#live day trading chat room

[hella1975]

there's a very specific kind of vibe that comes with living with your friends in final year that it just does not have in first year or even second year. like as a fresher it's usually the first time any of you have lived away from home let alone with SO MANY people your age and it's terrifying and exciting and randomised to boot so it's generally carnage for a whole year in the best and worst ways, and then second year you pick who you're living with and it feels like for the first time you're doing this adult thing PROPERLY. you have a place of your own now. these are the people you've chosen to live with. studying gets serious etc. but it's still fresh. it's still new. you still don't know how to navigate it. but final year? final year is when you actually get it right. you know how to manage your time better. you know what works for you and what doesn't. studying is the main focus and you've been out in the world for three years now and it's not loud and boisterous like it was in first year and you're not exciteable and awkward like you were in second year. you're comfortable. every single one of my flatmates has their own friend group and we mainly keep to our own social circles, but we'll still meet each other back at the house after a night out and sit in the kitchen or my room to do the debrief. sometimes i'll go days not seeing either of them despite sharing a house but every now and then someone will softly call up the stairs that 'the heating's on!' or one of us will sneeze and the other two will yell 'bless you!' through the walls. the lack of interaction isn't interpreted as dislike in ways it would have been even last year, because we're all just old enough to be past that now and settled enough in our friendship not to worry about it. idk. uni is very loud and unsettling a lot of the time so it's been really sweet to see how almost boringly comfortable final year is.

[teaboot]

I do not have Boy Knowledge to trade, but can I ask for dinner party hosting tips???

Sure!

I grew up broke but the great-grandparents passed on all their old etiquette, so *fart noise* got a lot of old fashioned shit kickin around, this is what we'd do

PREP:

Clean the house in advance. And not just common areas- the whole place. Minimum the kitchen, living room, bathroom, entrance. Take out all the trash, no dirty dishes, scrub out the toilet. (This is less vital with super casual close friends and family.)

Have snacks ready before arrival. Ask in advance about any allergies and accommodate. Same for actual food.

Aim for business-casual clothing. Jeans are okay if they're well-fitted and clean, with no holes, but nothing acid-wash. Sleeveless shirts should be at least three fingers wide, typically women-only but fuck gender conformity I don't give a shit.

Put coffee or the kettle on a minute or two before you expect people to arrive. Coffee should be fresh and kettle should be boiled around the same time folks arrive.

Have a place for people to put their coats and shoes. An area rug works for shoes, ans if you don't have a coat rack or closet for jackets it's handy to have a bedroom cleaned out and a bed made so people can keep coats, scarves, bags, and purses somewhere.

In some cultures cooking doesn't start until guests arrive. The way I was raised, cooking starts much earlier, and things should be coming out of the oven after they've been there a few minutes and had time to chat.

Set the table before guests arrive: Typical setting when I was younger was matching placemats at every seat, plate next. Fork on the left, knife and then spoon on the right. Wine glass on the right, saucer on the right, cup on saucer for hot drinks. Cloth napkin under the spoon and knife on the right, unless rolled with a napkin ring, in which case it could be set at the top of the plate, on the plate, or on the right hand side. Salt, pepper, and a butter dish is to be set out- one of each for every four to six seats is a decent rule of thumb.

DURING:

Guests are expected to announce themselves by knocking or ringing the bell. When this happens, usually a younger member of the family is sent to answer the door and let them in. Hosts follow shortly after, and hugs and greetings take place. The host offers to take people's coats and bags, or otherwise indicates where they can be placed. Shoes come off and are left at the door.

Tour of the house. This doesn't happen every time, but a quick, "let me show you around" may happen if you expect to be there a full day or longer, or if someone needs to politely stall for time, or if the host is especially happy to have you there or to show you something. This usually skips bedrooms, but a nod will usually be given to indicate adult's rooms, and kid's rooms may be peeked at to show off or do introductions with small children.

Offering seats. Usually starts in the living room, where, "can I get you anything?" Is asked. Options usually include wine, beer, water, some kind of juice, coffee, or tea. Possibly ginger ale or cola, but not usually much in the way of sodas.

At this point, a tray of cookies, biscuits, crackers, or other small snacks might be set our to be shared. Here, it's polite to eat a little and join in on smalltalk.

Dinner. When food is ready to come out of the oven, someone in the host's home will announce that dinner is ready, and guests and hosts will relocate to the dinner table and pick seats. (If there is not enough room at the dinner table for everybody, children's plates will be set at a folding table elsewhere, or in the vacated living room area.)

Some hosts will have guests line up in the kitchen and serve their own food one at a time. The way I was taught, hosts bring food and serving utensils to the table and sit once everything is placed. Dishes are then passed in a circle from person to person as people fill their own plates. It is generally assumed that you will take your portion in such volume that everyone else can receive the same amount as you, or more.

Meal usually includes a meat-based dish, a starch like rice or potato, one to three vegetable dishes, and a bread like a bun or roll that may be buttered.

It is here preferred that you ask for something to be passed rather than reach over food. "Could you pass me the..." or "may I borrow the ..." are good ways to ask.

Elbows stay off the table. You may rest your forearms on the edge if you like, depending on how formal we're talking, but no elbows.

Napkin is spread out flat on your lap to catch anything that may drop or spill. Some people may choose to tuck I into their shirt collar to protect their suit or tie, but I've only really ever seen old folks do that, or people doing it to babies and small children.

It is polite to eat everything on your plate, especially if you served yourself. Once everyone has eaten their plate, seconds may be offered or mentioned. It's considered rude to go in for second servings if others haven't finished their firsts yet. This is a good place for conversation to pick up.

Once everyone is finished eating, a member of the hosts' house (usually a kid, sometimes a volunteer guest assisting) will clear the table, gathering empty plates and such from the guests and taking them to the kitchen to be cleaned. Drinks might be refilled now, and dessert forks or spoons might be brought in.

Dessert usually happens. While the meal itself is traditionally homemade, it is perfectly normal for dessert to be store-bought.

The serving of dessert is much less communal than dinner. The person dishing dessert will normally take a stack of plates and send a runner (again, usually a kid) to take stock of who wants dessert and carry theirs to them.

After dessert, dishes will again be gathered and removed, with the exception of cups. Coffee and tea is customary at this point, and alcohol will disappear. This is when conversation comes back in full swing- talking and unwinding is the goal here, and letting any liquor digest so drivers who may have had a sip will be safe to drive afterwards.

END:

Someone will sigh and take note of the time. This is different depending on the group, but a second round of hugs will be in order. Farewells will be made at the door. If there are plenty of leftovers, the host may insist the guest take some. Borrowed dishes and containers will ostensibly be returned at a casual future meeting, possibly as an excuse to meet up and chat over coffee.

It is polite of the guest to offer a hand with cleaning up. It is polite of the host to insist they not. If they are an acquaintance or someone to be impressed, the guest will not be allowed to help clean unless they make it clear that offense will be taken otherwise. If they're a close friend or family member, they may be accepted with some minimal pushback.

The host might start cleaning while the guest is still at the table. This is not intended as an insult.

It is polite to leave around the same time that children begin getting ready for best- usually around 8, 8:30, 9-9:30 on special occasions.

If the weather is especially terrible, or driving conditions are poor, the host might offer the guest a bed for the night. If this is done, it is best to fetch them clean sheets and blankets, a fresh towel, and whatever else they might need. They will be expected to stay no later than breakfast the following morning, unless further plans have been agreed upon. An especially prepared host might have a spare set of pajamas (close friends and family only, usually) and a new toothbrush ready for use.

I think that's everything? A lot of it is weird unspoken shit but yeah lol that's most of what I remember.

I'd love to hear what everyone else grew up with!! Share with me your food culturrrrrrre

[verstappen-cult]

Could you do a Lestappen one where they act as her voice after reader is advised not to speak due to a sore throat that has left her hoarse

Your phone lights up with an incoming facetime call from your mother, Charles is grabbing it before you can even reach for it.

“Charles?” Your mother’s voice cuts through the air. “Hello, darling. Where’s my daughter? What did the doctor say?”

“He advised her not to speak or it may get worse. He also prescribed her some medicine.” That’s when Max enters the living room, a glass of water and your pills on his palm. You see him waving at your mother before joining you on the couch.

“Take this, baby. It will make you feel better.” You kiss Max’s cheek before accepting the pills and water. “Good girl.” He says, making you blush. You mouth to him to stop, pouting to your phone. You’re definitely never going to be facing your mother again if she heard him. But she doesn’t say anything, so you relax.

Charles chats animatedly with your mother for a few minutes while you cuddle next to Max and look for something to watch on the TV.

“How is work going, darling?” Your mother asks. You’re going to open your mouth to answer her, but Max beats you to it.

“Everything’s good. Next week she’s going to Paris for a meeting,” Max explains, hand on your knee. “something about making some changes to one of the last projects.” He shrugs and you feel your heart hammering in your chest.

It’s unbelievable how much they care about you. Ever since you’ve been like this they have not leave your side. And it is not like they don’t do that every day but now it’s just extra special. And kinda funny because you can talk, the doctor said you can’t raise your voice and need to drink lots of water, but can communicate verbally. It’s them that won’t let you.

The call ends with your mother telling you to take care and thanking your boyfriends for being so attentive with you.

“How are you feeling?” Charles asks and, knowing they will scold you if you talk, you give him a thumbs up. Your throat doesn’t hurt that much anymore.

The bell rings and Max is up in no time, when he comes back there’s a smiling Lando by his side.

He waves at you and Charles before handing you a bag. “I got you this. They bullied me into buying it because it is my fault you can’t talk now.” Lando looks down when he meets Max intense gaze, he looks like a scolded child.

When you open the bag you find a whiteboard and a pen. It makes you laugh and decide to use it. They wait patiently as you take your time to write, making them believe you’re actually writing something important. Once you finished you turn it around to reveal a ‘you’re all idiots’.

You know you will be using the whiteboard a lot around them because it’s impossible to get them to understand that you are fine. It may be a little annoying but you wouldn’t trade them for anything.

[sp0o0kylights]

Part Two / Part Three

Ao3

It's 8:45 am. 

The Red Barn, which is neither red nor a barn, has been open since 7, catering to the early morning crowd with rounds of coffee and pancakes.

It was no Benny's, but given the size of Hawkins and the lack of alternatives?

No one was complaining. 

They were all too happy someone had opened up another watering hole for the working class man (or lass, as Foreman Shelly will dutifully remind you) which meant the place was packed with both day and night shift regulars, passing each other in staggered waves. 

It also meant Wayne was sharing the packed breakfast counter with a warehouse worker by the name of John Cheese on one side and Police Chief Jim Hopper on the other.

He doesn't mind it.

Wayne's a man on a budget thinner than his shoelace, but he's also a man who understands that small indulgences need to be made in life or you didn't truly live it.

This is how he convinces himself to get a coffee at the Barn after work everyday, reading the morning newspaper and chatting with the other regulars before he heads home.

Bonus, it gets him out of the rapid-fire franticness that is his nephew in the mornings.

(All the love in the world wouldn't change the fact that all that Eddie came with a lot of noise. 

The kind of noise that was a tried and true recipe for a headache right after a long shift.)

As a trade off, Wayne went to bed early so he could wake up in time for dinner with Eddie.

 It was a nice little system that worked for them. 

A routine Wayne was reminiscing fondly on, when the pager on Chief Hopper started to chirp. With a sad moan, the man fished out a few crumbled bills and threw them on the counter, abandoning his coffee to trudge out to his truck.

This was not unusual.

Particularly recently, given they were but a scant few weeks past that whole mall ordeal. A fact all too easy to remember when one caught sight of the Chief’s still healing face. 

What was unusual, was when he came storming through the doors a minute later, face now a furious shade of red with his hat clenched in his hand. 

The energy in the room shifted, taking on something a little watchful as Hopper swept his gaze from side to side, like a dog on the hunt.

Judging by the way he stilled when he caught sight of Wayne, the latter assumed he found what he was looking for and could only pray it was the person behind him. 

(He liked John, but Wayne had enough trouble this year and he wasn't looking for any more.) 

"Munson." Hopper called, striding over and dashing all his hopes. There was a choked fury emitting off him, and given the way John audibly scooted his chair away, Wayne knew everyone had clocked it. 

"Chief." Wayne greeted, inclining his head towards him.

Idly he wondered what the hell his nephew had done this time.

'So help me if he stole all the town's lawn flamingos and put them in that damn teachers yard again….'

Wayne didn't even get to finish his threat, the Chief was already next to him. 

"Mind if I have a word outside?" 

Dammit Eddie.

"Ah hell, what's he done now?" Wayne asked with a sigh, eyeing the coffee he had left morosely. 

There was still almost half of it left and the pot had tasted fresh for once. 

"What?" Hopper said, and then Wayne got to watch as the man ran through an entire chain of thoughts, each one punctuated by things like; "Oh," and "No. " 

"This is something else." He finished, flushed and fidgeting, anger making him antsy. 

Wayne stared up at him. 

"Something else?" He repeated, not sure he heard.

"Yes, something else." Hopper snapped impatiently, before leaning forward, voice dropping low. "This doesn't involve your nephew, but we both know you owe me for how many times I've let that kid off, Wayne. That's a damn big favor I've been doing you and I'm calling it in." 

If it were any other cop, it'd sound like a threat.

It was Hopper though. The same Hopper who Wayne had gone to school with.

They'd never been friends exactly, but they had been friendly and remained so. Even now, after Wayne had taken Eddie in, who’d gone on to be an undeniable pain in the local PD’s ass. 

Hopper really did let the kid off easy. 

Wayne really did owe him. 

So he put down his coffee with a sigh, passed his newspaper over to John and stood up, motioning for Hopper to lead the way. Got into the Chief’s truck when he waved him in, and didn’t make a big fuss when Hopper tore out of the parking lot like hell was about to open up under them. 

"Not a lot of the kids involved in the mall fire could be identified, but a few of them were." Hopper started, which felt nonsensical given the utter lack of context. 

Wayne hummed to show he’d heard. 

“Some of them got banged up more than others, and a lot of people wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t make it.” 

A pause, Hopper white knuckling the steering wheel as he swung the truck hard around a turn. 

“For certain people, those kids dying is the preferred outcome.” 

A mix of fear and warning swopped low in Wayne’s gut. 

"Jim." Wayne said, dropping the use of a last name because if any situation called for it, it was this one. "What exactly are you saying here?" 

The Chief chewed on his split lip. 

"I know you're smart, Munson. I know you, and plenty of others are aware that something's happening, been happening in this town." 

Which was a hell of an understatement if you asked Wayne. Plenty of the upper classes might be able to bury their heads when it came to the military parading about and the flow of “accidents” they brought in their wake, but then, they didn't see all the other signs of trouble. 

The absolute oddity that was Starcourt’s construction. 

How it had been built using primarily outside crews and anyone who'd taken a singular look at the site could tell you they were building it weird. 

Weird as in it looked like it would have a multi-level basement, and not what a mall should have. 

Then there were the constant electrical problems. The backups upon backups that failed. The late night delivery vans headed out to the Hawkins Lab. 

The things in the woods that kept spooking all the deer and the weird markings they left behind that unnerved even the hardest of hunters. 

This didn’t even touch the Russian military that more than one reputable person swore was hanging around. 

The very same Wayne himself had seen, on more than one occasion. 

(And you couldn’t deny it; those boys were military. Past or present, it didn’t matter. They moved like a threat, and Wayne treated them like one, staying well clear.)

"Yeah." Wayne admitted. "I also know better than to stick my nose in it." 

"That makes you a smarter man than me.' Hop complained under his breath, but the anger was self directed. 

"The point is, there are some government types crawling around, doing shit they shouldn't be doing, and more than a few of them are in the business of making people disappear.” 

This was absolutely not where Wayne had thought this was going. 

Hopper took a breath. Than another.

A third.

It was starting to make Wayne nervous, in a way he hadn’t felt since a social worker had brought Eddie to him for the last time and final time. It was the feeling that things were about to shift in a way that would change the course of his life. 

