whole. the visions, the whispers-- you shudder, feel that cool metal against your skin.

no, this isn't right-- you won't call it betrayal because it's not, because you can't be betrayed by someone you don't know, even if leon is the one who holds the knife against your throat. how terribly wretched this is, lover against lover, minds plagued with a reckoning. the virus continues its course, black adorning his countenance. it's coming. he is running out of time.

this isn't him. it's not. you know leon, know he would never put you in harm's way. you know the cause of this, recall the times you felt you weren't yourself, lost in the chaos of las plagas, mind set ablaze, a superficial deity echoing terror in your soul. you know leon, know this isn't him. you don't call this betrayal.

you are too afraid to speak, feel like one word will lead to demise. speak and you lose. stay silent and you lose. move, you lose. stay still, you lose. you cannot win here. there is no good ending, no optimal end game, no way around it unless he can restore himself.

you are helpless and weak and you cannot even save the person you love.

your mouth runs dry. his hand trembles. you feel him regain himself, barely, but the blade meets flesh anyway, draws the slightest amount of blood. part of you hopes, prays, that maybe the sight of you being harmed is what will bring him back, but it doesn't. the knife digs deeper. something trails down your neck. you shiver, instinctively take a step back, his name falling from your lips without a single thought, pleading. one step back, another forward.

you cannot distance yourself from this violence. you don't know what to do -- draw your gun, unsheathe your knife, act like you'll hurt him if he continues? would they care if leon died? would they care if you died? you are simply part of the flock, after all. your deaths are meaningless. you do not know if pain would even snap him out of this. you can both push it to the limits, wait and see what happens, but it doesn't matter, not if they see you as another useless puppet.

the possibilities are both endless and limited. something warm continues to run down your skin, leave a faint crimson in its wake. it's now or never ; there's no winning with inaction. another step back. you draw your gun, aim it down at the ground -- somewhere far in the distance, and shoot, once, twice. it's stupid. it'll draw attention. you can't think of anything else though, adrenaline sending your thoughts in a spiral.

it works.

a sudden wild bewilderment in blue eyes-- he jerks away from you, then you hear the knife clatter against concrete. you let out that breath you've been holding for too long, unsure if it is relief or some semblance of hurt that decorates your features.

leon is quick to put the pieces together, sees the wound on your neck. that was him. it was him. he hurt you, he--

"don't think about it. it wasn't you." you grab his wrist, ignore the way he reflexively tries to pull back in possibility that he could bring harm to you once more. "we have to go and we have to go now."

so you do. you run in search of safety together, but there is something that shatters the soul, breaks what little is left of the hearts that cling to humanity.

you run. you keep running. together.

( there is nothing to grant forgiveness for. there is no need for apologies, but you hear them endlessly, anyway. he is careful to tend to the wound, but his hands shake. his hands shake, so you hold them until they still. until he knows you're okay. )

( 5 ) : LOST LITTLE LAMBS, YOU HAVE TURNED DOWN GOD'S WILL, REFUSED YOUR OWN STORY. WHAT WILL YOU MAKE OF THIS?

YOU ARE IN A BELONGING, BODY IN DARK WATERS, HEART INFECTED WITH DEPRAVITY , TORN BETWEEN SURVIVAL & DEATH. you are closer than ever to being lost, but you are closer than ever to being found. your lungs burn, your limbs ache. the exhaustion weighs you down, but you and leon support each other, fend off the hallucinations that threaten to break you. you're underwater again, drowning, but the surface is right there, so close--

you cough up blood, wind knocked out of you by the ravaging plague. leon is on the verge of vanquish, but he fights through it, knows that your story together is yours and only yours to reclaim, so he pushes through, even if his body hurts so terribly much. he's so close-- there is no stopping now. luis's lab is nearby.

he's too close. he cannot stop now, even if everything turns into a haze, even if the darkness nearly takes him. so he picks you up, movements clumsy and weak, silently apologizes when he hears your muffled cries of pain.

when you reach the lab, leon rushes to put you in the chair. you do not know what will come next. your lips part in protest, but he is quick to shush you, tell you to save your strength. the parasite inside you lies dormant, but it will wake soon, and then you will be gone, lost forever. you don't have time, but neither does he.

you are afraid. you feel yourself going in and out of consciousness, eyes heavy, your head lulled to the side. you close your eyes, feel leon's hand on yours.

you are so afraid. it will hurt. you know this.

it does. it does. it does it does it does IT DOES.

( 5.5, ENDGAME ) : WHAT WAS LOST IS ALWAYS FOUND. YOU ARE CLOSER TO HOME THAN YOU THINK.

YOU ARE IN A BELONGING, BODY ABOVE THE TIDES, HEART CLEANSED FROM PLAGUE , BEATING , ALIVE. you are closer to home than you think, the pain spread through your body slowly fading. you are more tired and more awake than ever, the pain in your chest obsolete. you are safe, and so is he.

leon is knocked out cold, entirely still as he lies in the chair. had it not been for the subtle rise and fall of his chest, you would have thought to check his pulse. you rub your eyes, try to fend off the fatigue. you may be safe, but you are only free from the virus. still, you do not wake him, know that you both have been running on fumes.

you are not entirely sure how you managed to switch places with him ; your muscles ache in protest. surely you will be sore tomorrow. you smile weakly, rest your forearms on the arm of the chair. you put your head down, take a deep breath. you should wake him, start running. you should be going. but you are so god damn tired, and you cannot think. you cannot bear to do so. not right now.

you close your eyes, fall into a slumber in which you do not drown.

you wake up with an ache. this all feels so very familiar.

"--with me?"

when you come to, you raise your head, greeted by the sight of leon's warm gaze. he smiles when you sit straight up, shake your head as if it'd rid of the grogginess.

"good morning, sunshine. are you with me?"

you do not answer at first, though you both know exactly what will be said. you scoot a little closer, a faint worry in your eyes as you study him intently. the black has faded entirely, all signs of infection gone. you glance at the computer, confirmation made by the notification that pops up on the screen. still--

your hand trembles ever so slightly as you reach out for him, but part of you is scared that maybe it's wrong, maybe there's a chance that things could still go south.

"it worked. i'm okay." leon's words are gentle and reassuring ; he grabs your hand, leans into your touch in hopes that it will ease the panic that threatens to bloom in your heart. "it'll take more than that to get rid of me, remember? you're always with me."

something almost chokes you-- everything you have ever endured, whether good or bad, everything you have ever swallowed in attempt to keep it somewhere unheard, unnoticed. your eyes sting, but you nod anyway.

"yeah." you whisper, voice shaking. "i'm always with you, leon."

he studies you, careful, brows furrowed. he squeezes your hand : a desperate desire for reassurance, more for his own sake than yours.

"i've got you." he tells you, and you've heard those words so many times before, always knowing them to be true. "i've got you. we'll make it out of here."

[heliads]

ok so… i’m totally obsessing over Newt from TMR rn but i’m not sure if u still write for him🤧 but if u do i was thinking maybe something like during bonfire night the reader has had too many special drinks from Gally, accidentally confesses to Newt and lists everything she loves about him and then Newt gets all flustered and stuff (he’s so cute omg) but the reader is too drunk to go back to their own hammock so then Newt carries reader to their hammock but ends up sharing a hammock and then the reader doesn’t remember anything the next morning and then i’ll let u decide the rest😭

gally's special brew as a plot device >> it will always be famous to me

masterlist

In roughly thirty seconds, you’re going to reach a milestone you never thought possible. You’ve been waiting for this for a while now, counting down the days and hours and minutes like you were going to find yourself anywhere other than right here when your self-imposed timer went off. All you’ve got to remember the date is a memory, but given the fact that you only recall so many of those, it was easier to place than one would expect.

An alarm goes off across the Glade, ear-piercing klaxons rattling off of the high stone walls surrounding you. The rest of the boys around you start to amble towards the source of the noise, the Box newly arrived from who knows where, but you stay put for the time being, just breathing in the moment.

One blond boy next to you, your closest friend and favorite person here, nudges you in the leg with his foot. You’re both sitting in the unruly grass, ignoring the press of the green strands against your arms and calves. You have a habit of always wanting to keep him within reach.

“Why aren’t you racing towards the Box?” He asks.

You tilt your head to the side, staring up at the sky. Robin’s egg blue dappled with clouds, it’s the only pocket of space outside the Walls that you’ll likely ever know. “Today marks one year since I showed up here for the first time.”

Newt whistles through his teeth. “Shoot, already? Feels like time has flown. I swore you came up just last month.”

“No, I’ve been keeping count. Twelve months and I’m still here.”

Newt winces. He made a promise to you at the very start that he would get you out in six months, then, when that deadline came and went, he lengthened it to a year. The oath was only sworn because you were nervous about this place when you were still a Greenie and unused to the idea of living and dying here in endless repetition. You’re no happier about that fact now, but you are more used to it, at least.

“Well,” he starts off, “maybe you’re still here, yeah, but Minho and the other Runners are getting closer to finding a way out, I swear. Minho says they’re this close to having mapped the whole thing, then we’ll have an escape route for certain. Just give it another year. You won’t even notice the time passing, I promise.”

It’s kind of Newt to try to distract you again, even though you both know by this point that it’s useless. Minho is getting closer to traveling every pathway of the Maze, yes, but what Newt isn’t mentioning is how little the Keeper of the Runners actually is to finding something useful. Whenever you ask Minho what he’s learned about how to get out of here, he only ever comes up with a blank slate.

Still, harping on that doesn’t exactly make for a good time, so you’ll let yourself play along with Newt’s idea of your inevitable escape from this place for now. He’s losing hope even faster than you, even if he doesn’t tell anyone. It would be good to keep up the pretense.

You eye his leg, the one with the limp, and nod. “Yeah, next year for sure.”

Newt sits in silence for a moment or two longer, then stands up carefully, offering a hand to you. “Come on, then. We’ve got a Greenie to stare at and stuff to unpack from the Box, no time for musing. Besides, we’ve all got to get ready for the bonfire later tonight.”

You accept his offer of help, and when you’re on your feet once more, your smile is back. “I forgot about the bonfire! Oh, that’ll make everything better. Always does.”

Newt grins. “You’re just saying that because it’s the one time a month Alby will let all of us get proper wasted and skip work for the afternoon.”

“Of course I am,” you laugh, “I want to have fun! Is that such a terrible thing?”

Newt slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side as the two of you walk lopsidedly over to the Box opening. The other Gladers have already crowded around the opening, but there’s enough space for the two of you to peer in at the befuddled newcomer inside if you squeeze past a few Track-Hoes.

“No,” he murmurs later, once you’ve almost forgotten what you were talking about, “I don’t think it is.”

Damn right. You’ve looked forward to each Bonfire Night of your full year here with just as much excitement as everyone else. The soaring flames, the delighted shrieks and shouts of your friends, plus Gally’s special brew, everything about the celebration is a joy to behold. You can watch Gally kick the asses of people who should have known better to challenge him, or observe the Greenie as he tries to figure out his name.

