#past tense weekend only happens once!!!

[mylittleredgirl]

i thought that was a normal, even expected amount of trekkie behavior actually

[attapullman]

Pretend | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: You aren't sure what's worse: having to share a bed with the boy who was your first boyfriend who you haven't seen in years, or having to pretend he's your boyfriend when you wish he actually was.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: f!reader, light smut, 18+ only as always, unprotected pinv, fake dating trope, one bed trope, lots of switching between present and past tense whoops

A Note From Mo: It's Choose-a-Fic! Thank you to everyone who voted and has been part of my 500 Follower milestone! Hopefully you like the fic I wrote just for you (with a little extra one bed trope as a special thank you)! 😘

Coupe glasses tinkle and laughter rings out as the rehearsal dinner draws toward an end. Everyone’s had a little too much of the hotel’s signature white sangria. On your left, Isabel and Reuben are frozen in blissed smiles, the outdoor lights casting an ethereal glow. An idyllic night before the wedding.

You should be relaxed. You’ve had a little wine, the most delicious dinner, and tomorrow your college roommate is getting married at this stunning resort. But every time that big hand grazes your shoulder or his breath heats the skin of your cheek, you’re reminded none of this is real and you desperately wish it was.

The only difference between six-year-old Robert Floyd and the man standing in front of you is the broad shoulders. Those pink cheeks are just as prominent and his eyes are wide behind updated corrective frames. Sandy hair politely brushed off his face. Even his thin lips warp in that same warm smile that instantly relieves tension. The only significant difference is those shoulders that fill out the entire doorway as he checks his rooming assignment with Isabel.

From where you stand behind her, suitcase in tow, you feel your cheeks warm and your gaze drop. You haven’t seen him since the engagement party where you muttered, “it’s a small world after all” more than once. It seemed all too coincidental that your college roommate would be marrying a guy who just happens to be in the same Navy squadron as your first grade boyfriend. 

To be fair, you had “dated” Bobby Floyd for a total of a week before your parent’s divorce landed you on the opposite side of the country. There hadn’t even been a formal breakup. He’d simply been the guy you jokingly referred to as your “first love” at wine nights. Occasionally you remembered his collection of vintage Coke bottle caps. 

He was practically a figment of your imagination until Isabel introduced you to the man in the nicely ironed pale blue button down and you sputtered out that you already knew each other.

You’re so lost in how bizarre the coincidence of it all is that you zone out through Bob’s check-in and the next few guests that arrive. It’s not until her line of relatives has dwindled that she remembers you’re sat behind her, sorting out the favors for after the reception. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I should have given you your card earlier!” she apologizes as she flips back over her clipboard to find your room number. It’s all forgiven, you were waiting to finish up your bridesmaid duties before checking in. Get the work out so you can slip on your bathing suit and enjoy the amenities - pool, sun, and cabana boys - before dinner tonight.

She hands you a room card and walks you through the map of the hotel. You miss the second half while gathering up all your items, mentally trying to remember exactly how many rights before a left. Dinner is at seven and anything else surely she will remind you. With a kiss to her cheek, you head off to your room to begin the fun part of this destination wedding.

The property is stunning, all sun-washed sandstone and lush tropical plants. Deep blue terry cloth draped over the sun loungers you would live on all weekend. Some sun to compliment what should be a flawless wedding weekend. Maybe you’d get lucky and one of Reuben’s hot Navy friends would join you for some eye candy. You deserved a little one-weekend-in-paradise romance.

Suite 4. It’s a little deflating to remember that you’re in this big suite alone because all the other bridesmaids have dates. A least you have some privacy. The intricately carved door accepts your room key and you push the heavy wood open, ready to change and relax.

W-why was Bob in your villa?

Standing amongst the floor-to-ceiling windows draped with ochre that overlook the ocean, white oak furnishing topped with plush linen bedding, and a trailing pothos overtaking the wall, was Bob Floyd - right in the middle of changing his shirt. Equally wide eyes taking you in as he held the bunched heathered grey cotton right in front of his head, thumbs through the head hole, mouth open in shock.

“What are you doing in here?”

What was he doing in here? This was your room. “Why are you in my room?”

Despite knowing he’s not in the wrong, his cheeks tinge a deep pink. Takes a moment to pop his head in the hole of his shirt and brush out the wrinkles. You cling to to the annoyance of him interrupting your afternoon instead of focusing on how toned he’s gotten as an adult.

“This is my room. Suite 4. See?” He holds up a card identical to yours, the glossy ‘4’ reflecting the sunlight. The same ‘4’ that looks back at you. 

Clearly there’s been some sort of mistake, someone at reception accidentally typing in the wrong number while going about their busy day or Isabel reading her meticulous list wrong. An easy fix. 

You bite your lip. “Oh. Maybe I grabbed the wrong card. I’ll go find Isabel and sort it out.”

“I’ll come with you, she might have handed me the wrong card. Probably supposed to be sharing a bed with Fanboy.” He’s impossibly sweet as always. 

You have no idea who or what a Fanboy is, but you accept his company back to reception, leaving your bag in the room purely because the bridesmaid dress alone weighs a half ton. The walk back there - with a few long turns - is a tad awkward as you both walk in silence, occasionally jerking your heads in the direction to turn.

Isabel has wandered away from reception, and is now soaking in one of the poolside bars with Reuben, their lovesick smiles contagious. She gives you the warmest smile when you approach, face splitting in two as she takes in your companion. “Hey, you two! You get settled in okay?”

God, this is awkward. Thankfully before you can muster the courage, Bob steps in. “I think there’s been a mix up with one of our rooms.”

Her eyebrows furrow as takes in what he said. Eyes flit to her lounger where her clipboard of rooming assignment lies within her tote. Reuben sips his frozen margarita in casual interest, not involved in the logistics.

“Which room are you in?” Even without her clipboard, Isabel is pretty sure she knows who is in what room. She spent months perfecting these details.

You hold up the glossy ‘4’, now slightly sticky with your sweat.

“Four? Hmm, I’m pretty sure that’s right. Was there a problem with the key? Both your keys?”

You give her a bewildered look. “One of us has the wrong key. We’re not sharing a room.”

“Why not? Your prude parents aren’t here to care if you share a room with your boyfriend.”

Every muscle in your body freezes. What is she talking about?

And while you’re paralyzed on the spot, Reuben looks like he’s about to throw up the margarita. Because he knows exactly what just happened. And not only is it his fault, but he does not have a solution.

Before you can question Isabel, the pilot is throwing his arm around your shoulders and grabbing Bob’s elbow, whisking you two away, calling out to his confused fiancée not to worry, he’s got it handled. The controlled hands of a fighter pilot steering you back in the way of Suite 4 while his face reads like he’s watching a plane crash.

Reuben won’t answer any of your questions, holding up a palm while you sputter out the who, what, where’s? of what is going on. Bob silently allows himself to be directed, confusion upon his brow, but patient enough to wait for an explanation. 

Once you’re privately within the confines of Suite 4, the soft scent of bergamot and sandalwood wrapped around your bodies, Reuben finally confesses his mistake.

“Isabel thinks you two are dating.”

You expect to see eyeballs on the floor from how violently they pop out of your head. What? Bob doesn’t look much better. You two have barely spoken in decades, let alone are in a relationship! Why in the hell would Isabel think that?

Reuben drags a hand down his face, wishing he was back in the pool drinking. “When Bob over here told me that you two dated way back, I casually mentioned it to Is. When she asked the other week if he’d be good sharing a room, I thought she meant Fanboy or Harvard.”