"Steve Harrington is sitting in my office right now, beat to absolute shit.” Hopper admitted.

Wayne gave him the floor to talk, letting him go at his own pace without interruptions. 

“He's there because some of those government types finally figured out his parents are never fucking home.” 

Wayne sucked in a breath. 

"We both know his parents, Wayne. Harassing them to come back and take care of their kid won't work, and frankly, I’m beginning to think all the phone lines are tapped anyway.” He winced here, like voicing such a thing pained him, and Wayne understood.

It sounded a little too out there, a little like he was buying into a conspiracy. 

Except he wasn’t. Wayne knew he wasn’t. 

Jim Hopper might have been an alcoholic, a man living in pain and unconcerned with his own life, but if there was one thing he was solid for, it was shit like this.

He didn’t jump to conclusions. Didn’t believe the first thing people told him. Even at his worst, he did the work to see what was really happening, and made his decisions from there. 

(Even if that decision was to accept the occasional bribe, or drive an intoxicated 13 year old Eddie home instead of hauling his ass into the drunk tank.) 

“Harrington won’t admit it, but he’s got a hell of a concussion if not a full blown brain injury and he’s not reacting as well as he should to Suites trying to run him off the road.” Hopper continued. Angrily, he added, “Damn kid didn’t even come to me until they tried to break into his house last night.” 

His fingers squeezed the wheel so hard Wayne heard the leather creak in protest. 

“I’d take him, but my cabin is being renovated from…” He trailed off, heaving a sigh.

 “A storm, so me and my kid are bunked with the Byers right now and we’re full up.” 

Hawkins hadn't had a storm like that in years, but Wayne wasn't going to call him out on the blatant lie. 

“I need a place to stash him for the next few weeks, until I can work with some of the higher ups sniffing around, and get them to call off their attack dogs.” 

“And you want to stuff him with me.” Wayne finished. 

“I know you don’t have the room.” Hopper admitted easily, stopping his truck at a red light and locking eyes with the other man. “But I also know you’ll be the last place anyone would look for him.” 

'Ain’t that the damn truth.'

“You’re really gonna go this far for a Harrington?” Wayne asked, instead of the million of other questions leaping to the forefront of his mind. 

This one, he figured, was the most important. 

“He’s not his dad.” Hopper said, as firm as Wayne had ever heard him. “He’s not either of his parents, and he saved my little girl.” 

Wayne hadn’t even known Hopper had another little girl, but he also knew better than to ask where the guy had found one. 

It wasn’t his business, just as nothing else Jim was involved in, was his business.

Except, apparently, Steve Harrington. 

“I’m gonna need my own truck if I’m takin' Harrington home.” Wayne said easily, instead of bothering to ask anything else.

If Jim said the kid was different than his daddy, then he was--because when it came to things like that, Jim didn't lie.

No point in it. 

“I know. Just needed to talk to you first, without anyone overhearing.” Jim said, before swinging the police truck around and heading back to the Barn. 

“I’ll stay in contact with you, and I’ll make sure Harrington pays you for the pleasure of your hospitality. Just--” Here Jim cut himself off, looking like he was struggling an awful lot with the next thing he wanted to say. 

Once again, Wayne waited him out.

“Don’t let Steve fool you. He’s good at fooling people, letting them think he’s okay. Too good at it, and between the two of us, I have a real good idea of the reason why.” 

A memory came to Wayne unbidden, of Richard Harrington and Chet Hagan, beating some poor kid in the highschool bathroom bloody. The grins on their faces as the poor guy wailed for them to stop.

How they almost hadn’t. 

“Alright.” Wayne agreed.

Hopper swung back into the Barn's parking lot, and Wayne moved right to his own beat to shit truck, ready to follow Jim back to the police station.

He wasn’t a praying man, not anymore, but Catholisim wasn’t a thing that let you go easy. 

He found himself sending up a quick prayer, fingers flicking in a kind of miniature version of the sign of the cross. 

Considering his own kid’s history with Harrington, and the sheer small space of the trailer? 

Wayne had a feeling it was needed.

[postracehair]

say again

george russell x reader | 3.9k

three times george curses. or, a beginning, a middle, and a future.

cw: george cursing. a few scrapes and a little bit of blood, some kissing, and a love confession to boot.

a/n: this kind of ran away from me, especially in the middle but every time george russell says fuck an angel gets its wings. written ages ago but posting in honor of Las Vegas.

---

YOU'VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME

The door buzzes and you let yourself into the building.

You've only been here a few times, but a match day spent with your coworker and some of her friends is better than sitting on your couch alone, right? Wine and cookies in hand, you trudge up two flights of stairs to her flat. By the time you reach the landing, you can already hear the chatter and the TV.

No one seems to hear your knock so you push the door open and gingerly step in. The kitchen is on the other side of the flat, and you assume everyone is somewhere between there and the television.

But when you pass the living room where the TV actually is, there's just one guy on the couch. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees watching a penalty get called.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he says to no one.

You snicker. He whirls around. "Hello," you say.

"Sorry," he says, standing immedietly. Wow, he's tall. "Sorry, hello."

Oh, and he's familiar. You know him, kind of. He's -- god, he races cars, right? Shit, what is his name? Your coworker has social connections you barely understand so it's not really a surprise to find someone who is probably famous in her flat.

"It is just you, then?" you ask. He laughs and runs a hand through his hair. Dressed in jeans and a team jumper, his casual outfit is at odds with the severe cut of his jaw, his cheekbones. He just looks expensive.

"No," he says. "No, everyone is putting plates together. I'm afraid I might be the one most interested in watching the match."

"Not going well?" you say lightly.

He rounds the sofa, hand out. "Could be better," he says. "I'm George."

You readjust the items in your hands to shake his and tell him your name. He repeats it, and you smile.

"Let me go put these down," you say, "and then, um. Do you want some company, George?"

Honestly, you're not sure where that came from. But, though you came here to escape the smothering loneliness of your own flat, something about him makes you want to stay here rather than go into the kitchen with everyone else.

"'Course I do," he says. "I promise to tighten up my language. Won't do for that to be my first impression."

You wave him away though your cheeks feel a little hot and head for the kitchen.

Your coworker brightens at seeing you and takes your hostess gifts with ease.

"The match is on in the other room," she tells you, "but most of us are drinking in here."

"I saw," you say. "I met George."

She hears something in your tone that turns her expression something between amused and calculating. "You did, did you?"

You just nod, loading up a plate with the various nibbles. "How do you know him, anyway?"

She shrugs. "Oh, you know." No, you don't, but she plows on. "What did you think?"

"Taller than he seems on TV," you mutter. "But very polite. He shook my hand."

That gets her to laugh. "Oh, of course he did. Well, don't stand around in here with us. Go chat up a Formula 1 driver!"

George is back on the couch when you return, arm stretched over the back of it, brows furrowed.

"Has anything exciting happened?" you ask him, sitting down with a perfectly responsible distance between you.

He grimaces. "Nothing good. Wolverhampton, bless 'em, are quite bad."

That might explain why no one is watching this match with him, but you keep that to yourself.

"I see," you say, solemnly. "But loyalty is loyalty, I suppose, if they're your club."

"Exactly," George says. "It's suffering but it has to be done." Someone on the screen triggers a free kick and George leans in until it's over. He starts talking about one of the players being traded, or his contract being renegotiated, or something. You nibble on your plate and just watch. He's animated, this man. Fringe falling over his forehead the more he gestures, blue eyes wide and serious. It's all very endearing.

"Sorry," he says suddenly. "I'm being so rude. You don't want to hear about all of this, do you?"

You smile at him. "I don't mind. I came over for some company more than anything else."

He sinks back into the couch a little, hand running through his hair again. "Well, lucky for me that you did," he says.

Your face feels hot and you don't want to mistake this for flirting if it's not. He is a world-famous athlete, after all, but here you are on the couch next to him. "Lucky for you, indeed."

He laughs, delighted.

OH, SHIT!

This is not how you saw your life going, but maybe that's just the nature of it. Big moments happen just the same as small ones and we have to handle them regardless. The trajectory of your life shifted just a little bit when you sat down on someone else's couch to watch a football match with a stranger.

Because that stranger -- George -- is now much more than that. He asked for your number that day before he had to leave earlier than everyone else, and has been speaking to you ever since. Texts, phone calls, FaceTimes. And, when he's not driving hundreds of miles an hour halfway across the world, he likes to spend time with you.

They're dates, you know they are. But things are still casual, immensely so. Coffee, dinner, long walks through the park. It's probably past due that you ask him what he'd like out of this, but your friends tell you to just have fun for the time being. You've learned a lot about him in the last month or so, both from him directly and by doing your research.

You'd watched a few Grand Prix before meeting him but not with any kind of rapt attention. Now, obviously, you watch with purpose. See him zip around the track, read his radio messages, hope desperately that he'll be alright. He's a big mix of things, George Russell. Witty but determined, thorough but reactionary, polite but intense. You want to keep getting to know him on a personal level and measure that up to how he appears to the world.

Today, you're on one of those long walks. George is recounting the last race at your request. It's always more interesting to hear him talk about what happened than watching it, though you're really growing to love that part, too.

It's a bit chilly and he's got a scarf on in addition to a nondescript hat pulled down low over his eyes. You're used to this by now, though you wish you could see his face more fully.

"And then -- well, I'm sure you saw this bit -- he turned right into me like I wasn't even there!"

"But you avoided it," you remind him. "I saw that, too." A cold wind blows down the path and you shiver a bit.

"You alright?" he asks. "Nippy, huh?" He stops walking and turns to you, his huge hands coming to rest on your shoulders before he rubs them up and down your arms.

"A bit," you agree, a little breathless. God, you really need to talk to him about what this is. You're thinking about him all the time, which is a bit of a nuisance, as you're not sure he's feeling the same. But, a small voice in your head tells you, you can't be too far off in thinking that it might be based on the way he's looking at you right now.

Even under the cap, you can see the soft set of his brow, the way his eyes are shining. The gentle quirk up of his mouth. What would it be like to kiss him? Would he let you?

George stops his warming efforts, catching your hands in his. "Better?"

All you can do is nod. He grins, looking a bit too pleased, and starts walking again, you in tow. This is something else you've learned about him -- he really can be a cheeky bastard. He must have more than some idea as to how he affects you and enjoys it. It's somewhere between a game and a challenge.

You're thinking about ways you can get him back, ways you can flirt mercilessly. His hand is in yours and he's half a step ahead of you when suddenly your fingers are ripped from his and you find yourself on your hands and knees with a gasp.

George is immediately there with you.

"Oh, shit," he says. "Are you alright?"

"I--" You're a bit too stunned to say anything. George rarely curses, which is funny given how you met, but it unsettles you a little bit as much as it warms you. "I think I tripped?"

"Let me see your hands," he says, gently tugging at your wrists with his long fingers. He sucks on his teeth when he sees your palms. "Not too bad, but a little scratched."

You rearrange yourself so you're flat on your bum, legs in front of you. Your hands might be alright but your knees are another story. The fabric of your jeans isn't ripped but you can see the bloodstains already.

"Oh," you say. You look up at George, feeling a bit pathetic. "This is embarrassing."

He scoffs. "No, it's not," he says. "I do think we should get you cleaned up, though."

"We can go to my place," you suggest. The sting sets in a little more, but mingles with your chagrin and you just set your jaw. "Help me up?"

"Brave girl," George says. He presses his lips to the base of your wrist and stands, tugging you up as he goes. "Have you got first aid things at your flat?"

You nod, running through the contents of your bathroom in your mind. It occurs to you that George has not been to your place before, and you did not mentally prepare yourself to bring him there today.

George gently says your name. "Let's get a cab, shall we?"

It takes no time at all to flag one down. George removes his hat in what you can clearly see as an effort to get the cabbie to hurry along a bit, but it seems to work. He takes one look at you, one more at George, and steps on it.

"Let me get your belt," George mutters, making quick work of the buckle.

"I don't think I've ever worn a seatbelt in a cab in my life, George," you reply. He just pats your thigh.

"Think we've had enough injuries for one day, don't you?"

George and the cabbie chat about the race season, about how hot it really is in Singapore, about one of George's recent podiums. He keeps you tucked into his side the whole time -- he's ignored his own seatbelt, you notice -- hand on your thigh. You keep your palms turned up on your knees and wonder how on earth you got here.

The city flies by and you lean your head on his shoulder. You can feel something shifting between you, something clicking into place that wasn't entirely settled before. It's scary, it's exciting, it's big. It's something you're going to have to talk about.

George pays the driver in some large bills and helps you out of the cab and up the steps of your building.

"Where are your keys?" he asks.

"Front right pocket of my jeans."

"Pardon my reach," he jokes, and lightly rests on palm on your hip and slides the other into your pocket to find them. He tugs the keyring out and winks at you before unlocking the door. Up the stairs, into the flat. Shoes toed off, coats on the hook after George helps you out of yours.

"I'm not an invalid, you know," you tell him. He clicks his tongue.

"We don't want blood on this nice coat of yours, do we?"

You roll your eyes. George glances around your flat and smiles. "This is very you."

Dishes on the counter, the pillows a mess on the couch, your books and trinkets on every flat surface -- you suppose he's right.

"Thank you?" you say. He taps your chin with his knuckle.

"It feels like a home, I mean." Your cheeks feel warm and your heart sighs. God, the things he says.

"Oh," you breathe. "That's kind."

"And does this home have a first aid kit?" The reminder brings the dull sting of your scraped skin back to the forefront of your mind.

"Bathroom cabinet," you tell him. George nods.

"I'll get that. Why don't you change into something loose so I can get to your knees?"

In your room, you tug carefully tug on some sweatpants, mindful of your palms, and let yourself marvel at how today has gone. You expected to have George here someday, but certainly not like this. Will he want to see your bedroom? You shove some dirty laundry into the hamper and thank past you for making the bed this morning.

"I think you should sit on the counter," George calls. "Whenever you're ready."

You pad out to meet him in socked feet. It's quite the sight, him in your kitchen. He's bent over your sink, washing his hands. His sweater has been tossed over a chair and you can see the lines of his back under his t-shirt.

"Do you need help getting up?" he asks. You nod. Together, you get yourself on the counter, making you about eye level.

"Hello," you say. His hat is gone, too, so his fringe falls across his forehead in slightly curled strands. When you've cleaned yourself up, maybe you'll work up the courage to run your hand through them.

"Hello yourself. Right hand, please." You hold out your palm and George gets to work. He cleans it, getting all the bits from your skin, and then uses an alcohol wipe.

"Do you have a special interest in first aid, or something?" you ask to distract yourself from the sting. His thumb strokes your pulse point as he works.

"I guess you get beat up a bit in karting when you're young," he says. He wraps one palm in gauze and moves onto the other. "I suppose i just like knowing how to take care of people."

"God," you groan. "Is there anything wrong with you?"

He looks at you then, hair falling into his blue, blue eyes. "Oh," he smirks. "Plenty, darling." He finishes up on your other palm and holds it in his for a moment longer than you expect. Then he slowly brings your hand to his mouth and kisses the bandage.

You might gasp, You're not entirely sure, eyes glued to his lips like nothing else exists. Then he kisses the other palm. Your gaze flicks up and George is looking right at you.

"Knees," he says, voice a little hoarse. "Alright?"

"Alright," you breathe. You stick one leg out just to see what he'll do. You're learning that he rises to the occasion, and that's exactly what happens. He cups your ankle, places your foot on his thigh, and slides your sweatpants up above your joint.

"That's gnarly," he says, breaking the tension. You laugh and tap his leg with your other foot. "You ready?"

"I'm ready."

He makes quick work on it. One hand on your calf, the other gently cleaning and bandaging. The silence is comfortable, familiar, though you've not been in this situation before. It's not until George is almost done with your other knee that he speaks.

"You know," He says, lightly. "If you wanted me to touch you, all you had to do was ask. The tripping wasn't entirely necessary."

