#maybe even before he and cross got that close

[charliemwrites]

Still thinking about yesterday’s post and the dynamic that fucking snatched up my brain worms in a vice grip.

Reader who is perfectly capable, has a well earned spot on her team. Who has safety net after safety net provided by the mere presence of the rest of 141. So much so that she doesn’t even remember what fear is. Living in that invincible bubble of “we’re the best because we look out for each other and we’re not going to let anything happen to each other”

And the day that bubble pops and you don’t even realize it yet. A chance encounter with a KorTac operative and you stole his kill right out from under him. Made eye contact in a shower of blood, maybe even threw him a cheeky grin, high on stims as you were.

You didn’t realize that you’d stepped outside the metaphorical bounds of your little safe zone, stepped right into the territory of a feral, untamed creature with sharp teeth and the scent of you cloying in his nose. A scent that made his blood sing a siren song of want.

It’s not just happenstance that you cross paths again. (Not that you know that). Hes been seeking you out, taking mission after mission in a dogged attempt to see you again. To see if it was more than a fluke.

And his impatience, his persistence, is rewarded with the silhouette of you, breaking a man’s neck with your thighs. (If the man weren’t surely dead, he’d wish he was for the crime of having your attention, of being smothered by your thighs, of being that close to your cunt.)

In your precious stealth gear, sleek and deadly, eyes sharp on the path ahead, not the shadow gathering behind you. He just watches you for a long while, soaking you up like a dry earth in a squall, letting you take root deep, deep within his being, in the place a soul should be. (You’re better than.)

He’s got your callsign now, whispered by one of your team members as their path intersects with yours. Narrowed eyes at the (too) friendly shake given to the hard mask covering your mouth and nose, the way your cheeks rounded with a grin beneath.

What was an interest has evolved instantaneously into an obsession. (Or devotion. Or love. They’re all the same to him, all the same kind of possession.)

He loves watching you fight as much as he loves watching you kill. He’s hard in his tac pants experiencing it this close, getting to feel each unforgiving strike in all the openings he leaves for you - invitations you always accept because you’re his good girl and you can’t resist, of course not.

He purrs when he gets you pinned to the wall, your eyes big, sparking with that animal knowledge that you’ve been bested by a bigger predator. That you’ve been won, claimed. To the victors go the spoils, and the only thing he’s lost is his restraint.

You’re panting and squirming beneath him, and he’s hypnotized, unable to do more than press closer, press harder to get you wriggling against him. Moaning softly when your heel digs a bruise into his calf, how you go still with a sort of realization.

“Again,” he rasps into your ear, “go on, pretty little hunter. Keep going. You’re so strong.”

But before you can, something over his shoulder steals your attention. Your eyes flick away from, where they should be. And he realizes that he been so consumed by you, intoxicated, that he missed the intrusion on your moment together.

In the aftermath, his gear smells like you. The place where he slipped his thigh between yours and pressed he swears smells like your cunt, heady perfume. He’s breathes it in as he fucks his tight fist, high on the memory of your strength testing itself against his.

He imagines the scent of him all over you in return. Going back to those men with his claim in your armor, wishes you’d taken the blade with you, his blood smearing your gloves, your shirt, your pants, staining your skin.

He cums to that thought, thick spurts all over a grainy print out of you from the op he first met you on, milky drops on the ink that forms your mask.

Soon, it’ll be reality.

[lottins-only]

CROSS THE LINE | Jude Bellingham

pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader, unnamed fictional RM player x fem!reader

word count: 3.1k

summary: after a fallout with your boyfriend, you find solace in a spontaneous night at the movies, where you run into his golden boy teammate. one thing leads to another and you cross the line.

A/N: first judith fic!! this was really fun to write. (very loosely) based on guilty as sin by taylor swift. let me know what yall think <3

warnings: infidelity (i don't condone it yall its just fun to write morally gray characters 🫣)

someone once told you there’s no such thing as bad thoughts – that it’s your actions that truly define you.

you wonder what they’d say if they saw you now: sitting up in bed with your boyfriend sound asleep beside you, staring at your phone with a pounding heart, silently hoping, waiting, for a message from someone else.

you wait and wait, but there’s nothing. your home screen stays empty, mocking you. you glance at your boyfriend. his shallow breathing fills the quiet room, steady and oblivious.

he has no idea you came home at 3 a.m. wearing his teammate’s jacket.

you'd stuffed it in the back of your closet as soon as you got home, a relic of a night that shouldn’t have happened. you'd scrubbed yourself thoroughly in the shower, trying to wash away the smell of jude’s cologne that clung to your skin. but it’s still there. not on your skin anymore, but in your mind, stamped into your memory to stay forever. 

the way the flickering lights from the movie theater screen cast shadows on his beautiful face, the fleeting feeling of his warm hands on yours as he handed you his jacket, the full body rumble of his laugh, the feel of his soft lips on yours.

you will never forget. how could you, when that was the first time in months you’d felt seen? desired. wanted. needed. it’s an intoxicating feeling, like stepping into the sunlight after living in the shadows for the longest time.

and now, staring at your phone, you feel it all over again. the pull. the wrongness of it all.

a buzz breaks the silence. your heart jumps into your throat as the screen lights up and a single message appears.

jude: you got home safe?

it’s innocent enough. simple. harmless.

you could ignore it. pretend you didn’t see it. block his number and put an end to whatever this is before it spirals into something else.

but instead, your fingers move on their own accord.

you: yeah. thanks for checking.

you press send before you can stop yourself. you lock your phone and put it on the bedside table before closing your eyes and willing yourself to go to sleep.

to your credit, none of this was planned. it all starts earlier that night. you and your boyfriend are supposed to have a date night, a rare opportunity to spend some alone time together. you pick out a dress he once says is his favorite and make a dinner reservation at his favorite spot.

but plans change quickly.

“babe, the guys just texted,” he says, barely looking up from his phone. “they’re hopping on fifa in a bit. you don’t mind if we raincheck, right?”

you stare at him dumbfounded as he flops down onto the couch.

“raincheck?” your voice trembles, the tears obvious, yet he doesn’t even glance at you.

“yeah. just tonight, we’ll do something soon,” he says dismissively.

it’s not the first time he’s blown you off, but tonight it stings a little more. maybe it’s the fact that he’s so indifferent to you and your feelings, he doesn’t even care to notice the relationship is teetering on the edge of a cliff. he doesn’t realize that you’re making an effort to save it while he’s unknowingly contributing to its unraveling.

you realized it too late, but you know now you’re not a partner to him, not really. you’re a glorified accessory, someone he can show off for external validation, a dependable constant in his life that’s only there to cheer him on and make him look good while he gives his attention and energy to the things he actually cares about: his friends, his family, and above all, his football.

it wasn’t like this in the beginning, but things changed quickly after he made the move to real madrid and became a bigger star. with every goal, every headline, and every paparazzi photo, you sank further into the background of his life.

you linger for a moment, waiting for him to change his mind, to look up and realize what he’s doing. but he doesn’t. so you grab your bag and leave without saying another word.

the cinema isn’t your first choice. you wander the streets for a while, debating whether to call a friend or just head home. but you need a distraction, something that can dispel all the thoughts running through your head. so before you know it, you’re buying a single ticket to whatever is playing next.

the theater is almost empty. it isn’t until you sit down and glance at your ticket that you realize you’re not seeing something new, but a re-release of a classic: Goodfellas.

halfway through the movie, you see a figure slip into a seat a few rows ahead of you. a few moments pass, and you feel a pair of eyes boring into the back of your head. it’s distracting, like an itch. you can't bear to ignore it any longer so you turn your head and look straight at the person. the figure quickly shifts his gaze, pretending to be engrossed in the screen. his features are hidden thanks to the hoodie he’s wearing, but his height and broad shoulders give him away as a man.

you hold your gaze for a second longer, just to make sure he gets the message, before turning back to the screen. but your focus is broken after that.

a few more moments pass and you notice the man stand and make his way out of his row. you let out a quiet breath of relief, assuming he’s leaving. but from the corner of your eye, you see the same figure moving toward your seat. your body stiffens immediately. why is he coming your way? maybe it was a bad idea to come to a nearly empty theater alone so late at night.

you watch as he stops in front of you and slightly crouches to not block the view of the screen.

“y/n?” he asks, voice low yet familiar.

“uh, yeah?” you respond warily.

“thought it was you.” he pulls back his hood, revealing the grinning face of jude bellingham.

a wave of embarrassment immediately washes over you. it’s bad enough that your boyfriend doesn’t love you and prefers to spend time playing video games with his friends, but now you have to run into his teammate of all people while you’re publicly wallowing in your misery—his kind, handsome teammate who always makes you flush whenever you cross paths.

this time is no different. your face grows warm as you stutter, “oh! h-hi, jude.”

you brace for the questions: why are you here alone? where’s your boyfriend? why do you have tear stains on your cheeks?

they don’t come though. instead, he gestures to the seat next to you. “mind if i join you? my seat over there was right under the AC; i was freezing.”

you nod. jude flashes you a smile as he takes a seat.

and then nothing. you watch the rest of the movie silently, the only interaction between you being an elbow nudge from him to offer his pack of candy.

he’s completely engrossed. he laughs silently at certain scenes, and in the more intense ones lets out small gasps. for someone else, it might’ve been annoying, but for you, who’s used to your boyfriend’s indifference to everything, you find his enthusiasm refreshing, maybe even a little endearing.

you spend the rest of the movie mentally going through the list of things you know about him : he's the same age as you (your boyfriend begrudgingly posted a birthday wish on his instagram story once), he can't drive (you see him being picked up by a driver whenever you visit valdebebas), he's genuinely nice (he always says hi when he sees you around, and he's politely held a door open for you once or twice), his spanish isn't the best (you once ran into him hopelessly trying to change his order at the canteen, sheepishly apologizing to the annoyed barista before you helped him out), and your boyfriend quietly holds a dislike for him because he's 'attention seeking' ( you secretly think its not his fault that he's charming and easygoing, that he has everyone he meets wrapped around his finger).

when the movie ends and the lights begin to brighten, he turns to you.

"do you wanna get ice cream?"

you hesitate for a moment.

"yeah. i’d love to," you say finally.

you exit the cinema, and when the fresh outdoor air hits you, you ask the question at the tip of your tongue.

"why and how are you here?"

"could ask the same for you," he grins.

"yeah, but—" you begin, but are immediately silenced by the sight in front of you. jude reaches into the pocket of the jacket he's layered over his hoodie and pulls out a dreadlocked toupee. with the straightest face, he carefully pulls down his hood, places the wig on his head, and adjusts it before pulling the hood back up.

you blink.

"you were saying?" the corners of his mouth twitch at your facial expression. without waiting for a reply, he starts walking, leading you away from the cinema.

you walk in tandem, still giving him a confused look. when you catch sight of his (fake) locs swinging along to the rhythm of his steps, you can’t help it; you burst out laughing.

“what’s so funny?” he turns to you, a mock hurt look on his face. “i’m part jamaican, you know.”

you pause your walking, doubling over and clutching your stomach as you laugh. he stands patiently, looking slightly amused.

after you catch your breath and fully recover, you continue walking.

“so that’s how you go places unnoticed?” you ask, still giggling.

“yup,” he says. “otherwise it’s a nightmare. need a bodyguard and stuff.”

you nod sympathetically as you stroll down the quiet street, the soft glow of streetlights casting long shadows on the concrete. jude walks with an easy confidence, his hands in his pockets while you glance over at him and his toupee every so often.

“so,” he says after a moment, glancing sideways at you, “what’s your excuse? why are you at a late night showing of Goodfellas all by yourself?”

your smile falters slightly. you look straight ahead, debating how much to share.

“just needed to get out of the house,” you say with a light tone.

jude doesn’t push, though the way he hums softly in response tells you he notices your answer is only a half-truth.

"what about you?" you ask.