You skip over the fact that Bob has talked about you to other people to focus on the details. “She meant me.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” By this point he’s rubbing the skin on the back of his neck raw, eyes wildly desperate. “Can you two share? It’s only two nights.”

Your eyes meet ocean blue as you both look at the single bed, then at each other. Bob intervenes calmly. “Why can’t you just tell her we need another room?”

Reuben crosses his arms across his chest, suddenly defensive. “We don’t have any other rooms. We booked the place out entirely. Short of Aunt Muriel keeling over, one of you would have to be at another hotel.”

“That’s fine,” you quip, grabbing your suitcase and ready to get the hell out of this situation.

“There’s nothing within a half hour drive. And you’re both in the wedding, that is not going to fly with Isabel.”

You’re tough, you can do hard things. Two nights at a gorgeous resort where you have to share a king-sized bed with the sweetest man on the planet? Could be so much worse. From a look at Bob’s face, he’s having the same realization.

And right as you’re about to tell Reuben that it’s not a big deal, he sends in the clincher. 

“You’re also gonna have to pretend you’re dating.”

“You’re joking.” Your tinny voice rings out in the room. You can do a lot of things - go to a wedding alone, sleep in the same bed as Bob - but you draw the line at pretending you’re dating someone you hadn’t seen until an engagement party six months ago. Nope, no way.

You look at Bob, standing with his hand resting low on his hip, watching this entire scene unfold. Giving him an expectant look, he smooths out his face and gives you a little nod. He’s on whatever team you’re on.

And just as you were about to tell Reuben to get lost, Isabel’s sweet face floods your mind’s eye. That happy smile she always greets you with, and her dismay that something had gone wrong with your room. Her perfectly planned out wedding weekend ruined by her misunderstanding a minor detail. She would insist that you have separate rooms, even if it interfered with plans, and she’d be upset - the smallest tinge of disappointment clouding her bridal smile.

Isn’t the job of a bridesmaid to make the bride not have disappointment?

And now, sitting here at the rehearsal dinner, warm conversation all around you, you can still hear yourself let out a large huff of breath and agree. “Alright, we can pretend for the weekend.”

It’s a decision you stand by, but doesn’t make the subtle way Bob has been playing your boyfriend the last 24 hours any easier. He plays devoted partner a little too well. Carrying your beach bag down to the water that afternoon when everyone wanted to sit by the pool, sweetly rubbing sunscreen into that spot on your back that you can never reach. Grabbing a drink for you when he went up to the bar. 

Your lonely wedding weekend is suddenly filled with this broad-shouldered Navy man who gives you a shy smile every time you make eye contact.

There wasn’t time to put in ground rules before Reuben threw you you to the wolves to socialize with the rest of the wedding party. When Isabel saw you, standing a healthy foot away from Bob and her sculpted eyebrow raised, it was the first test of this “relationship”. Your heart slamming in your chest as you slipped a hand around that thick bicep and rested your hot cheek against his shoulder. His own face fighting anxiety as he allowed you to set the pace. Isabel’s smile brightening as she beckoned you closer, instantly fawning over the two of you and the way Bob’s hand fits a little too nicely around your waist.

Thankfully the copious amount of relatives and friends constantly interrupting Isabel and Reuben prevented your friend investigating too close into this development in your love life. Happy to believe over some intentionally placed hands and the casual way he throws sweetheart in when asking if you want a drink.

“Now that I have you alone, why didn’t you tell me you were together? First loves reunited?!” Isabel drags you away to the other bridesmaids, Bob giving you a small wave as he joins the men. 

You shrug, making a show of looking at the hibiscus to avoid her eyes. Desperate for a believable lie. “I didn’t want to…uh, distract from your big day?”

She wraps you in a warm hug you don’t deserve. “Not distracting in the slightest. He’s the best, you’re so lucky!”

You throw a glance his way, watching his good-natured grin as Reuben’s groomsmen, mostly aviators he’s worked with over the years, joke and jostle on the other side of the lawn. It’s side glances like these that carry through the night; when he pulls your chair out for dinner, asks the waiter to refill your water, and offers you half of his dessert. When your eyes do meet, you drown in the twin oceans that twinkle back at you.

By the time you’re heading back to Suite 4 to share that big bed, you’re pretty sure you’re not pretending to like him anymore.

You’re regretting not putting up the pillow barrier Bob so kindly offered to set up. It seemed childish at the time - you didn’t need a divider to stay on your side of the bed - but now you’re lying here in your little cotton pajamas you did not expect anyone to see and you can hear him breathing and the room is a little too warm. Every sense is on high alert and a pillow barrier would give you an inkling of privacy.

In the silhouette of the moonlight peaking through the curtains, you watch the planes of Bob’s face as he peacefully sleeps beside you. If he’s good looking in the daytime, he’s breathtaking at night. Pale eyelashes against his cheeks, lips slightly pouted, hair mussed from changing sides. You wish you could smooth your fingers over the planes of his face, appreciate the sharpness of his jaw, the roundness of his cheeks.

Tomorrow you have to pretend all over again to be in love with him. A feeling that’s already starting to creep inside you. A whole day of his gentle touches and laughs against your cheek. He was the perfect boyfriend that week in grade school, and even more perfect as an adult. Holding his hand made you want to never let go…which promptly made you want to jump out of your skin. 

This was a tiny white lie to get through Sunday morning. That was it.

You keep replaying the last moment before you retired back to your hotel room for the night. The drunken group sitting around the fire pit, a bottle of tequila making its way around the circle. Not enough chairs so you ended up in Bob’s lap, body cradled in the firm comfort of his chest. 

He made it so natural, the way his hand ran up and down your arm when you shivered in the night chill. You knew he could feel the shock up your spine when you noticed how intently he watched you during your story of how Isabel found a rat in your dorm room. He made you feel like the only person out there by the fire pit. The only person on this island.

When even the tequila couldn’t keep you warm any longer, the group disbanded in favor of cozy beds and hot showers. And even when no one else was in sight he still kept his arm around your shoulder to share his warmth, the pinching heels you’d shed in his hand as he asked whether you wanted to shower first.

Lips accidentally brushing your ear when he said he liked your dress; it matched the bougainvillea.

While you hadn’t spent much time together since your parents moved you away too long ago to remember, you were continually floored by how thoughtful he was still. He remembered how Isabel didn’t like ice, and that a few members of his squadron had allergies. Giving up his water because the woman next to him was without. Not to mention how he seemed to go the extra mile with you. All the years of boyfriends before this and not a single one had ever noticed you picked the pine nuts out of your salad; your new fake boyfriend requesting a fresh one sans nuts.

And it was borderline torture watching him get ready for bed post shower. Face and chest red from the scalding water and slick hair pushed back, towel slung a little too low as he dug through his suitcase. You were still speechless as he offered to put up a pillow barrier or something if it would make you more comfortable, making sure you knew he respected your boundaries.

His eyes were so blue without his glasses…

Caution to the wind, you run a finger over his cheek, brushing away a rogue eyelash and promptly turn away from him. Only one more day and you would be free of wanting a man that wasn’t yours.

The Fitch wedding day was perfect. Wide smiles, bridal lace, stunning hydrangeas, and not a dry eye in the house when Isabel and Reuben officially became husband and wife. It was the storybook start to a happy ever after. 