"George!" you gasp. He squeezes your calf.

"I'm just saying, darling."

He ties off the gauze and rolls down your pant leg. You widen your knees and he steps between them immediately, hands resting gently on your thighs. It's absolutely electric -- going from shy, appropriate touches to being in your flat together, his hands all over you. How are you going to go back?

Maybe you can't.

George's eyes rake over your face. You inhale his exhales, feeling them on your lips. His pupils dilate.

"What is this, George?" you whisper. His fingers press into your thighs a little harder.

"Well," he says, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "What would you like it to be?"

"I don't know," you say, honestly. He is not dissuaded, does not back away. He must know that this is hard for you -- his life is so different from yours. As it is, you avoid social media so you don't see pictures of you splashed across gossip accounts. It's impossible to totally stay away from it but you try, because you really like being with him.

"Shall I tell you what it is for me?" George says.

You nod.

He cups your face in his hands, thumbs stroking the delicate skin under your eyes.

"Every second I am not with you I am thinking about when I'll see you next," he says. "I store up things to tell you and take photos to show you and I have a bag full of things I've bought you but been too afraid to give you. Beautiful things, things that remind me of you."

"George--"

"I worry about fucking up your life," he continues, and you fall silent. "This is a lot. I am a lot. My life is not simple, and you've already seen that. But I want you in it. I want you in it however you want to be there, though I have my suggestions. I promise that if you let me, I'll treat you so well, because you deserve everything, and --"

Your heart is going to explode if he goes on any longer, so you close the gap between you and kiss him. Finally.

It's just the press of your lips against his for a few seconds, your eyes fluttering shut, before George catches up to what's happening and angles your faces a little bit to make it deeper. Your bandaged hands rest on his elbows and you swallow a sound from deep in his throat, something that lights a fire in your belly.

"Blimey," George says, leaning your foreheads together.

"What, no curse for me?"

His eyes sparkle and he wrinkles his nose at you. "Fuck," he says. "I've been thinking about that for weeks."

You press your lips to the corner of his mouth. "That's more like it."

BLOODY HELL

What the fuck was that? Is he serious? Keep focused, George. This is fucking ridiculous. Head down.

It's a bad day. Not as bad as it could be -- George does not end up in the wall. But he ends up way further down the pack than he should, barely scraping together a few points. It's the car and everyone knows it. The bouncing, the drag, the understeer. A showing far too poor for this late in the season.

And George is pissed. It's not often that you see him this way -- he's fairly levelheaded, even when things get tough. Something about him causes conflict to lull, things to fall into place, but even that can't fix the silver arrow.

You slip out of the garage during the last lap to sit in his driver's room and wait.

This isn't your first race. Far from it, by now. Things got official halfway through the season after that day in your flat, and you've been coming to as many as you can. It's a rush, really, to see him work. Scarier than anything, but when it's good? It's amazing. You love the energy of the garage and everyone seems to have taken to you, too.

So much so that they know to send George right to his room before the media pen so you can calm him down.

You sit on the bench and wait.

He comes in, closing the door firmly but never slamming it, and sighs. All the tension melts from his body and he looks defeated. Sweaty, annoyed, and defeated.

"Hello," you say, lightly.

He smiles wryly. "Shit day, huh?"

You love how George looks after a race. Hair a mess from his helmet, skin beaded with sweat. He unzips his race suit and lets it hang at his hips and you can see the outline of his muscles through his fireproofs. It's genuinely swoonworthy, even with his visibly bad mood.

"Are you alright?" you ask. He shrugs, rolls his shoulders, and winces.

"Bloody hell," he curses. "My back is killing me."

"What can I do?"

"Nothing," he says automatically. "You're perfect just as you are."

It's a reflex he has -- not to ask for things. You're still working it out, poking and prodding to find the cracks. Maybe, with time, he'll loosen this grip he has on his desire to make your life as comfortable and wonderful as possible without thinking of himself. There are moments when it's best to just let him fuss, but right now you think you can push back a little.

"George," you sigh. "Come on."

He hides his face behind a sweat towel for a breath, then tosses it aside. "Alright," he says. "Just sit with me for a bit."

You scoot over on the bench and he flops next to you, head back against the wall and eyes closed. His hand fumbles around for yours, pinching your thigh when he overshoots, which makes you laugh. He cracks a smile and opens one eye just enough to see your grin before settling back into his rest.

He breathes deeply, fingers entwined with yours. The line of his jaw is pronounced in the awful lighting of the room and the shadows under his eyes look worse than usual. A few more races and then he can rest. What will you do in the off season? Maybe a vacation. Hopefully a vacation. You imagine George in swim trunks on a beach somewhere, dozing in the sand. Rubbing sun tan lotion on his back and his shoulders and his nose, reading books for hours until he convinces you to run into the water. Lazy days on a balcony or in a bed with all the windows open, never being far from each other --

Someone knocks on the door.

"Christ," George mutters. "Let's ignore it."

"You need to go to the pen, darling," you whisper back. He squeezes your hand and presses your legs together.

"Just a few more minutes," he says. "Eventually they'll just come in."

"If you say so."

You press a kiss to his tacky cheek and lean your head on his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut.

George takes a deep breath. "I love you," he says.

The words stretch into the silence that comes after, the moments it takes for you to process it. They fill the small room, sneak their way into your bloodstream, your lungs, all the way to your heart.

Part of you is waiting for the follow-up. I know it's too early, I know it's a lot, You don't have you say it back. But George doesn't deal in excuses. He feels it, so he says it.

You lift your head to look at him and find him already staring at you. Not expectant, just looking to look.

"I love you, George," you say.

He grins bigger than you've ever seen, bigger than after your first kiss, than the days when he's on the podium.

Someone knocks on the door again.

"Oh, piss off," he mutters and leans in to kiss you.

[jamneuromain]

Stalker Lady pt. 1

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (You)

Word Count: ~1.5k

Warning: Mean!Simon Riley, Voice (PORN) actor!Simon Riley, patron!reader, neighbor!AU, description of audio porn and stalking behavior. bad language word people we're talking about audio porn here

Summary: You meet Simon unexpectedly. Unfortunately, he thinks you are a stalker.

A/N: This fic is my rehab-going-back-into-writing fic. And it's the first time I'm writing for "Ghost" I've honestly never played COD. But here's my idea of the scary (not really lol) simon ghost riley :3

After enduring your rented noisy flat for nearly six months, the construction of your new house is finally completed, which is a total relief. You now have a house of your own.

It’s a small place in the suburbs, with a handful of neighbors on the same block, and a decent lawn that you need not pay too much attention to besides mowing occasionally. More importantly, the quietness.

You’ve settled for this house because of the friendly neighbors and the quietness around the place. Most houses are properly wrapped up in thick walls and heavy planks so no noises would escape. The only sounds that constantly appear from outside of the window are the birds chirping and the laughs and talks from family and friends.

This.

This is the perfect place for you.

You met the Pinewood Residential Community Committee (Really? A community committee? You could be in tears) the day you moved in. A group of five that consisted of three of the actual committee and two of your neighbors. The house to your right lives a delightful family whose wife Sarah came to visit and brought you homemade cookies. The house to your left harbors a tall silent man called Simon who has dark circles under his eyes (You doubt the house was enough for him because he looked like a Tall-nut that could poke through the roof). Most of the time he just nodded to whatever the rest of them were chatting about. He gave you a brand-new Bluetooth speaker about the size of your palm, saying that it might come in handy if you want to play music without carrying your phone around the house.

You were grateful.

For the committee. For the friendly neighbors. For the speaker, even.

Until the day you decide to try this speaker out.

Present day, today, this very hour, you have been fighting with this unruly speaker.

You have pushed buttons. Connecting it to the charger and unplugged it twice. Flipped the on/off switch. Turned the volume thingy at the top to the maximum. Turned up the phone volume, too.

Nothing.

No sound coming out.

While your phone mocks at you by showing you that you have already connected it and no sound is coming out.

You googled, searched, and tried reading the instructions, but nothing helped.

You sigh. Snatch the speaker and the small piece of paper with instructions and head to your neighbor’s place.

Simon is just finishing up his work for today.

It’s not a job, per se, but trades his time and patience for some of the allowances.

Actually, scratch that, he has been making more from this not-job job than spending time in the military, which says something.

He has been considering making this job a little permanent, aside from his part-time work to deliver posts and mails.

He starts the day early, driving his van to the local post office, loading the bunch of stuff onto his backseat, and finishing driving around the blocks at around 1 pm. Works a little on his side job, goes to bed at 9 or 10, simple as that.

He leaves the recording room of his house, only pausing his steps to the showers when he hears something coming from his living room…?

He heads back to the recording room, making sure his laptop is turned off, his phone is on airplane mode (which has stayed that way for a while, he must add, to prevent it from interrupting his recording), and his iPad certainly has not connected to his Bluetooth. Which is … odd?

Because why is one of his recordings playing on his Bluetooth speaker?

Simon winces at his own grunts and moans from the speaker. He’s not particularly proud of it, okay, that he is a member of an audio porn production team. He takes time recording himself reading various scripts of monologues that end up taking the imaginative figure of a woman to bed.

Yes, he records himself twice a week.

Yes, he makes male-for-female porn.

Yes, he never shows his face and has a silly stage name called “Ghost”.

Yes, he does (very occasionally) custom-made fan audio for those generous patrons.

Yes, this is a custom-made audio playing on his Bluetooth – wait what?

A few soft knocks land on his door before he can comprehend what mystical force is toying with his speaker.

“Brilliant.” He grumbles to himself under his breath, “Fucking brilliant.”

Now he has another thing to tend to besides figuring out his haunted speaker.

He turns the volume down, shoving the small gadget into the sofa cushions before it can be haunted again.

Opening the door.

And there you are.

“Oh! Um, hi!” You are stepping down the porch, thinking that he must be busy, but the noise of the locks startles you a little, turn around to see your neighbor Simon, “Hi, I live next door. Uh, I moved here about a week ago?”

Cute.

He thinks to himself.

Technically, his first impression was supposed to be a week ago when he visited your place for the first time, but he missed his nap time so the thirty minutes spent there consisted of him keeping himself awake – hardly, more like keeping his head straight and eyes open, which he failed, for at least a dozen times or so.

Rude. He knows. But he is not the kind of social butterfly either, so you kinda get what you deserve by moving in next to him.

“Yeah.” He grunts, his mind still on the fucking Bluetooth, “Wha’d you need, luv?”

“I think this speaker is … I don’t know what’s wrong with it, it just … no sound coming out of it.” You chew on your lower lip sheepishly, “Would you mind helping out, please?”

“Tried to dial the volume on your phone louder?” He raised his eyebrows at you.

“Yeah, I did, I-” You fumble with your phone, giving him a moment to look at the speaker under your arm.

One glance at the Bluetooth speaker in your hand, same brand, same model, but different color, connects the dots for Simon in his mind.

It is obvious as daylight that you accidentally connected to his speaker.

“I’ll try turn it up-” You push the buttons on the side of your phone, turning the volume up to the loudest.

And a guttural groan comes from his couch.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweet’art.” His couch moans loudly, “You’re killin’ me with that sweet cunny-”

Simon acts quickly, yanks you inside the house by the arm, and slams the door shut.

“That’s my speaker.” He says, quietly.

Your stupid fingers finally manage to turn the volume down. You completely forgot about the audio playing on your phone – your favorite audio, the one you have listened to and cummed to for at least a handful of times. Your face instantly goes aflame. You were planning some quality time with your toy, but not this! You are not connecting to your neighbor’s speaker and standing at his doorstep!

The deadly silence is eating you up.

“Um. Guess it’s not … wrong?” You let out a dry chuckle, your mind a puddle of jellyfish that zaps your neurons into firing the wrong sparks, “I’ll, um, go upstairs – my home, my place, I mean. Thank you for tonight.” Your face scrunches together out of sheer embarrassment.

His iron grasp on your arm is unwavering.

He has some patrons online, but the fact that you are one of them and live next door is … a bit too much of a coincidence.

“You a stalker or wha’?” He growls at you. His eyes flash a dangerous glint as he recalls what had happened to one of his friends, John, with the stage name “Soap”. Soap works with Simon in the small group of audio porn production called “Team 141”. Soap was careless about his whereabouts, leading to a crazy woman piecing together information and ambushing him when he gets home from his day job.

“Wha- what?” You sound completely baffled. “What are you even talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb, sweet’art. Doesn’t work like ‘at.” Simon eyes at the now-silent speaker on his couch, before returning his gaze to your startled expression, which is indeed fright, but for different reasons than he’d think of – the fear of being found that you stalked to his house. “Peachy? Peach? ‘s that your Discord name? Coz this is a specialized piece, custom-made. An’ I made it myself.”

Your eyes widen at the confession. Your Discord name is indeed, Peachyyy,with two extra Y, and it hits you that this man you are confronting, who is confronting you, might be the one who sent this audio as a special gift to you, their patron.

Every patron for the Team 141 could designate a voice actor for their custom-made audio. When you were notified that you could also participate in deciding the actor of the audio, without a second to stop and think, you chose your favorite one of “Team 141”.

“Ghost”.

Simon “Ghost” Riley let out a cold smirk. He believes he has this all figured out.

“I won’t report you. Not yet. But if I find you ten feet within my vicin’ty,” His teeth bared, sharp canines ready to rip something apart, throat rumbling like a true animal, “I’ll get your pretty arse locked up and thrown into jail. Run along now, stalker lady.”

Monster! You shriek. Or perhaps that’s a pitiful whimper under his massive shadow, and flee from his grasp.

Part 2

[acowardinmordor]

You Left Me - You Miss Me - 4

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

Hi, time for more, arguably making things better, but also arguably making things much worse.

----

There was a diner a block and a half from their apartment. Steve found it when the sky opened up during his jog one morning. Snow, he could have handled, he was dressed for it. Slushy sleet mixed with hail was another matter. He ducked inside to hide until it passed, chatted with the owner for a bit, and brought Robin with him the next day because they had an amazing spread of waffle toppings, including crumbled bacon, and Steve knew she’d go crazy about it.

He was correct, and it was their go to spot, not just for breakfast. 

At the end of January, Rebecca sat down to join them, and handed Steve an application. 

Steve was already working at a JC Penny in the stock room, and picked up a few hours at a roller rink filling in when someone called out. They had enough money to live. Not decadently, but they could cover all their bills, and keep gas in the car, and buy supplies for Robin’s classes.  

“Uh, Rebecca, I’m- thank you? But. My memory sucks, and my hearing isn’t great, and if someone starts getting rude, I’m going to get rude back to them, and --”

“This is a diner, hun,” she stopped him, “You write the orders down, you can always tell someone to say it again, and the fact you can shut down anyone that gives you lip is why I think you’ll be good at it. Like I said, it’s a diner. We don’t have to be all sunshine and daisies here.”

“I’m working at another--”

“Over at the mall and the rink, I know. And I know you’re free Monday through Wednesday mornings. And,” she stressed, “staff gets free meals and first dibs on the day olds.”

“Dingus!" Robin gasped and grabbed his arm. "Do it, do it. Stevie. Please, oh my god, please, you have to take it. You can bring me the brioche buns. And that apple butter. And that thing with the nuts! Steeevveee, don’t you love your soulmate? Please? I cou--”

So Steve took the job, and worked a few mornings a week. By the third week of February, he stopped feeling like he was going to fuck up any second. He understood why Rebecca liked his ability to get bitchy in the face of difficult customers, and he and Robin had cupboards well stocked with random take homes. 

He liked it. Starting at five in the morning took some getting used to, but he was done by one, and traded off with a middle aged mom named Susan after the lunch rush settled down. Was it a ton of money? No. But he got more tips than he expected to, and the brioche really was delicious. 

The last week of February, he was working alone on a Tuesday, at the start of the lunch rush, expecting Susan to arrive soon, and an easy day. 