"I like watching movies," he says simply.

when you give him a somewhat confused look, he pulls out his phone and opens the letterboxd app, showing you the extensive list of movies he's marked as watched. you skim through it and you’re surprised by the diversity. the list is seemingly filled with movies of all genres, from classic films to indie flicks. you didn’t expect this side of him, but somehow it makes sense.

as he enthusiastically explains the list, you can't help but feel endeared by the excited look on his face. you have the overwhelming urge to reach out and smooth over his furrowed brow with your finger. but for the first and only time that night, you don't act on that impulse.

you reach a small gelato stand located on a corner of the street, its neon sign glowing softly. jude steps forward and leans against the counter.

“pick whatever you want,” he says, winking as he passes you the menu.

“don’t mind if i do,” you say, raising an eyebrow. you ignore the way his words make you feel—warm and fluttery, like this is a first date between two single people.

after a moment of deliberation, you pick pistachio and hazelnut, watching as jude leans in to order the same for himself.

“you copying me?”

“nah,” he says with a smirk, passing your cone to you from the server. “just figured you have good taste.”

you wander away from the stand, both of you savoring your ice cream. for a while, you walk in comfortable silence. at one point, he removes the ridiculous wig from his head. it isn’t until you reach a park bench that jude breaks the silence.

"you know," he starts. "i haven’t seen you at a lot of games lately. everything good between you and your boyfriend?"

“‘your boyfriend?’” you tease. “why not call him by his name? you guys have beef or something?”

he stays silent.

you gasp half-jokingly. “oh my god! tell me everything, so i can sell the story to the tabloids.”

he lets out a laugh at that.

“you’re ridiculous,” he says, shaking his head, but there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“c’mon, spill,” you tease, nudging his arm lightly. “is he, like, selfish? does he refuse to pass during games?”

jude chuckles, shaking his head again. “nah, nothing like that. he’s a good player. talented, hardworking… you just start noticing things when you’re around someone all the time, you know?”

he says it carefully, almost hesitantly. you tilt your head at him. “notice things like what?”

he shrugs, his gaze dropping to his melting cone. “like… maybe he doesn’t appreciate what he’s got.”

the words hang in the air between you. you don't know how to respond, so you just gaze down at your own ice cream.

"sorry," jude says quickly. "didn't mean to overstep. i just—forget it."

"no, it's fine," you say quietly. "you're not wrong."

you sit in silence for a few moments. you feel him lean back against the bench, and the next time he speaks, his tone is lighter.

"my dad's coming to visit tomorrow," he says casually, an excited undertone in his voice.

"yeah? that's nice. does he come often?"

"not as much as i'd like," jude admits. "he's got my little brother to worry about in sunderland."

you smile softly. “what do you guys usually do when he visits?”

"usually we grab some food..."

he speaks about his bond with his dad, and also his close relationship with both his brother and mother. soon the conversation moves to childhood memories; jude tells you stories about growing up in birmingham, the football academy there, how he met his best friends at school. in return, you share stories of your own childhood, each one met with genuine curiosity from jude. you laugh, the conversation feeling effortlessly easy and natural.

it isn’t until you pull out your phone and glance at the screen to check the time that reality crashes back in. you have a boyfriend waiting for you at home. a boyfriend who hasn’t called, hasn’t texted, hasn’t even noticed that you’ve walked out of his house.

you lick the last remnants of your ice cream and are just about to crunch into the cone when jude gestures toward your chin. “you’ve got a little…” he says, trailing off as he points.

“oh,” you mumble while jude scans your surroundings for a tissue. finding none, he leans in and gently swipes at the bit of ice cream with his thumb.

“got it,” he murmurs, his touch lingering just a second longer than required.

what happens next can only be described as a a lapse in thinking, or maybe something you've been holding back all night. before your brain can catch up with your actions, you grab his hand and bring his thumb to your lips. you lick the ice cream away, your eyes flicking up to meet his.

jude freezes, his breath catching, his deep brown eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart race.

"i—" you start, but whatever explanation you're about to give disappears when jude leans closer, his hand hovering near your face, as if waiting for your permission.

you don’t pull away. you don’t want to.

his lips brush against yours, hesitant at first, testing the waters. when you don’t push him away or move back, when, instead, you lean into him, his kiss deepens. it’s slow and deliberate, like he has all the time in the world to memorize every inch of you.

the ice cream cone in your hand is forgotten, melting onto the pavement as your fingers tangle into his hoodie, pulling him closer. the world fades, leaving just the two of you in your little bubble.

when you finally pull apart, your breaths mingle in the night air and jude’s forehead rests against yours.

“jude…” you whisper, but you don’t know how to finish the sentence.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression serious. “tell me if I’ve crossed a line. i don’t want to make things harder for you.”

your heart flutters at the genuine care in his tone. you shake your head. “no, you didn’t.”

he doesn't keep his lips off you after that.

the next morning, you wake up feeling better than you have in months. there's a lightness in your chest, a warmth that’s been missing for what feels like forever.

you glance at your boyfriend, expecting to feel guilt or remorse. but there’s nothing. no pang of regret, no twist in your stomach. you feel... nothing at all.

you watch him roll out of bed and get ready for training. not a word passes between you as you sit down together in the kitchen to eat breakfast.

“so, what does your day look like today?” you try.

he doesn’t even look up, his attention entirely on his phone, scrolling with one hand while holding his fork with the other.

“i have a meeting at work that’s pretty—“ you start, but he cuts off.

“we’re doing penalty drills,” he mutters without looking up. “need to score more than bellingham so i can wipe that smug smile off his face. did you know he gets paid more than me?”

you just stare at him. you wonder what you even saw in him all those years ago. how had you overlooked the bitterness in his eyes, the envy? how had you missed it all along, his resentment towards anyone who seemed happier, luckier, more successful? his good looking face looks distorted to you now, forever changed to you to reflect the ugliness he holds inside. its as if you’re seeing him for who he really is for the very first time.

your phone buzzes on the table. without even checking, you know who it’s from.

jude: good morning :) sleep well?

you see it for what it is: an invitation to step into dangerous territory, to cross the line once more. a lifeline offering escape from the sinking ship that is your relationship.

you decide to take it.

you type a quick response and set the phone down. your boyfriend is grinning at an instagram reel now, completely absorbed.

you don’t speak to each other for the remainder of breakfast. this time it doesn't bother you at all.

[faithshouseofchaos]

Daniel’s first thanksgiving— Daniel Ricciardo x fem!Reader

Word count 631

Fluff

Daniel Ricciardo stood on the wraparound porch of his girlfriend Y/N’s family home, taking in the crisp southern air. The house was alive with the sounds of laughter, a country playlist humming from a Bluetooth speaker, and the clatter of pots and pans from the kitchen. Thanksgiving in the South was something he’d only ever seen in movies, but experiencing it firsthand was a whole other beast. He tugged at the collar of his button-down shirt, already feeling like the center of attention before he even stepped inside.

The moment he crossed the threshold, the teasing began.

“Well, well, if it ain’t the Aussie we’ve been hearing about,” Y/N’s cousin Billy drawled, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “What’d you do to trick our girl into bringin’ you down here?”

Daniel grinned, running a hand through his messy curls. “Must be my accent, mate. Works like a charm.”

“Oh, honey,” Y/N’s mom chimed in from the kitchen, peering at Daniel over her glasses. “That accent’ll only get you so far. We’ve got high standards in this family.”

“Ma,” Y/N groaned, shooting her mom a look as she grabbed Daniel’s hand to lead him further in.

“I’m just sayin’!” her mom called after them. “Don’t want him thinkin’ he’s got it too easy!”

At the table, her dad sized Daniel up like he was studying the competition in a poker game. “So, son,” he began, “what exactly do you do? I heard somethin’ about you drivin’ cars real fast.”

“Yes, sir,” Daniel said, sitting up a little straighter. “I’m a Formula One driver.”

Her uncle snorted, leaning back in his chair. “Ain’t that just goin’ in circles all day? NASCAR’s where the real talent is.”

“Uncle Joe,” Y/N groaned, but Daniel chuckled, rolling with the punches.

“Close enough,” he said with a wink. “But I’ll give NASCAR a go if you think you can teach me a thing or two.”

The room erupted in laughter, and Uncle Joe slapped the table. “This one’s quick, I’ll give him that!”

But the teasing didn’t stop there.

“Y/N said you can cook,” her little sister, Maddie, piped up, leaning her elbows on the table. “That true, or are you just pretty to look at?”

Daniel raised his brows, looking to Y/N for help. She only grinned, enjoying every second of it.

“I can cook,” Daniel said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “But I wouldn’t put me in charge of the turkey. Maybe the mashed potatoes?”

“Oh, we’ll put you to the test next time,” Y/N’s grandma said with a sly smile, her Southern drawl thick. “But don’t you worry, sugar, you can just sit there and look pretty today.”

By dessert, Daniel was laughing as hard as everyone else, fully embracing the playful chaos. He didn’t mind being the butt of their jokes—especially when he caught Y/N’s dad giving him an approving nod across the table.

As the family filed into the living room for football and post-dinner naps, Y/N pulled Daniel aside onto the porch, the soft glow of string lights above them.

“They really like you,” she said, leaning into him.

Daniel smirked, his arm sliding around her waist. “Oh, I got that loud and clear when your grandma called me ‘sugar.’”

“Yeah,” she laughed, resting her head against his chest. “They only tease the people they like.”

“Well,” he said, tipping her chin up to meet his gaze, his smile warm, “good thing I like them, too.”

From inside, her uncle’s voice rang out. “Hey, Aussie! We’re throwin’ the football—don’t wimp out on us!”

Daniel laughed, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s forehead. “Guess I’ve got another round of initiation to pass.”

She grinned. “Welcome to the family, Ricciardo.”

[puppym3]

pairing: changbin x afab!reader

wc: 3.4k

warnings: MDNI 18+, fluff, humor, a lot of cringy but cute back-and-forth, changbin almost burns the house down, oral (f and m rec), overstim, ingestion of certain fluid, they're in love fr

a/n: me going through my inbox is just a way for me to delay having to finish my lee know fic :( BUT I ENJOYED WRITING THIS SM thank you anon i love u

♡.﹀﹀ ﹀﹀.♡

The kitchen smelled like ambition.

Or maybe it was just the faint aroma of something on the verge of burning.

“Bin,” you called, watching your boyfriend juggle chopping onions, stirring a pot of boiling water, and checking the oven. His brow glistened with concentration, his tongue poking out in that adorable way he always did when he was trying too hard. “You’re gonna lose control of this entire operation.”

“No, I’m not!” Changbin barked, glancing between the stovetop and the cutting board like they were part of a high-stakes mission. “I’ve got this!”

It was a bold statement for someone whose onions were uneven, whose pasta water threatened to overflow, and whose oven timer was blinking aggressively like a silent SOS.

You leaned against the counter, trying to contain a smile. After weeks of playful jabs about his limited culinary repertoire, Changbin had insisted he’d cook dinner tonight. Secret lessons with Chan and Felix had boosted his confidence, but clearly, multitasking wasn’t part of the curriculum.

“I don’t mean to sound dramatic,” you teased, eyeing the smoke wafting from the pan, “but I think something’s dying over there.”

He whipped around, panicked, spotting the chicken in the skillet that was quickly approaching charred territory. “Oh no, no, no!” Grabbing the spatula, he flipped the pieces frantically, knocking a spoon off the counter in the process.

You couldn’t hold it in anymore; you burst out laughing. “You’re trying so hard! Look at you!”

“Stop laughing!” he pouted, eyes wide and a little frantic. “I’m doing this for you, you know!”

Your heart melted. He was a sweaty, stressed-out, multitasking mess, but he was your mess. Crossing the room, you leaned over and plucked the spatula from his hands, gently pushing him aside. “Okay, okay. Let me help before we set the smoke alarm off.”

Changbin groaned, leaning his head against the cabinet in defeat. “I really thought I could do it all.”

“You can do it all. Just… not all at once.” You grinned, tilting his chin up so you could look into his dark, sulky eyes. “But you’re trying, and that’s so sweet. You deserve a kiss for that.”