Or, better yet, you can sit in a circle of your friends and tell jokes that get progressively worse as the lot of you get progressively more tipsy and tired. The night wears on, the stars burn themselves out above you just trying to catch a glimpse of your magnificently roaring fire, and all is well, as much as it can be around here.

At some point, you look up and you’re sitting alone with Newt towards the outskirts of the gathering. You don’t remember quite when that happened, but you’ve refilled your glass enough times that the memory loss sort of makes sense. Does anything here, though? No, not at all. Not ever.

Newt’s grinning over at you, saying something that you have to focus extra hard to hear. “Are you lucid again?”

“Not entirely,” you beam up at him, “Have I had a lot to drink tonight?”

Newt grimaces. “Probably more than you should have. You’ll be regretting it tomorrow, I can promise you that. Sorry for not cutting you off earlier.”

You shake your head a little too wildly and have to pause for a moment to blink the stars out of your eyes before continuing. “No, that’s not your fault. You don’t have to watch out for me all the time.”

Something almost like hurt plays upon Newt’s features, mixing with the warm glow of the firelight, and it makes you rush to say something so he stops looking so unhappy. “Only if you don’t want to watch out for me, that is. I like having you around. Makes me feel better.”

“Really?” Newt asks, amused.

“Really,” you confirm happily. “You’re my favorite person here by far. Minho teases me about that a lot, actually. He says I should soldier up and just tell you that, but he can’t bully me anymore, because I’m talking about it right now, aren’t I? He’s right, though, I do like you. Oh– I was thinking, Newt, and– and I think I’m okay, staying in the Glade forever, if I’ve got you here with me. You’re the best thing about this place.”

You hadn’t meant to ramble on like that, but the words came easily enough from your throat, and Newt seemed like he really wanted to hear what you were saying, so you went ahead and let him. 

Newt sits for a few minutes in stunned silence before clearing his throat a little too loudly. “Um. Well, I think you should get to bed. Like, now. I think you’re drunk.”

“No,” you protest, “well, I am drunk, yeah, but I’m not just saying that because I’m drunk. I mean it, Newt. I really do.”

Newt’s expression softens. “I know you did, sweetheart. Let’s go to bed anyway, though. I think some rest would be good for you.”

“Alright,” you decide. 

Newt stands up. You try to start walking back with him, but your feet refuse to cooperate on the uneven ground and you end up tripping more than you should. Eventually, Newt laughs quietly and picks you up, easily carrying you back to your hammock. He tries to set you down but you’re seized by the overwhelming panic that he’ll leave you here alone and you complain vehemently.

He’s still in a good temper, though (is it not wonderful to be needed?) and instead shifts so he’s lying down in his hammock instead, you on his stomach. You whisper goodnight to him and he says goodnight back, then a beat and a half later, did you really mean what you said? About me, that is? About how you–

You can’t really pick up what he’s saying, though. He was right about you needing rest, because the gentle swaying of the hammock and the soft beat of his heart under your head is just enough to send you off to sleep. Darkness pulls you under in an instant, and you’re rocked away to the tune of the crickets chirping somewhere in the distance and Newt still mumbling questions against the top of your head.

You can sense your hangover looming like dark clouds on the horizon, signaling a true storm of a day about to wreck you for good, but for now it’s just in the distance, not quite yours, not yet. The terrible feeling is warded off by an odd sense of calm and quiet. It’s warm now, warm and comfortable in your hammock, which is strange. Usually, you wake up cold on mornings in the Glade, but not today. It makes you want to snuggle down further, push off consciousness just a little longer.

Then your hand connects with something that isn’t one of your few allotted threadbare blankets or the knots of your hammock, something soft, like skin. A hand, one that isn’t yours. Your eyes fly open and– well, you don’t remember this, but you’re not exactly going to complain.

Newt is lying next to you, still asleep. You are curled up beside him, must have fallen asleep with your head on his chest. One of his hands is just touching yours, the other is cupping the back of your head to pull you closer to him.

Immediately your brain splits into two warring factions. One half wants to run away quickly, figure out what happened and why you’re here. This isn’t what you’re supposed to be doing, you know. Shuck, Alby would have a fit if he saw the two of you like this. Probably enough to throw you in the Slammer for a couple of hours.

The other part of yourself wants to stay here forever, to close your eyes and make Newt wake up first and handle it. You haven’t felt peace like this in a while. It’s just the two of you, soft and sweet and mostly folded over in sleep. Why should you disturb this? Disturb him? He’ll just be unhappy if you wake him and force him to realize that you’re here. Probably. Unless he’s the one who let you sleep in his hammock, which is more likely and far more terrifying.

Your issue is solved when Newt shifts slightly, rocking the hammock, and wakes up at last. You quickly shut your eyes and feign sleep, but judging by the movement of his chest as he laughs, you were caught in the act.

“I know you’re awake, Y/N.” He says.

You reluctantly open your eyes. “Maybe. By any chance, do you know why I’m here and not in my own hammock?”

You might just be kidding yourself, but you swear something almost like disappointment crosses Newt’s face. “You were pretty drunk last night,” he says at last, “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

It’s a decent explanation, but that doesn’t explain why he’s looking at you like he really, really wants you to remember something about the events of the most recent Bonfire Night. “What did I do last night?” You ask slowly.

Newt shakes his head. “You didn’t do anything, trust me.”

“Then what did I say? You’re looking at me like you’re going crazy.”

Newt furrows his brows in a moment of indignation. “What? I’m not– I’m not looking at you like that. Anyway, you might have said a thing or two. Maybe.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “Newt, if you keep withholding information from me, I’m going to rock the hammock so much you fall on the ground. What happened?”

He has the audacity to laugh at your threat, as if you weren’t completely serious about it. “Alright, alright. You might have told me that you liked me.”

Your sense of terror, which had faded briefly after Newt woke up, is back in full force. “I did what?”

“You told me you liked me,” Newt repeats, “and I thought– well, you were drunk, so I thought you didn’t mean it, but–”

“I did mean it,” you whisper.

Newt’s eyes are wide when you dare to risk a glance back up at him. “Oh.”

That’s a bad oh. Has to be. You move to get up and try to run away before he can look at you like that anymore, but Newt tightens his grip around your waist, forcing you to lie back down. “Wait, wait. Don’t go. I like you too.”

Now it’s your turn to be surprised. “You do?”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling, “Have for a while. Minho teases me about that too, by the way. No wonder he seems so frustrated about it, he has to listen to both of us moping around even though we both like each other.”

You laugh. “That would be annoying, yes. He has to be happy now, though, we finally told each other about it.”

“That we did,” Newt says, and you can feel the upturned crescent of his lips as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

Maybe you spent a whole year in the Glade without ever seeing rescue. Maybe another year will pass without anything, or maybe five, or ten. Maybe you’ll never leave at all. Still, you’ve got your reasons to be happy after all. They start with him.

maze runner tag list: @rogueanschel, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @mayfieldss, @hiya-itsamber, @gods-fools-heroes, @hope92100, @w1shes43, @23victoria, @ilovexavierthrope, @fadedver

[lostloveletters]

Love Like an Ache in the Jaw (John Brady x OC)

Summary: Kate "Woody" Woodward isn't quite sure what to make of love when she's finally got it, presented to her with unwavering devotion by the freshly promoted Captain John Brady.

Note: This is an expanded version of With a Rose Between Your Teeth (Is That Blood in Your Mouth for Me?) Title comes from Sweet Dreams, TN by The Last Shadow Puppets. Also, a million thanks to Kara @karasnonsense99 for letting me ramble about these two all the time ilysm🖤 Do not interact if you're under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Inevitable historical and technical inaccuracies. Depictions of blood. Sexually explicit content involving oral sex (m. receiving).

The shining double bars on his collar said it all, catching the sunlight as he walked over to her on the tarmac. Unprecedented pride bubbled up in Woody’s stomach at the sight of him, and for a careless moment, she allowed it to boil over into a congratulatory kiss on his cheek. John didn’t protest, his hands on her waist, kissing her as best as he could with his lips pulled into a smile. Whispered about going out that night to celebrate. Not alone. Never alone, but typically with good enough company that she didn’t mind.

They were joined by most of his crew, guys she’d gotten to know well enough by virtue of hanging around John, but she managed to talk Darla into coming along when Holly declined her invitation, a regretful tiredness in her smile when she insisted Woody go out without her. But her fellow mechanic was fun, if not a little rowdy—perfect for a night of celebrating.

In all honesty, the night panned out to be a bit tamer than she’d been expecting. She zoned out from Hoerr and Hambone’s argument over whether Rita Hayworth or Betty Grable had better legs. John didn’t hesitate to input his preference for Hayworth, something Woody occasionally teased him about, asking if she should dye her hair red just to watch his ears burn the same color. Always muttered something about liking her the best, taking her into his arms and kissing her as if she needed the reassurance she wouldn’t lose him to the likes of the bombshell actress.

No, the conversation being held behind them caught her attention, a man musing at the billiards table over finding someone to play eight-ball with, having just been paid and ready to supplement his payday. Her fingers twitched as she brought her cigarette to her lips, inhaling as her mind raced. She’d played plenty stateside, back when she was still going by Kate.

Woody wasn’t sure what the hell he meant by quid, but her serpentine confidence slithered over the necessity of understanding exactly how much was on the table. When the car business was slow, hustling pool had been her next best bet. Good enough that she was sure even after two years of eschewing such habits, she would come out on top. 

She turned around in her seat, and before she could stop herself, said, “I’ll play you.”

An RAF pilot and his buddies. They shared incredulous looks, snickering amongst themselves until one chuckled, “That would hardly be a fair game.”

“Double it.”

“I beg your pardon?” he asked.

The corners of her lips twitched, and she snuffed out her cigarette in the ashtray in the middle of the table as she stood up. “Whatever you’re betting, double it, if you’re so sure.”

The voices at the table fell to a hush, and she felt John’s fingers brush the small of her back through her blouse, as if to give her an out if she wanted. Too late. She let the beast rear its ugly head, forked tongue and all, as she stared down the pilot. He relented, holding out the pool cue for her. Probably figured it’d be an easy win. Line his pockets with her misguided cockiness.

Woody grabbed the cue. Watched with curiosity as they set up the rack, placing the eight ball at the foot instead of in the middle. Licked her lips as she realized there may have been differences in the way the British played than how she was used to, but she wasn’t about to betray her own ignorance by asking what exactly the rules were.

Instead, with a deceptively bored-sounding self assurance asked, “So am I stripes or solids?”

He considered her for a moment. “Stripes.” Motioned to the table. “Ladies first.”