“Be with you in a minute,” he called to whoever just came inside, bussing half a dozen empty plates from table two after dropping off more creamer at table four. He looped back, ducking behind the counter to put the plates on the pass through for Nick to grab. 

He dropped the entire stack before he got there.

His hands clenched down, his muscles locked, and even though it should have made him hold harder, everything slipped, and either shattered on the tiles or banged into his feet.

Jim Hopper winced from his seat at the counter. “Sorry, kid.”

The couple of other diners glanced up to check on him, and John looked around the window from the kitchen. Steve didn’t move. Couldn't. Could barely breathe.

“Is it back?”

“No.”

His exhale shook out of him before he shoved down the panic.

“Then whatever this is can wait.” 

“I’m just here to talk.”

“And I said it can wait.”

He swept up the broken dishes, shrugged off John’s silent offer to throw Hopper out, and reminded himself there was no reason to think that the Upside Down was back. That meant this was going to be more awkward and less dangerous, and he was going to hate it, but it was still the better version of the day. 

“What’ll you have?” 

“Kid, I’m here to talk cause I didn’t think you’d want me at your place.”

“And I’m at work, and this is a diner, so what’ll you have?”

“Steve--”

“I’ll bring you coffee. I’m not talking about this while I’m working.”

“Coffee’s good. When are you off?”

Steve gave his bitchiest smile, didn’t answer, and went to seat the couple that just walked in. 

The lunch rush was a mercy. Susan handled Hopper, and gave him the iciest service anyone had ever gotten under that roof. Hopper took it gracefully, but he didn’t shift, or push, or give any indication that he wasn’t willing to sit there til midnight if he had to. 

Normally, Steve would get some lunch to go and head home. If the weather was bad, he ate at the booth in the corner to wait it out. With the way his stomach was twisting, unable to separate Hopper from what his arrival could mean, he wasn’t going to keep food down. He filled a glass of water, then silently gestured Hop to follow. 

“Good to see you, Steve,” he said when they sat. “You and Robin doing okay up here?”

“We’re fine. Why are you here? If it isn’t something to do with, you know, then why are you here?”

“Maybe I just came up to check on you.”

“Did you?” Steve snorted into his drink when that question made Hopper’s face twist up. “So what is this?”

“I am here to check on you. There’s something else, but I came here because I’m checking on you. Me and you weren’t all that close, but you had Mrs Buckley give me your info so I’d know where you were.”

“Yeah, in case of an emergency. And you said there wasn’t any emergency. Plus, you had my phone number, so you could have called, which would be way less weird than showing up while I’m at work, you know?”

Hopper scratched at his cheek. “It’s not an emergency compared to all the reasons you wanted me to be able to find you, but if you ask those kids, this may as well be the end of the world again.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right.”

“Yeah, well. Henderson is gonna get himself arrested if he keeps trying to steal the mail and find something addressed to you. Max keeps pushing El to try and find you. The only reason they haven’t gone completely crazy is because of the Buckleys telling them that you’re fine. She gave me your address and number, and she talked for a little bit about the kids.” 

Steve smiled at that. Mrs Buckley had never talked a ‘little bit’ about anything in her life. Either she was holding the line on being rude to anyone that might bother them, or Hop was pretending he hadn’t listened to a solid hour of rambling.  

“Still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

“Want to ask if I can -- shit, I don’t know. I can route mail back and forth so they never have your address or something. I’d rather give them your info so I don’t have to be involved, but I already know you won’t agree to that.”

Steve ignored the pause that Hopper left there. Conversation and good manners said he should concede to something so he wouldn’t inconvenience the man too much. The last month with Robin supporting his choice kept his mouth shut. She’d be pissed at him if he folded, and worse, she’d help him get through all the pain it caused if he did talk to the kids again. Then he’d feel guilty and sad. 

“Alright,” Hopper grumbled, “Didn’t think you would, but you know how those kids can be. Can’t fault me for trying.”

“So, we’re done? You sat here all this time just to talk for three minutes?”

“Almost.” 

“So….” At least Steve could enjoy the fact that neither of them were enjoying this.  Hopper winced a bit before he spoke. 

“I didn’t tell any of the kids I was coming up to see you. None of them knew, and none of them are gonna know. Didn’t even tell Joyce why, just that I was driving up to Indy. Already had a plan in case they tried to tail me up here. So, had a surprise this morning when I got to my truck. it might change your answer.”

“Didn’t know you were so dramatic about stuff.”

“Side effect of two hours with that surprise, I guess. Eddie Munson came up with me.”

Any of the kids would have hurt. 

Henderson might have made him cry. 

Eddie Munson? That didn’t make sense. 

They weren’t friends, never had been. The Upside Down meant they were connected, but they were never more than acquaintances, even when Steve was desperately trying to keep them all close. Sure, he’d taken over as the chauffeur for the kids, and everyone’s new best friend, but that didn’t explain why he’d bother to come up to talk to Steve. 

“What the hell? Why?”

“He asked.”

“And you said yes.”

“He said please.”

That was not the whole story. There was something getting skipped over, left out. Hopper tolerated Munson, but he wouldn’t do him a favor if there wasn’t some kind of monster involved. 

“Wait, you’ve been here for two hours.”

“Yep.”

“Did you just leave him in your truck this whole time? That front came through overnight. The high is thirty four today.”

“Yeah, I did,” Hopper said flatly. “He told me he wanted to come up so he could talk to you. Told me a little bit about why. And I said yes and I let him come, but I told him that I was gonna talk to you first. If you said no, he was gonna stay in that seat clear back to Hawkins, and keep his mouth shut about this whole thing.”

“How’d he know what you were doing?”

“No clue.”

“What does he want to talk about?”

“Not gonna say it for him.” Hopper shifted towards the edge of the booth. “So, want me to tell him to buckle back up, or tell him to get his ass in here?”

A quick consult with the imaginary Robin in his head left him just as confused, but curious as hell. He agreed, and fidgeted with a napkin, struggling to think of any reason why Eddie Munson would want to talk to him, or what the hell he said that the kids hadn’t that convinced Hopper to drive him up. 

Stuck in his head, Steve jumped when a mess of a man in denim and leather slid shivering into the seat opposite. The scars on his face and hands were less vivid than they were last time they saw each other, but they still worked as a thermometer. Steve's did the same.

“Why the hell were you sitting in the cold, man?”

Eddie blinked, and froze where he was rubbing his hands together trying to get feeling back. “Hopper took the keys.”

Steve’s turn to blink. This was the guy taking care of his kids. 

“Susan?” He called, gesturing for two when she lifted the coffee carafe in a question.

“You don’t need to do that.”

“Dude, I don’t know what the hell you’re doing here or why you care or what the hell is happening, but I’m not gonna let you sit there shaking cause you’re a dumbass who doesn’t know what gloves are.”

Steve watched packet after packet of sugar pour into Eddie’s, while he stirred a splash of half and half into his own cup. Eddie took a gulp, hissed at the heat, and clutched at the mug, eyes glued to the nicked surface of the table. 

“I’m sorry.”

“For rotting your teeth out? That’s your choice, Munson.”

“No,” Eddie insisted, voice hoarse, “I’m sorry about the kids.”

Steve took a breath, took a sip, took another breath. “Look, man, that’s not on you. You play D&D with them, and you like all their nerdy shit. I was -- They grew up. We got through everything, all of that, we won, and they grew up. It’s not your fault that they like you more than they liked me. So, thanks, I guess, but--”

“Steve. No. They didn’t. They -- those kids did not suddenly grow up and decide they didn’t like you anymore. You are their favorite person anywhere, ever, you will be for the rest of eternity, and they don’t understand why no one will tell them how to reach you. They put on a really good show about being mad about it, but, come on, you know what they’re like. They want to apologize cause they know they hurt you, and they want to fix it, and just, you gotta let them try, Steve. You gotta let them talk to you. They miss you so fucking much.”

“Look, I know how they get, and I know how dramatic they are, but it’s still not your fault--”

“It is. Steve. It is my fault. That’s - That’s why you have to talk to them. Cause they didn’t grow up and get over you or decide they didn’t care about you. Those kids are crazy about you, and they never stopped, and they’re hurt right now cause they don’t understand why you left them, and you gotta fix it with them, please.”

Something pinged weird in his ear when he heard the way Munson’s voice cracked. Not just worry, not just helping, not just caring about the kids. Guilt. He was taking the blame for it, even though that didn’t make any sense. The kids were - brats, gremlins, terrors, the most stubborn people he’d ever met, and he knew Nancy Wheeler. If they wanted to be around him, they would be around him. 

It wasn’t Eddie’s fault, or anyone’s fault. It hurt like hell, and Steve wished it wasn’t true, but this was just life. Kids grew up, their interests moved. Friendships changed and ended. 

But that crack of guilt…

“How is it your fault and not theirs that they stopped wanting to ever see me?”

Eddie’s hands stopped shaking from the cold before he got the coffee. 

His hands were shaking again.

Trembled in the time between Steve asking, and Eddie managing to respond.  

“I, uh, I asked them to.”

----

Don't be too mad at him yet. He has a lot more to say.

Part Five >>>

[latenightreadingpdf]

Jealousy - Sirius Black

₊‧⁺˖⋆ Masterlist ⋆˖⁺‧₊

Summary: When Y/N excitedly announces her first date with Amos Diggory, Sirius Black’s jealousy quickly gets the better of him.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The Gryffindor common room was buzzing with its usual chaos. The Marauders lounged on their favorite couch, trading jokes and stories, while Lily Evans and her group of friends sat by the fire, discussing the latest gossip. The evening was comfortably familiar—until the door burst open.

You came running in, breathless and wide-eyed, as if you had just sprinted across the entire castle.

"What's wrong?" Lily asked, concern knitting her brows.

But your beaming smile quickly dispelled any worry. "Nothing's wrong!" you said, your voice practically trembling with excitement. "I just had to tell you all—Amos Diggory asked me out!"

Gasps and squeals erupted from the girls. They immediately crowded around you, peppering you with questions.

“When?” “Where?” “What did he say?” “What are you going to wear?”

You laughed, flustered but enjoying the attention. "He asked me after Potions today. We're going to Hogsmeade tomorrow night!"

The boys exchanged confused glances. James, ever the spokesperson, called out, “Hold on, hold on—Amos Diggory? Since when do you fancy anyone?”

Your cheeks flushed, and you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "Since he’s nice, smart, and, you know... handsome," you admitted.

James nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Fair enough.”

“Good for you,” Remus added warmly.

Peter gave you a thumbs-up. "Amos is decent."

Sirius, however, leaned forward, eyebrows furrowed in a frown. "Amos Diggory? Really? Of all people, him?"

Your smile faltered. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"Just that you could do a lot better,” Sirius said, his tone sharp. “He’s... dull. And too nice. Suspiciously nice.”

"Sirius!" Lily snapped, glaring at him.

Mary chimed in indignantly, “Amos Diggory is the dream guy. He’s polite, smart, and incredibly handsome.”

The other girls nodded in agreement, giggling again as they tugged you toward the staircase to the girls’ dorms. "Come on, we have to pick out your outfit!"

You cast a hesitant glance back at Sirius, but his stormy expression didn’t change. Shrugging it off, you let the girls drag you away.

The room fell quiet as the boys stared at Sirius.

“What?” Sirius grumbled, leaning back in his seat.

Remus slapped his arm. “Ow!” Sirius yelped, rubbing the spot.

“What the hell was that for?”

“For being an arse,” Remus said, whisper-yelling. “Why would you say that to her? She looked so happy!”

Sirius scowled. "I just think there’s something off about him."

“Rubbish,” James shot back. “You didn’t have to be so mean about it, though.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, mate. You kind of ruined the moment.”

Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. I’ll apologize tomorrow.”

“Good,” Remus said firmly. “But not just because we’re telling you to. You’re jealous.”

Sirius’ head snapped toward him. “I am not!”

James snorted. “You’re jealous.”

Peter grinned. “Definitely jealous.”

Sirius groaned, throwing his head back against the couch. “I hate all of you.”

“Not as much as you hate Amos Diggory,” James quipped, dodging the pillow Sirius threw at him.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The next day was a whirlwind of excitement. After hours of trying on different outfits with the girls, you finally settled on one that everyone agreed made you look stunning. Their compliments gave you a confidence boost as you descended the staircase to the common room.

Amos was waiting for you, looking polished yet approachable in his casual Hogsmeade attire. His smile widened as he saw you.

“You look beautiful,” he said, his voice warm.

You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Thank you. You look nice too.”

He extended his arm. “Shall we?”

With a shy smile, you took his arm, and the two of you headed off toward Hogsmeade.

The Three Broomsticks was lively but not too crowded, the perfect spot for a cozy first date. Over butterbeers, you and Amos chatted easily, laughter punctuating your conversation. He was charming and surprisingly funny, keeping you giggling throughout.

What you didn’t realize was that someone else had spotted you from outside the pub.

Sirius Black, with the rest of the Marauders in tow, was in Hogsmeade to stock up on their usual supplies: prank items and enough sweets to fuel their mischief. While the others were distracted by Zonko’s display, Sirius had spotted you through the window, laughing with Amos Diggory.

The sight made his stomach twist. “Come on,” Sirius said, feigning nonchalance. “Let’s get a butterbeer.”

James raised a brow. “Now? I thought we were going to Honeydukes next.”

“Just one,” Sirius insisted, already heading for the door.

The bell above the door chimed as the boys entered, and your laughter stopped abruptly. You glanced toward the door and spotted them. Your eyes narrowed, immediately honing in on Sirius.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” you muttered under your breath.

Amos noticed your expression and turned to look. “Are those your friends?” he asked curiously.

You hesitated. “Not really. Give me a second.”

Sliding out of your chair, you made your way to the Marauders. Sirius’ face lit up with exaggerated surprise as you approached.

“Y/N! What are you doing here? Oh my gosh, are you on your date right now?”

You rolled your eyes, unamused. “Leave. Now.”

James and Remus exchanged guilty glances. “Sorry, Y/N,” James said quickly. “We didn’t know—”

Sirius interrupted, “I’m just here for a butterbeer! By the way, you look really lovely—”

“Out!” you snapped, glaring at him.

Peter tugged on Sirius’ sleeve. “Come on, mate. Let’s go.”

Grumbling under his breath, Sirius allowed himself to be dragged out. You turned back to Amos, forcing a smile.

“Sorry about that,” you said, sitting down.

Amos studied you for a moment. “Are you and Sirius... a thing?”

“Godric, no!” you said, horrified. “He’s just... a jerk.”

Amos tilted his head thoughtfully. “He likes you, you know.”

You frowned. “No, he doesn’t.”

“He does,” Amos insisted. “And I don’t want to get in the middle of that. But I’d like us to stay friends. I really enjoy hanging out with you.”

You tried to hide your disappointment and nodded. “Sure. Friends.”

Amos smiled gently and walked you back to the Gryffindor common room. Before leaving, he gave you a soft kiss on the cheek.

When you stepped into the common room, all eyes turned to you.

“How’d it go?” James asked, grinning.

“Horrible,” you snapped, glaring pointedly at Sirius.

He raised his hands in defense. “I barely did anything!”

“Barely?” you repeated, incredulous. “Thanks to you, Amos thinks you like me, and now we’re just going to ‘stay friends’ because he doesn’t want to come between us!”

The room went silent. Sirius’ mouth opened, but no words came out.

“You what?” Lily hissed, rounding on Sirius.

“I didn’t mean—”

“I’m going to bed,” you said sharply, cutting him off. The girls immediately followed, throwing Sirius matching death glares as they escorted you upstairs.

Once you were gone, James shook his head. “You really messed up, mate.”

“I know,” Sirius muttered, guilt tugging at him. “I’ll fix it.”

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Later that night, a hesitant knock echoed at your dorm door. Lily answered, her sharp glare softening only slightly when she saw Sirius standing there, his usual confidence replaced with a sheepish, almost boyish look.

“She doesn’t want to see you, Sirius,” Lily said, crossing her arms.