Before he could protest, you leaned in and pecked him on the lips. His scowl melted instantly.

“And another kiss for being so cute while you’re at it,” you added, stealing another quick one.

Changbin narrowed his eyes, a mischievous smile creeping onto his lips. “Are you bribing me with kisses to get me out of cooking duty?”

“Is it working?”

“Absolutely.”

The kitchen forgotten, Changbin pulled you close, his hands warm against your waist. His lips found yours, softer and slower this time, his earlier stress dissolving into something sweeter. But, of course, it wouldn’t be Changbin without a little chaos, his foot accidentally knocked into the open oven door, jolting both of you.

“Careful!” you yelped, pulling back as he winced.

“See? I can’t even focus on kissing you without messing something up.” He sighed dramatically, shaking his head.

“Oh, poor baby,” you cooed, stroking his cheek. “Maybe multitasking isn’t your thing, but you’ve got other talents.”

“Like what?” His tone was skeptical, but his grin was boyish, teasing.

“Hmm, let’s see…” You pretended to think, tapping your chin. “You’re great at lifting heavy things, making me laugh, being ridiculously hot…”

Changbin raised an eyebrow. “Ridiculously hot, huh?”

"Mmmhm, especially in this incredibly sexy apron. And in general, actually." You reached around him, giving his ass a little squeeze. "This is also a good asset."

He snorted, pulling you close and nuzzling his nose against your neck. "And my incredibly tall height? What about that?"

"Oh, I've always been attracted to short sexy men."

You squealed, bursting into giggles as he began to tickle your sides. He lifted you off the ground easily, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, kissing him soundly.

"See, lifting heavy things," you said breathlessly as he lowered you.

Changbin set you back on the ground gently, his grin widening at your flushed cheeks and breathless laughter. “I’m glad my assets are appreciated,” he teased, his deep voice dripping with playful arrogance.

“Oh, more than appreciated,” you shot back, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Adored. Worshipped. Cherished, even.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm as his hands slid to your hips, holding you firmly against him. “You better not be saying all this just to distract me from cooking.”

“Maybe I am,” you admitted, leaning closer until your lips brushed his ear. “Because I’d rather have you focus on me instead of burning down the apartment.”

Changbin’s breath hitched, his fingers tightening their grip on your waist. “Dangerous,” he murmured, his voice lower now, laced with something that made your stomach flutter. “You’re playing a dangerous game, baby.”

You tilted your head, brushing a kiss along his jaw. “Am I?”

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he turned, pinning you gently against the counter, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “You know I’m bad at multitasking,” he whispered, his lips a breath away from yours. “So if you want all my attention, you’re gonna get it.”

Your teasing grin faltered under his heated gaze, your heart hammering as his hands traveled from your hips to your lower back, pulling you impossibly closer. His lips met yours with more intensity this time, his earlier playfulness replaced with something deeper, hungrier.

The kiss deepened quickly, his hands roaming as he pressed you against the cool counter. You could feel the warmth of his body, the firmness of his chest against yours, and the way his lips moved with an urgency that made your knees weak.

“Changbin,” you breathed, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him even closer.

“Hmm?” he hummed against your lips, his mouth curving into a mischievous smile.

“You’re gonna forget about the stove,” you managed to gasp between kisses.

“Let it burn,” he growled, lifting you effortlessly onto the counter. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, anchoring him in place as his lips found the sensitive spot beneath your ear.

You gasped, tilting your head back as he kissed down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to send shivers racing down your spine. His hands slid under your shirt, his touch warm and firm as he explored the curve of your waist.

“You’re so distracting,” he murmured against your collarbone, his voice tinged with mock frustration. “How am I supposed to focus on anything when you look at me like that?”

“I could say the same thing about you,” you shot back, tugging at his shirt.

He grinned, stepping back just enough to pull his shirt over his head before diving back in, capturing your lips in another searing kiss. The combination of his warmth, his strength, and the way he was completely focused on you was enough to make your head spin.

Your fingers trailed over the toned muscles of his chest and shoulders, marveling at the way they tensed under your touch. “Ridiculously hot,” you muttered, earning a breathy laugh from him.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” he quipped, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke.

His hands gripped your thighs, sliding higher as his kisses became slower, more deliberate, each one drawing a soft sound from your lips. You tugged him closer, lost in the heat of the moment until—

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

You jumped, pulling back with a start as the smoke alarm screeched through the room. Changbin spun around, swearing under his breath as he hurried to turn the stove off, the chicken now burned beyond recognition.

"Fuck," he mumbled, grabbing the pan and moving it to the sink, a thick trail of smoke following in his wake.

You hopped off the counter, hurrying to open the window, hoping the cold winter air would help dissipate the smoke. After a few moments, the beeping finally stopped, leaving just you, dying with laughter, reeling from the adrenaline and Changbin, standing shirtless and slightly embarrassed, surrounded by a cloud of smoke.

"So much for dinner," he muttered, shooting you a sheepish smile.

"I can think of something else we can have for dinner," you said, crossing the room and wrapping your arms around his neck.

"What's that?"

You smirked, giving him a quick peck on the lips.

"Something that you can put all of your attention into," you whispered, feeling him shiver as your words ghosted across his lips.

"And what's that?" he asked, his voice lower now, thick with the desire you knew had been simmering between the two of you since the beginning.

"Me."

"You sure about that? I might just burn more than the dinner if I focus on you."

You grinned, tracing the edge of his jaw with your finger. "Well, it’s not like you're any good at multitasking anyway," you teased, lifting your chin defiantly. "I’m sure you can handle me just fine if you give me your full attention."

He let out a low chuckle, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together. "Oh, I’m about to give you all my attention, baby. Trust me, you won’t be complaining."

A flutter of excitement washed over you at his words, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip, leaning in to whisper in his ear. "Good. Because if I’m the only thing on your mind right now, I might just make you forget everything else… including that chicken you ruined."

"Forget the chicken?" Changbin murmured, his lips brushing against your neck as he nipped gently at the soft skin there. "What chicken?"

You sighed, your breath hitching as his hands slid down to grip your hips, his thumbs brushing over the waistband of your jeans. "You’re getting bold, huh?" you teased, glancing up at him with a challenging look.

"Bold?" He raised an eyebrow, his voice dropping to a deep, almost sinful tone.

The air between you two grew thicker with tension as he pressed you up against the counter again, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that left no room for hesitation. The kiss was deeper, more insistent, as if he was trying to imprint himself on you, claiming you in every way he knew how.

You moaned softly against his lips, your hands sliding down his chest, feeling the way his muscles flexed under your touch. "Maybe you are good at focusing on just one thing," you teased, pulling away slightly, your voice breathless.

Changbin’s smile grew, his hand slipping under the hem of your shirt, sending a jolt of heat through you. "And I can assure you, you’re going to be my only focus tonight."

Before you could respond, he kissed you again, this time with more urgency, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that made your pulse quicken. His hands roamed lower, tracing the curves of your body as he pulled you even closer, his body pressing into yours as if he couldn't get enough.

You couldn't either.

You tugged at his belt, trying to free the buckle, desperate to feel his bare skin against yours. "You're not the only one who can get distracted," you panted, finally getting the stubborn thing undone.

Changbin grinned, his hands finding their way under the waistband of your jeans, squeezing the flesh of your ass and making you gasp. "Aren't you going to let me eat my meal up? You did promise me dinner," he teased, nipping at your bottom lip.

"Who says you're the only one eating tonight?"

"Oh, really? Is that a challenge, baby?" His hands were back on the button of your pants, quickly undoing them and sliding them down your hips. "Because if it is, I'm ready."

You leaned in, capturing his lips in a searing kiss, reveling in the way he groaned against you, the sound sending a rush of heat straight between your legs. "Bring it," you murmured, tugging at his belt loops.

"You don't have to tell me twice."

He grabbed your thighs, pulling you close, his hands firm and steady as he lifted you. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips, and your arms around his neck, clinging to him tightly as he carried you into the bedroom.

As soon as your back hit the mattress, he was on top of you, his hands roaming over your body, exploring every inch of you with an intensity that had your skin buzzing with anticipation.

"Now," he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "Where were we?"

You arched into his touch, desperate for more. "Right about here, I think."

He chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "That's right."

His hands were back under your shirt, sliding the fabric over your head before tossing it aside. You were already working on his buttoned pants, tugging the zipper down as he unclasped your bra, the garment quickly joining the rest of your clothes on the floor.

Changbin took a moment to admire you, his gaze trailing over your naked body, a fire in his eyes that had you aching for him.

"I'm definitely hungry now," he muttered, his voice thick with desire.

"So am I," you whispered, tugging at his waistband. "Take these off and feed me."

"Bossy." He grinned, quickly discarding his remaining clothes. "Is this better?"

You bit your lip, your eyes drinking in the sight of him, naked and hard and waiting for you. "Much better."

Without another word, he leaned down, his lips trailing over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You shivered, a soft moan escaping your lips as his tongue traced circles around your clit, teasing you relentlessly.

Your hands gripped the sheets, trying to anchor yourself, but it was impossible when his touch was setting every nerve ending alight. His fingers parted you, and his tongue swirled around your clit, lapping at you in long, languid strokes.

"F-fuck," you gasped, the pleasure washing over you in waves.

Changbin smiled against you, his eyes flickering up to meet yours as he continued his delicious torture, his tongue exploring every inch of you until you were a whimpering mess.

"Oh my god," you panted, your back arching off the bed as he slid two fingers inside of you, his movements slow and deliberate.

"This tastes way better than any burnt chicken," he murmured, his breath hot against you.

Before you could respond, he curled his fingers, finding the sweet spot deep inside you and making you cry out. "Shit, right there."

"Mmm, like that, baby?" he asked, his tone low and teasing.

"Y-yes," you moaned, unable to stop the string of whimpers that fell from your lips.

He picked up the pace, his fingers thrusting in and out of you while his tongue lapped at your clit, the combined sensations pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Your hands tangled in his hair, your hips bucking as the pleasure built, every muscle in your body tensing in anticipation.

"Changbin, I'm gonna—"

Your words were cut off by a loud moan as the orgasm crashed over you, his tongue and fingers guiding you through the wave of ecstasy.

You collapsed against the mattress, gasping for breath, your whole body tingling with satisfaction.

"God, you taste so fucking good," Changbin groaned, his lips moving over your clit in slow, lazy circles as he worked you down from your high.

"Wait- wait," you managed to say between gasps, tugging at his hair.

He pulled away, his eyes dark and filled with lust. "What's wrong, baby?"

"Nothing, just- fuck, I need a minute," you said, trying to catch your breath.

Changbin's lips curved into a mischievous grin, his eyes sparkling with a dangerous glint. "No can do, baby. I'm hungry, and you promised me dinner."

With that, he leaned down, his mouth finding your sensitive clit once again, his tongue moving with renewed intensity. You cried out, overstimulation making sparks shoot down your spine.

"Wait- fuck!"

He ignored your pleas, his hands gripping your thighs, holding you in place as his tongue swirled around your clit, his pace quickening. Your moans filled the room, the sound echoing off the walls as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

"Oh my god, Changbin," you gasped, your hands grasping at the sheets, the pleasure threatening to overwhelm you.

His fingers dug into your thighs, the pressure almost bruising as he pulled you closer, his tongue flicking over your clit, relentless and demanding.

"Changbin- I- fuck, I'm gonna—"

The rest of the words died on your lips, swallowed by the scream that ripped from your throat as the orgasm tore through you. He didn't stop, his tongue continuing to work over your clit, drawing the pleasure out until you were shaking and trembling beneath him.

"Holy fuck," you breathed, the room spinning as you struggled to catch your breath.

"That's what I like to hear," Changbin murmured, his lips grazing the skin of your inner thigh.

"Jesus, Bin, give me a second," you said, still gasping for air.

He grinned, sitting up and looking at you with a smug expression. "What's the matter, baby? Can't keep up with me?"