She scoffed, cooly rolling her eyes at his false chivalry as she leaned over to break the rack. Spared a glance at John, his arms folded across his chest, watching her with an intensity that nearly sent a shiver down her spine. She hit the cue ball, sending stripes and solids across the felted table.

Standing up straight, she followed the striped ten as it rolled into a corner pocket. Missed the next one, but so did the pilot, and it was her turn again. She made up for her sloppy performance with nine and twelve in another corner pocket. 

Woody stalked around the table and leaned over in front of John, making a bit more of a show than was necessary in shifting her hips to make the hit. Fourteen in the middle pocket. Looked over at him, the slightest smile on her face when they locked eyes. Everything else faded into the background, white noise and static compared to the way he was looking at her. 

Acutely aware of his attention, drinking in the sight of her as she leaned over every so often, deliberately biting her lip or sticking her tongue between her teeth just to see his reaction, playing a different game entirely by the time she hit all of the stripes into the pockets, finally finishing off the eight ball.

Darla laughed. “Goddamn Woody, I didn’t know you could play like that.”

“She must’ve cheated somehow,” the pilot said dismissively to his friends, as if she weren’t even there.

“Jesus Christ, these guys,” Hambone muttered.

“There’s no way she could have cheated,” John said. “Be a man and pay up.”

“Or what?”

Woody shot him a glare, leaning against the cue. “Or I’ll shove this up your—”

It happened so fast. Too fast. Before she could even blink, a wad of spit landed on her face. 

John grabbed Woody’s shoulder, pushing her behind him. Scraping chairs and mangled shouts drowned out the music playing from the jukebox. She wiped the spit off of her cheek with the back of her hand, cringing as she shook it out. Her stomach sank. Why the fuck did she say that? Lost herself for just a minute, let herself be the person she tried to leave behind in San Francisco, and it all went to shit, like everything Kate touched tended to do at some point.

Her eyes frantically searched for John in the fight that erupted. The sinking feeling in her stomach warped into something else entirely at the sight of him, taking a punch to his jaw before throwing a solid one in return. Always found guys who fought for their girls teeming with unearned bravado, something to prove. But John’s bravado had been wholly earned. Proved himself with his promotion to Captain, which he was putting in jeopardy on her behalf. More than that, it looked good on him.

Still, she wouldn't let him bear the brunt of her mistake if she could help it. She shuffled forward, narrowly avoiding an elbow to the face as she grabbed his arm.

“John, come on! He’s an idiot!”

She practically had to wrestle him away from the chaos and into the bathroom. A cramped space with peeling paint and a naked lightbulb that almost didn’t let her close the door behind them until she forced it shut.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why not?”

Water poured freely from the faucet. She watched as he splashed some in his mouth, swishing it between puffed up cheeks. 

“People might think we’re in love or something.”

He spit into the sink. Water pink with blood pooled at the rusty drain. It dripped from his chin as he stared her down with blown out pupils, reflecting her own unspoken desire. “We are.”

She reached out and wiped his chin with the pad of her thumb. Glanced at the glistening residue on her finger before sticking it in her mouth, letting the faint coppery taste settle sweetly on her tongue. 

“Yeah. We are.” 

And all at once she was consumed by it, the fiery desolation of being loved and loving in return. Made her skin burn, feel more alive than she had in months. No wonder it made people go crazy. Like him, her calm and collected pilot who suddenly didn’t hesitate to throw punches over a woman with no honor to defend except for the fact that he loved her. 

He loved her.

She kissed him with a ferocity that forced him to grip the sink to keep himself steady. The faint traces of blood still in his mouth sent an almost vampiric fervor through her. Brought her hand up to his neck and felt the way his Adam’s apple bobbed at her touch. Always privately lamented that she couldn’t mark up his throat the way she desperately wanted to, sink her teeth into him and let everyone know he was hers.

She wanted more of him. Always more. Lowered her hands to unbuckle his belt.

“Sweetheart, what are you—”

“Got that handsome face of yours roughed up over me,” she rasped, pressing her lips to his jaw as she unzipped his pants. “‘S the least I can do, Johnny.”

He uttered a low ‘fuck’ as he watched her drop to her knees in the tight space. Nuzzled her nose against his crotch, the dim lighting nearly concealing the playful smile that's spread across her lips. She pulled his pants and underwear down to his knees. He swallowed roughly, licking his lips in anticipation. 

She spit into her palm, then took his cock in her hand, wet and calloused as she pumped his length. Pressed a kiss to his head before wrapping her lips around it, her tongue warm and inviting. He threaded his fingers through her hair, his blunt nails scratching against her scalp. 

She watched him intently, his face contorting with pleasure as she took more of him in her mouth. Noticed with obsessive observation what made him moan louder or tug on her hair a little harder. All of the noises he made echoed in the cramped space, and only served to drive her wild, give her more motivation to bring him to climax. 

Her fingernails pressed crescent-shaped marks into his thighs when he thrust in her mouth. Didn’t matter that her jaw started to ache a little, lips were probably swollen and puffy. She wanted him to feel good, to know how much he meant to her, to use the memory of her on her knees in any fantasy he conjured up for himself in his private moments. She wanted to be it for him.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he forced out, his voice low and gravelly. “I’m close.”

She choked a bit when he thrust harder, the tip of his cock hitting the back of her throat. It twitched against her tongue, pulsing and veiny, his length almost too much for her to handle when he came, her name falling from his lips like a prayer though she was the one on her knees.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised as she swallowed his cum, fondly stroking her messy blonde hair. “Such a good fucking girl.” Her body purred at his words, claiming her with a gentle ownership she keened at the thought of. 

She figured she loved him for much longer than just that night, except she hadn’t realized because it felt so different from the way other people described it. Not particularly soft or sweet, but it made her feel powerful, alive.  Like staring down everything she feared and finally feeling able to conquer it all instead of running—she was so damn tired of running.

He offered his hand, pulling her up from the floor. His lips brushed her cheek, adoration pouring from the simple gesture of affection. “I love you,” he whispered against her warm skin.

“I love you too.”

Woody leaned against the door, catching her breath as John pulled his pants back on. Took a look at himself in the mirror, straightening himself out to appear every bit of the no-nonsense Captain who had her wrapped around his finger. 

Turning around, he gave her a once over, taking in her ragged appearance in comparison.

“Your nylons—“

She looked down, finding a tear at the knee. “I don’t give a damn. Let’s just get outta here, Johnny.”

“You sure?”

“We can sneak out the back and spend the rest of the night alone. They all probably think we left already.”

“Sounds like you have somewhere in mind.”

Woody smiled, turning the knob to crack the door open, checking if anyone would notice the two of them slipping out together. Taking his hand in hers, she gently squeezed it. “I might.”

[sirfrogsworth]

Mounjaro's Revenge: The Inevitable Adventures of Froggie, Chapter Unknown

I keep saying I can't leave the house without having some kind of adventure. And I really thought I was going to have a quick, uneventful doctor's visit with my monthly checkup this past Wednesday. I'd go in, they'd check the box Medicare requires every month, and I'd come straight home.

But adventure seeks me out. I can't seem to escape its grasp. And, yes, sometimes I like having adventures. They give me something to write about. And sometimes they are fun memories. But sometimes adventures just make me tired. And not all adventures are positive.

For the past 3 weeks I have been on the second dosage amount of Mounjaro. Unlike the Ozempic, I have had a few issues with side effects. Roughly 48 hours after my injection, I get sick to my stomach and feel pukey. It lasts for about two hours. I either vomit and lose the urge or I hold it in and it fades. I am then compelled to take a nap.

Considering the weight loss and glucose control, getting sick for an hour or two per week isn't a huge deal. There is a good chance I will get used to the medication as time goes on, but even if I don't, I am okay with this consequence.

My injection day was Tuesday, and based on past experience, I figured I'd have until Thursday morning before I got sick. The past 2 episodes happened at almost identical times, so I figured Wednesday wouldn't be a problem.

But right before my doctor's appointment I started feeling extremely... rough.

Optimistic for no good reason, I was hopeful I could get through the appointment before the urge to vomit arrived.

I get to the office and there are 3 patients ahead of me. This was not a good sign. My doctor tends to overbook and I was probably going to have a bit of a wait. I arrived in the middle of a lively conversation about where to get a good steak in St. Louis. I'm used to waiting rooms being full of quiet and bored people staring at their phones so when I opened the door it felt like the conversation smacked me in the face.

The cast of characters were as follows...

There was an older black man who had the spirit of a kindly grandpa. He seemed nice and wise and was enjoying the steak conversation. Let's call him, Old Guy.

There was an older white fellow who was anxious about the wait time due to having another appointment soon. He was on hold with the other doctor's office trying to delay his appointment time. He was only mildly interested in steak due to that distraction. I already used Old Guy, so... Anxious Guy.

And then there was the steak expert who was leading the conversation. Actually, leading is not strong enough. He was *dominating* the conversation. As I sat down and his visage entered my field of view, I was a bit taken aback.

Do you know how in Star Trek everyone has a mirror universe doppelganger who may look the same, but they usually have personality traits that are reversed?

They are often identified by arch overacting or a change in facial hair.

The steak expert was my mirror universe counterpart. He was of similar age, height, and weight. Same color hair and eyes. He even wore similar clothing.

But he had a goatee instead of a beard. *gasp*

And he wore... sandals. *double gasp*

He had clearly been in a recent transporter mishap.

I mean, I could *never* wear sandals. The world is not ready to handle my nude foot and I find very few sandals have the load-bearing capacity necessary for people my size. You are asking for foot pain if you are over 300 pounds and wearing sandals.

Mirror Froggie was very outgoing and personable, but he had trouble filtering what he said and was often obliviously rude. He clearly thought himself to be hilarious but struggled to make even kindly Old Guy chuckle.

Old Guy said, "I think Longhorn makes a decent steak for the money."

And then Mirror Me's unfiltered response... "Longhorn is shit. You shouldn't eat there. You are wasting your money on shit steak."

"I don't know, I've always enjoyed..."

"I'm telling you, friend, it is shit steak. End of story."

You could tell that made Old Guy feel bad for suggesting what he liked. But he brushed it off and asked for a better suggestion. Mirror Froggie confidently told him of a restaurant called "Sam's" that had "the best steak in town."

Old Guy proceeded to ask Siri to look up Sam's and it took a few tries. He reminded me of my dad fighting with the iPhone and repeating things over and over with increasing volume. I think Old Guy wasn't specific enough as he got the wholesale club on the first few attempts. Finally he said, "SAMMM'S STEAKHOUSSSSE" and found success. Old Guy saw the reviews and some of them were... not great.

But Mirror Froggie was like, "You can't read reviews. They're all liars." And I was questioning why people would take the time to lie about a small St. Louis steakhouse, but whatever. He then said it was because the restaurant was in disrepair and needed new plumbing, but that's why they could sell such amazing steak at reasonable prices.