“Please, Lily,” Sirius begged, his voice uncharacteristically earnest. “I just want to apologize. I feel awful about everything.”

Before Lily could shut the door in his face, your voice called from inside, soft but firm, “Let him in.”

Lily rolled her eyes but opened the door wider. “Fine. But if you make her cry again, I’ll hex you into next week.”

Sirius gave her a faint nod of understanding and stepped inside. The sight of you made his heart clench. You were sitting on the edge of your bed, hugging a pillow to your chest. Your cheeks were streaked with dried tears, your eyes red from crying.

“What do you want, Sirius?” you asked, your tone weary.

He stood awkwardly for a moment before kneeling down in front of you. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bag of your favorite candies, placing them in your lap.

“I’m sorry,” he began, his voice unusually quiet. “For everything. I didn’t mean to ruin your date or make you cry. That was never my intention. I just...” He ran a hand through his hair, struggling to find the words. “I screwed up. Big time.”

You stared down at the bag of sweets in your lap, your fingers brushing against the crinkling paper. “Why did you do it, Sirius?”

He sighed deeply, tilting his head back like he was searching for courage in the ceiling. Then, he looked at you, his gray eyes vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before.

“Because Amos was right,” he admitted softly. “I was jealous.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his honesty. “Jealous?”

He nodded, his voice shaking slightly. “I hated seeing you with him. I wanted to be the one sitting across from you, making you laugh. I wanted to be the one you were excited to see. The truth is... I like you, Y/N. A lot. And I have for ages. But I didn’t know how to tell you. I was scared. Scared that you’d laugh at me or that you wouldn’t feel the same.”

The room was thick with silence. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, his usual cocky demeanor completely gone, replaced with raw sincerity.

“I ruined it for you,” he continued, his voice breaking slightly. “And I’ll never forgive myself for that. But I needed you to know. Even if it doesn’t change anything, even if you hate me now.”

Sirius stood slowly, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave.”

He turned and began walking toward the door.

“Wait,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sirius froze mid-step. He turned back around, his expression unreadable, and found you standing just a few feet away. Your pillow had fallen to the floor, forgotten.

Before he could say anything, you stepped closer, rising onto your toes, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. It was quick and tentative, but enough to make Sirius’ breath hitch.

When you pulled back, you smiled faintly. “I like you too, you idiot.”

His eyes widened in surprise before a grin broke across his face—a genuine, boyish grin that made your heart flutter. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice almost disbelieving.

You nodded, your own smile growing. “Yeah.”

Without hesitation, Sirius reached out, cupping your face gently in his hands. His thumb brushed your cheek as he leaned down, capturing your lips in a deeper, more passionate kiss. This time, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty—just the overwhelming warmth of finally crossing the line between friends and something so much more.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless. Sirius rested his forehead against yours, his grin never fading.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Then why didn’t you?” you teased lightly, your cheeks warm.

“Because I’m a coward,” he said with a chuckle. “But I promise I’ll make up for it.”

You laughed softly, and Sirius kissed you again, as if to prove his point.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

A/N ~ guys I’m running out of ideas, please feel free to send requests!!!

[justastraymoa]

Unwilling Alpha

Chapter 4

Masterlist taglist

Things get cleared up.

Warnings ⚠️ swears, abo dynamics, mentions of slave trade, mentions of rape, mentions of abuse, mentions of death, fear, manipulation.

Nothing within reflects anyone or anything irl

While we worked, he asked me about myself and told me funny stories about his career.  Including several iconic moments.  I was laughing so hard I had to cross my legs so I wouldn’t wet myself.

The noise attracted Chan.  “JYP.  I didn’t realize you were here.”

“I was helping y/n clean up from dinner.”  JYP responded.  Was it my imagination or did he sound mad?

Chan blinked over at me like he just realized I was in the room.  “Oh.  I didn’t realize.”

“It’s fine.  It’s my duty.  Go do business.  I’m almost done here.”  I shood both males.  Neither moved.

Chan looked shocked and confused.  Like he had no idea what was going on.  “No, it’s-it’s Bins day for dishes.”  He shoved a thumb in the direction of the living room where I presumed Changbin was.

“Should I have left everything on the table?”

“She isn’t your maid or slave.  Using her to clean and care for you without anything in return makes you-us-no better than the Alpha slave traders!  We even have her locked up in here!”  JYP snapped throwing the sponge into the sink.

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t even realize.”  Chan started, running a hand through his hair.  “I was working on lyrics all day and just assumed-let Changbin finish.”  He gently ushered me to the living room with JYP following.

As soon as I entered the room all the chatting and laughing stopped.  Han, Lee Know, Changbin, And Felix looked up at us.

“Jeongin, Seungmin, Hyunjin, come to the living room.”  JYP called out.

Oh great.  “It’s really fine.  Theres no need to make this a thing.  I’ll leave the rest to Changbin.”  The last thing I needed was to have them all more upset with me.

I was ignored.  The others joined us in the living room, all looking expectantly at JYP.

“Last I heard, you were all sure y/n was the Alpha for you.”  JYP began.  I shifted, uncomfortable.  “Now I come today to her thinking she is only here to be your Alpha slave and smelling of nothing but despair.  What is going on?”

Sungmin spoke up first.  “She doesn’t want to be here.  She doesn’t want to be our Alpha.  Of course she’s sad.  She can’t wait to leave us.”

“Well, if she didn’t then, she certainly does now!  You were supposed to be using this week to convince her to stay!”

“Hyung told us leave her alone.”  I.N pointed out.

Hurt, I looked over at Chan.  He told them to treat me like this?  He went through all the trouble of getting me here just to hurt me!

The tears dropped before I even registered them.  Before I could stop them.

“No!”  Chan, wide eyes at seeing my tears, quickly used his sleeve to wipe them away.  More just replaced them.  The dam was broken, there was no stopping the flood now.

“No, I didn’t say that!  I promise!”  he insisted.  I stepped out of his reach.

“You told us not to bug her.  So, we left her alone.”  I.N explained.  He kept glancing at me, wringing his hands.  In fact, everyone was fidgeting.

“I said not to bug her about staying!  I wanted us to get to know her!  Bring her into our circle with no expectations!”

“So…we don’t have to leave her alone?”

“Not completely-no!”

I.Ns steps landed heavily as he ran over and nearly body slammed me as he wrapped me in a right hug.  “I’m sorry!  I didn’t mean to make you cry!”  He anxiously wiped at my tear-stained cheeks.

“So, all of you just ignored her all day and made her clean up after you?”  JYP asked.

“The second one was an accident, but still my fault.  I forgot it was my day to clean up.  I didn’t realize she was doing it.”  Changbin spoke up looking contrite.

“I’m so disappointed in all of you.  I entrusted her to you because I thought you would treat her kindly whether she was your Alpha or not!  I have half a mind to send her home right now!”

“It was a misunderstanding.”  Hyunjin pointed out.

“We will treat her better.”  Felix promised.

“I’ll keep a closer eye on everything.”  Chan put in.

I.N rested his forehead against mine.  “I’m so sorry, y/n.”  He whispered to me.

I was hiccupping from crying so much, but I nodded against him, accepting his apology.  I was finally starting to calm down.

“You all take better care of her.  Y/n, unblock me and tell me if anything else happens.  Or doesn’t happen.”  JYP ordered.  He patted my hair soothingly in a very fatherly fashion, then stormed out with one last glare at the Omegas.

For a man I only met a couple days ago he sure was protective of me.  But then again if he had been keeping tabs on me all my life, I guess he would have developed protective feelings.  Or resentment.  I’m glad it isn’t resentment.  Even if protective feels a bit weird.

I.N moved back, away from me as Han came up with a box of tissues.  He offered me the box with a small attempt at a smile.

“I’m sorry.  I’m overreacting.”  I sniffed as I grabbed a couple tissues and blew my nose.

“No, it’s us who are sorry.  We made you feel like this.”  Hyunjin disagreed.

Hand stepped a bit closer.  “Can I hug you?”  He asked quietly.

Nodding I opened my arms in invitation.  He immediately stepped into them with a deep breath of my undiluted scent.  He snuggled under my chin and started twisting us both from left to right.

Chan stepped into my field of vision.  “Y/n.  This all got way out of hand.  You aren’t our slave, we aren’t trying to hold you captive.  We never meant to make you feel that way.”

Still holding Han with one arm, I reached the other out to Chan.  He gripped my hand.  “I believe you.  I think most of what I was feeling was my own fear.  I grew up on horror stories about how Alphas are treated.”  I explained.

Chan squeezed my hand.  “I would understand if you want to leave early.  I can take you to the airport if you want.”  Though he looked like even saying it pained him.

I grunted as a body collided with me from behind.  Felixs scent rushed over me, mingling with Han’s sunshine warm scent.  Both reminded me of a soft summer storm.

Chan was offering me a guilt free out.  I could take my suppressant, wait for it to kick in, then go home.  Put all this behind me and hope no one finds out my subgender.

It was honestly so tempting.  It sounded so good.  I should take the out.  Get back to normalcy and safety.

I couldn’t bring myself to.  “Thank you, but I’ll stick this out.”

“Then let’s start over.  Let’s do this right.”  Lee Know suggested.  I nodded.

“In that case.”  Hyunjin started looking shy but determined.  “I pained something for you today.”

He left the room briefly and came back with a mounted canvas about 8X10 if I were to guess.  The actual painting was turned away from my view as Hyunjin fidgeted a bit, face getting progressively redder.

I tapped gently at Felix and Han and they both reluctantly let me go.  I smiled gently at Hyunjin, letting him take his time-even if my anxiety surged at the thought of receiving a gift.

Not just any gift.  A gift from one of my Omegas.  And he was acting so cute and shy about giving it to me.  I really wanted to coo and pinch his cheeks while baby talking at him.

And I haven’t even mentioned how it was a painting done by Hyunjin of Stray Kids.  How freaking full is my fangirl heart right now!

“It’s-um…it’s not very good.  But I couldn’t stop thinking about you all day and your scent is calming.  Like lavender.  So, I wanted to paint you some lavender.”  He rambled before finally thrusting the canvas at me.  I flipped it over to reveal a breathtaking depiction of a bushel of dried lavender.  Flowers are the perfect shade of purple and the details on the petals and stems awe inspiring.

“You did this in a day?!”  I asked.  Hyunjin shrugged.  “This is amazing, holy fuck!  You are amazing!  Thank you, Hyunjin!”

I couldn’t wait to put it up in the guest room for my stay here.  It would bring a wonderful and beautiful pop of color to the plain room.

Reaching out, I pulled Hyunjin in for a hug, standing on my toes to wrap my arms around his neck.  He only hesitated a moment before wrapping around my ribs.

He still smelled of paint.  His scent was something I could only describe as dark, steady, strong colors.  He himself was a painting.  A piece of art from his scent and beyond.  And he was warm.  A pleasant crackling campfire on a cool fall night.

“After practicing on so many Alphas, you think we’d be better at this.”  Changbin noted.

“Theres no other Alphas like Y/n.”  Lee Know stated plainly.

I swatted at Lee Know Playfully, face turning red.  “Stop that!  My god!”  Lee Know saying shit like that will kill me.

“Not good at taking compliments.  Noted.  Challenge accepted.”

“No.  There is no challenge!  Lee Know, I swear to god!”

But he was already smiling maniacally.  I am never going to survive this.  I will die of embarrassment before the week was up, I just know it.

“Bin, go finish cleaning up dinner.”  Chan ordered.

Changbin nodded and immediately left the room.

“I’ll go help him.”  I stated.  After all, I already started it, and it was unfair for him to take the blame for me doing it.  I assumed it was expected of me instead of asking about it.

“Nope, you’ve done enough work today.”  Chan said catching me as I walked by.

He easily picked me up with one arm and deposited me onto the couch.  Once there I was immediately pinned by 2 bodies cuddling up to me, effectively keeping me from moving.

“No fair!”

Felix and Han didn’t seem the least bit repentant.

“I’ve been dying to cuddle you all day long.  No one is going to stop me now.”  Felix sighed, getting more comfortable.

Chan was smiling, dimples on full display.  “I told you they were clingy.”  He shrugged, finding a seat of his own.

“I wasn’t complaining that they are clingy!  I was complaining that they weaponized it!”

This made everyone in the room laugh, lightening the tense atmosphere a little bit.

But Chan grew serious again, leaning forward in his seat and facing me.

“What would you like to watch?”  He spoke gravely.

It made the last of the tension break.  I smiled and shook my head at him.  He failed to hold back a smile of his own, breaking character.

“Just do whatever you were doing before.  Honestly, I’m just going to fall asleep.”  It was true.  Between my sleep schedule being on a different continent and exhausting myself by crying, I was feeling very sleepy.  The pleasant scents and weights of Han and Felix only made me sleepier.

Chan nodded and flipped the game console back on.  They all settled in to play some more while I distracted myself by playing with Han’s hair and gently rubbing my fingers up and down Felixs arm.  The entire time I felt my eyelids getting heavy.

“What did you do today.”  Han asked suddenly, bringing me back to alertness.

I half shrugged.  “Cleaned.  Worked.”  It had not been a good or exciting day.

“What’s your job?”

“Photography.  Videography.  Editing them both.  Today I edited a maternity shoot.”  Currently only 2 of us edit, me and the owner, so there was a lot to edit for the popular little photography business.

“Can I see some?”

“I have some on my phone I can show you later.  Its currently inaccessible.”  The phone in question was in my back pocket.  I was unwilling to move the 3 of us to get it.

Changbin joined us again, sitting by my feet, head resting on my knee.  I reached over to playfully muss his hair.  He looked over and smiled before looking back to the game on the screen.

“Maybe you can do a photoshoot here.  I’m itching to work.  We’ve been on hiatus forever!”  Hyunjin suggested.

I could.  I was going to Korea and meeting Stray Kids so of course I brought my basic equipment.  I hadn’t planned on a big shoot though.  And nothing like Stray Kids caliber photos.

“We could.”  Chan popped in.  “We are allowed to post on our socials.”

It’s true.  It was the one thing about this hiatus that was slightly different.  They didn’t just disappear.  They were on insta, on bubble, and doing lives interacting with fans.

Of course they didn’t elaborate on their search for an Alpha.  Just stated that the search was ongoing.  No matter how pushy some fans got about getting more information.  And some did get way out of line.

Seungmin scoffed.  “Yeah.  Great.  One last photo shoot before Stray Kids die.”

“Seungmin.”  Chan warned.

“What?  Am I wrong?”  Seungmin snapped.  “She’s going to leave at the end of the week, and we will never find another Alpha.  You’re all getting all cozy with her, and she is just going to break your hearts!”

“Enough, Seungmin!”  Chan ordered firmly looking up from the fame to glare at him.  “You are not helping the situation by being a brat about it.”

Seungmin glared right back at Chan, jaw flexing in anger.

I sighed softly.  “Its fine, Chris.  He is entitled to his opinions.  If he wants me to leave him alone, I can do that.”

Seungmin turned to me.  “What I want you to do is stay!  Give us an actual chance!  Instead of just stringing us along!”

“It’s not just as simple as that, Seungmin.  My reasons for not being able to be your Alpha are valid.”

“And what are these valid reasons?”

“Besides the danger that comes with the entire world knowing I’m Alpha?  Theres the fact that I am not meant to be in your world.”  I explained.  “I am a camera person.  Im meant to be behind the camera-not in front of it.”

“Then stay behind your camera!  No one said you had to become an idol!”

“You really think they will be okay with me just being me?  They will force me to change.  It will be slow.  A mandatory haircut here, a selected wardrobe, then a small photoshoot.  I would slowly lose everything I am now.  Everything I worked for – what I made of myself – would be gone.”

This seemed to bring Seungmin up short.  Like this never occurred to him before I pointed it out.

“I never thought of it like that.”  He admitted.

“Of course you didn’t.  Because to you this is the best thing all around.  You like being an idol.  Everyone around you likes being an idol or dreams of being one.  And to you having an Alpha solves a lot of your current and most pressing problems.  So naturally you wouldn’t even consider there being a downside.”