You scoffed, narrowing your eyes. "It's just, I think it's not fair if you get to eat and I can't."

He tilted his head, considering your words. "I guess you're right."

"And you know what's really not fair? Not being able to take a breather after a mind-blowing orgasm."

"You're the one who said I should put all my attention on one thing," he retorted, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Yeah, well, I didn't mean like that."

"Hmm, I think you did," he replied, leaning in and kissing the spot right behind your ear, the one that always made your toes curl.

"You're insatiable," you whispered, your breath hitching as his hand trailed over the curve of your waist, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake.

You pushed him back, not giving him a chance to catch you off guard again, finding your way in between his legs. "My turn," you smirked, running your fingers along the length of his cock.

His breath hitched, his eyes following your movements intently, darkening with desire.

You leaned forward, kissing the tip before taking him into your mouth. He let out a low groan, his hand tangling in your hair, his grip firm but gentle.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned, his voice strained.

The taste of him was intoxicating, and you couldn't help but moan around him, the sound vibrating through your lips.

His grip tightened in your hair, pulling you closer as he let out a string of curses.

"Fuck, that feels so good," he gasped, his hips bucking against your mouth.

You looked up at him through your lashes, his expression making heat pool in the pit of your stomach. His eyes were closed, his jaw clenched, and his face was flushed with desire.

"Baby, please," he moaned, his voice low and raspy.

You continued to suck him off, working your tongue along the underside of his cock, reveling in the way he came undone under your touch.

"Fuck, I'm close," he warned, his fingers tightening in your hair.

You didn't let up, your hands gripping his thighs as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper with each stroke.

His grip on your hair tightened, his hips bucking erratically as he neared the edge.

"Baby, fuck, I'm gonna come," he groaned, his voice thick with arousal.

You moaned, the vibrations sending him over the edge. He came with a strangled cry, his release spilling down your throat.

You swallowed every drop, your eyes never leaving his as you worked him through his orgasm. The taste was addictive, and you couldn't help but lick him clean, savoring every moment.

"Fuck," he breathed, his body trembling.

"See, that's not so bad, is it?" you teased, sitting back on your heels and licking your lips.

"Not bad at all," he panted, a lazy smile playing on his lips.

You kissed the tip of his cock, smiling up at him. "Good."

"Fuck, you're gonna be the death of me," he muttered, his eyes glazed over with pleasure.

You grinned, crawling up the bed and settling next to him, your head resting on his chest. "Good."

He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "You're amazing."

"I know."

"And so fucking sexy," he added, his voice dropping to a low, sultry tone.

"I know that too."

Before he could say anything else, you heard his stomach growl, making you giggle. "Maybe we should order some actual food."

"Mmm, good idea," he said, his lips curving into a lazy smile.

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

taglist for my lovelies : @loverbangchan, @reignessance, @imperfectlyperfectprincess1, @armystay89, @ihrtlix, @jiyeonslays, @lovestaysblogs, @jeyelleohe, @celebration88, @honeyybbuubblleess

[apomaro-mellow]

The government gets kas!eddie 2

Part 1

Of course, the first thing Steve did was call the others to tell them what had just happened. Nancy, Dustin, and Lucas were the first on the scene and they all craned their heads up to see the ascending claw marks on the back of his house.

"What do you make of it?", Lucas asked.

"Could be a demogorgon", Dustin said.

Nancy shook her head. "These claw marks are different. You said you heard it coming?", she asked Steve.

"I heard it climb up and then, it like cried. It sounded like it was hurt. Then a bunch of lab guys were here and it was like they were hiding something."

"When are they NOT hiding something?", Lucas crossed his arms.

"Are your folks still out of town?", Dustin asked.

"Yeah", Steve answered. The portals had closed but not before massive cracks let through several demobeasts, which was why the government came in and put the whole town on quarantine. No one in or out. Steve got a call from his parents telling him they were at a hotel in the next town over but that they weren't being allowed back in. All for the best. Two less people for him to worry about and lose.

"Were you having a party last night or something?", Lucas asked next.

Steve's brow furrowed. "What? What party? What's there to celebrate?"

Nancy shook her head. "He means, why was this thing, whatever it is, coming for you? If you were asleep, then how did you get its attention?"

Steve scratched his head. Vecna-slash-Henry-slash-One was still out there and unaccounted for. Maybe he was finally coming for revenge?

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

The sedation wore off the moment they got Eddie Munson in a cage and immediately he was clawing at the walls of reinforced concrete. He screeched and tried to roar but with the muzzle on his mouth he wasn't able to open his mouth completely. There had been pain then darkness then clarity, a goal, and then pain and darkness again and now he was awake but even further from his mate than before.

He was unaware that he was being watched right now. There was a heated debate behind the cameras. Who should they bring in? Who should they tell? Should they tell anyone when they didn't even know what this transformation entailed. Names were brought up only to be scoffed at. Children. They'd gotten lucky in the past but they weren't going to keep relying on children. No, if they contacted any civilians about...this, then it had to be next of kin, no?

Wayne Munson was brought in days later when the team decided they should at least keep the creature formerly known as Eddie alive and the damn thing wasn't eating the raw meat that had been thrown into its cell.

Wayne thought his heart couldn't break anymore than it already was. But seeing what his nephew had become. Claws and a tail and wings, it looked like the sort of creature Eddie would have come up with for his game. But this wasn't imaginary. His boy had been turned into a mindless, bloodthirsty-

"You said-", Wayne sniffed the tears away. "You said he ain't been eatin'?" He could see the chunks of meat on the floor through the camera.

"Our files say these creatures will eat raw ground meat if human flesh isn't available", one of the scientists said.

"Yeah that same intel said they eat candy too", another added.

"Kids", someone scoffed.

Wayne took a breath and found a pen and paper. "Send someone grocery shopping for this stuff. And we need to clean up that cell, that's no way for my boy to live."

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

Steve had been face to face with Wayne two times since Eddie died, but it was almost three. The first time was Eddie's funeral. Steve went along with Dustin and the others to pay their respects and mourn. The second time had been a few days after that. He'd gone to the house Wayne was living in now. He said it was on behalf of Dustin as he delivered a casserole made by Claudia (himself).

But what would have been the first time would have been in the immediate aftermath. Steve had seen Wayne at the shelter that day. He'd prepared himself to walk over and tell him about Eddie the best way he could. He was ready to tell the man just how much Eddie meant to him. Dustin got there first and Steve hung back, not wanting to impeded on their moment.

He didn't know Wayne as well as he should; as well as he would have liked. He was always sneaking in and out of the trailer whenever Eddie wasn't doing the same at his house.

Suffice to say, he was very surprised when Dustin demanded they go out for lunch and it suddenly turned into a three person meal with Wayne. He tried, but wasn't able to keep the bewilderment from his face.

"I got somethin' to tell you both and it might sound unbelievable but you need to trust me."

"We're pretty experienced with unbelievable", Dustin said.

"Oh I know. Those lab coats have dossiers on all of you." Wayne almost couldn't fathom how deep that rabbit hole must go but he didn't need to know specifics. He just knew the ones who could help the most.

Steve froze and Dustin's face dropped. They couldn't tell how much Wayne knew or why he knew or why he was telling them now.

"Eddie's alive", Wayne whispered. Then he gave Steve a meaningful look. "And he needs you."

Part 3 coming soon

Taglist

@estrellami-1

[therealagustd]

Suguru fluff for the soul (and because we all miss him)(ft. Satoru):

You wore his clothes

Suguru is the type to see you wearing his clothes, then smile and say, "It suits you." Maybe you were cold, and it was close by, so he'd leave an extra hoodie or jacket around after that.

Just in case.

And if Satoru saw, he'd be dramatic as hell about it and put his own jacket over you and say, "There, now you're properly dressed." and Suguru would be like, "It's not a competition, Satoru" and Gojo would be like, "It's always a competition, Suguru".

He caught you dancing

Suguru's the type to cross his arms, smile, and lean against the doorway. If you noticed him, he'd laugh and go, "Do continue, I believe you were just getting to the best part?". If you asked him not to tell anyone? "...I dunno, Satoru might need to see this..."

Festival prize winning

Suguru would see Satoru trying to win you a prize, being his dramatic self and telling Suguru to sit this one out because he's already the best and "not to embarrass himself" (Gojo messes up the first few times.)

Meanwhile, Suguru easily finished the festival game in a swift move, and he just hands you the gift with a smile and says, "No theatrics, just results. Enjoy."

Amusement park bumper cars

(Okay, this one's kinda self indulgent. Have you ever been to an amusement park, but you hate or can't handle the big, dramatic rides? Same.)

You're in a bumper car, Suguru's in one, and so is Satoru. And here comes Satoru, trying to smash his car into Suguru's, yelling about "This is for all the times you rolled your eyes at me!" or something similar. And during the whole speil, Suguru's effortlessly making sure you don't get bumped and you eventually team up against Satoru and chase him in the bumper cars until he's screaming about betrayal.

Claw machines

Alright, Geto's on the move. You've failed at least 10 times with this thing, and it's not even a payout one!

But before he can, Gojo swoops in and takes over, boasting about how he's the best at these.

And in his rich boy energy, he's trying over and over, promising you that stuffed creature inside.

"Alright, this is how a pro does it. I've got the precision, the timing and... oh come on! This is clearly rigged."

And because Gojo is Gojo, he spends way too much money on the machine until he wins you a prize and is all smug and says, "All in a day's work - I'll accept my repayment in the form of snacks."

Meanwhile, Geto calmly walks to the machine and wins a prize in the first try.

Trying to fight back a laugh at Satoru's expression, he hands you the prize and goes, "It's about angles and patience. That's all."

Gojo's telling him that he had just gotten beginner's luck.

You keep both prizes on your bed.

Painting together

You agreed on a painting session. You and Geto were supposed to be doing it together, but of course Gojo had to come and crash the party.

So now Satoru's boasting about his painting (a self portrait), and how he made a masterpiece.

And you check on Suguru, and he's painted the most beautifully detailed purple flower, and he smiles at you before gently tapping your nose with the handle end of the brush so you'd snap out of it and go back to painting.

And you do.

He's glancing over at you and your painting, happy that you're by his side.

[suroweczka]

Would you still love me if I were an ant? Zoro x reader

Wtf did i write idk

Warnings: Other than being an ant (horrible disease, sending prayers to all affected) and reader being ridiculous and annoying, none, pure fluff😘😘

— The moonlight spilled through the window, casting a soft glow over the room as you and Zoro lay in bed. His breathing was steady, his body relaxed, and you could tell he was teetering on the edge of sleep. But you couldn’t let go of the random thought that had wormed its way into your mind.

“Zoro,” you whispered, nudging him lightly.

He grunted, barely cracking an eye open. “What?”

“Do you find me attractive?”

His eye opened a bit more, and he frowned, confused. “What kind of question is that? You know I do.”

You smiled softly but couldn’t stop yourself from pushing further. “Okay, but... what if I wasn’t me? Like, what if I got turned into... an ant?”

His brow furrowed deeply, and he tilted his head to look at you fully, his confusion now complete. “An ant?” he repeated, his voice a mix of disbelief and annoyance.

“Yeah,” you said seriously. “If I somehow got turned into an ant, would you still love me?”

Zoro stared at you for a long moment, then closed his eye and groaned, rolling onto his back. “What the hell kind of question is that? No, I wouldn’t love an ant.”

Your heart sank at his blunt response, and you sat up slightly, glaring down at him. “So you’d just leave me? Break up with me? Just because I turned into an ant?”

His eye shot open again, glaring at you. “How am I supposed to love an ant? You’d be... an ant! I can’t talk to an ant, can’t train with an ant, can’t even drink sake with an ant!”

“But it would still be me!” you argued, crossing your arms. “I’d just be... smaller. And maybe a little squirmy.”

He sighed heavily, rubbing his temple. “This is ridiculous. I’m trying to sleep, and you’re asking me if I’d date a bug.”