Theories are less logical in the Mirror Universe. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anxious Guy got off his phone call and cursed into the void. He missed his other appointment. He interjected with, "Is that Sam's place expensive?" And that sent Mirror Froggie into a long diatribe about the price of meat at different places and his annoyance at steak-related inflation. Soon after, Anxious Guy finally got in to see the doctor. Old Guy was keeping Mirror Froggie busy with conversation, so I just closed my eyes and rested as they discussed the price of oversized shrimp "as big as your fist". I guess they ran out of things to say about steak.

As they were talking I started to get a spidey-sense about Mirror Froggie.

He *needed* conversation.

He *needed* distraction.

His boredom abhors a vacuum.

Whenever there was a lull or silent moment, I could see him getting very antsy. And if Old Guy got called in before Mirror Froggie... I was going to have a problem.

I was feeling sicker by the moment and did not have the bandwidth to help some stranger with his inability to accept boredom.

And... Old Guy was next.

Because, of course he was.

I feel like sitting there with my eyes closed and also not having said a word the entire time was a pretty decent social cue that I was not interested in talking. But Mirror Me decided to poke that notion with a stick in order to find a way in.

He speaks barely above a whisper, "I wish I could sleep in a public waiting room. Not sure how you do that."

"Yeah, I'm not feeling well. Nothing contagious, just very tired."

"Well, if you're sick, I guess you're in the right place, am I right? *long pause* Cuz we're next to a hospital. *short pause* Right?"

Oh great, he's a joke explainer.

Mirror Froggie did not care about my desire to sit in peace while I waited. His foot was anxiously a-tappin' and he was vibrating with energy that needed someplace to go. He tried standing up and walking in circles. And I guess because my eyes were shut he decided to narrate his walking and stretching to keep me informed. That satisfied him for roughly 20 seconds. He sat back down and was clearly struggling to be alone with his own thoughts.

"Hey, friend."

I open my eyes slowly.

"Do you see that magazine next to you? Would you mind handing that to me?"

I thought, "This is good. He's seeking out an alternate source of stimulation. He can read the magazine and I can rest until my turn."

Seriously, brain... where is this optimism coming from? I've been a cynical misanthrope for like 4 years now.

He flips through a few pages. "Look at this. It's got Oprah on the cover. It's got to be good, right? They don't put Oprah on the cover unless it is good, ya know? Though she doesn't look right after losing all that weight. You know what I mean, friend?"

Well, shit.

I didn't give him a distraction, I gave him a conversation starter. Still, I kept my eyes closed in the hopes he would give up.

"Hey, friend."

Crap.

"You want to hear a joke?"

I open my eyes. I'm not getting out of this.

"Sure." as unenthusiastically as I can manage.

He proceeds to tell three jokes all strung together. All of them terrible and none of them coherent enough for me to remember. I gave him complimentary singular chuckles even though two of the punchlines didn't make sense. I think one was about accidentally eating cat food.

"Hey, friend... how'd you like my jokes?"

I jokingly replied back, "Well, you said *a* joke and that was *three* jokes. That wasn't what I agreed to."

He chuckles and I close my eyes again.

"Hey, friend."

Jesus Christ, would someone jingle their keys for this dude?

"Do you want to hear a 'locker room' joke?"

Oh fuck me.

"I... guess?"

There was no way out of this aside from unpleasant confrontation and my energy calculation of that was much higher than just suffering through a dirty joke.

Here it is, as best as I can remember...

"So there is a pirate ship. And the captain has a beautiful daughter who has come aboard. He tells her that the crew hasn't seen a woman in a long time and they aren't safe to be around, so she should keep a razor blade 'down there.' After the voyage he assembles all of his men and instructs them to pull down their pants. Every one of them has had their dick cut off... except for one. The captain goes up to the only one with their dick intact and says, 'Thank you for not deflowering my only daughter. You should be commended for your restraint. And as a reward, I will make you my first mate.'"

I literally cannot type the punchline because it was an unintelligible noise. Basically, Mirror Froggie imitated someone without a tongue trying to speak.

Yeah. That happened.

I could not hide my disdain for this joke and I was feeling too awful to muster up any kind of response. He seemed confused by the absence of laughter from his wonderful rapey body mutilation joke.

"You get it, friend? He lost his tongue because he ate her pussy."

Yes, explaining the joke always helps... friend.

In whatever the opposite of the nick of time is, moments after this stranger said "ate her pussy"... the nurse calls Mirror Froggie in for his appointment.

I would feel relieved, but the Mounjaro side effects were getting worse and the urge to lose the remaining nutritional value from last night's dinner was increasing by the moment. I was next in line, so I was hoping Mirror Froggie didn't take up too much of the doctor's time with horrible "locker room" jokes and dubious steakhouse suggestions.

Roughly 5 minutes later the nurse calls me in to get my vitals. She weighs me and I am down another 3 pounds. That reminded me of why I was suffering this tummy tantrum. My blood pressure was perfect but my pulse was quite high. I was very anxious holding in my stomach contents and I tried to explain, but she asked me to try and relax to lower my heart rate. We compromised when I got it down to 107.

The nurse keeps forgetting that I don't really have a family anymore. And I know she has a lot of patients in and out and they probably all blend together. But she always ends up asking me questions that require me to remind her my parents are dead.

"Did your mom put up the Christmas tree yet?"

I went with, "No tree this year. Too much work."

"Aw, that's too bad. I actually got mine up early this year. You gotta put up a tree for Christmas."

Thankfully her job was done at this point and she abruptly ended the conversation.

Next up, the pee guy.

He has never actually told me what his name is so that is just what I call him in my head.

Every month I have to sacrifice my urine to the gods of Medicare so they know I am taking my meds and not selling them on the mean streets of Spanish Lake. And the pee guy always comes in to collect my sample. The little cup is kept in a white paper bag for discretion. He used to just give you a clear ziplock, and that was a little embarrassing, as everyone in the waiting room could see your pee. I definitely prefer the new white paper bag system.

It could be my lunch or some cookies or a bunch of peanuts.

Who is to know?

The pee guy is a bit of a talker as well. But the nice thing about his conversational style is that you can't get in a word edgewise. If he asks you a question, he'll even answer it for you. This requires very little effort on my part.

"Hey there, Mr. Benjermin!"

(I have noticed Ben-jer-min is a common pronunciation among Black folks in the area. Not sure if that is just a St. Louis thing or not. Perhaps I have a dialectologist follower who knows.)

I wave hello.

"How's it going, Mr. Benjermin!? Good? Good. Just gotta get your sample. Still taking the same meds? (I nod yes.) Okay, just need you to sign here. New Year's is coming up. Gotta be careful not to party too hard. You'll be regretting that. Though you don't look like a drinker to me. (I nod no.) Yeah, you're a good one. You keep it clean. Okay then, Mr. Benjermin. You're all set. Here is your new sample cup for next time."

He replaces my white paper bag with a new white paper bag and leaves the room without me saying a word. And I'm just realizing he asks me if I am a drinker quite a lot. He must sense my teetotaler spirit or something because he always assumes (correctly) that I don't drink. He's just really concerned about me partying too hard.

Finally the doctor comes in.

My doctor is kind, compassionate, and competent. The almost 3 Cs. But he's got a touch of what I call "Boomer-itis." He's on the progressive side of most things but there are a few ingrained sensibilities from that generation he didn't escape. It's mostly harmless. Though he said something sexist in front of a nurse practitioner student during my last visit that made her roll her eyes behind him.

He greets me and I tell him I'm not feeling well from the Mounjaro and that I am still recovering from my trip to Florida. He tells me that a lot of people can get sick for days from these new drugs, so getting sick for an hour or two isn't so bad. I agree, though I really wish I had not gotten sick at the exact time of this appointment. I keep eyeballing the trash can in the corner just in case things go sideways in my tummy.

He asks about my trip to Florida and I predicted that—as I already had photos ready to go on my phone. I scroll through them, showing off amazing cityscapes and mountainous clouds and an orange sunset over a lake—hoping to impress him with my photography skills to no avail. And then he sees Katrina. Now, I am not blind to her attractiveness, but I do sometimes forget how people respond when they see her next to me.

"Oh, wow. She's beautiful!" he exclaims.

I almost felt flattered on her behalf. But then his Boomer-itis starts to kick in. And he repeats, "Yeah, she's *really* beautiful. Just a friend, you said?" His facial expression and tone of voice are like, "You poor thing, you have been friendzone'd." And probably a touch of, "She's out of your league, buddy." I don't know exactly how to describe it, but it is this familiar look of pity and worry. This is usually followed up with a probing question trying to figure out what our "deal" is. Why is it so odd to that generation that a man and woman can earnestly be just friends and perfectly content with that arrangement?

It would be the easiest thing in the world to just say, "She's gay" and that she isn't "out of my league" as she plays an entirely different sport. (Competitive Subaru Ownership?) But my friendship with Katrina is not some consolation prize due to her queerness. I shouldn't have to explain or justify why I'm "just friends" or why I'm not "being led on."

In a worried tone, "So, umm, how'd you two meet?"

There it is.

"She is an artist. I posted some of her work on my website and it was very popular and helped people find her work. She messaged me to say thank you and we were instant friends. 10 years later she's my best friend and very much like family."

Thankfully his pity face evaporated and he finally saw how long-lasting and meaningful this friendship was. But it is a weirdly common obstacle I have noticed whenever people see a fat guy has a conventionally attractive friend.

Friends are great. Friends have been more supportive and beneficial to me than any romantic entanglement I've ever had.

All of my friends are hot and queer and that's awesome.

Note to self: Put that on a t-shirt.

Knowing how difficult it was, he congratulated me on surviving the trip and we wrapped up our appointment quickly. All I have left to do is check in with his assistant, get my prescriptions sent in, and make my next appointment. I can see the finish line, but my tummy is rumbling and I am making contingency plans for the Great Upchuck of 2023™. I'm clocking trashcans with plastic liners. I'm trying to remember where the nearest restroom is. And then I look down at the little white paper bag containing my urine sample cup and think, "Last resort."

Trinica (the competence ninja and my favorite person in the office) is processing my meds and searching the calendar for next month's visit. Shelly is keeping quiet and working on her computer. I start pacing back and forth. I'm not sure what I think that will do, but I think desperation is taking over at this point.

Shelly sees me and asks, "How's that whole disability situation going for you?" She is acting like my best friend now after cursing at me on the phone. I have a feeling she had an unpleasant conversation with my doctor after that episode because she isn't this sweet and nice to anyone.

I give her the update, "Everything is submitted. My lawyer is happy with all of the records we were able to find. It's just a waiting game now. It could be a couple of months but if I have to see a judge it could be over a year."

She commiserates with me about how slow the process can be.

Then, out of fucking nowhere, Mirror Froggie reappears in the little sliding reception window like a jumpscare in a horror movie.

Are you fucking kidding me with this guy?