The sunlight blessed ceremony was followed by a lantern-lit reception, dancing and drinking overtaking the sprawling beach-front lawn of the hotel. You stayed out until the evening ended, the wedding party laughing and overfilling glasses of champagne until the last lantern was blown out. 

You barely remembered your rooming/relationship situation until a warm hand was on your forearm, asking if you were ready to go back to the room. It’s entirely unfair how good he looks in his suit. All day you’ve admired it, from the moment he emerged from the bathroom asking for help with his bow tie to an hour ago, when the wedding party did one last rendezvous on the dance floor. 

Bob has an ease on the dance floor, clearly practiced, the hand on the small of your back gently guiding. A hand big and warm and more distracting than trying to remember your own footwork. The dark-haired woman he seems close with whooping out, “Look at those moves, Floyd!” every time you get close, her own date cheering along. 

You shake the memory from your brain as Bob walks you back to the room. Keep the pining to a minimum until you can get to the airport and not have to see him ever again. You’re doing this for Isabel, your own emotions have no place. Even as you watch him open the door to the room and welcome you inside, looking so perfectly boyfriend-shaped.

Your skin feels too hot, your head clouded by bubbles and loud poppers exploding into the sky. Shedding this satin dress and getting into a warm shower sounds like heaven, washing away the buzzing ill-content flooding your body since you joined the wedding group that morning hand-in-hand with Bob. But a broken zipper interrupts those plans.

“Bob?” He stills on his way to the bathroom, bow tie loose around his neck. You indicate to the stuck zipper you’re fiddling with, warmth flaring at the top of your cheeks at your predicament.

The tips of his ears flush as he walks to you, chest a breath away from your back, admiring the way the satin flows over your curves and dips. Takes a moment to gather your hair over your shoulder before reaching for the zipper. The skin of his pinky accidentally brushes your neck, twin breaths catching at the shock. 

Firm fingers guide the zipper onto the track. As they guide the cool metal down your back, the boiling point that has been simmering below the surface since yesterday afternoon comes to a head. The lace of your bra is visible. Now the silken band of your underwear. The air of the room is still, eagerly awaiting what happens next.

While his voice is shaky, his words are firm. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Your head turns to the side, eyes catching his profile, too scared to look at him directly. 

“What are you pretending to do?”

His face falls into the crook of your neck, fingers tightening along the satin of your hips. “Pretending I’m doing our friends a favor. Pretending I’m not falling for you. Pretending every time I touch you it’s not the best part of my day.”

Your hand wraps around his, rough skin and satin beneath your fingers. Needing to tether yourself to reality to make sure this isn’t a champagne-fueled dream that he’s professing against your neck. 

“In that case, I don’t want to pretend anymore either.”

While you can’t see him, you can feel his realization against your skin. Brow furrowing, lips parting. The soft brush of his nose as he straightens up, uses his hands to turn you to him. Finally forced to look at each other amidst the information divulged.

You aren’t sure who leans in first, who braved the waters of uncharted territory. Time stills and speeds up as his face grows closer. The scent of sandalwood and bergamot that’s followed you all weekend replaced by the woodsy mint of his cologne you’ve treated yourself to when tucked into his side. Anyone outside can hear two hearts beating erratically, anxious and excited. 

His lips are warm and comforting, just like everything else about him. Pressing delicately against yours, taking his time and letting you set the pace. You’re torn between the shock of how divine he feels and the greedy need for more. Senses overwhelmed by him; you want to taste more, feel more, see more.

When he pulls away, a gentleman not wanting to overstep, you’re breathless.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to kiss you.” His confession is paired with pink cheeks and large hands playing with your fingers. 

You can’t help but to tease him, the banter from your childhood coming back. “Did it live up to expectations?”

“Way, way better.” Your smile is swallowed in his kiss, chins knocking as you trade off enthusiasm. A groan leaving Bob as you grab his hands and walk back to the bathroom. That hot shower still sounds amazing, but you need more of him.

The travertine tiles glow in the soft light as you watch your childhood love remove his suit, taking time to fold the pieces on the counter, letting you indulge in unbuttoning his crisp shirt as you share another sweet kiss. His own hands twisted in the dress barely clinging to your skin. The sounds that escape him as your hands explore his chest are purely sinful, meant only for your ears.

He barely lets you bask in his body, honed from years of Naval training, before he’s stripping the satin from your frame. You beg for another kiss, but he denies you. He can’t be distracted from watching every inch of skin being revealed. From letting his fingers follow the fabric as it pools at your feet. From kissing his way back up your body until your head falls back against the wall, fingers beckoning him to the shower.

“You’re so beautiful.” It’s more breath than words, but ignite the goose flesh along your skin as he adjusts the hot water and shower head to your liking.

Minutes or hours passed as you reacquainted under the steam. Your fingers tangled in wet strands of sandy hair, fingers slipping along any skin you can reach. His own hands tightly hugging your body, holding you close as he appreciates your nude form. Swallowing each other’s moans as his fingers dip between your folds and you run your palm along his shaft.

The universe has ceased to exist by the time Bob kisses you against the shower wall, fingers wrapping under your thighs to hoist you to his level. Loving the way you giggle as your arms wrap around his neck, trusting him wholeheartedly. Eyes trained at where he lines up with you, relishing the way your breath catches in anticipation. He kisses your forehead as a promise to take care of you, a promise you know he’ll keep.

Once he’s seated deep in you, the moment about connecting rather than getting off, he tilts your head up to check in with you. A kiss as his eyes search you for discomfort. The flames of his eyes burning the brightest blue. One final clench around him and he knows he needs to move; if not for his sake, for yours.

It’s the most glorious dream as he fills you completely, hips rocking into yours as sweaty foreheads meet.

When he brings you to orgasm, a steamy moment punctuated by your muffled screams against his shoulder, there’s nothing fake about the affection as he peppers you with praise. Or when he fills you with his own release a moment later, exhaling thank you, thank you, thank you.

A pillow barrier isn’t even discussed as you lay in his arms that night, cheek against bare chest. His arm trails down your arm like it had the night before, a mindless action you now recognize as meaningful to him as to you. Sated and content, as it should be.

You sit up a little to run your nose along his neck, producing a low groan from him. “You need something, sweetheart?”

“I was wondering, after that,” you gesture to the shower, cheeks heating, “does this mean we’re, uh, dating again?”

He smiles at your flush, cupping your face with one of his large hands. Presses the sweetest kiss to your lips.

“You know, we never had a break up. Technically we’ve been dating this whole time.”

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wicked Games 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

A week passes in a tense slog. Barrett continues his pandering penance and you wallow in irritation. You want to put it behind you. You want to get past it but every time you do, it just happens again.

If this was the first time, it would be easy but you’ve lost count of all the times you’ve had this fight. 

Your menial office work does little to distract. It only allows you to think about all the bullshit. The way Barrett dismisses everything you do and has to list of everything you don’t. The way he can’t see his own flaws or how you’ve never once rubbed his nose in them like a dog.  

Is it passive or weak or just acceptance? You can’t say. You just always put up with it.  It’s just easier not to make an issue of every little thing. Problem is, now it’s a big thing. 

When you come home, you’re worn out but you still have work to do. Dishes, tidying, cooking. Even your weekends don’t allow you must rest. You need to sort through the bills and go get groceries. All along the way, he’s in the way. You’re not sure he’s trying to help, more so trying to force his way to forgiveness. 