You huffed, lying back down beside him with your arms crossed. “Well, it’s good to know that if something terrible happened to me, you’d just leave me.”

Zoro groaned again, clearly trying to keep his patience. He turned to you, propping himself up on one elbow. “Alright, listen. If you turned into an ant after we’d already been together, I’d... I’d deal with it, okay? I wouldn’t leave you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “But if I was an ant from the beginning, you wouldn’t even give me a chance?”

He stared at you for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. “How the hell would I even meet you if you were an ant? I’m not walking around staring at the ground looking for bugs to date.”

You pouted, turning your back to him. “That’s not the point, Zoro.”

He sighed, sitting up and leaning over you. His tone softened, though there was still a hint of exasperation. “Look. I don’t care what happens to you—human, ant, whatever. I love you. I’ve never given a crap about anyone else like I do about you. You’re the only one who’s ever mattered, and you’re the only one I want to be with. But I swear, if you keep me up with more dumb questions, I’m tying you to the mast tomorrow.”

You turned back to look at him, a small smile tugging at your lips despite your grumpiness. “You really mean that?”

He rolled his eye, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Yeah, I mean it. Now go to sleep.”

You finally relaxed, snuggling into his chest as you felt his arm wrap around you. “Goodnight, Zoro.”

“’Night,” he muttered, his voice already heavy with sleep.

As you drifted off, content in his arms, Zoro sighed quietly to himself. “miraculously dodged a bullet,” he muttered under his breath before finally succumbing to sleep.

[haveihitanerve]

I've Got You

Steph just wanted one day. One day. To feel shitty about herself. To sit alone at home in silence and wallow. Watch crappy pirated movies from her phone because she can’t afford a TV and eat junk food that's probably months old because she doesn't really have time to get a real job right now.

She had, preferably, wanted a relaxing day. Being sick wasn't optimal for staying home, but at least it gave her a decent excuse.

So there she was, hunched underneath the covers of her crappy twin bed, on her phone, old bags of chips and tissues littering the floor and bed.

The window slides open and Steph's hand is under her pillow in a second, gripping the small dagger Tim had gifted her.

“I’m fine Tim. Go away.” She calls out in direction of the window as a shadow slips into the room. The shadow straightens to its full height and she curses, quickly dropping her phone.

“I’m not Tim.” Batman rumbles, and Steph drops the knife, twisting her body slightly to face him.

“I see that.” She shoves her phone away, just so that he doesn’t see her pirated movie selections. The last thing she needs is to deal with the fucking Bat. But of course, the Gods hate her.

“You missed patrol.” Steph’s cheeks heat up. She didn’t think it was that noticeable that she’d missed today. Much less that he’d notice.

“Yeah I uh… day off.” She chuckles awkwardly, hand rubbing the back of her neck. “Even my crappy manager Dave at Batburger gave me them from time to time. No point in being your own manage if it doesn't have benefits right?” To punctate the brilliance of her sentence she throws some finger guns his way.

Batman is unamused, white lenses unmoving. “Tim told me you jumped in Gotham harbor yesterday. To save a boy.” he murmurs instead, eyes scanning her apartment, taking in the empty cabinets, mold, and littering of stuff.

“Yeah.” Steph sniffs, grabbing another tissue to blow her nose. “Uh, is he okay?” She hasn’t had a chance to check, and she curses innerly at the lack of care it shows.

But Bruce doesn't comment, maybe because its what he expected, or because… something else, and just nods. “Yes. He’s fine. Minor cold, nothing too terrible. He wasn’t in the harbor for too long, thanks to you.”

Steph frowns at little at that, because it almost sounds like a compliment. Pride. “Uh, yeah well.” She shrugs, unsure of how to play this. “It’s just what we do right?”

Bruce hums his affirmative, eyes now scanning her. “But you..” Steph stiffens at that, and his eyes track the movement, no outward shift visible, but Steph can almost feel him flinch innerly at it.

Its for that reason alone that she forces her body to relax. “You were in it for longer.” He continues, pretending like nothing happened, like he's not bothered. Steph frowns, unsure of the direction he's taking.

“Yeah, I mean, I had to go in, find him, push him out, make sure he was out, and then patrol.” She shrugs. “No biggie.” Bruce frowns, and Steph squints at him, uncertain of what caused the reaction.

“You patrolled afterwards? Without changing?” Steph jerks one shoulder.

“I mean… yeah?” His eyes scan more intently now, taking in the littering of tissues, the large, thick blanket wrapped around her shoulders in the middle of summer, the redness of her nose.

“You’re sick.” The words are flat. Emotionless.

Steph rolls her eyes. “Great work Sherlock. Yes. I’m sick.” She sparkles her hands around herself in a bad display of joy. “Day off work. Sick day.”

Bruce frowns again, and before she knows it, he's crossed the room to her side. Steph stiffens again without meaning to, but he’s so close and he hasn't been this close since she was Robin and-

He kneels, tugging off his gloves as he presses a hand to her forehead, frown deepening. “You're burning up.” He mumbles, hands now moving faster, checking against her throat and moving to her sides and back, prodding and pushing with a firmness that is both professional and gentle and Steph doesn't know how to feel about it.

She wonders, idly, as his fingers settle on either side of her ribs, just resting there gently, how often he’s done this to Tim. To Dick. And Jason. And Damian and Cass. She wonders if even Duke has already gotten this treatment. If she's the last one. The one he hoped he’d never do it to, after he fired her from Robin.

“I’m taking you home.” Bruce announces without much fanfare, fingers finally slipping away from her sides as he stands, and Steph cant help but feel like she's lost something as he puts distance between them.

She glances around her apartment. “I am-”

“The Manor.” He corrects, and if Steph didn't know better she would swear his throat bobs, cheeks red. “You need medicine and food and- I don't know what else but you wont get it here. I’m calling Leslie.”

Steph frowns up at him. “But- I- okay…” She uncurls her legs from underneath her, moving to stand. But she must have moved too fast because suddenly the ground is moving closer and her legs have given out-

But Bruce is there, strong and gentle as he swings her into his arms like she weighs nothing, tucking her head against his chest like he does it daily, cradling her close.

“I can walk.” She mumbles as he moves to the window. “I can do it.”

Bruce hums his agreement, grappling away from her tiny, musty apartment. “I don't doubt it.” His breath ruffles her hair, warm against her ear. “But you don’t have to. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Steph's hand contracts on his suit, bunching the fabric, and if a tear slips out of her eye, well... its just the wind. 

[slafkovskys]

sid would totally blush when intern reader congratulates him on 600 goals and he quickly has to remind himself to school his features bc other people are around

and saturday’s game was the first game that you had gone to as his guest. he had let you know that there would be a ticket waiting for you if you wanted it and you had battled with whether or not you wanted to take him up on his offer. halfway through the first period, you’re marching out of your apartment and making your way to ppg paints arena.

your seat in the lower bowl placed you in between a couple of older women who took a trip to a new arena every year on one side and a group of frat boys donning utah jerseys on the other. safe to say when the puck left sidney’s stick and flew past the goalie with 10 seconds left on a power play, you were cheering with the girls.

you longer for awhile after, long enough for the arena to almost completely clear out and you really don’t know what you’re supposed to do. did he even want to see you after? the game resulted in a loss and not a close one at all. maybe he wasn’t in the mood for company, you decide. he hadn’t even responded to your i’m here! message.

with a defeated sigh, you adjust your bag on your shoulder and push yourself out of your seat and make your way through the aisle. you barely start up the steps when you hear a familiar chuckle, “where are you going?”

your head turns and finds sidney making his way up the stairs, stopping three below you. “i didn’t-”

“did you think i’d leave you a ticket and not come see you after? don’t you know that i’ve got a habit of wanting to see you?” you feel the blood rushing to your cheeks and you cross your legs at the ankle. the water bottle in his hand crunches as he waves a finger around, “what did you think?”

“600, i mean, that’s not light work,” you hum, “congratulations, sid. you deserve it.”

it’s his turn to flush and something flares in your chest at the sight. you were the one making sidney crosby, the sidney crosby who has played over 1000 professional hockey games and just scored his 600th goal, flustered. his free hand rubs over his face and as quickly as the blush appeared it was gone, “i’m glad that you were here to see it.”

“i’m sure i would’ve been planning a party for it soon,” you sigh. you don’t know when you decided to slowly let your guard down around him, to drop the professional act (maybe one of the times when his tongue was down your throat?) but this was fun. “thank you for the ticket, seriously. it was nice to be here and not have to worry about a balloon arch getting popped or an ice sculpture getting broken-”

“i would like it to be known i was not involved in either of those occurrences,” he quirks an eyebrow and you grin. a beat of silence passes between the two of you before he clears his throat, “i think that i’m in the mood to celebrate.”

“i would be.”

“c’mon. let’s get out of here,” he has a smile on his lips when he offers you his hand and you just stare at it for a moment, trying to process his words. sidney wanted to leave, with you, and he wanted to hold your hand while leaving. what? then your suddenly aware of where the two of you were.

while the arena had emptied out, it wasn’t empty. there were still workers lingering and even a few people who you could only guess were family members in the stands and you weren’t immune to their eyes on the two of you. your heart feels like it’s going to leap from your throat as you take sidney’s hand, letting your shoulders drop as he gives it a reassuring squeeze.

this was fine. everything was fine.

[the-bi-space-ace]

I’m Cold

I told you I was back on my Crosshair and Echo bullshit and you couldn’t stop me and I’m back again. This time with another headcanon and a short fic for EchoVember for everyone to enjoy 🩶

I think the phrase “I’m cold.” Became a sign for these two to let the other comfort them. To stop arguments about feeling coddled or not wanting to appear weak. “I’m cold” means move over. Let me take some of the burden. Don’t argue with me. It’s a way to make the other feel better about accepting comfort so they feel more willing to accept it, as if they're helping the other person instead.

How about a cute little fic about how that starts?

Have you ever wanted a fic like "Oh, Shut Up" but the roles reversed? Well, here ya go! Some Echo and Crosshair hurt/comfort for your enjoyment <3

Happy Echovember!

Echo woke to what sounded like the cross of a groan and a whine, high pitched but pained. Instinct threw him to his feet, touching down onto the metal floor of the Marauder, confronted only with the dim light of the bunk room and the subtle snores from his squad. All sleeping except for Wrecker up in the cockpit on watch. It was still deep in the night cycle, their next mission still a rotation out from their current position. There that noise was again. This time Echo could pinpoint where it was coming from. He turned towards it, spotting the restless lump on the bunk across from him. 

Crosshair was sleeping but it wasn’t restful, body tossing and turning underneath the covers. Every so often he let out a noise not unlike the first one. Short gasps and grumbles that could have been words but Echo couldn’t discern what he was trying to say. It wasn’t often that Crosshair got nightmares. There were always times bad dreams plagued them but Crosshair’s were few and far between. It was always possible that he just hid it better than the rest of them, too proud to show himself needing help in front of them. On the rare occasion he couldn’t hide it, usually Wrecker was at his side the second he made a noise, not even bothering to wake him up before climbing into the bunk. Crosshair always grumbled, bit back something snappy about how he’d been woken up, but he let Wrecker lay with him. Maybe that said more about Crosshair’s state in those moments than anything else. 

Another toss, face screwed up in pain, and Echo couldn’t wait any longer. He was careful not to let his feet make noise when he started to tip toe over to the other bunk. Noise behind him drew his eyes upward, meeting Hunter’s gaze as he was midway through tossing his own blanket off. Hunter tipped his head at Echo, eyes darting between him and their suffering squadmate. Was he the best person for this? That he didn’t quite know but he was already out of bed. No need to have someone else take over what he’d already determined he would do. 

Echo paused but flashed a quick hand signal to his sergeant. 

I’ll take point. 

Surprise flashed across Hunter’s expression for only a second then he flashed a quick OK before settling back down in his bunk. Echo could feel the eyes still on him but he’d committed to this course of action and he’d never been one to give up so soon. 