"Hey Trinica, do you have a business card for the doctor? I want to recommend him to Doug."

Who the fuck is Doug? Are we supposed to know Doug? Is Doug the tongueless pussy-eating pirate who needs medical attention?

Trinica looks in her desk and is unable to find a spare card. So she stops processing my stuff and starts hunting around the office. She has a bad leg so she is slowly limping while searching every desk. I have never wanted to strangle anyone before, but my doppeldouche was really pushing his luck.

At this point I am just staring at the little trash can in the blood-draw room. I can feel the scrambled eggs reversing course through my digestive system.

Trinica finds a fucking card for fucking Doug and fucking Mirror Froggie finally fucks off to bother people that are not me.

Trinica gets me all sorted, I wish everyone a Merry Christmas, and make to the car.

I sit in the driver's seat, and with that unearned optimism, say to myself, "I made it."

For all of you who are squeamish about bodily fluids, you can just pretend this is where the story ends. Everything was fine. I made it home and was happy and comfortable and nothing gross happened. The nausea faded away and I lived happily ever after.

The End.

Thank you for reading this and have a lovely day.

Just scroll on by to the next post!

.

.

.

Okay, so you all probably thought I was foreshadowing a monumental barf.

But foreshadowing is typically subtle. You don't want to give away the ending. Of course this was going to end in barf. The barfing was inevitable. The barf was not what I was *actually* foreshadowing at all.

Did anyone catch what it was?

You know that discrete white paper bag?

The one that could be for peanuts or maybe a sammich and definitely not my urine sample cup?

The last resort?

Look, it's all I had.

I was not going to make it home. I was not going to make it back into the bathroom. No trash bins on the horizon. Nothing in my car.

At first it was just an itty bitty baby barf. A perfect amount to be contained in a flimsy paper bag. I felt a relief wash over me.

"That's all?" still being stupidly optimistic.

But then I made that noise.

That... pre-retch noise.

That one where your head kinda juts forward and your lips make a giant O shape and you make a very specific grunting sound. That sound where if another person hears it, they involuntarily make the same specific grunting sound.

This was when I had one of those movie moments when a character knows they are about to die and they can't do anything about it. And I made this exact face as I waited for the impending doom of a vomitous explosion.

The Great Upchuck of 2023™ commenced.

And it was... intense.

Everything inside my stomach transferred rapidly, furiously, projectile-ly into the bag of foreshadowing.

I mean, I'm pretty much convinced my stomach is a TARDIS because I do not remember ingesting that much food. This sheer volume of barf had to be coming from another dimensional plane.

I could see it staining the sides of the bag as it was clearly not meant for this. When I finished it was barely intact—soggy, if you will. When I was absolutely sure I had ralph'd to completion, my only option was to gently place it on the passenger's side floor (sans floor mats). All I needed was for it to last 5 more minutes on the trip home and then I could dispose of it and pretend this never happened.

Physically I felt such a relief. Sometimes there is this post-puke euphoria where you just feel, well... lighter. Unburdened with no longer having that feeling. Happy it is over with.

I place the key in the ignition and head for home. As I'm driving I can't help but stare at the bag. I can see it mocking me as it changes colors. The exterior was getting... damp. If this were someone else's vomit, I would have been vomiting because of it. Just... so gross.

I get home and park the car. I walk around to the passenger side to begin the extraction process. I pull the trash can close and I have to psych myself up to deal with this horrible hurling happenstance.

And this next part, well... it would be hilarious if it weren't so damned disgusting.

I stare at the bag.

The bag stares back at me.

I take a deep breath and approach the bag.

The bag grins at me.

I gingerly grasp the very tippy-top in an effort to not touch any of the offending material.

I slowly lift up the bag.

And the very instant it reaches just enough height to do the most damage...

The bottom falls out.

If the bag had broken just as I was picking it up, the carnage would have been minimal. Only a small area to clean up. But clearly this bag read the Wikipedia page on air burst nuclear weapons. It knew you get a much more devastating blast radius if you detonate from an elevated position.

A TARDIS worth of partially digested scrambled eggs just pour and splatter and spray onto the floor of my car. It looked like the bag was puking out my puke.

The bag is now dead but I can feel its ghost laughing at me.

I stand there frozen holding the top of this evil deceased white paper bag trying and failing to process what just happened.

I realize I have no idea what to do with this situation. This is something that would usually be followed with, "MOoooOOOoooommmmm! How do I clean up vomit?"

And she would say, "You'll never do it right. I'll clean it up."

And I'd pretend to be like, "Oh no, it's my mess. I could never let you do that for me."

And she'd insist and break out her endless supply of very specific cleaning potions and magics and soon it would be as if the vomit didn't even exist.

So, I guess my question is... do I have to get my car detailed now?

The Actual End.

[intothedysphoria]

Carol making Steve a profile on a dating app was nothing new. What was new was her matching him up with a fucking werewolf.

After his last particularly nasty breakup, Steve had mostly thrown himself into eating an unhealthy amount of Lucky Charms, dancing to what Carol called her “music to slutdrop to” playlist and losing at Mario Kart. It wasn’t a particularly fulfilling lifestyle but it stopped Steve from lying on the floor and thinking about the inevitable death of the universe.

Carol was not having any of it.

Her, Steve’s other best friend Robin, and Robin’s girlfriend Heather had apparently signed him up to Tinder. And Grindr. And some fucking foot fetish website that Steve just knew was Heather’s revenge for that one time he broke her stiletto during drag brunch.

“Steve Harrington. 24. USA. Queer. Failing witch. Interested in anyone who will have me. And is compatible with a Taurus.”

The last bit was so incredibly rude. Steve absolutely had standards, he wasn’t even that into astrology and he was not a failing witch. He’d only set the kitchen on fire twice and both times were Eddie fucking Munson’s fault.

Scrolling through profiles, there were a lot of incredibly hot people who all seemed like total dicks. Or were showing their dick. Neither of which Steve particularly had time for.

The occasional genuinely kind looking people either never added him back or had already found their person. Damnit.

Steve changed his setting preferences to only show other supernatural beings. That showed a little more promise, even if all the vampires Steve talked to came across way strong. Committing to be turned in like two weeks was a strong nope.

There was one guy who matched Steve who genuinely made him stop in his tracks. His name was Billy and he was a werewolf. Steve would have added potential Calvin Klein model to that list.

Billy was wonderful. He lived on the west coast, had an extensive collection of 1930s fantasy novels and was the alpha of a small but strong pack. Steve gleaned all of this information from half an hour of scanning his profile.

Actually messaging was less easy, even with emotional support from WHAM. Apparently Steve had gained the ability to use magic at the expense of being able to turn on King Steve at seventeen.

Luckily, Billy messaged him first. Direct but not too forward. Seeming clearly interested but nothing so basic as to be a line. It was enchanting. Steve was absolutely hooked.

He was a surfer. Steve wasn’t so gifted at the art of staying upright even on a board that wasn’t moving but he was determined to learn.

For Billy.

Being in a coven, Steve had less time to spend glued to his phone than he would have liked. There was always a fire to put out in Hawkins. Eddie was the only vampire in a ten mile radius and seemed to delight in trolling middle aged evangelicals. Dustin’s powers were so unpredictable that Steve constantly found himself rebuilding their house. And that wasn’t even touching on the demon problem they’d had since that creep Brenner had opened a portal seven years ago.

It was tiring. Steve was always dragged into the centre of it. At least Billy seemed to understand. He told Steve that he’d spent the last three nights trying to get Max, his younger sister, to stop shifting in public. Which made Steve feel slightly better.

Billy would always compliment him. Telling him he was adorable, he looked fantastic, he was doing so well. Steve found himself and his fully off the leash praise kink falling fast.

At least he didn’t seem to be alone in that sentiment as Billy declared that he loved Steve after about three weeks then retracted it, embarrassed. Steve told him it was ok, he felt the same.

As their relationship got more serious and Steve felt they’d moved from just chatting to proper couple shit, the one question weighing on Steve’s mind was how in the fuck they were ever going to meet up.

Billy’s pack in California depended on him completely for stability. Steve’s coven in Hawkins was much the same. It felt like the universe was forcing them apart, which fucking sucked.

He wasn’t much of a long distance guy but he was willing to try.

He’d try anything for Billy.

In the end, the way they met was a complete coincidence.

Steve was visiting Lucas’s girlfriend, who yes lived in California, but California was absolutely massive. The statistics were not in Steve’s favour.

Yet, from the pictures Steve had seen this was Max. Without a shadow of a doubt.

And then there was Billy. Beautiful and spectacular Billy. Who dropped his coffee cup when Steve walked out.

Steve was pretty sure he accidentally wolfed out a little by mistake. It was adorable.

They shared a first kiss on the beach while the sunset. Not bad for an internet relationship between a werewolf and a witch.

[raven-dor]

you and i pt.2

In which steve harrington and his best friend discover a secret russian communication

PAIRING: steve harrington x reader

WARNINGS: given last name, banter, yearning, OBLIVIOUS STEVE, fluff

WORD COUNT: 3.5k

pt.3

Y/N sat in the break room of the Scoops Ahoy, reading The Crucible. Or at least trying to. It was hard to lose herself in a book when all she could hear was Steve flirting with every girl within a five-mile radius. She currently wanted to take her book and chuck it at Tiffany Milcovihs's head. Robin sat across from her, preparing for the inevitable tally under the You Suck column.

"You should put twenty." She scoffed, glaring at her book like it had attacked her family. "I can't believe him."

Robin grinned, wiggling her eyebrows. "Jealous?"

"Me? No! I-" She slammed her head against her book. "Shut up, Robin." The younger girl giggled, and Y/N flipped her off in retaliation. "Obviously. You know- I just thought he would finally pull his head out of his ass."

"Well, he didn't. So either you need to be a big girl and tell him, or accept that he's oblivious and move on."

Y/N laughed. "It's not that simple."

"It is that simple."

"What's simple?"

"You." Robin put another tally under You Suck. "You suck at picking up the ladies."

"I do not." He looked at Y/N for reassurance. "Do I?"

She smirked. "The board never lies."

He rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Y/N/N."

"You're welcome, Harrington."

Steve crossed his arms, waiting for Robin to get up. She stared at her coworker. "What?"

"Your turn, shithead. I gave you an extra long break."

"And I, in return, help you gain knowledge with the ladies."

He scoffed, flailing his arms. "You haven't helped- AT ALL!"

Y/N giggled, and he tapped his foot like a mother waiting for her child to confess to their crime. "What's so funny, Wilkins?"

"You're hopeless. You're never gonna get a girl with the King Steve routine, at least not here. We’re not in high school anymore." Y/N huffed, looking up at the clock. "Girls like to be-" Her eyes widened when she noticed the time. "Shit!" She started shoving her things in her tote bag. "Shit, shit, shit!"

"What?"