You grab a bundle of reusable shopping bags from the cupboard overflowing with them. It only took about a hundred of the things to start remembering to take them with you.  

As you shut the cupboard, Barrett’s on the other side of the oven. Watching and waiting. He’d be a lot more help if you didn’t have to tell him what to do. You forgot a mug and to him, that’s high crime, but he can’t remember to pay the power bill without six texts on the due date. 

“So... what’s going on today?” He smiles. 

It used to be that that smile made you melt. It would make all your troubles flutter away like butterflies. Now it’s just another irk. 

“Groceries.” You wave the fistful of bags. 

“Oh, cool, want me to come?” 

You nearly scoff. Every weekend you ask and every weekend he’s too busy. His pals want him to jam in their garage band or go fishing down at some dirty river. Another tick on the wrong side of the Pros-Cons list. 

“Sure,” you shrug. It’s easier to just let him come along. You don’t need another argument and you could use the extra hands. 

You shove the bags into the folded shopping cart and put your shoes on. He toddles behind like a lost child. You’re repress a glare as you grab your keys and purse. You’re going to have to talk this out sooner than later our you’re really going to hate him. 

He follows you out to the bus stop and you wait in silence. You had a car but it broke down last year. Ever since, he gets a ride off his coworkers or friends and you flash your bus pass. It’s cheaper than leasing a car, even a used one. 

You don’t know what stresses you out more; thinking about all the stuff he does or just thinking about your life. You get on the bus and sit near the back. He reaches over to grab your hand. You wince but don’t pull away. 

“Nice day,” he says. 

“Mhmm,” you grumble. 

His attempt at small talk doesn’t go much further. You get off at your stop and walk the block to the grocery store. You unfold your shopping cart and pull out your list. Barrett grabs a bag of gummy bears and dumps them in the cart. 

“Those aren’t on the list,” you say. 

“I know but it’ll be a nice treat for later. We’ll have some tonight after dinner.” 

“Oh, alright.” 

You factor in the extra cost and mentally cross off the avocado from the list. You can go without. You roll through the produce section and work your way down the list. Barrett trails behind you. 

You stop in the cereal aisle to grab a bag of oatmeal. As you stand, you flinch and cry out at a surprise peck on your cheek. Barrett puts his arm around your shoulder as he presses his lips against you. 

“What are you doing?” You ask. 

“Baby, giving you a kiss.” You look at him and he grins, “I miss you. I love you. I’m tryna be better, honey.” 

“In the grocery store?” You challenge. 

“It’s cute.” 

“Mm, it’s... let’s wait ‘til we get outta here. It’s starting to get busy.” You glance around at the other customers, hoping none of them noticed his little act. “How about you go grab some drumsticks? Flyer says they’re on sale.” 

“Oh, I can do that. Be right back!” He proclaims. 

He shuffles off and you shake your head and turn back to the shelves. The store brand on discount is all out. You hiss in disappointment. You search the rest of the selection. That’s the cheapest on the shelf and you really can’t stretch the extra dollar. 

You look up at the overstock along the top. It’s right up there but you’re just too short to reach. You give a poor attempt then stand flat on your feet. You peer up and down the aisle. You could find an employee. 

“Need some help?”  

You turn to face the stranger and give a start. They aren’t so strange after all. You know him. Well, not know-know him. Everyone in the city knows Steve Rogers, the Captain America. 

“Uhhh...” 

“What’s your brand?” He asks. “They don’t run restock until before closing. I usually come then, less busy but I got... ha, sorry, I’m rambling. What can I grab for you?” 

You lick your dry lips and glance at the shelf. You appreciate the help but telling Captain America that you need the cheapest bag on the shelf isn’t exactly dignified. You point to the price tag on the shelf and he reaches on his toes to grab the edge of the box on the top. He wiggles out a bag and stands flat. 

“Here,” he offers it with a handsome smile. “You know, it’s made at the same factory as the regular brand.” He taps the back of the bag, “exact same address. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re from the same lot.” 

“Oh, well, er... thanks,” you take the oats and put them in your cart. 

“No problem. Sometimes being a hero isn’t very glorious. Sometimes it’s just reaching the top shelf.” 

You force a chuckle. You’re sure the Cap’s life is all sunshine and rainbows. Must be a real ego boost to help the little people. 

“Well, I appreciate it, Captain.” 

“Steve,” he smirks and stares. Your lower your brows and look behind you. Is he looking at someone else? 

“Oh, of course. I should go find my husband.” You roll around him and try to shake off the awkward encounter. You look down at your list as you stop at the end of the aisle. 

“Hope he’s not lost...” Steve calls after you. He says your name and you crane to look at him. You meet his gaze and blanch. He turns and struts off without another word. 

You turn back to your path and slowly leave the aisle. How did he know your name? You replay the interaction and try to recall giving it but you can’t. Well, you’re not exactly thinking straight right now. It’s nothing. You’re just stressed. 

[lcriedlastnight]

Can you do a fluffy and angsty fic for Lando after Austria, his girl comforting him. I'm surprised there aren't more after what happened under the tags but the only ones that were there are smut, which I don't really want to read I want fluff and angst.

sorry it took me so long to respond anon! i've been swamped.

tw: fem! reader, swears, AUSTRIA!!!!, lmk if you want me to add anything.

w/c: 1k

you watch as lando trailed after max and you knew one of two things was inevitable. either lando was going to overtake max and finally take the lead after what seemed like forever, or the two boys were going to crash into each other.

you watch with one eye open every time lando tries to overtake max. you makes your body tense up as you fear that this will be the time their tires touch. you try to stay hopeful but you know that this will not end well, neither drivers willing to give up their positions and both trying to fight for that first place position.

it happens so quickly, it was a blink and you'll miss it incident. all you see is lando's mclaren try another move on max then something flying in the air. you can hear shouts from the mclaren team around you but you were still confused, you were not sure what exactly was happening. you watch as max slows down and lando finally overtakes him. you hear that he has received a five second penalty. you see a flash of a red bull fly past in the pit lane and then suddenly, lando's own car is stopped, practically half of its back wheel missing. it is then that it finally registers. they had contact and it had caused lando to retire from the race (you later found out it was his own decision).

you had not been with lando long enough to know what to do in this kind of situation. you just stay where you are for ten minutes until maybe the last few laps of the race when you feel lando's presence looming around you.

he does not even have to ask you to follow him as he heads towards his drivers room, head bowed down, not even looking where he was going. the boy was lucky he did not walk into any walls. if it had been any other situation you would have laughed at his carelessness but right now you had no clue how to act.

once you were both in the privacy of his room, lando slumps down on the little couch headfirst. you linger at the door, your hands longing to soothe him and your mind crying out to tell him it will all be alright.

"are you alright?" you question. it comes off timid as much as you tried to seem confident. you knew it was a silly question. you knew he was not fine but you just felt like you had to ask. lando sighs into one of the throw pillows at the question. for some reason this is what spurs you to spring into action. you take the few steps over to join him on the couch and sit as the space next to his feet.

"lando, look at me." you tell him, you voice much more firm and stable than before. lando does as you ask and turns himself so he is facing you and looks at you so sadly he might as well have just ripped out your heart out and jumped on it right there and then.

"that was all max's fault. you did nothing wrong. you tried an overtake, you wouldn't be a racer if you just sat back and let max lead the whole race. you're the only person on the grid who is consistently challenging max every weekend, that's something to be proud of.” you grab his hand gently and let your thumb rub it's own path along the skin of wrist.