Approaching a squad mate had never felt so weighty before. The dominoes had been loud, excitable, but he’d never felt quite so out of his depth. Perhaps approaching from eye level was safer. Echo crouched by the side of the bunk so he could watch Crosshair’s face, screwed up as it was. Tear tracks ran down his face, unable to stop the emotion while still asleep, leaving a glistening target in the dark. Echo took a deep breath. 

“Crosshair.” Echo whispered. Nothing. Still tossing and turning uninhibited. With gentleness he’d not exhibited in a while he laid a hand on Crosshair’s shoulder, rocking him gently. “Hey, Cross.” The touch woke him almost instantly, breath sucked in through his nose and bleary eyes cracking open. As quick and observant as ever, Crosshair closed his eyes again and rubbed the back of his arm over his face, trying to disguise the telltale sign of tears. 

Echo’s heart squeezed a bit. He didn’t have to do that. Hide. Not from any of them. 

“What do you want, reg?” He bit out. Scratchiness from sleep mixed with a thickness that Echo hadn’t heard from Crosshair before. 

“You were making noise.” Echo said. His hand was pushed away as Crosshair rolled over onto his back, eyes studying the ceiling above him. 

Crosshair scoffed. “Sorry to disturb your sleep, didn’t realize regs needed such perfect conditions to pass out.” He sniffed, rubbing his arm over his eyes once more to confirm he’d gotten all of the tears off of his cheeks. Echo felt like he was trying to approach a scared tooka, one that was one step away from hissing and batting him away. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, ignoring the dig.

“Piss off.” Crosshair bit out, head turning to face the opposite wall. Wasn’t an answer to the question. 

“I get nightmares, too, ya know.” Echo sighed, resting his arm and scomp against each other on the edge of the bed. 

“I’m aware.” He grumbled, letting them fall into silence. The quiet only lasted until Crosshair huffed, turning back onto his side to stare menacingly at Echo. The red rimmed eyes undercut the curated mask. “Just go back to bed.” A dismissal. He wasn’t going to be thwarted that easily. Breaking down Crosshair’s walls took consistency. He was learning the longer he spent with Clone Force 99 that his bond with Crosshair would take work but once it was earned it would be difficult to break. 

Echo was planning on earning it.

“Already awake. No sense going all the way over there again.” Echo shrugged, gesturing behind him with his scomp. All it did was make Crosshair glare a bit harder as if it would scare Echo away from him. Most of the bite to him was to scare people off, not let them too close otherwise they might start to matter. That’s what freaked Crosshair out, Echo was sure of it, that someone new might matter to him and it would hurt if one day they were gone. Better to ruin it before it got to that point, frighten off Echo before he made up his mind and decided to stay for good. 

Not a chance he was letting that happen. 

Echo had twice Crosshair’s weight in stubbornness. Once his mind was made up he was sticking to it, even if he had to get knocked down a few times before he could stand on his own two feet. He met the glare with a raised eyebrow, tipping his head in challenge. 

A petulant eye roll accompanied a tired deflation. “I’m fine, reg. Use your pity on someone else.” 

“It’s not pity. You woke me, remember? This is your punishment for that.” The joke halfway landed, he saw it in Crosshair’s eyes, but it wasn’t quite enough to soften his mood, still grumbling and keeping his feelings too close to his chest. Echo reached his scomp out as an offering, one that Crosshair eyed but didn’t take. Not taking any of the bait. Must’ve been a pretty shitty dream. Echo deflated. His mind raced through options. Whatever he chose to do might get him slapped for his effort with the way his squadmate was reacting. He was at a loss until he shrugged, letting his head lay on his folded arm. 

“I’m cold.” Echo wasn’t sure how he had meant that to sound, how he’d like it to be taken, but waiting was the only way you got an answer out of their sniper. Crosshair watched his face for what felt like a full minute, thoughts racing behind steady eyes, brow pinching with that well earned skepticism. Temperature was almost always consistent on ships, especially theirs. Tech didn’t like it fluctuating too much. Bad for his ship as he’d say. The ‘cold’ was a poor excuse and they both knew it. Giving up was on the horizon, he’d fumbled this interaction enough it was about time to pack it in, but Crosshair surprised him as he often did. 

Crosshair shuffled backwards, making room on the tiny regulation bunk, then lifted the blanket as if offering an invitation. Hesitation would only make Crosshair skittish so Echo took the opportunity in stride and slid into the free space. The mattress was warm, heated by the body recently laying in that spot, and the blanket thrown over his shoulders added to the exchange of body heat. Echo turned onto his back and lifted his arm to let Crosshair scoot forward, tucking into the space to rest his head comfortably on his chest. Echo held him tightly, hand rubbing absentmindedly over the expanse of his back. A weary sigh left the other man’s body, finally melting into Echo’s side like it had brought at least some relief. 

Echo would like to believe that he could still give this kind of comfort. That he wasn’t so changed that his squad wouldn’t want to share such close space with him. He remembered holding Fives like this, carding fingers through his hair. Crosshair’s wasn’t quite as long but it was enough to run the tips of his fingers through, blunt nails scratching lightly over his scalp. 

“Echo?” The muffled voice brought Echo’s eyes downward. Crosshair wasn’t looking at him but he did squeeze tighter into the space, pressing his forehead to Echo’s neck, his arm stretching across Echo’s waist to keep the hold firm. No other words came but he got the message. Whether it was the way he squeezed back or the way his chest stuttered every so often Echo wouldn’t ever divulge. It was enough of an admission. Enough to know he was on the right track. Echo was as content to be the source of warmth for the night as Crosshair was to accept it now. 

Protectiveness swept through him, almost overwhelmingly so. Something in him wanted to chase away all of those sour thoughts. The ones that made pits grow in your stomach and your throat tighten. Make sure none of Clone Force 99 had to hurt, even if that hurt came in the form of nightmares or cold nights. Without thinking too hard about it Echo pressed a quick kiss to the top of Crosshair’s head. “I know, Cross, I know.” 

[gabessquishytum]

Hob is determined to get his professor’s attention. So he starts sitting in the front row, wearing skirts to class and crossing his chunky thighs so that dream can see the ruby plug glittering in his hole.

He raises his hand a lot and leans forward so that dream can see down his shirt, and whenever he can, goes to office hours to talk to dream personally. While he might look and act like a bimbo he gets great grades.

He thinks he’s close to getting Dream too. He’s pretty sure it isn’t morals holding dream back—Dream certainly doesn’t mind looking at him. It’s probably that Dream is keeping track of all his bratty behavior and just waiting for the perfect time to take him in hand.

Ahhh yes. Bratty student Hob. Oh how we love him.

I quite like the idea of Dream noting down each and every instance of Hob’s terrible conduct. Maybe he's got a little moleskin notebook with a report of each incident. Or a spreadsheet which ranks the behaviour in order of sluttiness. Either way, he's got a full record of every time Hob has "accidentally" flashed him, or touched him inappropriately, or attempted to make him jealous by loudly talking about how many cocks he sucked over the weekend.

So. That's why Hob finds himself stripped of his cute, slutty little outfit when he enters Dream’s office at the end of term. He can hardly even react before he's efficiently tied up, bent of Dream’s desk and. And Dream just leaves him there? Well, he doesn't leave. He just sits in his chair and picks up a pile of grading.

He informs Hob that he'll leave him there for as many minutes as there are incidents in his record of Hob’s behaviour. Hob is suitably horrified - there are a LOT of incidents. But although he squirms and begs, Dream doesn't relent.

He's quite looking forward to finally getting his cock in that slutty pink hole, actually. Maybe Hob will learn a different kind of lesson from his professor today...

[arpicityandneed]

Hi there! I'm so excited to hear your page is growing! Your work is amazing and I can't wait to see what you write next. Thank you for taking the time to share your work with us! 💜

If there's still space, could I ask for 2 or 10 with Steve or Bucky?

Thank you again and good luck in school!

Thanks!! It's my pleasure to share honestly.

Steve (#2 sex in front of a big window where anyone could glance up and spot them)

18+ f!reader. Cap!Steve. Dirty talk. Spanking. Semi public sex.

You couldn't breathe, couldn't think, all you could do was feel. Your cheek was pressed against cool glass as your boyfriend fucked you ravenously.

Alright maybe you shouldn't have teased him so much- each selfie sent during a tactical meeting was just your way of passing the time.

In your own defense, you'd been unsupervised.

But Steve had simply thrown you over his shoulder when he got back, ignoring your squeaks of protest. Your tshirt (his actually) was ripped in half before you got thrown on the bed, and all you got was one of his shit eating grins and a "you asked for it" before he was on you.

That was three- four? rounds ago, and at this point you weren't sure if you wanted to curse or thank Erskine's serum. Your boyfriend's stamina was endless.

"Come on pretty girl, where'd all that attitude go hm?" Steve was panting in your ear, thrusting his wickedly fat cock into your cum filled pussy over and over as his massive hand slapped your ass cheek.

"Thought you wanted my attention. Well now you have it baby." He bit down on your shoulder hard enough to leave teeth marks as you clenched down around him, every roll of his hips dragging the head of his cock over your spot and making you keen.

"Stevie," you moaned completely out of it as you fucked yourself back onto his cock shamelessly, each balls deep kiss of his tip to your cervix making your eyes cross.

"Yeah yeah, I'm here sweetheart. Just gotta gimme one more and I'll let you rest for a bit mkay?" Steve may be enthustiatic but he was still gentle with your nonenhanced body. (As gentle as you wanted him to be anway.)

All it took was his hand snaking around to find your clit before you were screaming his name, grateful for the soundproof glass of Stark tower.

Steve groaned and pulled your hips flush against his before he added even more of his super sized load to your overflowing folds. If you had hand shaped bruises on your hips tomorrow you wouldn't be surprised, but more importantly you wondered if birth control worked with super soldier sperm.

Gentle hands picked you up when you would've fallen to the floor happily, carrying you to the shower and turning on the hot water as they held you close.

"Hey baby, can you open your eyes for me?" Steve cajoled softly, cupping your cheek in his hand as you blinked up at him blearily.

"Try that shit again and I'll have Bucky deal with you, he loves putting little brats like you in their place." Your eyes widened in shock and more than a little bit of interest, and it just made Steve laugh.

"Next time baby, rest now."

~

(10 minutes prior)

Bucky moved silently, Steve's text with coordinates and a simple note 'enjoy the show' made him curious he could admit. But he wasn't expecting to see your pretty little self fucked out and pressed against the glass.

Steve had picked the perfect spot, the exact coordinates giving Bucky a private view of Steve's window and your fully naked body split open on his best friends cock.

"Well I'll be damned," Bucky muttered as he adjusted his erection in his pants.

Even 70 years later, Stevie was still a fucking punk.

[bloody-cupcakes]

Yandere serena van der woodsen but she's really toxic, like more toxic than usual. She threatens to purposely overdose/hurt herself if you dont do what she says and calls you crying whenever you get into fights or when you hang out with someone else

A/N: trying out a bit of a new format with this hehe. thanks for the gossip girl request btw!

Tw: yandere/dark content, gender neutral reader, both obsessive and possessive behavior, mentions of addictions (drugs/alcohol), manipulation, swearing

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Serena loved you so, so much. She swore that she did. She'd never felt anything close to what she felt for you.

You were so amazing to her, so perfect in her eyes. You were better than Nate, or Carter, or Dan, or anyone elsed she'd ever hooked up with before. You saw her for who she was, and you loved her regardless.

Her addictions didn't define her when it came to you. Whenever she relapsed or needed help, you were always there for her, cleaning her up and holding her hair back while she puked. Not even Blair was as attentive as you were, and they'd known each other for years.

The way she saw it, you were hers. Who else would come rushing over to the VDW manor the second she called, crying because Gossip Girl had posted yet another blast that made her out to be nothing more than a alcoholic slut?

Of course, other people caught on. Dan, naturally, as he loved Serena far more than he should given that she was yours. Blair did, too, not that she cared much. With someone else keeping the blonde distracted, she wouldn't have to worry about doing damage control.