"I have to pick up Dustin from the airport!" She did finger guns at the two sailors in front of her. "See you two nautical experts tomorrow."

Steve smiled, his laughter seeping into his voice. "What do girls like?"

"Figure it out, Harrington!"

Y/N ran out of the ice cream store and jumped into her car. Dustin was going to kill her.

"This is Gold Leader, returning to base, over. This is Gold Leader returning to base, do you copy? Over." No reply. "I repeat, this is Gold Leader, returning to base. Do you copy? Over. I repeat: This is goddamn Gold Leader-"

"Dusty!"

"What Y/N/N?"

"Relax!" She huffed. "Jesus."

"I'm in range; they should be answering."

"You've been gone for a month, Dustin. Maybe they just forgot." She giggled, turning up her music and rolling down her window. "I mean, I forgot I had a cousin until I saw you in the terminal."

"Shut up, Y/N/N."

The next day, after Dustin shook awake an extremely grumpy Y/N, she pulled slowly back into her parking spot (which was coincidentally next to Steve's). "Alright, shithead, stay by me. This mall is huge, and you could definitely get lost."

Dustin rolled his eyes. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, Dustin. I don't want you getting hurt. We've been in too many near-death experiences for me to lose you in a mall."

He rolled his eyes but walked beside her anyway. "Fine." And he had stayed beside her the whole time until he saw the Scoops Ahoy sign. He ran ahead of her, and Y/N rolled her eyes. Poor Robin. 

“Is he here?” 

Her friend looked so confused. "Is who here?"

Steve burst out of the break room, grinning. He put his hands in the air and started jumping.

"Henderson!"

Dustin giggled. Y/N looked over at Robin and laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. Robin’s jaw dropped, mouthing Oh. My. God.

Steve went around the front desk and jumped again. "Henderson! He's back!"

Dustin smiled. "I'm back! You got the job!"

"I got the job!" Steve started playing a fake trumpet. There wasn't even a fake toy in his hands; he was playing an invisible trumpet. "Hey! Oh!"

Steve initiated their handshake, and Y/N almost dropped to the ground. He was way too happy to see Dustin. It was cute.

"How many children are you friends with?"

Steve rolled her eyes and gestured to Robin. Dustin was still giggling.

"Are you going to tell Steve about camp, Dustin?"

Steve's eyes widened. "What happened at camp?"

"Well, for starters, Dustin has a girl-"

"Shut up, Y/N/N!" He smiled at Steve. "How about some ice cream?"

They sat in a booth, and Dustin began to tell his (what felt like) four-hour story.

"No way. Hotter than Phoebe Cates? No."

Dustin nodded. "Mhmm. Brilliant too. And she doesn't care that my real pearls haven't come in. She says kissing is better without teeth."

Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands. "Dear God."

Steve nodded. "Wow. That's great. Proud of you, man. That's like- Wow. That's kinda romantic."

"Romantic?" She was extremely confused right now, and she stared at Steve, whispering. "How is that romantic?"

He shrugged and looked back at Dustin.

"So, do you really get to eat as much as you want?"

"Yeah. Yeah. But I got to keep in shape for the ladies." He winked at Y/N, and she rolled her eyes.

She leaned forward, her elbows on the table as she looked at him expectedly. "Ladies, really?"

Steve nodded.

"Oh yeah? How's that working out for you?" Robin giggled from the front counter and went back to helping the customers.

"Just ignore her."

Dustin smiled. "She seems cool."

"She's not. So where are the other knuckleheads?"

Y/N made sure she was behind Dustin and started shaking her head at Steve to stop talking. She did not want to hear him go on another tangent about- "They ditched me yesterday."

"No!"

"My first day back. Can you believe that shit?"

"Whoa, seriously?"

"I swear to God. Mhm. They're gonna regret it, though-"

A throat cleared, and they all turned towards the new presence by their table. "Hi."

Y/N smiled politely. "Hi."

"I'm Derek."

"I'm Y/N."

Steve and Dustin were growing extremely disgusted with whatever was going on in front of them.

"I work over at the Julius store-"

She smiled, laughing while she spoke. "So that's where I've seen you."

He nodded, visibly relaxing. "Exactly..." he took a breath and spoke again. "I was wondering if you'd like to go on a date?"

Dustin choked on his banana split. Steve hit his back, trying to hide the fact that he wanted to punch Derek Pavelski in the face. What a twerp. 

"A date?"

"Yeah. I mean, I know that we don't really know each other. I don’t know if you remember, but we had a class together-"

"AP US History! You were the only one who actually did the work." Steve glared up at the once again visibly nervous boy in front of them. "I read your essay on global expansionism, amazing."

Derek smiled. "Thank you; I aim to please." Dustin looked like he was going to murder the man in front of them. "I didn't mean it—" He looked at Y/N. "I didn't mean it like that."

She smiled sweetly. "I'm sure you didn't."

"So... what do you say?"

"Can I think about it?"

He nodded, clapping his hands. "Of course, yeah. You know where to find me." He turned to Steve and waved half-heartedly. "Harrington."

Steve glared up at him, his "smile" hardly hiding his distaste for their former classmate. "Pavelski."

Derek turned back to Y/N. "I'll uh- I'll see you around."

Y/N waved. "See you."

Robin watched from the counter in amazement. "Holy shit." She ran to the back, grabbed the whiteboard, and put one You Rule slash. "Badass, Y/N/N."

Y/N blushed and turned back to Steve and Dustin, who were both staring at her with their jaws dropped. She rolled her eyes. "What?"

Steve leaned back, his face full of disbelief. "Are you really going to go out with that nerd?"

"He's not a nerd... He was on JV basketball and Varsity Baseball. He just also happens to be extremely smart. Package deal."

Steve crossed his arms. "Really?"

Y/N crossed her arms back, imitating him. "Yeah, really."

He scoffed. "You need to raise your standards."

She stared at him like she was waiting for him to take it back. Or laugh. Something that would make her not want to beat his ass. "Raise my standards? And what should my standards be, Steven?"

His face turned red, and he started tripping over his words. "I- You- He's a loser."

"You have to be kidding, Harrington. You're so blind, I swear to God, I could probably confess that I-"

Dustin's eyes widened, and he interrupted them. "Stop the lover's quarrel, please, and listen." They both leaned back, faces red, and waited for Dustin to continue. "As I was saying, they're going to regret ditching me when they don't get to share my glory."

"Glory? What glory?" Y/N had not heard this part of the story yet.

"So last night, we were trying to get in touch with Suzie..."

"Uh-huh..."

"And uh-" He looked around the room nervously and started murmuring.

"What?"

He murmured again.

"What? Speak up?" Y/N and Steve leaned in. Dustin murmured again, but he still wasn't speaking loud enough.

"I INTERCEPTED A SECRET RUSSIAN COMMUNICATION!"

The other customers in the store turned and stared at the three in the booth, and Y/N sunk into her seat. Steve nodded. "Jeez! Shhh. That's what I thought you said."

"What does that mean?"

"It means we could be American heroes." Steve nodded. "True American heroes."

"Huh."

Y/N hit her head against the table softly. They were such idiots.

Steve wiggled his eyebrows and nudged Dustin. "American heroes."

"Just think, you could have all the ladies you want and more." Steve stared off into the distance.

"More?"

"More."

"I like more."

"And Y/N/N, you could have all the men you want and more."

Steve hit Dustin's arm, but her cousin ignored him. He looked at Y/N, waiting for her response.

"I'm good, Dustin.” She smiled teasingly at Steve. “Besides, I already have Derek.” He rolled his eyes, sticking her tongue out. “I like the glory part better. Sounds much better on a resume than babysitting."

"Yeah, yeah."

Steve squinted his eyes. "What's the catch?"

"No catch. I just need your help."

"With what?"

Dustin opened his backpack and pulled out a red book. "Translation."

Y/N groaned and followed after Dustin and Steve, who ran to the break room. Dustin took an eraser and before she could stop him, started wiping off the data Robin and Y/N had been collecting for weeks.

"Excuse me, Dustin. What do you think you’re doing?"

"We need this for translation."

"Have fun when Robin finds out. That was important data."

Steve scoffed. "Yeah, important."

"It was. We were keeping track of how horrible you are with the ladies, Harrington."

"I'm great with the ladies."

Y/N laughed. "You were great with the ladies. Past tense. Back when you were an asshole. And girls liked that because back then, you didn't think, you just acted. If you really want someone to like you, Steve, why don't you just be yourself? You know, nice, confident, funny." She leaned back in her seat. "Girls love that."

He stared at her. "Would you like that?"

Y/N choked on the air. "What?"

"Would you like that? If a guy was just himself?"

She nodded. "I would. I do. It's much more attractive when a guy doesn't try to fool you with pretenses. That's why I said I would think about it with Derek. He was nervous and sincere, and he didn't try to cover it up with some James Dean-esque persona. It was nice."

Dustin clapped his hands and broke the trance the two adults were in. "Hello? Let's get started."

Dustin kept trying to translate, but Steve quickly grew tired of going nowhere and decided to distract himself with a banana. "Want one?" He held one out to Y/N, but she shook her head. "I'm good. Thanks."

Steve started pacing while Dustin was once again mumbling the Russian words under his breath. With horrible pronunciation, Y/N decided.

"Steve!" Robin yelled back, but the other sailor just ignored her. 

"Play it again."

Dustin started the recording, and Steve took a bit out of his banana. Dustin stopped it before it could repeat. "So what do you guys think?"

"It sounded familiar. That music at the end."

"Why are you listening to the music, Steve? Listen to the Russian! We're translating Russian!"

"I'm trying to listen to the Russian, but there's music-"

"Guys, I know that song-"

Robin burst through the door. "Alright, babysitting time is over. You need to get in there." She saw the board and freaked out, just like Y/N had said. "Hey! My board! That was important data, shitbirds!"

Y/N grinned. "Told you, guys."

"I guarantee you what we're doing is more important than your data."

Robin smirked. "Yeah? And how do you know these Russians are up to no good anyway?"

Dustin turned to Steve and Y/N. "You told her? I can't believe you guys!"

"I swear I didn't! Y/N, you had to-"

"I wasn't told anything. You two-" She pointed at Steve and Dustin. "Are just incredibly loud. You think you have evil Russians plotting against our country on tape, and you're trying to translate but haven't figured out a single word because you haven't figured out that the Russians use an entirely different alphabet. Sound about right?"

Y/N laughed, and Robin took that as a sign to steal the tape, which Steve quickly swiped off the table. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! What do you think you're doing?"

"I wanna hear it."

"Why?"

"Maybe I can help. I'm fluent in four languages, you know."

"Russian?"

"Ou-yay are-yay umb-yay."

Steve laughed weirdly. "Holy shit!"

"That was Pig Latin, idiots."

Steve's face dimmed down. Dustin nodded in defeat. "Oh." Steve smacked Dustin with his banana peel.