"i'm shit. i've had one win and now i can't seem to do it again and when i finally get the chance to, like today, max just fucks me up because he would rather dnf than finish second! and he didn't even retire the fucking car he actually kept on racing which makes me look even worse!" by the end of his rant his voice was louder and you could see the tears of frustration in his eyes.

you swiftly pull him up by his hand to be face to face with you. you hold eye contact with him, letting him know how much you meant what you were going to say.

"you are not shit, lando. you've had one win and now you're hungry for more, of course it's gonna hurt a little when you come second again but listen to me. every single race you are getting closer and closer to max. i know you want it to be now but just because it isn't doesn't mean you're shit. it just means that max knows you are more of a threat than before miami and he can't just saunter along like he did at the start of the season. you're doing so well, please don't doubt yourself."

lando listens through your entire rant without trying to interrupt once and once you are finished talking he drops his head into your lap. "i really, really thought i was gonna get it this time. i really wanted it." he mumbles into your thigh. you know it is killing him and you cannot stand it. you know the only thing you can do to help him though, is to listen to him and give him the most comfort you can manage.

you sigh, hand coming to run through his sweaty, messy curls. "i know, baby. it's coming and it will be so fucking great when it does. i'll be here waiting for you and then we can celebrate like it's first, huh? that sound good?"

you can feel the small smile lando manages on your leg as he nods against it.

you stay like that for what seems like ages but you know it cannot be that long because before lando can even ask the time there is a knock on his door, alerting him that he had press to do in two minutes. he sighs and hauls himself from his comfortable position.

"you're so strong lan, be strong." you tell him with a quick kiss to his lips. lando knows it is a good luck kiss. lando also knows that you know how much he hates doing any kind of press or media when he was feeling like this.

"wish you could come with me." lando's frown is so deep it sort of looks like a half pout half frown. you smile at his cuteness.

"when you come back we can go back to the hotel, order in and watch that adam sandler film you like."

this seems to perk the boy up significantly as he give you a peck on the forehead before rushing out to get his media done and dusted. a night in with you sounded like heaven to him right now. he did not want to me reminded of the events of the day's race but he would put up with it for the end result. you and him cuddled up, together. it is all he ever wants.

[deathmetalangel]

HARDLY SEEMS FAIR

robby keene x fem! reader

warnings: "casual" relationship", swearing, arguments, crying, heavily ldr coded, implied hookups, slut shaming, cheating, angsty

“in what world is that fair robby?"

oke so this is kinda a retconnned chapter from my wattpad book that i'm just extending and making more ambigious instead of clearly x oc. i hope y'all like it tho. i am sorry i have been gone for so long :(

Y/n plays with the ends of Robby's hair. He was laying with his head in her lap while they just relaxed in her room. It was calm, domestic. A small and very rare moment for just the two of them. No outside force would intrude and break their safe haven. There was no what if's that lingered in the air. Nor past resentments that hung over them like an ominous cloud determined to damper their moods. 

It was just Y/n and Robby. And that's all they'll ever be. No labels. She figured that much after the last time she'd brought it up. But she's become so full of him she can't even bring herself to care. She'd rather have what they have now, whatever it may be with him. Rather than risking losing him, and the routine she's started to build around him. 

She hums softly. Her mind far off. "Y/n?" She hymns in acknowledgement without turning her head. "Something happened this weekend."

He was lying. This had been going on for weeks. He had been having doubts for weeks. He'd been seeing her for weeks. "What happened? Another karate fight?" She wasn't the girl who got heartbroken. She was never the second choice. She got what she wanted. And she wanted him, however she could have him.

"I kissed Sam Larusso."

Y/n freezes. Her body betraying her as she tenses up. She has no right, she knows that. They were 'casual'. Just her and Robby. Non-commital.

"I mean big deal right? We were drunk anyways. Just felt bad not telling you. I know were not dating so it's really not your business, but don't worry about it. I mean we've fucked so often what does a kiss even mean?"

A kiss. To her it meant everything. An act of intimacy that they rarley ever shared. So innocent, so pure.

"Get out of my room Robby." Y/n mumbles, her voice above a whisper. The teen sits up from her lap and looks at her incredalously. He was only telling her to keep her in the loop. She didnt have the right to be mad. So why was she making a big deal about this?

"What?"

"You heard me. Get the fuck out of my room Keene."

He furrows his brows in a toxic coctail of anger and confusion. "Why? You can't get pissed at me for this Y/n. We aren't fucking dating. Don't get all aggro on me like you're some psycho girlfriend when you're a friend with benefits at best."

Y/n stands up and pushes the boy out of her room. "Get the fuck out of here Robby! If it didn't mean anything why don't you go fuck her then? Go whine about your mommy issues and daddy issues to her and leave me the hell alone."

"You have some nerve you know that right? Don't act all high and mighty now. You're a whore. Why the hell would I ever actually take you seriously when I can get everything I want without the label or work. You're easy, I could never do that shit with Sam."

Her breath was stuck in her throat as the boy she truly thought cared began to berate her as if she was a random person on the street. The boy she suffered for. The boy that was really never her's to keep. Y/n forces herself to wipe her anrgy tears and push Robby once again.

Y/n's hands were shaky, she desprately wanted to cry. To scream. To give in and give him the satisfaction of getting to her. "Oh so you can come over whenever you want, make me listen to your shitty life, and basically force yourself into my own life, but all that means nothing right? Well guess what Kenne. You kissed her, and she still doesn't want you!" She presses her finger into his chest while her voice level rises. "That same girl is still with Miguel. So just because you wanna jump ship and 'upgrade' doesn't mean she wants anything to do with you. Face it babe, you're just white trash."

"Shut the fuck up Y/n." Robby practically spits back.

"Oh, so you can disrespect me and belittle me in my own fucking room, but when its you its a problem? Grow up Robby. You're a man baby and a hypocrite. In what world is that fair Robby? Maybe in your little made up fantasy where Sam picks you and you leave me for dead. So go stay there. Cause you're sure as hell not welcome here."

Y/n throws everything he's given her at him. Every last peice a memory they shared together. Posters, drawings, braclets, anything that adorned her room. All of it thrown to him and crashing down like victims of a violent storm. Tears streamed down her face as he backed up to her door.

She opens the door for him and grabs his sweater and keys before shoving it in his chest. The boy watches her dumbfounded.

"Stay away from me Robby. Go back to some other slut that can put up with your baggage and shitty attitude for one night stand status. Because I'm done."

He looks at her, but there wasn't the girl he knew looking back at him. Not with how she glared, not with how she stood, and not with how she felt. Her eyes, the e/c irises reflected love, now they were dark. Harbors for her contempt. The grimace on her face was unforgettable. Especially as the last thing he seen before she slammed her door on his face.

Robby swallows the spit in his mouth, a hard lump of guilt not wanting to go down. He didn't think any of this would happen. He wanted her to care, but he didn't want to fight. His temper, his father's god forsaken temper, and his own damned ego.

He wanted what he had with her, with Sam. The girl next door with a rich family and big house. Like something out of a book. Not the girl that did whatever he said for the sake of making him happy. He really did want to just abandon her, didn't he? After everything.

Choking back his frustrations the boy marches down her stairs and lets himself out. He liked what he had with her, but he wouldn't fight for her. Guys only did that for the girl they want.

[ssuburban-legendss]

please, please, please | m.v

summary: it's race week in hungary and the house of red bull is breaking down 

word count: 3k+

- July 20th, 2024. Hungary. -

There was nothing like a race weekend.