Even her family caught on, which certainly said something as Eric spent most of his time searching for his next boytoy to fool around with and Lily was determined to marry another man solely for his money and social status. Even they knew just how important you were in her life, just how codependent she was- to an almost unsettling degree.

Lily wanted to say something, but her daughter seemed happy for once, not quite as bratty or miserable, so she let it slide. Eric, on the other hand, wasn't afraid to confront his older sister over her most recent behavior changes.

"What's going on with you and this new person in your life?" He questioned one day while standing in the doorway to her room, watching as she got ready to meet up with you somewhere.

"Okay, first of all, this new person happens to have a name," she lightly chastised while applying her favorite brand of lip gloss, one that she hoped would soon end up all over your lips and face (and maybe even thighs) by the end of the night. "And second, nothing's going on. You make it sound like a bad thing that I've made a friend."

"It's only a bad thing because of how obsessed with them you seem to be," he stated while crossing his arms, not looking entirely convinced. "You can't just hang out with only one person, Serena. What about Blair?"

"What about her?" The blonde's tone had become sharp, a slight edge to it as her brother began to chart into unwelcome territory. While it was true she'd let her relationship with her bestie suffer a little recently, that still didn't mean he got the right to bring it up to her.

"All I'm saying is please be careful, okay?" Despite everything, he was genuinely worried for her. You seemed great and all, but he knew how Serena got when things didn't go her way, and with her setting up such high expectations for you it was bound that you'd end up disappointing her sooner or later, which would only result in a mess that he'd have to help clean up.

"Whatever, you're just jealous that I'm not spending as much time with you as usual," she lightly teased, reaching her hand out to give his hair an affectionate ruffle as she passed by him. Meanwhile, he frowned and averted his gaze when he noticed her dress, quite certain there was no way she saw you as just a friend when she was going out to meet you while wearing something so revealing.

He ended up being right, unsurprisingly. You got into a massive argument with her when she found out you'd been hanging out with Jenny Humphrey, Little J herself. God, how could she be so stupid?

"Why do you need to hang out with her, huh? Why do you need her when you already have me?" She loudly sobbed, shoving you away whenever you went in to comfort her.

"Hey, hey, calm down, alright? She's just my friend, that's all," you tried to reassure her, but she was having none of it.

"Oh, just a friend? Really? Do you honestly think I'm so stupid as to believe something like that?" She harshly spit out, and it was a that moment you stopped trying to make her feel better.

"You know what, Serena? I can't talk to you when you're like this. I'm leaving."

Her angry demeanor instantly crumpled the moment you said that, and she watched you helplessly as you grabbed your coat and started heading for the door.

"W- Wait, I didn't mean it like that-" She began, trying desperately to explain to you what she really meant. "Come back, I'm sorry, please-"

But you were already gone, shutting the door behind you with a loud, deafening slam. She was quiet for a moment before letting out a wail of anguish, falling to her knees before curling up into a ball on the floor, laying there in a fetal position as she begged for you to come back.

It was a little later, and you were starting to feel a bit guilty for leaving her there like that. You were about to call her when she beat you to it. "Serena, hey," you answered in relief, but that relief quickly turned to worry and then panic when you heard her hiccuping while letting out shuddering breaths, something that wasn't normal for her to do, even when she was crying. "Serena? What's wrong?"

"I- I took something," she announced, her speech definitely slurring when she spoke. "It was some sort of meds that I got off someone at the last party I went to. I washed it down with some alcohol."

You felt your blood run ice cold. She'd been drinking, and taking some kind of drugs that probably shouldn't be mixed together? This was not good.

"Where are you?" You asked while trying your best to remain calm, a task that seemed close to impossible as you rushed around your place, quickly putting on your shoes and coat.

"Mm... some dive bar downtown. I rented out one of the rooms here so I could have some privacy."

Shit. You knew what it meant when she did that: she was about to relapse, and bad, if she hadn't done it already.

"Okay, stay were you're at, alright? I'll be right there." You were still on the phone with her, even in your hurry to get out the door. You had to find and get to her before it was too late.

"Okay... try to hurry..."

It sounded like she was on the verge of passing out, which only hastened you. If she went unconscious while under the influence of drugs and alcohol, especially at that large of a dosage, there was a good chance she might not wake up.

As soon as you got there, you could tell she was in bad shape. She absolutely reeked of the stuff that was in her system, and she looked half dead.

"Hey, S? Are you alright?" You asked despite already knowing the answer to that question.

"Mm... I'm better now that you're here..." She seemed relatively happy to see you, at least that's what you gathered, anyway. Judging by the look on her face, she was most likely feeling pretty numb.

"Here, I'm going to take you to the hospital, alright?" You said while helping her up, wrapping one arm firmly around her waist so she could lean on you, already noticing how she was starting to stagger. "You're going to be okay, I promise."

She was out of it for sure, but she did know one thing, and that was she finally had a way of getting your attention, even when you'd rather ignore her or try to forget about her altogether. There's no way you could ever think about leaving her alone again after this, and that's what she was counting on.

After all, you were hers. She needed you the same way she needed to breathe, and she was going to keep you there by her side no matter what the cost. If this is what she had to do to keep you close, then so be it.

She'd rather die than ever have to risk giving you up.

[kathlare]

through the storm

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: After a challenging race in Suzuka, Lando wrestles with doubts about his performance and an unsettling distance in his relationship with Amelie. Meanwhile, Amelie struggles with her growing feelings for him, haunted by the fear of vulnerability and past mistakes.

Wordcount: 3.4 k

Warnings: just fluff

request over here!

April 6th, 2024 - Susuka, Japan

The roar of the Japanese crowd was deafening, even as the race had come to an end. The Suzuka circuit always brought out the passion of motorsport fans, and today was no exception. Lando stood on the pit wall, his helmet tucked under his arm, sweat clinging to his brow as he replayed the final laps in his head. From a promising P3 to finishing P5—it wasn’t a disaster, but it stung. He knew the car had more in it, knew he had more in him, but sometimes racing was just… unforgiving.

Still, the race wasn’t what occupied his mind. Not fully. Not even close.

Amelie.

She had been avoiding him for days, and it was driving him insane. At first, he thought it was just her schedule—she was filming, traveling, doing a million other things that made her life the whirlwind it always was. But this was different. Her texts had become shorter, her calls less frequent. And when they did speak, it felt… off. Like she was holding something back.

Lando let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his damp hair as he made his way toward the McLaren hospitality. Fans lined the paddock, shouting his name, waving flags, and holding out memorabilia for him to sign. He forced a smile, stopping briefly to greet a few before retreating into the relative quiet of the team’s lounge.

He grabbed a bottle of water, slumping into a chair as he scrolled through his phone. There was a text from Max, a meme from Keegan, and a sarcastic message from Oliver about his start. But nothing from her.

Nothing.

Lando frowned, his thumb hovering over her contact. He debated calling her, but something stopped him. If she didn’t want to talk to him, what was the point of pushing? Yet, the thought of her slipping away—again—made his chest tighten in a way that was all too familiar.

—Earth to Norris.—

Lando looked up to see Oscar Piastri grinning at him, a towel slung over his shoulder. —You alright, mate? You’ve got that look.—

—What look?— Lando asked, though he already knew the answer.

—The one where you’re thinking about her,— Oscar said, plopping down in the chair across from him. —You’re not as subtle as you think.—

Lando rolled his eyes, but the faint flush on his cheeks gave him away. —She’s just… busy.—

Oscar raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. —Busy, huh? Or avoiding you?—

Lando shot him a sharp look. —She’s not avoiding me.—

—Right,— Oscar said, dragging out the word. —Because the girl you’ve been quietly dating for months suddenly going radio silent is completely normal.—

Lando groaned, leaning back in his chair and covering his face with his hands. —I don’t know what I did wrong.—

—Maybe it’s not about you,— Oscar said, his tone surprisingly gentle. —Girls are complicated, mate. They get in their heads about stuff, overthink things. Maybe she’s just figuring something out.—

Lando let out a bitter laugh. —Or maybe she’s figuring out that she doesn’t want to be with me.—

Oscar gave him a look. —Now you’re the one overthinking. She’s crazy about you, everyone can see it. Just… give her time.—

Lando nodded, though the knot in his stomach didn’t ease. Time. That was the one thing he hated giving her—because he knew how easily time could pull them apart. It had happened before.

Halfway across the world, the rain tapped lightly against the window of Amelie's room, a soothing rhythm that did nothing to calm the storm inside her. Amelie sat cross-legged on the bed, her laptop open in front of her, though she hadn’t typed a single word in the past hour. Her mind was a mess, and no matter how hard she tried to focus on work, it always circled back to one thing.

One person.

Lando.

She closed her eyes, leaning her head against the cool glass of the window. She could still hear his laugh in her head, see the way his eyes lit up when he teased her, feel the warmth of his hand in hers. And it terrified her.

She was in love with him.

The realization had hit her like a freight train a few days ago, and ever since, she had been spiraling. Loving Lando wasn’t the problem—it was the fear that came with it. The fear of losing him. Of getting hurt. Of things falling apart like they had before.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, and she reached for it hesitantly. It was Elysia.

Elysia Dayman: I’m here. Open the door.

Amelie blinked in surprise. She hadn’t told Elysia she was struggling—not directly, at least—but somehow, her sister always knew. She hurried to the door, pulling it open to find Elysia standing there, suitcase in hand and a knowing look on her face.

—You look like shit,— Elysia said bluntly, stepping inside.

—Nice to see you too,— Amelie replied, shutting the door behind her.

Elysia set her suitcase down and turned to face her. —Alright, spill. What’s going on?—

Amelie hesitated, her hands twisting nervously. —I… I don’t know.—

—Bullshit,— Elysia said, crossing her arms. —This is about Lando, isn’t it?—

Amelie’s silence was answer enough.

Elysia sighed, softening slightly as she sat down on the bed. —Amelie, you can’t keep running from this.—

—I’m not running,— Amelie argued weakly.

—You’re hiding,— Elysia countered, her voice firm but not unkind. —There’s a difference. But it doesn’t matter, because either way, you’re avoiding him. And for what?—

Amelie sat down beside her, her hands trembling slightly as she buried her face in them. —Because I’m scared, okay? I’m scared of messing this up. Of losing him again. Of… everything.—

Elysia reached over, pulling Amelie’s hands away from her face and forcing her to meet her eyes. —Listen to me. I know what happened before hurt you. I know how hard it was for you to let him back into your life after everything. But Amelie… you did let him back in. That says something. And so does the way he looks at you. He’s not going anywhere.—

Amelie felt her throat tighten, her vision blurring with unshed tears. —But what if it’s not enough? What if we end up ruining everything?—

Elysia’s expression softened further, and she reached out, taking Amelie’s hands in hers. —You can’t live your life waiting for things to go wrong. Love is messy, Amelie. It’s terrifying and complicated, and sometimes it doesn’t work out. But sometimes… it does. And when it does, it’s worth everything.—

Amelie stared at her sister, the weight of her words sinking in. She wanted to believe that, to believe that what she had with Lando was worth the risk. But the fear was still there, gnawing at the edges of her resolve.

—Do you love him?— Elysia asked gently.

Amelie’s breath hitched, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak. Then, finally, she whispered, —Yes. I do.—

Elysia smiled, her grip on Amelie’s hands tightening. —Then that’s all that matters. Stop overthinking it and just… tell him. He deserves to know how you feel. And so do you.—

Amelie nodded slowly, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew Elysia was right. She couldn’t keep avoiding this, couldn’t keep avoiding him. She had to face her feelings, no matter how scary it was.

Later that night, after Elysia had gone to bed, Amelie sat on the edge of the bed with her phone in her hands. The screen was bright in the dimly lit room, Lando’s contact photo staring back at her. Her thumb hovered over the call button, her nerves threatening to get the better of her.

But then she remembered Elysia’s words, the certainty in her sister’s voice, and she forced herself to press the button before she could change her mind.