The room was silent for a full minute while they let everything really sink in.  Let all our new realities permeate.  And attempt to find a solution to the issues to make everyone happy.

I let them work through it.  Maybe one of them would find a solution.  A loophole to the law.  But I wasn’t holding my breath.  Instead, I braided small sections of Changbins hair.  Small short braids, just to keep my hands busy and mind occupied.  Felix nuzzled his face into my upper arm and stayed there.

“Us and our security team can keep you safe, but…”  Chan began

“But you can’t stop them from changing me.  Not forever.”  I finished for him.  It was just the facts.  Sad facts, but true.

“What if what you become with us is better?  What you were truly meant to be?”  I.N asked quietly.

And wasn’t that the question of the week?  “That’s a risk I must decide whether to take.  If it’s worth losing who I am to potentially become someone better.”

“In the meantime, we will all continue as planned.  No guilting or pressuring y/n to stay.”  Chan concluded with a pointed look at Seungmin.

With a growl Seungmin stood and stormed from the room.  A door slammed a couple seconds later making me jump slightly.

Sighing heavily, I let my head fall back and hit the couch.  I didn’t blame Seungmin for acting the way he was.  I understand where he is coming from bother personally and professionally.

“We are still searching for other Alphas, but our efforts are coming up short.  We have exhausted every avenue we know.  However, we are not in any way giving up.”  Chan told the others before he stood and followed after Seungmin.

A few seconds passed before Felix spoke up.  “So, do you game?”

I chuckled and shook my head.  “Not the kind you lay.  I’m terrible at them.  I’m good just watching, promise.”

“So, you play like Felix then.”  Lee Know teased.  Felix chucked a throw pillow at him that Lee Know promptly caught with his lightning-fast reflexes.

I was right about falling asleep.  I don’t even remember closing my eyes.  I was watching the boys play some shooter game and then suddenly.

Changbin was cradling me in his arms and carrying me to my bed. I woke myself up enough to wiggle out of my jeans – ignoring Changbins protest about waiting until he was gone – and cocoon myself in the blanket.  I was asleep again in seconds.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Unwilling Alpha Taglist: @xxeiraxx @hanniemylovelyquokka @breadedloafs @songleepark @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @hyunjinhoexxx @kayleefriedchicken @vietjeb @hityoulikebahng @juju-227592 @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @royal-shinigami @bangchansfavoritenoona @straykidslvr

[juanbodyswapstfs]

Fair Trade

David was a hard working father trying to provide enough to maintain his son. The downside to this was he wasn’t spending a lot of time with his son martin.

Martin was an attractive young man but doesn’t know the potential he has in his body. It pained David that Martin wouldn’t use his body to its full potential.

One day, David came home early from work. “Hey Martin, im home early!” Said David. David didn’t get a response and headed upstairs. He saw the door to his bathroom opened and saw Martin jerking off to his briefs. “Dad!” Martin proceeds to slam the door in a hurry.

A few hours later..

Hey bud, You doing alright? “Dad, please go away.” Said Martin. “Son, I know how you feel, when I was your-“ “Dad just stop it! you don’t know how I feel.” Said Martin angrily. “Alright, Ill give you some time to calm down, when your done, come to the living room and we’ll have a chat.” Said David.

A few minutes later..

“Hey dad, Im sorry for how I talked to you..” Said Martin. “Don’t worry bud, I get your sexual desires hehe.” David said. “I love you but sometimes I just wish we could feel more connected.” Martin said. “Yeah, Hehe I wish you knew how good and strong your body is martin.” David said. “And I wish I could spend more time with you dad.” Martin said. “Well, goodnight my son.” David said. They both head to bed and sleep until the next morning.

In the morning

Martin wakes up feeling a bit sore and clumsy. “Woah why do I feel so big all of a sudden.” Martin opens his eyes and sees a huge bulge in his briefs. “Oh my god dad, why didn’t I know you had such a huge package.” Davids package was girthy and long with his balls big and manly. “Damn my armpits smell fucking good.” Martin whips out his new package and starts jerking off. “Ooohh yeah that shits good.” Martin then cums all over his dads chest.

On davids side..

David woke up and already knew something was wrong. He stood up and looked at himself in the mirror, “Hey handsome, Im gonna treat this body how it should be treated.” David Takes off his socks and smells them, “Mmmm” David takes out his package and jerks off. “Oooo fuck yeah im your country boy.” His hot steamy sperm squirts on the mirror. Martin then knocks on the door, “Hey Dad, you like your new body?” Martin says. “Dad?” “Im your son Dad.” David says in a cheeky tone. “Oh dad, im gonna use this body to its full potential.” David says. “Hahaha son, me too.” Martin says. “Alright im going to work” Martin says then leaves.

At the construction site..

Martin was trying his hardest to fit in as his father, He had to take a leak and went to the restroom. At the restroom there was an attractive construction worker guy pissing next to him. “Mind If I give you a hand haha.” Martin said. “Uh David?” The man said. “Just joking with ya haha.” Martin said a bit disappointed. The guy zipped up and left the restroom in a hurry. When Martin finally finished he walked out and saw his manager. “Hey david, Im sorry to say this but, your fired.” “Wait what?” “You harassed one of your coworkers.” The manager said. Defeated, Martin headed back home.

At Martins school.

David was having a blast in his sons body, winning every game and scoring a lot in gym class! “Haha beat that suckers!” David says. “You changed so much martin..” says martins crush. “People change my dude.” David says says. Martins Crush walks away sad. The bell rings and David runs home in his new youthful body.

At home

David and Martin arrived home in each others bodies. “Im sorry Dad, I got fired.” Martin said. “Oh thats fine, its your body now anyways.” David said. “Im doing well in school so fair trade haha.” David Said. Both Martin and David were satisfied with their bodies, David joined football and graduated with a athletes scholarship and Martin got a job as a Gay stripper.

So sorry for not posting stories in a while, I was kinda blocked on what to do next.. Message me if you have requests! peace out.

[moodymisty]

You hosing down your space marine because he returned from a battle completely covered in dirt? Okay, pretty funny. But how about the opposite?

Let’s imagine that before the heresy, during the time when Fulgrim was trying to domesticate his brother Konrad, there were also some interactions going on between their two legions. Some marines would be a little curious about what their cousins are up to, and after a while of chatting about their respective battles and planets, some trades would occur. It’s simple really, like trading pretty looking pokemon cards at the school playground. A night lord talks about how he stole a knife from a dying nobleman, and an emperor’s child likes the knife enough to trade it for a handsewn quilt that he also stole from a nobleman. When you’re a space marine you only really get to interact with your own legion, so anything new is always going to be met with a lot of interest. And not to mention it forms a(n albeit small) sense of camaraderie between them, so Fulgrim lets it slide.

So at one point a night lord takes interest in something an emperor’s child has, a book with a large collection of sewing and embroidery diagrams meant for leatherwork. And while the emperor’s child lost interest in it years ago the night lord really wants it, saying that he’s always looking for new ways to embellish his skin cloaks. So while a little disgusted, the emperor’s child lets him have it in exchange for… you.

You are… not someone he expected. When his cousin told him that he would be getting a serf in exchange for the book he considered him stupid, how could an entire mortal cost as much as a handbook? But when he saw you he was taken aback. If all the serfs on the nightfall looked like that then he could see why the night lords didn’t value mortal lives. You were unkempt, underfed, the clothes you wore were far too big for you. It didn’t help that the night lord decided the best way to present you to him was by tying you to his bedpost, like you were an animal at the slaughterhouse.

You do your job well, he will admit. His room is cleaner than ever before, but the same can’t be said about you. Despite you trying to cower and hide every time he gets close to you, he can still see how much you’re covered in grime. Your hair is clumped together with grease and dirt, the wounds (that you keep scratching) on your arms and legs are covered in dried blood, and you smell awful. Did no one teach the night lord’s serfs about basic hygiene? He can’t ask you, since you can’t speak Gothic. But he assumes that’s the case, because every time you have the option to bathe you instead decide to hide in a vent somewhere.

After a few days of living like this your marine decides that he’s had enough. You look bad, you smell terrible, and if you’re not going to take a shower he’s going to make you take one. So when you’re busy cleaning his room he storms in and picks you up, taking you to the communal shower area. And the entire time he’s carrying you he can hear as you cry and plead about.. something, he doesnt speak your language, but from the way you’re clawing at his armour you’re probably demanding to be let go. And sorry, that’s not gonna happen. He prefers his serfs without any infections thank you very much. He carries you to a smaller area of the baths and into one of the private rooms reserved for diplomatic guests. When he gestures for you to take your clothes off you’re too frozen in fear to react, so he undoes your filthy robes to reveal-

Oh.. Oh.

This entire time he’s assumed that the night lord had given him some wretch from the lower decks as an exchange. But now he sees the patchworks upon patchworks upon patchworks of scars across your entire body. He can also see chunks of partially healed skin on your back and thighs that eerily resemble the flesh on that night lords cloak. You weren’t insane or feral, you were trained to act like that. A small prey animal beaten into subjugation over and over again until all it knew was how to stay quiet and submissive. Thats why you cowered when he approached, that’s why you never even attempted to speak to him. You were terrified of him.. and he didn’t even notice.

And here ladies and gentlemen, is the moment a space marine feels empathy instead of his usual entitlement. Because now he’s gently guiding you into the bath, trying to ask you what temperature feels the most comfortable for you. He angles your head so the shampoo won’t irritate your eyes, he puts scented oils into your hair, he washes your body with such care that you would think you were made of glass. The entire time hes speaking to you in the most comforting tone he can, you don’t understand him but he thinks it’s better than awkward silence. When he towels you off he notices that you’ve visibly relaxed, and you’re also very tired. And the moment he puts you in new clean clothes you once again start crying, but this time it’s different. Happy tears. No one has ever treated you this kindly before, and you nearly fall asleep in his arms when he carries you back to his quarters. So he decides to let you rest for today, and the day after, and the day after that. Have fun with your new (nicer) space marine husband.

Sorry that this is so long and angsty lol. I just got inspired

I love how this started out as a meme sentence, and then descended into a legit sad story. I love my new Emperor's Children husband;; I have nothing to add to this, bravo

[ladylooch]

Bones - Part 4 [Mack x David]

A/N: *inhales and exhales heavily* Here we go.

I'm sorry...... & good luck. Would love it if you came to talk to me in my asks about this one.

Word Count: 5.1k

Rangers Looking To Make Moves, David Carlson could be one of them.

Insider Sources Hint at Huge Deal Between Stars and Rangers.

Rangers In Search Of Forward Depth: Potential Move Involving David Carlson?

“Mack? Ready in about five?” Her editor, Sonja, asks as she power walks by Mack’s cubicle. 

“Yep.” Mack answers back absentmindedly. She is currently scrolling through her newsfeed, scanning the ballooning elephant of David’s trade rumors. 

Mack tried to talk herself out of looking, but she hasn’t been able to put her phone away. Social media is a dangerous drug. Mack considers herself an expert navigator, but these rumors involve her life outside of 280 characters. The line between reality and rumor has begun to blur. While this happens in her brain, David says nothing. He probably has his reasons, but Mack can’t help but feel betrayed. Why isn’t he talking to her about this? Doesn’t he trust her? This feels like something they should be talking about, even Lucie said as much at breakfast last week.

Mack finishes reading over the comments of speculation. The rumors seem to be trending towards Dallas or Seattle. Mack’s stomach drops out when she realizes how far away both those options are.

“Ready?” Andrew, her colleague asks. Mack nods, putting her phone into her desk and gathering her notebook. The entire walk to the glass enclosed conference room, Mack tries to shed her personal life. Normally, she steps over that threshold and she can become whoever she needs to be to tell a story. Not today.

Today, Mack is quiet, listening to her team members add productive discussion for next quarters issues. Several locations are floated around that should make Mack excited and jumping to go for them. None of them do. Instead, she finds her focus trailing out the window to the building across the street. The world moves around her, but Mack feels stuck in place. Her least favorite thing.

“Mack, how is your hand not up?” Cecilia, another team member, asks. Mack turns back to her.

“What? Sorry?” Mack’s eyes divert to Sonja who looks back at Mack with a neutral face.

“Would you like to volunteer for Ireland?” Sonja repeats.

Mack has been dying to go to Ireland. There is so much to do there, so many different directions she could take her story, and although she has lived in and traveled all over Europe, she hasn’t made it there yet. She is constantly chatting with her coworkers about how she wants to do a story there. But now her hand stays in her lap. How could she leave the country with it being such tumultuous times at home? What if she leaves and David is traded? Coming back to New York and him not being here would slice her open. 

“When?” 

“Three weeks, but you could go as early as Thursday if you want more exploring time.”

“Oh. Um.” She anxiously rubs at her thighs. “I-”

“You could go after Cabo too.” Sonja answers. Cabo is the Allstar trip she has put together for the Rangers with recommendations from her colleagues. Everything is scheduled including a huge house right on the water. It has multiple pools, a hot tub, a private beach, and exclusive access to the Yacht club. 

“I’m gonna have to say no.” She hears herself say. WHAT!?She shakes off her inner demon who wants to launch a ‘just kidding’. Her whole team looks back at her with surprise. “I just need to stick around here right now. If that’s okay? I’ll take something close.” 

“We have that story on hidden gems in America? A lot of them are on the East Coast. Easily day trips.”

“Yeah, that sounds great!” Mack answers with enthusiasm she doesn’t actually feel.

The meeting moves on, but Mack can’t. Did she really just turn down Ireland for New Hampshire? With everyone’s assignments in hand, the meeting ends. Again, Mack is slow to react. Sonja stays behind.

“Are you okay?” She asks when it’s only the two of them. “You are not yourself.”

“I am a bit distracted.” 

“Anything I can help with?”

“Nope. Thanks for letting me stick around though.” Sonja laughs, shrugging.

“Something is definitely up if you’re missing out on Ireland. Let me know how I can support you, okay?”

Mack nods then Sonja power walks off to her next meeting. After swiping her phone from her drawer, Mack avoids sitting down at her cubical and heads straight to the bathroom at the back of the office. She walks into the last stall, letting her back hit the cool tile. Mack’s head finds her hands, awkwardly shoving her nose to the side due to her phone.

What the hell is happening to me?

Her phone starts to vibrate against her face. She pulls back, seeing David’s picture.

“Hello?” She answers quickly.

“Hi, are you home?”

“No.” Worry settles into her voice.

“Oh okay, no worries. I left my wallet at your place. Just figured it out, now Woody is buying me lunch.” He chuckles. 

“Oh, you can go grab it after lunch?”

“Okay, can I wait for you to get home too? Kinda miss ya.” 

“Yeah.” Mack smiles to herself. 

“I’ll take a look at your bathroom sink too. The water pressure is horseshit.”

“I put in a maintenance request.”

“Why? They didn’t fix it right last time? I hope they come up while I’m working on it so I can teach them what to do.”

“Please don’t.” Mack sighs, but she can’t help a little giggle.

“When will you be home?” He asks her. Mack can hear traffic whizzing by him as he presumably walks along a sidewalk.

“Probably a few hours.” She mumbles. 

“Alright. I’ll entertain myself.” He assures her.

When Mack gets home, she realizes that means he cleaned her entire apartment, fixed her sink, and has dinner in the oven. 

“Wow…” Mack trails off as she walks in. She puts her work bag on the counter and smiles at him by the stove. “Thank you. I haven’t had much time to clean.” She murmurs.

“I know.” He nods, toweling off his hands with the one over this shoulder. “I’ve been keeping you at my place a lot. I figure if I created the problem, I should clean it up.” He puckers his lips for her. “Hi.” He greets her after their kiss.

“Hi.” She smiles. It doesn’t quite brighten up her face or reach her eyes, which David takes notice of.

“You okay?” He tilts his head at her.

“Yeah. Tired.” She lies. 