Milliseconds seemed to stretch for lifetimes, and a mere blink could last for an eternity. The hum of blood rushing in one’s ears, the burning, beating heart… it was everything. Every race was just as thrilling as it was terrifying and tense. 

Even now—even after years of living between breaths, you still weren’t used to the singing adrenaline. Maybe you never would be. 

How could one get used to screaming wheels and blinding lights? How could one stand that ache in the chest and tension of the heart? And how could you overcome the worry and fear that consumed your very being every time Max stepped into that car? 

Oh, Max. 

You sat in the garage, staring up at the live feed and cradling a crackling headset over your ears. Around you, various crew members were watching the televisions closely or busying themselves with screens and tools. Everyone else was along the pit wall, crafting magic in real-time. 

Part of you wished that you could listen to their live chatter instead of the F1 TV broadcast, but an even greater part of you knew that such constant and unfiltered coverage would make your head spin. There was already too much happening on television; you didn’t need extra noise.

In some ways, qualifying was worse than the actual race. The desperation for a faster lap, the frustration, and the bubbling tension. Some days, it was just too much. And today, with the rain and the endless media coverage… 

Maybe you needed more coffee.

“Mate, I don’t think we can improve like this.” Max’s voice crackled across your headphones, flooding through your ears and sparking your nerves alight. He sounded… nervous. Or maybe it was tension. You weren’t sure, but neither emotion was appealing.

Even from a distance, you could imagine the furrow between Max’s brow and the slight pout of his lip. His every expression was known to you, but what good would that do now? You felt trapped behind glass, watching him spin circles as his voice echoed in your ears. The only person that could reach him now was GP, and even then…

The past few weeks had been tense. Between the constant media attention and the slow decline in form, cracks were beginning to sprout in the marble pillars of Red Bull’s house. Even Max seemed less sure lately, falling behind on the circuits he once called home. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to forget the exhaustion in his voice. It was only Q1, yet it felt like you had been here for days.

“What’s your concern?” GP responded, his tone steady and smooth. “The temperatures or the…”

“The rain! The rain!” Max shouted back, instantly turning all nerves into boiling blood and burning rage. The sharpness of his words made you cringe, and a slight nervous nausea began to bloom in your stomach. Oh dear. A million thoughts rushed through your head at once, mixing into a crumbled cloud of anxiety. 

It was hard to pull Max back down once the frustration bubbled over. There was no such thing as “Mad Max”—at least not to you, but the anger was real, and it was hard to take or tame. And it was unending. Rage clouded some people’s judgment, but not Max. If anything, he seemed to find clarity in burning breath and bitter words. The ache and anger could keep him going for hours on end—lap after lap. But it also sent him spiraling downward, lost in his head and a faraway place you couldn’t find. He was unreachable in those moments, and you hated it. 

“Okay, calm down, Max.” GP replied, “Then, if you’re concerned about the rain, we can box. We can come back to the garage, it’s not a problem—“

Another voice cut through the conversation, screaming in your headset and flashing across the live feed, “Perez!”

You refocused your attention on the present and scanned the screens, looking for the F1 News Feed. At last, your eyes landed on the television, and the camera zoomed in hungrily on Checo’s smoking car. 

Red Flag.

One of the workers along the barrier gave a thumbs up. Okay. He was okay. A strangely tense sigh left your throat. 

“One Red Bull driver being calmed down on the radio, the other one—in the part of the track that we were just referencing—finds the barrier. And as a driver under pressure coming into the weekend—“

You turned off your headset and ignored the rest of the broadcast. Checo was fine, and that was all that mattered. You made a mental note to call Carola later and tried to keep your face indifferent and easy. You were certain that cameras were scanning the garage now, looking for some misplaced expression or glance to sensationalize into another disaster or distraction. 

Oh, disaster. 

One Red Bull driver being calmed down on the radio... You heard the commentary echoing in your head over and over. Was everyone thinking the same thing as you? Was everyone worried that Max was slipping into inconsolable anger? He had never been good at hiding his frustration, but now was not the time for such lapses in judgment. You mentally begged for his ease of heart but knew such things were impossible. The stress was beginning to cut into everyone’s skin. 

After a few moments, Max returned to the garage and his car was pulled back into place. Now, all anyone could do was hurry up and wait. 

It was hard being so close to Max and yet so far away. Being in the garage was a blessing, but sometimes it felt like you were forced apart and held at arm's length. Sometimes, the two of you could talk between sessions and during 

breaks, but it was probably best to stay out of everyone’s way with things so tense. 

Before you could search for a distraction, however, one of the engineers waved you over and nodded to Max’s car. A helmet covered the man’s face, and it was hard to focus completely on anything, but the message of his gesture was clear: pep talk time. 

Oh. That bad, huh?

You wove your way through the mess of technology and restless bodies and found yourself beside the still humming car. Endless words drifted around your head, but choosing the right thing to say felt impossible. Things had been tense for weeks, and today felt like the final straw. Control was slipping, and Max was sinking back into the unease of his youth. You could already see the headlines and tweets. You could already see the comments under your posts. You could already hear the commentary. Mad Max. Mad Max. Mad Max.

Taking a deep breath, you stuck your head into the cockpit and flipped up Max’s visor, trying to seem bubbly and calm—yet Max was already glaring. 

“Hi.” You said, making sure to enunciate the word. He couldn’t hear you, but it didn’t matter—you just wanted to see him, and you hoped that was enough. 

Max blinked, his blond eyelashes fluttering against his flushed cheeks. His gaze softened slightly at your words, but the ice in his eyes didn’t melt entirely. Hi. 

A million words flashed through your mind. What now? What could you possibly say now that would change all this? How did you pull Max back from the edge? Thousands of statistics and hundreds of practiced speeches floated through your thoughts, but none seemed good enough. All you could think about was the tension in his voice and the mocking commentary and—

“I love you.” Your heart spoke without permission, pulling forth the only thing that truly mattered. “I love you, okay?”

A slight crease wove between Max’s brow as he watched your mouth—trying to decode your words through the senseless sound. After a delayed second, realization twinkled in his eyes, and he smiled. Instantly, the cold glare faded from his gaze, and he seemed like your Max again, with flushed cheeks and crinkling eyes under the blinding garage lights. I love you, too.

———

Later that night, the waves of uncertainty returned. 

P3. 

The position rattled around in your head and made your heart sting. Last year, this race had been easy. Though qualifying had ended with Lewis on pole, Max had regained the position on Sunday and crafted a lead of thirty-three seconds. That had been his best gap all season. So, how had thirty-three seconds turned into P3? Of course, the position wasn’t terrible, but something was definitely wrong. Everything felt wrong these days. You just hoped that Max would keep his head long enough to correct it. 

You glanced across the table, carefully observing the strain in Max’s expression. His brows were furrowed and tense, hanging low over his eyes and casting deep shadows across his face. Even his gaze seemed cloudy, as the clear blue-green of his eyes appeared dull and distant. An exhausted flush still stained his cheeks, but the red made him look sickly and sad in the fading daylight. 

Seeing him like this was agony. 

The media and the internet could rave about “Mad Max” all they wanted, yet you saw the truth in the dim light of his trailer. The anger and sharp edges masked a trembling lip and bleary eyes.   Your Max was lost somewhere in his head, caught between the kart from years before and the car of today—and it hurt. 