The phone rang twice before Lando’s face appeared on the screen, his hair damp from a shower and a tired but familiar smile tugging at his lips. —Hey,— he said, his voice soft and warm in a way that made her chest ache.

—Hey,— she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence stretching between them like a fragile thread. Then Lando tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. —You okay?—

Amelie nodded, though the tears threatening to spill from her eyes betrayed her. —I’m sorry,— she said suddenly, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. —I’m sorry for avoiding you, for making you think I didn’t care. I just… I didn’t know how to handle everything I was feeling.—

Lando’s expression softened, and he leaned closer to the screen, his gaze searching hers. —Ames, you don’t have to apologize. I just… I didn’t know what was going on, and I was worried I’d done something wrong.—

—You didn’t,— she said quickly, her voice trembling. —You didn’t do anything wrong. This is all on me. I was scared, Lando. Scared of how much you mean to me. Scared of losing you. But I… I don’t want to keep running from this. From us.—

Lando’s eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, he looked like he didn’t know what to say. Then he smiled, the kind of smile that made her heart skip a beat. —Baby… you have no idea how much I needed to hear that.—

Amelie let out a shaky breath, her lips curving into a small, tentative smile. —I’ve been a mess, Lando. Elysia had to fly all the way here to knock some sense into me.—

He chuckled, his voice warm and teasing. —Remind me to send Elysia a thank-you card. Or flowers. Actually, both.—

She laughed softly, the sound easing some of the tension that had been weighing on her chest for days. —I think she’d appreciate that.—

Lando shifted on his end of the call, propping his chin on his hand as his gaze softened. —So… does this mean you’re done avoiding me?—

Amelie nodded, her voice steady despite the way her heart raced. —Yeah. No more avoiding you. I promise.—

—Good,— he said, his tone light but sincere. —Because I don’t know how much longer I could’ve gone without hearing your voice. It’s been hell not talking to you.—

She bit her lip, her cheeks warming at his words. —I missed you too. More than I realized.—

They fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that came so easily between them. Then Lando’s eyes lit up, a mischievous glint dancing in them. —So, Coachella. You ready to blow everyone’s minds next weekend?—

Amelie groaned, flopping back against the pillows. —Don’t remind me. I’m terrified, Lando. Singing at Coachella is huge. What if I mess up?—

—You won’t,— he said firmly, his confidence in her unwavering. —You’re going to be incredible, like always. And besides, I’ll be there to cheer you on.—

Her brows lifted in surprise. —Wait, you’re coming?—

He grinned, his smile practically lighting up the screen. —Of course, I’m coming. Did you really think I’d miss your big moment? The guys are coming too, Charles, Alex, George. We’ve got it all planned. We’ll be your loudest fans.—

Amelie’s heart swelled at the thought of him being there, of having that kind of support. —You’re unbelievable, you know that?—

—In the best way, I hope,— he quipped, his grin turning playful.

—In the best way,— she agreed, her voice soft.

Lando’s expression grew more serious then, his gaze holding hers through the screen. —Ames… I know we’ve been keeping this quiet, and I’m okay with that. But just so you know, I’m proud of us. Of you. And no matter what anyone else thinks, I’m not going anywhere.—

Her throat tightened, and she blinked quickly to keep the tears at bay. —Thank you, Lando. For everything. For being patient with me. I don’t deserve you.—

—Hey,— he said, his tone gentle but firm. —Don’t say that. You deserve the world, Amelie. And I’m lucky to have you.—

She smiled, her heart feeling lighter than it had in days. —You’re kind of perfect, you know that?—

He laughed, the sound warm and familiar. —Not even close. But I’m glad you think so.—

They spent the next hour talking, their conversation drifting from Coachella plans to playful banter about which of their friends would embarrass themselves first at the festival. The weight that had been pressing on Amelie’s chest was gone, replaced by a warmth that only Lando could bring.

As the call came to an end, Lando tilted his head, his gaze soft and full of something that made her heart flutter. —Get some rest, okay? And don’t overthink next weekend. You’re going to be amazing.—

—Thanks, Lan,— she said, her voice filled with gratitude. —Goodnight.—

—Goodnight, Ames,— he replied, a small smile on his lips. —I’ll see you soon.—

As the screen went dark, Amelie leaned back against the pillows, a sense of peace washing over her. She still didn’t know what the future held, but for the first time in days, she felt ready to face it. Because with Lando by her side, she knew she could handle anything.

[unknownarmageddon]

aka cross looking at the sun like “man it sure is bright”

and killer is like kneeling over him desperately shaking him and begging him to wake up to open his eyes

AUGH what the hell!!!!!!!!!

[milktiicup]

are you afraid of me?

what the hell type of name is "mr. crawling" if he can fucking walk?

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🌊 ⋅ ˚✮ based on the hc that mr crawling doesn't stand so he doesn't scare mc.

warnings. just fluff/comfort, some spoilers for end04 and end17

Mr. Crawling is kind.

Mr. Crawling is sweet.

Mr. Crawling is a complete mystery to you.

Other than his complete and instant devotion to you, you know almost nothing about him. Not that you’re complaining; since escaping the other world with him in tow, he’s been a pretty decent roommate.

He doesn’t have many hobbies, unless staring at you from across the room counts. The only mess he leaves is long, black hairs that snake along the shower walls and more often than not clog the drain. He doesn’t even eat your food—something you discovered after a week of trial and error, setting out everything from leftovers to raw steak in the hopes of figuring out what a creature like him might like. As it turns out, he isn’t much of an eater, and he refuses to wear anything but the clothes he crossed over in, so at least you didn’t need to buy him new clothes. He’s low-maintenance in those areas, thankfully, and your paycheck doesn’t take a huge hit. 

Still, as close as you are, and as much as you’ve grown fond of him, you know nothing about who or what he truly is. Can he stand? Does he even have eyeballs? You know he can see, somehow, but how? Does he have teeth? You’re not even sure there’s a word for teeth in his language… Would he need a dentist? As most of your Mr. Crawling mouth knowledge went, you knew he had a tongue. 

The days pass, you fall into routines, and so do your questions.

“Crawling,” you had said one night, settled up on the sofa after a long day at work.  “Why can’t you stand?”

Mr. Crawling looks up from the screen, his wide smile faltering as he absorbs your question. His hair falls across his face, hiding whatever might be behind those red blotches he has for eyes.

“Me… not able to stand,” he replies, waving abnormally long limbs. “Arms good!” He seems proud, at least. 

You purse your lips out in thought- sure, he had those spindly legs, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t use them. You witnessed first hand the way he kicks his legs about under the blanket, unsettling cracks of his joints. Or when he sits up on his knees to fetch something on the counter top that he couldn’t reach from the floor. 

“You want me stand?”

“No, Crawling, I like you like this.” And you finished the conversation with a few pats on his head, and he nuzzled into your knee as if he was a pet. 

“You like me?”

You nod.

“Me like you!”

Low maintenance in the roommate department, high maintenance in the boyfriend? department.

You settle into bed that night after serving Mr Crawling his completely normal human soup that you definitely obtained by very legal and moral ways. Although, he didn’t seem very hungry that night, and you decided to just keep it for later. You debated on leaving it out in case he got hungry during the night when you were asleep, but seeing as to what the contents were, you weren’t up for it to stink out your kitchen. Back in the fridge it went!

“Rest?” he asks from the doorway of your bedroom, eyeless staring as you settle on the mattress. 

“I rest. You rest?” You pat the spot beside you. 

“Me watch you.”

Whatta guy… You wait for him to join you before you pull the blanket to your chin. And just like every other night, Mr. Crawling wraps his long arms around you, joints cracking as he stretches his legs out on the blanket- his feet hang off the bed. His hair tickles every exposed inch of your skin, but you don’t mind. You’ve gotten used to it at this point- maybe you should teach him to brush his own hair though?

His touch is cool, like air from a drafty window, and you relax under his delicate, careful pats on your head. It’s not long before you drift off.

It’s rare that you wake up in the dead of night. It’s rarer when you wake up to him not in the same position you fell asleep in. Groggy, you reach an arm out to the other side of the bed and hit the space where Mr. Crawling should have been. It’s still warm, however, and you sit up and rub your eyes. He’s not here.

What the hell? That wasn’t like him.

You slip into your slippers and shuffle toward the kitchen. The house is dark and still, except for a faint rustling. When your vision adjusts, you stop in your tracks. You were pretty sure your heart stopped for a second, too. 

He hadn’t noticed you yet, which is unlike him. 

“C-Crawling?” you stammer. 

Mr. Crawling is there, long arms in your fridge, but he isn’t small and folded like usual. He’s… standing. You blink, barely processing the sight. He has to be at least eight feet tall, maybe more, his head brushing the ceiling. His towering shadow spills over the walls, unsettling even to someone like you.

He freezes, letting out a startled squeak you’ve never heard before. His head whips toward you, and his hair falls in a curtain over his face. He drops to his knees instantly, scrambling across the floor to you with long, frantic arms. He tackles you into an overzealous hug, the kind you usually get only when you come home from work.

“You awake!”

You blink down at him. “I thought you said you couldn’t stand?” you murmur, still dazed. He lied? Why would he lie? Is there even a word for lie in his language?

His hair fans at your face, elbows propping himself up on top of you. Mr. Crawling tilts his head at you, and you wrack your brain in this stupid monster language that you just can’t perfectly adjust to yet.

“Uhm… You stand good?” you manage to fumble the words out. You stand good. That just sounds ridiculous. “Legs work?”

Mr. Crawling lets you sit up, grey hands cupping your face. He seems… off. Sad? Worried? You’ve only seen him not smiling a few times- and that was when you first met him- when he scared the absolute daylights off of you, when that man in red with the umbrella appeared… There was also that time you collapsed, and that creepy, eyeless nurse showed up.

“You scared me?” he asks, his tone soft.

Are you scared of me? 

“You don’t stand because you think you’ll scare me?” you mumble, hands holding onto his wrists. “Erm… Not stand… me scared?” 

“Me scary… You not like me.” His head hangs and Mr. Crawling’s hair touches the floor and licks at your legs.. His gentle hold of your face loosens.

He doesn’t stand at his full height because he’s afraid he’ll scare you? God. How can a ghost be such a sweetheart?

“Hey,” you whisper, pulling his hands off your face. You wrap your arms around his neck, tilting your head so you can see where his eyes should be. “You’re cute. Very big, yes—I was just surprised.”

“You�� not scared?” His voice is uncertain.

You giggle, squeezing him tighter. “No. Just surprised.” He doesn’t understand you- and you need to wrack every shelf in your brain to get the words out. “Me surprised… you very cute.”

There’s a beat of silence as he absorbs your words. “Me cute?” he repeats, as if it’s the greatest revelation in the world.

“Very cute,” you confirm, unable to help laughing as he tackles you once again to the floor, hair scattering everywhere as he nuzzles into your chest, murmuring, “Me cute, me cute,” in a gleeful mantra. You pat his head, and he flops onto the floor beside you with a giggle.

You stare at him, illuminated by the extremely romantic light of the fridge. “Hungry?” you ask, and push some of his hair away from his face- he grabs your wrist before you get any closer to his eyes, though.

“Want eat… you rest.”

You shake your head, stifling a yawn. “I’ll wait for you. I… erm… rest with you?” You cringe, knowing you said it wrong. You’re at least seventy percent sure you said it wrong. Maybe it’s time to teach him your language.

Mr. Crawling lets out his normal unsettling giggles, a sound that cuts through the silence of the house.

You don’t bother getting his tomato soup out of the fridge like you usually do, and take a seat at the table. He looks lost for a split second, and giggles once more as he rises to his feet. You let out a few appreciative oohs and ahhs he reaches his full height. You’re still a bit shocked at how his head almost touches the ceiling.

He settles into his usual seat across from you, knees folded as best as they can be under the table, his feet brushing against your legs.

It’s like a lightbulb appears above your head.

What the hell type of name is “Mr. Crawling” if he can fucking walk?