Well, maybe not fully. She is tired, but the things that are keeping her up at night are things she could be discussing with him. Yet, Mack believes that if he wanted to talk to her about any of this, he would have already. She swallows hard, trying to will the anxious energy in her body away. David’s hands on her hips hold her in place when she tries to move around him. 

“I’m not believing that.” He smiles sympathetically. “But if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.” Mack nods. She brushes her hand over his stomach as she walks past. She heads to the fridge to grab a sparkling water from inside. David watches her as she cracks the cap open, taking down a few gulps. She hiccups as she pulls the bottle down from her lips. “Why don’t you go change? That outfit looks great, but you should be comfy with the weather we are having.” He points to the window where sheets of snow fall down. 

“Oh that escalated.” Mack murmurs. She walks to the window, looking out at the droves of swirling snow flakes. She sighs, happy to be in here watching it than still commuting home.

“Mack.” David calls softly to her. She looks over her shoulder at him. “Go.” He encourages her, head tilted towards the hallway. She nods again, doing as he asks and wandering down to her bedroom. 

She knows she is spacey and acting weird. But she isn’t quite sure how to act with him right now. A giant elephant is sitting on her chest and he is behaving like everything is normal. Mack quickly changes into a soft sweatsuit in a sage color. She pulls her hair back into a pony tail, then pulls on new, warm socks with reindeer faces on them that her mom put into her Christmas stocking.  When she walks into the main area again, the TV is playing local news. The sports section is on but it rolls through without any mention of David, other than his goal a few nights ago, the last time the team played.

“It’s weird you’ve had so many days off.” Mack says, leaning against the counter by the bar stools. 

“Yeah. I hate it.” David shakes his head. He pulls the towel off his shoulder, tossing it onto the counter.

“What are we having?”

“Spatchcock chicken and asparagus.”

“Fancy.” Mack smiles at him. He stares back at her. 

“Why are you over there? C’mere.”

“You’re so sensitive today.” Mack rolls her eyes. “If you wanna cuddle just ask. No need to get grumpy that I’m standing across the room from you.” She tries to keep her tone light, but it’s a little snippy.

“Kay, get over here I want to cuddle.” He begrudges. Him and Mack both know she is deflecting. She doesn’t want him looking at her too closely right now.

Mack walks across the kitchen, sliding her arms around his waist. David crushes her into his chest and she can’t help but melt into him. Her shoulders drop, jaw unclenches, and mind quiets completely. The trade rumors dissipate. The worry about what could happen to them floats away. It’s just the two of them holding each other in her kitchen. David���s hand smooths over her pony tail, then begins to rub long strokes up and down her back. Mack turns her nose more into his chest. David tightens his grip on her, then drops his mouth to her hair.

It’s clear they both needed this hug. 

They don’t break away until the timer for the chicken goes off. David pulls it out. As it rests, he roasts the asparagus. Mack puts together a salad with leftover vegetables in the fridge. Then they sit down and eat dinner together with a glass of wine each. When it’s over, Mack and David move through the apartment in sync, cleaning up the main space. As the dishwasher roars to life, Mack flips all the lights off and takes David’s hand to lead him down to her room. 

There, they make love to each other. It’s soft and slow, filled with gentle smooches and quiet moans of pleasure. Afterwards, they tangle their limbs together. David falls asleep first, surprising to Mack. She studies his face as he sleeps, seeing the lines on his face soften in his slumber. With David out, a familiar monster begins to awaken inside of her. 

It comes out in the quiet, darkness of night. It confuses her and brings back all the things that had melted away when she was in David’s arms. A huge lump fills her throat. She rolls over to her other side. Doing so makes David’s hand fall off her hip. A cold shiver rolls through Mack as she buries her nose into the pillow case beneath her face. 

During sex tonight, David had murmured really sweet things to her. He told her he loved her. He told her how beautiful she looked today. He told her how much he missed her while they ran through their different, separate days, that the world gets quiet when she is in his arms. But he didn’t say anything about the rumors that swirl around him in his professional life. Every time he has an opportunity to tell her and he doesn’t, Mack can feel herself retreat a little more. 

Right before he drifted to sleep, David had sleepily murmured that he couldn’t wait until they find a place together. The memory of that now has a single tear dragging down Mack’s cheek.

Because for the first time, she doesn’t feel like her and David are on the same page. He is already thinking about them moving in together. She’s never thought of that. She’s never thought of anything beyond the current day with him. Now he sees a future for them that Mack isn’t sure she wants this way. A future outside of New York isn’t of interest to her. If David isn’t in New York, there is nothing tying them together anymore, therefore if he leaves New York nothing ties him to her anymore. 

Meanwhile, she has stupidly turned down assignments to stay with him. Her brain is consumed of thoughts of him even when she is away. Panic begins to thread through Mack’s body. She’s too in love with him. This is all way more than she signed up for. She never wanted this. He’s changed her entire life and she went along with it.

How could she have let this happen? How could she have let it go this far?

Mack rolls to her back, staring up at the ceiling. Tears race from the corners of her eyes, falling into her ear canals. This has gone too far. She can’t do this with him. With perfect timing as always, her monster starts to whisper:

You’ll never be able to keep him. You can’t pretend all the time to be good enough for him anyway.

Mack shudders at the words that slice deep into her soul. She wipes her tears then wills herself to sleep. 

In the morning, this will all look different. She is sure of that. 

Long before the sunlight streams into her room, David awakens her to make love again. He is above her, dragging his cock through her core with soft strokes that set her on fire. When she shudders through her orgasm, he fills her up with his own, then collapses into the bed next to her. As his breathing evens out, he brings her into his side, holding her close to him.

“I’m excited about our future.” David murmurs, fingers getting slower. “We’re gonna give Lucie and Connor a run for their money.” He kisses the top of her head. 

Guilt swirls through Mack’s body. 

David continues planning for a future with her while she is choking in fight or flight. 

A tear slides silently down her cheek. David’s soft breathing behind her tells her he has fallen back to sleep. 

Mack blinks more tears down her cheeks, bottom lip trembling.

He deserves so much better than this. So much better than her. Those words are no longer the dark monster from before. Instead they’re just the truth.

And she’s going to make sure he is free to find what he deserves.

In his arms, attempting to memorize his touch, she starts to make her plans. The Ireland assignment comes to mind.

On Thursday, she’ll go there. Do what she was always going to do.

Run.

Or fly… like the humming bird he compares her to.

He won’t be surprised. He’ll be hurt, sure. But he’ll move on. He has to.

She tells herself this is all for his freedom. 

But deep down, the monster reminders her its for her own.

- - - & - - -

(David)

On Thursday, David looks down at the burger he ordered, mouth salivating at the big, half pound patty dripping cheese and bacon grease. Now this is a damn burger. One he might even find in his home state. Props to the place for sticking to the owner’s midwestern roots. He assess the sandwich, deciding two hands on this one would probably be best.

“That looks fire.” Connor murmurs. He opted for a French Dip sandwich and fries. 

Between the two of them, there isn’t a green vegetable in sight. 

“I’m going to crush this.” David confirms. He unrolls his silverware set, putting the napkin in his lap just in case some drippage misses his plate. Connor does the same.

“I’m so excited to have beef. Haven’t been able to have it at home since…” Connor trails off. David raises an eyebrow. Connor grins then shakes his head. “I can’t tell ya.”

“Slut.”

“Can’t get enough of her, man. Don’t act like you don’t get it.” 

David smirks. He does get it. In fact, he almost cancelled on this lunch so he could stay home and bury himself between Mack’s thighs again and again. But Mack said she had to get some work done, so here he is for the second time in two days eating lunch with his D partner. Mack and David had transitioned over to his place last night to meet up with the Woods. He loves that she is comfortable working from his place when he isn’t there.

David swipes a tater tot through some ketchup then pops it into his mouth. He hopes by the time he gets home Mack is doing better. She was weird when he left this morning, weird last night too. He is glad they have some time together before he goes on the road this weekend. Mack has an assignment in New York that is keeping her home with him during that time. All he wants to do is go to the rink, order glutinous take out and fuck. 

Connor hulks down a huge bite of his sandwich as David digs into his burger. He needs his napkin immediately, swiping it across his covered lips. 

“So how you doing with everything, man?” 

David swallows.

“What do you mean?” He asks, then goes in for a second bite.

“With the rumors.”

“Oh. I’m not listen.” David dismisses. “I can’t worry about that shit and play. It’s too hard.”

“Yeah, I get it. I was the same. Where are you at with your contract?”

“Doug said we would talk about it after the season. My agent doesn’t think here is any concern. It’s not like I’m gonna ask for the bank.”

“No, but get what you’re worth. I need you around here with me. Can’t handle the Hischier girls by myself.” David chuckles. Silence fills the space between them as they both take a few more bites. “How is Mack taking it all?”

David pauses mid-chew. He shakes his head slightly, then answers when he swallows.

“We haven’t talked about it since none of it is true.”

Connor looks up quickly from his fries. They hover in his pile of ketchup as alarming blue eyes look across the table at David.

“Yeah, but you warned her and everything right?”

David’s tongue runs along his back molars as an awkward silence fills the table.

No, he didn’t.

“I mean, no? She knows that shit out there isn’t true.”

“Sure, but you told her that right?” Connor clarifies, pointing at the center of David’s chest.

David stares back at his defensive partner. Slowly, Connor’s mouth falls into a cringe.

“That is not the person to leave in the dark on those rumors, man.”

As if Connor’s words are the final puzzle, it all clicks for David. The way Mack was this morning. How she turned away from him immediately after sex last night. How quiet she has been, almost to the point of calculated. His heart hammers to a stop in his chest then a big intake of air raises his huge shoulders.

“Oh FUCK!” He yells. 

She’s running.

He knows it and the awareness cools his blood, sending a chill down his spine.

“What?” Connor asks, concern etching his brows together.

“She wanted me to go to lunch with you so she can run. I’ve gotta go, Woody.”

In a calmer moment, David would pull out his wallet and throw down a few bills. But a glance at his phone tells him he doesn’t have time. He’s been gone for over a half hour. She might already be packed and he’s gotta stop her. His long, athletic stride carries him the five blocks back to his place. He rushes by Philip without a greeting, then pounds the up button on the elevator.

“Come on!” He shouts when it takes too long. He eyes the stairwell, but his heart might explode if he runs up all those flights of stairs. The doors open and he almost barrels over a couple and their kid as he rushes in. “Sorry.” He mumbles, pushing the button for his floor, then the ‘close door’ one repeatedly until it does. He bounces on his feet, heart pounding in his ears as he attempts to catch his breath. The doors open, he flies into the hallway, not seeing her. He tries the door on his place and finds it open. 

Fuck, he hopes she is still here. 

“Mack!” He yells. 

No answer. 

His sneakers slap hard against the wood floors as he heads down the hallway. He can see her pony tail floating in the doorway. Instant relief flowing through him.

She’s still here. 

His relief is short lived when he walks forward and sees her packed suitcase on the bed.

- - - & - - -

(Mack)

Mack is zipping up her suitcase when she hears the apartment door open. Her gaze snaps to the doorway. David’s hurried foot steps rush down the hallway. She frowns, then goes back to stuffing her phone charger into the side pocket. This is not ideal, but she planned for it. She is ready for this interaction. Ready for him to beg her to stay here with him and prepared with an army of reasons why they are never going to work, now or in the future. 

“Mack, stop packing.” He calls to her from the hallway. Mack freezes. Of course he already knows. She keeps going, putting the suitcase on its wheels. They meet at the door of his bedroom. “Babe, I’m not going anywhere. I talked to management. None of this is real. I’m not being traded.” Disappointment has Mack sighing internally. She wishes he had told her this days ago.

“Okay.” Mack shrugs, keeping a blank face. David frowns. His eyes move to the right, looking over his room. Every single thing of hers is gone, down to the collection of hair ties on her side of the bed. “I’m heading out of town for awhile on a long assignment. I don’t know when I’ll be back.” David chews on the inside of his cheek, searching her face. He shakes his head slightly, looking confused and hurt.

“Mack, what are you doing?”

“I’m packing.” She swallows hard, hating the way her voice wobbles slightly.

“You’re going out of town. Why do you need your house slippers?” He motions to where they used to sit by the door.

“Because I want them at my place.”

“So, you going out of town means you aren’t going to keep anything here either?”

“I don’t see the point to that.” Mack shrugs. “Like I said, I am heading out on a long assignment. I’m going to be gone for awhile. I’m not sure when I will be back, so I’m taking everything with me.” 

“What?” He questions. “Where are you going?”

“Ireland.”

“Since when? You just told me two nights ago you were here in New York through the Allstar break, and suddenly you’re leaving for an undetermined amount of time?”

“Yeah. That’s this business.” She says flatly, unemotional. David shakes his head.

“What is happening?” He whispers, getting closer to her. He reaches out for her cheek and Mack immediately pulls away. “Is this about a few nights ago? I didn’t mean-“

“No. It’s not. But that was a reminder to me how… different we are. And I think we should be realistic about our shelf life.” David’s eyebrows furrow together. That hurt him. Mack looks away, not wanting to see the sting on his face.

This is inevitable, the monster reminds herself. She’s just pulling the plug before they go back to hating each other and make this harder for everyone around them.

“Shelf life?” He sighs heavily, stepping aside for her to pass by him. He is hot on her heels into the main area of his place. “What the fuck, Mack? We love each other.” 

“For now.” She shrugs her shoulder, going to her purse and double checking she grabbed everything she needed from the main area. She finds her water bottle and phone where she put them a few minutes ago. She’s officially packed. Mack grabs the key to his place, trying to ignoring the light up, corn key chain and the way it burns her skin in her hand. “I can give you your key back.”

“Stop.” David snaps, enclosing her hand with his. He grabs the keys out of her hands. He shakes his head, looking at her, panic all over his face. “Just…” He licks his lips, looking out at the city. “Talk to me.” 

“I am. You don’t like what I’m saying.” She retorts. 

“I don’t understand what you’re saying. We literally had an incredible night and I make a comment about how I’m excited to move in together someday, and you’re running now? What are you afraid of?” He emphasizes the last line at her, pausing with his hands out to the side. The Iowa keychain in his hand is blinking red, green and blue. Mack stares at it, pursing her lips. A huge lump swells in her throat. She tries to swallow but can’t. 

“I just don’t think this is going to work.”

“What?”

“You and me. So I think we should.” She moves her hands apart. “Go in different directions.” 

Stunned, David straightens. He blinks, trying to absorb the blow of her words. He runs the hand without her keys in it through his hair then blows out a heavy sigh. His hand roughly rubs at the stubble from where he shaved his beard off yesterday, leaving only his signature mustache. Mack blinks off the slight hitch of his breathing on the inhale. 

“Okay.” He nods his head, taking another deep breath. 

David stands on the other side of the island, green eyes intense with emotion as he pins her to the cabinets behind her. He shakes his head then stands to his full height. The keys in his hand slide across the counter to her. They skid to a stop next to her right hand. His arms cross over his chest.

“Okay, I’ll see you when you get back then.”

“David.” Mack rolls her eyes, throwing the keys into her purse.

Why won’t he let her go easily? How can’t he see what she sees? How different they are? How this started with them hating each other and grew into this thing that was never supposed to happen? How she isn’t meant for this WAG, farm wife, American lifestyle that he wants? She needs to be free- wings wide open so she can breathe. Not turning down assignments and worrying about moving to Dallas.

David doesn’t say anything else to her, just stares her down. Mack can tell he is holding everything he can inside. For her benefit or his, she can’t tell.

“I don’t know when I’m coming back.” She reiterates.

“Okay.” He is eerily calm now.

“So we should go separate ways.” 

“No.” He says clearly and assertively. “You wanna run from me, baby? Then just run. Go. But when you’re done with that, and you come back home, I’ll still be here, loving you. You can more your shit back in then too.”

Mack swallows, looping her arm through the handles of her bags, looking down at them because she can’t look at him. 

“It’s for the best.” She repeats. 