“You did your best.” You said, pushing scraps of dinner around on your plate. “It’s just a hard run, yeah?” Despite yourself, your voice cracked. It had been at least an hour since either of you spoke, and between the emotion and strain, your words shattered in the tense air. 

“It’s a shit run.” Max corrected sharply, pointing his spoon at you, “I don’t think everyone understands that. It’s a fucking shit run.” Though his eyes were set on your face, Max’s gaze seemed miles away, and the bitterness of his words felt directionless. 

Still angry, then. Not your Max, just Mad Max. 

“I wasn’t trying to pick a fight, m’just saying,” You replied, pushing his accusing spoon away with yours, “You just do your best tomorrow. News said there shouldn’t be rain, so that’ll be good.” 

Max huffed, unconvinced and frustrated, “We’ll see.” 

He was fighting with himself again, battling ghosts in his chest and competing against a past that would never truly fade. Yet the sinking spiral and flames of rage wouldn’t do any good. The media was crazy enough right now, and frankly, you felt crazy too. You needed him beside you, and you needed him to be calm. You wanted your Max back. If the car, the team, and the whole thing were going to hell, you just wanted him to make it out. 

You thought about Carola, stuck at home while her husband’s car smoked and sizzled on live TV. You didn’t want to remember how that felt. You didn’t want to recall the trembling hands and shaking breath. You needed Max steady and safe. Mad Max crashed cars and sent your head spinning—your Max needed to be something more.

With a tired sigh, you leaned across the table and kissed his cheek, relishing in the warmth of his skin below your lips. Some of the tension in his expression melted below your touch, “Just be good, please.” You breathed, hoping the warmth of your words against his flushed face would find a place in his heart. “And safe.” 

Max pulled back and smiled a little too brightly—his eyes glittering with mischief, “I’m very good.” 

With a huff, you sat back down and gave him a playful kick under the table, “Yeah, right. You’re yelling at GP, and suddenly everyone on Twitter is going on about Mad—“

“It’s actually X.” Max corrected in a superior tone. 

“Don’t start.” You tried to sound serious, but a teasing smile bloomed on your face, and laughter bubbled from your chest. It was nice to see him relaxed, even just a little. “I’m trying to scold you.”

With a laugh, Max leaned back in his chair and stretched slightly, reaching for something unseeable. The casual motion and the gentle crinkle of his face eased you a little, soothing something in your pounding heart. This is the Max you needed on the track tomorrow—this is the Max you needed in the media pen and in the garage. This is the Max that would live long enough to come home. 

“I’m going to play,” Max said, breaking your spiraling thoughts, “You’ll come?”

You glanced at your watch. It was getting late, but you hadn’t spent extended time together in weeks. You hummed and gave in, “Sure, just for a bit.”

Max beamed, and suddenly, everything was worth it—the extra coffee you’d have to drink tomorrow, the extra time you’d have to spend getting ready. It was all worth five more seconds of peace and grins. Still smiling, Max pressed several disorganized kisses to your face until you were beaming, too. 

———

Max’s gaming room was connected to the main living space, overflowing with electronics and blinking lights. 

You trailed behind Max, swinging your linked hands and flicking on your phone so you could scroll through social media. The qualifying results consumed most of your feed, as did senseless speculation.

“Did you get a look at Checo’s car?” You asked, still looking at your phone and curling into a chair beside the computer. “I’m sure the boys will be up all night on that.” 

Max let go of your linked hands and settled into his seat. From this angle, you were just out of the camera’s vision, but still within Max’s peripheral. Though he hardly spared anything else a glance during streams or gaming sessions, you quickly realized that he didn’t like being alone. Max seemed more at ease even when the two of you simply sat in silence. Besides, you didn’t really like being on camera anyway—the very last thing Red Bull needed right now was extra attention or scrutiny. The common narrative that having a girlfriend only distracted athletes always arrived just in time to bite you in the ass. You didn’t need that right now. Max didn’t need that right now. You were barely hanging on as it was. 

“Might have to start in the pit tomorrow,” Max said, slowly flipping switches and bringing his computer to life. For a moment, it seemed like he might say something else, but he simply shrugged, “Shit weekend.” 

You hummed, scrolling through your phone and trying to change the subject. He had relaxed slightly after dinner, and you didn’t want him falling back into despair and rage, “How long you got until lights out?”

During race weekends, every second was meticulously arranged. Meals were crafted according to specific weight and energy requirements, interviews were slotted between breaths, and curfew was enforced so drivers met perfectly planned out sleep schedules. 

Technically, you weren’t even allowed in here after dark, but you and Max stole seconds whenever possible. 

“Don’t care,” Max replied, shooting you a pleased, dazzling grin. 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, trying to fight a scarlet blush, “Alright.”

His manager would certainly have something to say about that, but you let it go. There was no point in arguing. It had been a long day for both of you, and this was how Max relaxed—video games and vitriol. 

The following two hours passed by in a blink. Max played and chatted with his friends while you relished in the happiness of his cheers and the joy in his laughter. He seemed most himself in these moments—late at night, away from the garage and speaking nonsense with his friends. He loved racing, you knew he loved racing, but in soft seconds like this, you wished he would just retire. You would give anything to sit with him all day long, intertwining your legs under the table and smiling while he laughed. You would give anything just to kill time with him. 

Eventually, though, your yawns and bleary eyes won out over your heart. You needed sleep. He needed sleep. Ugh, if only you could sleep here. How much was that fine again? 

Unwilling to find out, you sent Max a text: Camera Off. 

After a slight delay, a chime sounded through the room, and Max glanced sideways at his phone. Without hesitation, he mumbled a quick dismissal and switched off his camera and microphone. 

“What?” He blinked at you, hanging on your every word. For a second, he seemed tense—still half on the track. 

“I gotta go,” You said, standing. “Getting late.” You reached for Max’s face and brushed a light touch along his cheek, trying to memorize the curves of his features to hold you off until tomorrow. Oh, how you wished the ease in his eyes would last forever. 

“Going to bed?” He asked, leaning into your touch immediately and staring up at you with electric blue-green eyes. He wanted you to stay. 

You laughed lightly, gently combing a hand through his hair and twisting blond strands around your fingertips, “I was gonna call Carola but m’tired. I should be sleeping. You too. Long day tomorrow.”

Max rolled his eyes, though the gesture had no malice behind it, just playful exhaustion. He leaned forward and rested his chin on your stomach with a childish sigh and slight pout, “Whatever.”

His easy closeness made your neck flush with warmth, and suddenly, that imaginary fine didn’t seem so steep. All reason and reality melted away as your eyes scanned the sunspots on his face and traced the twinkling in his eyes. 

Then you remembered the yelling, Checo’s crash, reporters, endless speculation, and… You needed to stay focused. 

Summer break was coming up fast. You could wait until summer break. All the light and laughter in the world could wait a few more days. 

“I’ll see you later,” You said, running your fingertips across his features, “Go to bed soon, okay? Please.”

“Okay,” Max said brightly—definitely lying. He quickly kissed the inside of your wrist as you traced an invisible line down his nose, “Night.”

There was no such thing as “Mad Max”—at least not to you, at least not right now. 

“Night.”

[demonsslayersstuff]

Male Hashira x Reader (How They Apologize)

A/N: I’m back with one of my fav things to write! This one took a little longer than I planned, but life is getting busy. My plan is to get the Nanami fic out next week. As always thanks for the support! Have a great rest of the week/ weekend!