"But I can speak Spanish, and French, and Latin."

"And she's been in band forever. Her ears are like little geniuses." Robin bowed slightly. "We could use her help. My knowledge can only go so far." Y/N grinned at Robin. "I need my partner in crime."

Steve huffed. "I thought I was your partner in crime."

"Steve, do you really want to start that argument right now-"

Robin crossed her arms and tried to break up the tension that was quickly building. "Come on! It's your turn to sling ice cream, and my turn to translate. I don't even want credit; I'm just bored."

Y/N nodded. "Get out there, Sailor Boy." He put his hat on with a little too much force. "Go woo the ladies. And remember what I said!"

"Yeah, yeah." He walked through the door, and Y/N turned back to Dustin and Robin. 

"Give it a go."

And so Robin played the clip. Again. And again. And again until they had finally formed one sentence. At least they were getting somewhere, even if it took two hours. The younger girl swung open the window, leaning out with a grin. "We've got our first sentence."

"Oh, seriously?"

"Yeah. The week is long."

"Well, that's thrilling."

Y/N yelled out. "That's progress!"

Steve rolled his eyes, and Robin nodded. "What your girlfriend said, dingus."

Closing came quickly; no one in the mall except for the Scoops Ahoy employees, Y/N, Dustin, and apparently, Derek, who she’d just spotted. Steve pulled the gate down from the ceiling. "Ready?"

"Just one second. I'll catch up to you." She ran over to the Orange Julius, and there was Derek, grinning down at her.

"Hi."

"Hi."

They stared at each other for a bit before she spoke. "I would love to go on a date with you."

His eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Yeah!"

"I'm gonna be honest; I didn't think you'd say yes."

Her eyebrows crinkled. "Why?"

He looked over her shoulder at a glaring Steve. "Harrington over there. You're speech at graduation was..."

Her face turned red. "Yeah. It was. But uh-" She rocked forward on the balls of her feet. "I need to move on. I mean-"

Derek nodded. "I know what you mean. So- Enzo's? Tomorrow, eight o'clock?"

"Sure. I'll see you there." She walked closer to him, and Steve held his breath. "Bye, Derek." Y/N kissed his cheek quickly and turned away, walking back towards the Scoops Ahoy.

"You need to tell her how you feel, Steve."

He turned towards Robin. "She doesn't like me. She likes Derek."

"No, she doesn't." Dustin butted in. 

Robin nodded. "Yeah, dingus. I told her to move on since you didn’t make a move, and she took that advice faster than I thought she would." Y/N got closer, and Robin whispered. "So do something before she's out of your grasp."

He gulped, and Y/N stopped in front of him, her face worried. "You okay, Harrington? You look a little hot."

“What?” 

She pressed her hand to his forehead. “You’re burning up.” 

"I'm fine, Y/N/N." He turned back towards the other two. "The message, it doesn't sound right."

"It's right. Honestly, I think it's great news."

"How is it great news? I mean so much for being American heroes."

"Yeah, I mean, think of all the ladies you just lost. How unfortunate for you."

"Thank you for fulfilling our daily dose of sarcasm, Y/N/N." He turned back to Robin. "It's nonsense."

"It's not nonsense. It's too specific to be nonsense. It's a code."

"What do you mean a code?"

Y/N wiggled her eyebrows. "Like a super-secret spy code."

"That's a total stretch."

Dustin shook his head.

"I don't know, is it?"

Steve scoffed at Robin. "You're buying into this?"

"Listen, just for kicks, let's entertain the possibility that it is a secret Russian transmission. What'd you think they were going to say, Fire the warhead at noon?"

"Exactly."

"And my translation is correct. I know that for sure so... The silver cat feeds. Why would anyone talk like that unless they were trying to mask the true meaning of their message?"

"Exactly."

Y/N giggled. "It's like they're the same person."

Steve smiled down at her. "She's like your Dustin."

Her eyes lit up, and she smacked his arm. "Great connection, loser."

"Thank you, thank you very much."

She laughed, shaking her head. “Never do an Elvis impression again.” 

"And why would anyone want to mask the true meaning of their message unless the message was somehow sensitive?"

"Exactly."

Steve pulled a face at the two little geniuses' backs, and Y/N cackled until he threw a hand over her mouth.

"So I guess that confirms your suspicion."

"Evil Russians."

"I can't believe I'm about to believe with this strange child, but yes. Evil Russians."

"So how do we crack it?"

"I guess we translate the rest and hope that a pattern emerges."

Y/N patted Robin's shoulder. "You should really work for the CIA."

"A pattern, right. Like maybe 'Silver Cat' is a meeting place."

Robin raised her eyebrows. "Or a person."

"Or a weapon."

Y/N looked beside her and noticed that Steve was no longer there. She turned around and saw him standing in the middle of the hall, staring at the little toy pony ride. She quietly walked up beside him and stared.

"Whatcha looking at?"

He jumped. "Jesus!" He put his hand on his heart and, after a few seconds, answered her question. "I know this sounds crazy, but this horse, doesn't it have a theme song?"

Her eyes widened. "The song! You're a genius, Harrington!" She started rummaging through her pockets and handed him a quarter.

"Thanks."

Robin and Dustin yelled, "Hey, Steve! Are you sure you're tall enough for that ride?"

He rolled his eyes. "Shut up and listen." He put her quarter in, and the pony came to life.

"You need help getting up, little Stevie?"

Y/N put her finger on her lips. "Quiet."

The two adults stared at the pony, and Robin leaned over to Dustin. "They finally lost it."

Dustin had the same sense of realization in his eyes. "Shh, Robin."

"Oh my god, you too?"

He pulled out the recording and started playing it. "The music."

Robin shrugged. "Maybe they have horses like this in Russia."

Steve scoffed. "The Indiana Flyer? I don't think so." He stared up at the group, his expression grave. "This code, it didn't come from Russia... It came from here."

taglist: @kendallroydefender @beebeechaos 

[takeariskao3]

Written for @mppmaraudergirl and BlackEvans BFF Week! Day 4: Being Bros

"Go on, Evans." Sirius Black muttered softly.

Lily slid her desk mate a disdainful scowl and ignored him.

"He cursed a fourth year," he continued. "The poor fellow was laid up in hospital for three days."

Lily waited until Professor McGonagall's back was turned before whispering, "If you want to get back at Mulciber so badly, why don't you do it yourself?"

"Because I know you want to."

Continuing on with her notetaking, she purposefully did not acknowledge this assertion.

"And because you cast that nappy rash jinx better than anyone I've ever seen."

The corners of Lily's mouth twitched but she kept her eyes on her parchment.

"C'mon..." Black crooned. "He'll think it was me anyway. What have you got to lose?"

"My badge?" Lily shot back.

The look he gave her was alarmingly earnest. "What's the point of being Prefect if you can't get away with something every now and again?"

Her gaze darted across the room to where Mulciber and Avery sat heads together and muttering in the back of the class. She was loath to admit that Black had a point. Ever since the start of term, those two had been especially brutal. It would feel so good to give into the vindictiveness coursing through her veins.

The longer she stared at the Slytherin boys, the more her resolve crumbled.

Silently, Lily slid her wand out of the inside pocket of her robes and laid it across her lap. Sirius' eyes returned lazily to the front, the picture of nonchalance, but a sharp smirk lingered at his mouth.

She turned the wand slowly in her hand, the incantation barely a quiver on her exhale, followed by a soft whoosh from beneath the desk.

Lily didn't watch to see if her jinx had landed. Instead, she returned her focus to her transfiguration notes and waited for the inevitable.

It didn't happen right away, just a slight rustle from the behind them. Then, after a few minutes, the rustling turned to fidgeting which turned to downright squirming.

Lily listened to the escalating discomfort while clenching her teeth to keep from giggling.

Next to her, Black's shoulders shook with silent laughter, until finally, there was the clatter of a chair and Professor McGonagall's steely stare whipped around to take in Mulciber hopping from foot to foot while violently scratching his jock.

"Fuck's sake, man," James Potter blurted from the table behind Lily and Sirius. "Have some dignity."

The entire sixth year class burst into sniggers and cackles.

"Mr. Mulciber!" McGonagall clipped sternly. "You will stop fapping about this instant or you will leave my class."

Mulciber's replying grunt could hardly be considered coherent, but he seemed to realize his situation was beyond help or explanation. He cast one last hate-filled expression toward James and Sirius and then rushed out the door with tears in his eyes.

Professor McGonagall attempted to call everyone's attention back to the front, and Lily had to cover her mouth with her hand to hide her snort.

Black nudged her elbow and muttered, "Nice one, Evans."

"You know," a low voice interjected from over her shoulder. Lily glanced around to see Potter leaning forward over his desk to look between them. "I'm not sure I like the two of you being friends."

"We're not friends," Lily hissed, but to her eternal mortification there was a fondness in her tone of voice.

Black raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Allies, then?"

Shaking her head, she bit the inside of her cheek to hold back a grin.

"Whatever you call it," Potter added quietly, "It's unsettling to see the two of you working together."

His expression looked anything but wary. He looked positively giddy. Lily's breath caught at the sparkle in his eyes, followed by the involuntary smile that seemed to take over her face anytime his attention was solely focused on her.

She internally chastised herself for her ridiculous response to his proximity and attempted to quash the feelings heating her middle.

"Don't get used to it."

"I'm not so sure, Prongs," whispered Black smugly. "She's had a taste of delinquency, now. I think she's one of us."

Potter's eyes widened in mock fear. "Absolutely terrifying."

"Potter!" McGonagall cut in harshly. "Sit. Down."

James shrank back into his chair and mumbled a quick, "Sorry, Professor."

McGonagall gave all three of them a pointed glare, then began her lecture again as if there hadn't been an interruption at all. Lily felt somewhat scolded by the expression, but the satisfied retribution settling into her bones far outweighed it.

Something else lingered in the space between her lungs as well.

Something like camaraderie.

[euphoricfilter]

Hiiiiii! Can you do a drabble for hobi

3. Smut(idk if that's the right one but anyways-)Ik that hobi is always portrayed as a hard dom but I kind of want to see him all soft dommy and fluffy cus maybe the reader is a virgin

"Don't cry, it will feel better soon"

maybe the first, but not the last time:

pairing: soft dom! hoseok x f. reader

genre: fluff || smut || established relationship au || non-idol au ||

summary: hoseok was written by a woman, and you're lucky he's all yours.

word count: 1.2k

tags/ warnings: fluff, smut in the forms of: vaginal fingering because hobi is a pleasure dom and a sweetheart and wants to make sure the reader is comfortable before she eventually loses her virginity, masturbation, mentions of bleeding.

notes: based on and off stage persona alone, i fully believe that hobi could pull off being both either soft or a little mean

drabble masterlist || my main masterlist

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Hoseok was written by a woman. 