“Mack. I love you. So much.” He whispers, words rough and callused like his hands from working the farm his whole life. The words sound painful as if they rip up his body when he says them. Nothing like the ones he whispered to her last night when they made love. 

It almost gets her to stay.

She hesitates for three more seconds, but her mind screams go. So she does.

“Goodbye, David.” 

He puts his head in his hands as she turns to walk out of the kitchen. She can hear his heavy, uncontrolled breathing behind her until the closed door cuts them off. 

Mack doesn’t breathe the entire ride down the elevator. A numbness comes over her as she tries to convince herself to keep moving forward. She thought she would feel better after doing this. That she was holding them back, him mostly, and cutting the tie would give her back that feeling of freedom she craves. The freedom that he deserves too.

All she feels now is dead inside.

Mack walks out of the building, strutting across the sidewalk with her hand high in the air to hail down a cab. She isn’t sure how her feet are moving so fluidly with how violently she shakes.

“Goodnight, Ms. Hischier.” Philip calls cheerfully behind her.

“Bye!” She calls, waving over her shoulder. She can’t turn around. If she turns around, her feet are going to go right back through that door. 

And she just can’t.

This is not who she is.

She isn’t a WAG. She isn’t a farmer’s girlfriend. She isn’t anywhere close to wife material or a forever kind of girl.

She is a runner. A lone wolf. Who should have taken that elevator home a year ago instead of jumping into bed with her brother-in-law’s teammate. 

The words continue on like a self-deprecating mantra she can’t silence. 

David deserves better. He deserves a wife. Someone who wants to settle into that small country life with him, or in Dallas, and stands next to him through the storm. Not someone who can only see this working if all the cards are stacked in their favor.

Mack, I love you. So much. His voice rings through her brain.

“Fuck.” Mack sobs, shakily trying to breathe in the back of the cab as it pulls away from him. 

Over her heart, her fingers clutch his number on her neck. She pulls, snapping the necklace off her body.

“Ow.” She whispers to herself as her head falls back to the head rest.

If this was what she needed to do, then why does it hurt this damn bad?

Read more Mack and David here.

[maul-of-shame]

GHOULCY/VAULTGHOUL DISCORD SERVER OPEN!!!!

👋 Hey there, Wastelanders!

So it's finally here!! Took me some time to create it and all, plus life's been busy but it is READY!!!🌟

If you're a VaultGhoul peep or a Ghoulcy peep one, this place is for you!! It's a discord for all the shippers to meet!!

Why This Invite is only sent via DMs?

Lately, the Wasteland has been crawling with antis like Radroaches on a hot day (the antis Ghoul/Lucy have me biting into the wooden floor like I genuinely cannot stand seeing this amount of hate for fictional people like there are so many REAL issues that need your focus more than a hot radioactive cowboy and his hopeful feral girlfriend babe but YOU DO YOU I GUESS). To keep our Bunker cozy and free of drama, we’re giving them via dms. This way, we ensure only the shippers get in: no antis allowed! 🚫🦀

What You’ll Find Inside?

💖 Shipper’s Paradise: A safe space dedicated to the radioactive love between Cooper and Lucy. If you're here for that ship, you're in the right place!

🖌️ Creative Corner: Unleash your inner artist, writer, or video editor. Share your fan art, write your own Vault-Tec love stories, and create epic video edits!

🎮 Wasteland Adventures: Join game nights, partake in lore deep-dives, and participate in quirky community events. Ever tried a Nuka-Cola chugging contest? No? Well, now's your chance!

💬 Friendly and Fun Chats: Chat with fellow fans, make new friends, and maybe even trade some caps for cool Fallout gear. Just kidding, no caps required here!

Grab your Pip-Boy, stock up on Nuka-Cola, and join us in the RadSafe Bunker! Let’s make this community as bright as a Vault-Tec smile and as welcoming as a cozy Vault 101 living room!!!

[belokhvostikova]

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing and smoking.

It was Steve Harrington’s twenty-ninth big birthday palooza.

Well, at least that’s what the giant, colorful banner called it, that hung across the foyer of his home. That’s what happens when Dustin Henderson plans your party. But the kid—who was beyond the definition of a kid now—had told Steve he had no right to complain about it being childish. Steve did shoot down the first option of “Big Birthday Bash,” terribly unaware that palooza was the next best thing for Henderson.

Had he known, he surely would have stuck with the first option.

Steve was correct, though. The banner was childish, and it had garnered all the fascination from the mini Munson that walked in with a gaping mouth of pure awe at the bright sign. At the very least, the actual kid would enjoy it.

And “palooza” was really selling it out. It was merely a group of adult friends simply hanging out like old times. Only the new addition was the three-year-old hanging off your leg, who adorably looked a lot like your husband.

Not fair. You did most of the work.

But it was worth it, staring into those baby cow eyes every time you crouched down to your kid. And once you stood up, you’d find them again from Eddie Munson, himself, who peered at you lovingly.

Of course, you had to show off your baby and bring him to the party. He was already a crowd favorite. Being the first baby born into Hawkins’ infamous clan of misfits gave you that right. And they all loved that tiny Munson.

Especially after that “Happy Birtday, Uncle Steeb!” It was enough to make icebergs melt.

And having a child at an adult hangout wasn’t all bad. Keeping the beers separated from the juice boxes, and having a yard big enough for the child to run was sufficient enough. Bonus points for Steve Harrington’s dog, Rufus, who took up all your kid’s attention.

By the end of the night, the group had naturally separated into two; the men left smoking outside, while the women conversed in the comfort of the living room. This had come after the cake celebration. Once the candles were blown out, Steve had joked that he wished to keep all his hair throughout his thirties. In reality, he’d wished to start a family as loving as the one his friend had.

He would end up confiding this to Eddie during the relaxed smoking session. That he wanted the whole package; a wife and kid. In fact, he dreamed of having many of them. Eddie blew out the smoke from his cigarette and smiled. “It’s the greatest fucking feeling ever, man.”

Because when Eddie looked back through the glass doors of the patio, he saw you. Sitting and chatting, beautiful as ever. But the cherry on top was seeing his tiny kid straddling your lap. His curly head of hair buried into your neck calmly asleep, as Eddie’s leather jacket draped over as a comforting blanket.

“I wouldn’t trade it for the world.” Eddie beamed, as he stomped out his cigarette.

One day Steve would get that. Whether it was with the pretty lady he was currently seeing or a future soulmate, he’d get that.

Eddie had walked in, strutting over to the quarter of cake that was left after everyone had gotten a slice. Not you, though. You were busy cheering on Steve from the couch, as your baby used your chest as a bed. Cutting a slice, and plonking it onto a paper plate, Eddie meandered his way next to you on the couch.

“You deserve a piece.” He forked a triple chocolate portion into your mouth, where he smiled, as your face contorted into delight. “Good?” He knew it was, he devoured two slices earlier. You could only hum with pleasure, before he leaned in and whispered. “Should we feed the monster?”

It was a risky move. One taste of sugar, and your three-year-old would turn into the Hulk. But it was a risk worth taking, your baby was too cute not to feed treats to.

Eddie managed to slowly insert a small piece between his tiny puckered lips, as he slept. And in true Munson fashion, your baby chewed in his sleep, eyes closed but mouth surely moving.

Then, those baby cow eyes tiredly opened at the sudden sweetness. “Choclat?”

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | I don’t know why I keep making Dad!Eddie blurbs. It’s an addiction that can’t be stopped.

[luxstring]

Written by the lovely @ceruleancattail , thank you so much for doing this art trade with me, it was a pleasure doing this with you. You were easy to chat with, direct & a fast worker [my god ur speed]. I hope to do another trade with you in the future ^v^. Now I feast.

The abundance of the stars in the sky isn’t something that’s celebrated often enough.

Pollution has congested the sparkling lights above, rendering the night sky as a void rather than the divine sight that our ancestors once behold, many an age ago. If you’re lucky, you’ll see the moon. Maybe the North Star.

That’s about it.

Not that most people notice, either way. Children of men were always so absorbed in their own lives, bustling around here and there in order to strive to make a living. Working, studying, all in a flustered rush.

No one really has time to take it slow and look up anymore. It’s a pity, truly.

For taking it slow is all that Malleus knows.

It’s an unfortunate characteristic of someone of his lifespan. Why rush about when you have quite literally almost all the time in the world? The Fae have long laughed in the face of time, prancing around on earth’s time-worn surfaces still as youthful as the day they were born.

Unfortunately that sort of existence tends to get... lonely, sometimes. Knowing that everyone you meet is flowing in a different time as compared to you. He’s gotten to know many, over the years... he doesn’t know how they’re doing, anymore. Malleus has never been too overly fond of goodbyes.

He loathes them, in fact.

If he had it his way, everyone would last forever, in this picture perfect fairytale with him. Happily ever after, as most stories go. Yet life doesn’t work out that way, does it? So Malleus resigns himself to walking at his own pace, exchanging brief moments of time with the short-lived.

However, it’s surprising to have someone who’s able walk through life the same

“Draconia.”

A soft, gentle voice rung out, as sonorous as a church's bell. It echoed through the silent landscape, a wonderful sound so familiar to Malleus himself. Something he's heard, over and over again, through the flow of time.

A finger pokes Malleus' cheek gently, the touch much like a refreshing night breeze.

"Spacing out again, are we, my prince?"

Chuckling, Malleus shoots the newcomer a gentle smile.

"No. I was simply... appreciating beauty."

A twinkling laugh, as bright as the stars in the sky. A tall figure slides through the foliage, every footstep as light as dewdrops on grass. Grey hair flowed down his scalp, framing his face perfectly. Clear azure eyes peered at Malleus somewhat curiously, a faint amusement twinkling deep within.

The entire world seemed to fall silent when Stolas spoke. As if they were waiting with bated breath just for the sound of his voice. Sometimes, Malleus felt the same way.

It was an odd feeling, really. Malleus wasn't ever one to wait on others. Others waited for him, made allowances for him, as a member of the Draconia family.

His heavy name came with pressure. Malleus was rather accustomed to the weight on his shoulders. A regal mantle laid upon him, to be borne by his body until the day he finally breathes his last. Every single one of his movements was calculated, was done with purpose. Scrutinised by all eyes in the room, whispers echoing off the walls.

However, whenever he was with Stolas, he didn't feel that pressure. There was something about Stolas' manner that set Malleus to ease. Almost like being blanketed by the swirl of stars in the night sky, gently embraced by the night's breeze.

Perhaps it's the maturity of Stolas' age. Malleus admits that it's a comfort to have someone who's lived as long as he has by his side. Perhaps.

The ghost of a grin playing on his lips, Stolas withdraws his finger, chuckling softly.

"You jest. I am not one of your precious gargoyles."

Tilting his head slightly to the side, Malleus regards Stolas with a renewed interest.

"You wouldn't be a gargoyle, Stolas Minci."

Blinking in surprise, Stolas asks:

"Oh? Then do pray tell, what exactly would I be, my dear prince?"

Pausing for a moment, Malleus hums to himself. Carefully thinking about what exactly Stolas was. What he was, to Malleus himself.

Stolas was the faint glow of the stars, pinpricks of light in the night sky. He was the North Star, always within view, ready to guide the lost back home. A reliable presence of stability, a trustworthy being. Someone who's lasted for millennia, still glowing as brightly as he did, decades ago.

Stolas was gentle touches, careful brushing of fingertips against each other then they walked side by side.

Stolas was midnight walks done around campus, silently observing the beauty hidden by the dark shawl of night.

Stolas was... someone Malleus loved, truly and deeply.

Muttering softly, Malleus let those words of truth slip from his lips.

"You are Stolas Minci. Nothing more, nothing less. I wish not for you to change.

You are....precious to me, after all."

[rouzuchan]

The Crush Culture

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈(𝐬): Todoroki Yosuke x Reader(ʏᴏᴜ/ʏᴏᴜʀ) 𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: oneshot, fluff 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: gender unspecified; todoroki being a S.I.M.P.

“Fuuuck.”

The only word running through Todoroki’s mind. They were either prolonged or short under his breath. His breath was labored, spending prior moments working out in his room, the dumbbell still within his hard grasp.

His forehead coated in thin sheets of sweat as beads fell from his damp hair. He snatched the nearby towel, roughly running the cloth on his sensitive skin while attempting to calm his rising pulse. 

“Fuck” He muttered again.

The time read 7:12 PM, already behind his routine. He’d spent the day as normal, but something about recent events had his presence somewhere else. 

Throwing the towel somewhere, he grabbed his phone. Inputting his passcode before clicking straight into his messages. 

The screen’s light illuminated his sharp features, his lips cracking into a smirk as he scrolled up into the message feed dating back from last week.

Damn. You just had to prance around his mind, huh?

Who knew getting dragged into his gang’s matchmaking rendezvous would lead him to now? He still remembered standing broody whilst everyone else chatted and danced around, light strobing and flashing in his eyes making him want to escape. 

In his silent ruminations, he was late to notice another suffering individual at his side, a little too uncomfortable in their skin. You were definitely in the same boat as him. 

And the rest was history. 

Because you lived on the other side of town (and went to an actual school), you both opted to text for weeks, promising to jump at any free time you guys had.

It was better than nothing, he thought.

Amid his floating, fluffy daydreams, a notification slid down from above the screen with a ding. His chest palpated when he read who the delivered message was from.

Hey, I’m heading downtown. Can’t sleep and I wanted to take a break from home :>

He bit inside his lip. Todoroki clicked on the message, sending him down to the very bottom of your chat room. His fingers hovered and deleted message after message, word after word. The chat bubbles danced for a while until he unintentionally pressed send. 

He lurched forward with wide eyes, reading his sent message.

Sure,     I’ll go shower rn

“Fuck!-- Nice going, Yosuke.” He breathed out, pinching the bridge of his nose as he dragged it down.

Another ring came from his phone, feeling his dread quickly pushed away as his throat banged as if he could choke his heart at any moment. 

He peeked over the screen. 

Haha, okay ^^ see u [NAME sent a location]

Seeing your lighthearted message, Todoroki released a breath he didn’t know he held. Crisis averted. Would you even mind? Did you get in the same situation as him some time ago? He kinda hoped so…

Brushing the embarrassment off, he got up and made his way to his shower, hoping to clear his muddled mind. 

After dressing up nicely, Todoroki walked down the cool and uncharacteristically quiet streets downtown. 

It only occurred to Todoroki that this would be your first time hanging out in person since the party. Hard to believe, sure, but with your schedules and his intent on never breathing a word about you to his gang, that insignificant time frame of one month suddenly became precious moments he’d never trade.

Todoroki shook his head, sighing as he curved the corner, hands stuffed in his leather pockets. He shouldn’t jump to conclusions. You were technically still acquaintances… Unless sending memes and funny cat videos were a sign of your affection— it was still too soon to call any shots unless this date– hang-out went well. 

What were you planning? You mentioned something about cafe dates being a go-to, but would cafes even allow caffeine during this time? What do they sell in cafes other than caffeine? Is there anything you’d like? 

“Over here!”

Todoroki raised his head and followed the voice, straight to you. Standing underneath the streetlight, you waved toward him. The fluorescent warmth made your features shine in the treacherous sea of strangers.

You didn’t look tired, or was that just the grin on your face? Todoroki couldn’t tell. He felt like he could drop all his worries now. You were there. Mere feet away.

Fuck… he was in deep. And as his body practically gravitated towards yours, Todoroki knew he wasn’t escaping from your fingers any time soon.

But, he’s honest with himself. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

The midnight grind doesn't stop 🙌 /j but anyways... um, listen I don't know either. Words just... spat out... as always. Ugh, why can't I be this sappy on command!? (〃＞目＜) Being fr right now: That image with Todoroki working out has been eating me up, it's insane <(_ _ )> behold, the crew 😎🥂: @airbendertendou, @star2fishmeg, @straysugzhpe, @simpforchuchu, @strxwberrychocolate, @prodbyblush, @thatpoindexterpixy