And as much as you’d been skeptical at first, how any human could be so perfect, a man no less, months after making it official he showed no signs of any ill intentions; no hidden ulterior motives that usually lurked in the shadows, only making an appearance when your partner had you wholly to themselves. 

It was inevitable that the topic of sex would be brought up at some point in his courting of you, and as much as he hadn’t been pushy about it, you still felt there would always be the dreaded expectation of one day having to lose your virginity hanging over your relationship like a stormcloud. 

You cursed society for feeding you doubt, because truly virginity didn’t mean anything, shouldn’t mean anything. And as much as you like to remind yourself of this fact, it was the niggling anxiety of intimacy that had you shying away from the topic. 

Hoseok was far from reserved. He had no qualms about peeing with the door open, or skipping around your apartment with nothing but a towel on, truly making himself comfortable around you. And that’s when you realized that maybe Hoseok was the person you wanted to hand your wretched v-card to, because if it were to be anyone, then it’s going to be Hobi. 

He’d made it apparent he was in this for the long run, so if not now, then when? 

“Are you sure?” his eyebrows crease, watching as you shift from foot to foot; you look ever so pretty stood looking down at him, the cutest little hue of pink dusting your cheeks. 

“Yeah” you nod, tongue wetting your bottom lip. 

“You’re nervous” he points out, sinking a little further into the couch, legs falling open. 

“I mean it’s kind of a big deal?” your shoulders deflate, working yourself up for the impending rejection, you can see it on the tip of his tongue. 

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal” he shrugs, “The concept of virginity is a pile of dogshit” 

You stifle a laugh behind your hand, “But what if I’m bad?” 

The corner of Hoseok’s lip tugs up, “You’re inexperienced, not bad” he tells you, patting his thigh– and you follow, settling gently over his lap. 

Hoseok’s hands run over your back, teasing at the hem of your shirt; never venturing to run over your bare skin, “Plus, I really like you” 

“What does that have to do with anything?” your eyebrows crease, stomach tensing as he runs his thumb over your bottom lip. 

“You could give me the worst head ever, and I’d probably still cum, you’re so pretty baby” he murmurs, “Just looking at you is enough, you don’t have to do any of the hard bits– let me take care of you” 

You nod. 

“Words, darling” he tucks your hair behind your ear, “I need to know you really want this” 

“I want it” you whisper, absolutely mesmerized. 

“Do you trust me?” he dares ask, hands holding your cheeks as your body goes lax in his lap. 

“Yes, with my whole life” 

“That’s bold of you, baby” he laughs, “Lucky I’d trust you with mine, yeah?” 

You swallow thickly, fingers eager as you tug at the waistband of his sweats.

“Let’s go somewhere more comfortable” he pats your ass, arms hooking under your thighs, balancing your body over his shoulder. 

He’s gentle as he lays you down on his bed, and you say nothing as he takes long strides into the bathroom, emerging seconds later with a towel. He must see your confusion, “Just in case you bleed” 

“You’re not really helping with my nerves” you admit and Hoseok’s head tips back in laughter. 

“It’s common, nothing to worry about” 

You watch as he pulls his shirt over his head, prickly realization that this was actually happening hitting you full force, “Can I keep my shirt on?” you whisper, a small part of you hoping that maybe he hadn’t heard you. 

His eyes widen by a fraction, “Of course, if that’s what you want” he nods, “We’ll go as slow as you need” 

It’s embarrassing, the dribble of slick that dampens your panties as Hoseok looms over you. Pretty lips kissing down your jaw until your fingers tangle in hair, pulling him up for a kiss. 

You shudder as his hand slips past the waistband of your shorts, “Is this okay?” he asks, teasing the lacy trim of your panties. 

You nod, hips bucking upwards in search of sweet relief. His thumb brushes over your panty-covered clit, a sharp moan barely muffled by a hand slipping past your lips. 

“You’re so sensitive, darling” he croons, “Are you comfortable taking these off” he toys with the string of your shorts, and you nod, tugging both your sleep shorts and panties off as your boyfriend rummages through his nightstand. 

He lubes his fingers up, gentle as his free hand roams your body, slow enough that you know what he’s doing.

Your thighs twitch as a finger prods the entrance of your cunt, “Is this okay?” he asks, barely pushing into you. 

You nod, head tilting to watch as his thumb flicks over your clit, electric pleasure pushing another pitiful dribble of slick over Hoseok’s fingers. 

You don’t have the right words to explain how it feels when one of your boyfriend’s fingers push past your walls, strange stretch overpowered by the pad of his fingers dragging over such an intimate place. 

Saline tears gather at your waterline, utterly overwhelmed by the onslaught of new sensations.

It’s as Hoseok eases a second finger into you that you blink, wetting your cheeks. 

"Don't cry, it will feel better soon" he coos, fingers curling into your sweet spot. Your hips buck up at the unexpected pleasure. 

“It doesn’t feel bad” you hiccup, “Just a little weird” 

“Just relax for me, yeah?” he kisses behind your ear, “It will all feel a lot better if you just relax” 

The tighness in your muscles uncoils, eyes squeezing shut as you focus on the slow drag of Hoseok’s fingers thrusting into you. 

His thumb presses down on your clit, heat simmering throughout your body, “Hobi” you cry, “Gonna–” your hand flies to cover your mouth, cheeks flushed red. Sudden relief washing over you as you tip over the edge. 

“That’s it” he croons, gently pulling his fingers out of you, “You did so well” he shushes you, hands firms as they run over your quivering thighs. “I think that’s enough for today” he tells you. 

“But–” you start, blinking up at him when he presses a finger to your lips. 

“No buts baby, I told you we’ll take it slow. 2 fingers were pushing it, and that’s okay” 

“What about you?” your glance down at his cock, tip an angry red that you can only assume hurts. 

“Do you mind if I–?” he gestures down to his length, pre-cum dribbling down his shaft at your unwavering attention. 

“It’s okay” you nod, watching as his hand wraps around his cock, slicked up with your arousal from his hands, lithe wrist picking up the pace as he tugs at his length. 

Your cunt clenches around nothing as Hoseok cums over your thighs, milky white, painting your skin with his release. 

“How about I run a bath for you?” 

“Can we bathe together?” you ask, watching a gentle smile tug at his lips. 

“If you’re okay with that, then I’d love to” he hums, “You wait here, pretty baby” 

“Be quick, I feel sticky” 

Hoseok was written by a woman, and this may be the first time you’d given yourself to a man, maybe not having gone all the way, but you’re sure this wouldn’t be the last time. Because like Hoseok, you saw yourself in this for the long run. 

🌻 thank you for reading!! feedback is always welcome

permanent taglist: @m1sss1mp @supernoonanyc

[ivymarquis]

Bonded

Pairing| Ghost x F!Reader

Rating| T

Word count| 892

Tags| COD-esque levels of violence, non-descript references to SA,

Anyway idk what this is but I had a thought and I wrote it down. Enjoy. Or don’t, it’s whatever either way.

You come back to the world of the living with ringing in your ears.

Dazed and disoriented, your brain struggles to piece together everything that just happened in the last 30 seconds.

You and Ghost were supposed to be clearing a room when you’d realized a moment before disaster that it was rigged to blow. The two of you scrambling to put as much space between yourselves and the inevitable detonation; You’d succeeded, but not entirely.

You aren’t blown to pieces and it feels like you have as many limbs and fingers and toes leaving the room as you did entering- that was good.

Ducking around a corner had shielded you from part of the blast but not all of it. Enough to knock you both on your asses.

Everything is white noise, staring forward blankly and only distantly realizing you’re staring at Ghost because the black and white of his balaclava is such a stark contrast to the surroundings.

You can’t tell if he’s conscious, but he’s not moving. One of your hands outstretches towards him, so focused on your squadmate that you miss the sound of approaching boots crushing the debris littering the ground.

Disoriented as you are, you don’t hear the “She’ll be more fun to get information out of” but you do feel the hands wrapping around your ankles.

A startled yelp escapes you, instinct having you scrambling to get to your teammate. There’s certain things that hardwire into the brain, and even as out of it as you are, you know intrinsically that nothing good awaits you being separated from Ghost. The 141 is packbonded, the hours spent in close and often unpleasant quarters forging a bond that supersedes anything else.

Your sound of protest seems to be what brings Ghost to, and he is far more with it than you are.

Whoever has a grip on your ankles settled far too quickly into the idea that you are in no state to fight back and Ghost is down for the count. You’re just close enough even after the foot or so that he’s dragged you that Ghost is able to grab a hold of your wrist.

Where the enemy soldier’s grip was loose, Ghost’s is firm and unwavering. If you were more with it, you’d be laughing at the notion of feeling like a rope toy caught between two dogs.

You’re able to free one of your ankles at the expense of the other one being clamped down on with two hands. Kicking blindly, you can feel yourself making contact against his chest but you’re not entirely certain how much damage you’re doing.

Ghost yanks you towards him with one hand, his other digging around until he finds a knife.

The first yank catches the soldier off balance as you slide across the floor closer to your Lieutenant. The soldier doesn’t lose his grip on your ankle, staggering forward the few steps to keep a hold of you. The second yank pulls you half underneath him, Ghost raising to his knees and lunging in attempt to slash at the enemy soldier still holding to your ankle.

You are grabbing at any part of him that you feel you can get a good purchase on, propriety be damned.

A feeling that is apparently mutual as Ghost’s hand lands on your ass, shoving you further underneath him. Ending up with your head between his thighs, your arms reach through the gap. One elbow hooks around the back of one of his thighs as the other reaches up looking for purchase on his back. Grabbing a fistful of one of the numerous straps on his vest, you’ve secured yourself to him about as well as you are able.

The room is spinning as you try to keep your wits about you.

You’re probably concussed, you realize, and being fought over like a scrap of meat is jostling you as the two men struggle to break the other’s hold on you.

At one point Ghost’s knee ends up digging into your shoulder as he moves to stand, the brunt of a grown man’s weight a welcome trade off to the discomfort that would have awaited you with the would-be kidnapper.

Your feet hit the floor with a thud, and it seems at this point the other soldier has realized his error.

Too late though- so preoccupied with trying to keep a hold of you versus dispatching Ghost (Good luck with that), once the lieutenant gets a hold of him he’s done for. The knife finds its place in his neck as it has with so many enemy soldiers. Arterial spray hits everything in reach as the knife is removed, his body dropping like a sack of potatoes. He’s not dead yet but will be shortly, too distracted with trying in vain to staunch the bleeding to do anything else.

The threat neutralized, Ghost’s attention turns to you.

He’s speaking, you experiencing the dissonance of hearing his voice but not understanding what he’s saying. your brain picks up what he wants as his hand outstretches to you. Taking the offered hand, he plucks you off the ground like a sack of flour.

He sounds like you’re underwater, and something is sticking to your neck that you’ll realize later is blood drying down to your skin. “On your feet soldier. We’re leaving.”