Description: Head cannons on how the Male Hashira apologize to the reader after a fight.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, slight smut with Sanemi’s (I couldn’t contain myself with that man). Reader is written gender neutral for all!

Kyojuro Rengoku:

Hates that he hurt you, to him it’s the worst feeling in the world, he swore to protect you and make you happy and ultimately failed to do so.

Immediately apologizes, but gives you space. As much as it pains him to be apart from you, he understands the need for space and respects that

When the two of you are ready to talk and apologize, he’s immediately pulling you into a tight embrace and keeping you there for a while. Gives you kisses all over your face and plans some alone time for just the two of you

Rengoku is not one to get you a gift after a fight, he’s going to focus on quality time and having a conversation to clear the air. Communication is key!

You watch as Rengoku comes into the kitchen, guilty expression splayed across his face. It had been a few hours since you’d asked him for some space after a particularly nasty spat, though now that you had time to think and calm down, the fight seemed to be over nothing of importance. “Can we talk?”, Rengoku asks as he comes to sit at the small table that you yourself were sitting at. You nod your head, gesturing for him to speak to you. “I’m so sorry. I let my anger get the best of me and I should have not said those things. I want you to know that I didn’t mean any of it”, the fiery man says, his eyes finding yours. “I accept your apology and I’m sorry as well, I over reacted and I shouldn’t have lashed out at you either”, you respond, sincerity in words. Rengoku reaches his hand out towards you and you grasp it, squeezing it gently. “Let’s make it up to each other by cooking dinner together, how does that sound?”, he asks with a smile. “Let’s do it”, you respond excitedly and for now you knew things would be ok between the two of you.

Uzui Tengen:

Being in a large family unit, squabbles are a common occurrence between and Tengen and his partners as we have seen in the show/ manga. For the most part the issues simmer down and life moves on

If things get fairly tense I see his wives picking sides and this turns things into a bigger mess. Tengen hates when things get this bad and often keeps his distance; allowing you and his wives to calm down and what not

I see there being a little group therapy session when all of you are ready to talk. For some reason I see Hinasturu taking charge of that, she gives me peace keeper vibes. Regardless issues get aired and things will go back to normal

I see Tengen being the type to bring you flowers or a small gift to start his apology. However, he is sincere, if he fucked up he’s going to make sure you know he really is sorry and will do his best to get back onto your good side

“Get in there and apologize”, you hear Hinasturu say with a commanding voice. For the past day you’ve been hiding in your room, only going out to eat quickly and quietly before slipping back into the room. After your fight with Tengen you were on your avoidance, path. You knew it was childish, but you didn’t care, you weren’t going to speak until he’d apologized first. “And give them the flowers”, you hear Makio add. “Ok ok”, Tengen grumbles, before he moves to knock on the door. “Let me in so we can talk please”, he says quietly. You open the door, letting the hulking man into the room. Once the door shuts he starts talking. “Listen I’m really really sorry for what happened. I was not in a great head space when we argued and the others made me realize I was acting like a dick”, he rambles before holding out the flowers towards you. You take them, laying them down on your beside table before launching yourself in his arms. You wrap your arms tightly around his waist before looking up at him. “I accept your apology, in the future let’s work on the words we say to each other, especially in the heat of anger”, you tell him. “I know, I really am sorry”, he mumbles before hugging you tightly to his chest.

Giyuu Tomioka

Even though Giyuu tends to be more closed off, with his partner I see him working really hard to not have fights or arguments with you. However, these things happen in most relationships, so when you do fight, it hurts him

If he is in the wrong I could see him asking you what you want. If you space he’s immediately giving it to you, an apology already done. He’s going to do what you want to do

Similar to Rengoku I see Giyuu being more focused on having quality time with you post an argument. He’s not one to give you gifts, but a hug and a few kisses he’ll do

I feel like Giyuu would be one to do small acts of services as an apology. He’ll make you your favorite drink, wrap you up in a blanket. He’s not one to be outwardly confrontational, but he’ll do the behind the scenes stuff to show you he still loves you, no matter what

You wake up warmer than you expected from your nap. You look down to see that someone, most likely your partner, had covered you up with a blanket. You smile a little, knowing that even though the two of had a rare argument, Giyuu was still looking out for you. “Yu?”, you call, using the playful nickname you gave him a long time ago at the beginning of your relationship. You hear the creaks of the floorboards as he walks towards the bedroom. You register his dark hair first before his ocean blue eyes come into view, soft and hesitant. “Can we talk?”, you ask him, shuffling on the bed to make space for him. “Of course”, he murmurs before walking towards and plopping down on the soft mattress. “I’m sorry for shutting you out like that Giyuu, that was immature and not fair to you”, you tell him, cheeks flushing pink with shame. “I’m sorry to, I shouldn’t have yelled at you, I let my emotions get the best of me”, he responds, voice calm and even. You reach your hand out, softly cupping his cheek before you lean your forehead against his. “I hate fighting with you”, you mumble, relaxing as he pulls you closer. “Let’s try to not do that again”, he tells you, moving back slightly to look at your face. “Kiss me”, you whisper as you look into his eyes and as his lips connect with yours, any lingering pain or anger dissipates as you find your way back to each other.

Sanemi Shinazugawa:

This man has a lot of anger issues, so arguments are not uncommon in this relationship. Though Sanemi tries to not fight with you, his temper gets a hold of him sometimes

For the most part when fights break out you’ve learned to just let him get his anger out, he never means most of the stuff he says, so you often give him space. He goes to do training with other Hashira's to help him release the anger while you get the home to your self, a win win situation

When it comes to apologizing Sanemi is a flustered mess. As much as he hates it, he knows it’s the mature thing to do. Personally I really see make up sex being his go to, like I find Sanemi to be very passionate, so after a verbal apology he’s apologizing in other ways

Once the argument is over, most of the other Hashira and Corps members know they won’t be seeing you for a bit. One thing the two of you like about arguing is knowing how hot and heavy the make up sex is going to beeeeee

You let out a sharp gasp as your back connects to the wood wall of your shared bedroom. Before you even have time to make a coherent statement, Sanemi’s lips are on yours, devouring you in a deep passionate kiss. Your clothes are swiftly removed before he grabs the back of your thighs, holding you against the wall as your legs wrap around his waist. “M’fucking sorry, let me, fuck, let me make it up to you”, he huffs out, lips puffy from the intensity of the kiss. You squeeze his shoulders slightly, staring into his plum colored eyes as you catch your breath. “What’s stopping you”, you quip, rolling your hips slightly, causing a brief but electrifying heat in the area your bodies were connected. Before you know it you find yourself being flung down onto the bed, the wall now a distant memory as Sanemi stares down at you with hungry eyes. “I’m not letting you out of this bed until the sun rises”, he says, voice thick with desire. And as his body covers yours you knew you were in for a long night.

Iguro Obanai:

Hates fighting with you, if he feels an argument brewing he will do everything in his power to stop it from happening. However when the two of you are unable to stop a fight, it hits him hard

He had a rough childhood so you being angry at him brings up some past traumas and it can be difficult for him to handle at times. He knows deep down that you don’t hate him, but the anxiety is there

After an argument I really think that you’ll have to be the one to reach out. He doesn’t want to upset you further, so you’ll have to be the one to break the ice. He’ll be happy to see you and want to discuss the situation in a mature manner so that way it doesn’t happen again

I do see Obanai being someone who would probably get their partner a bouquet of flowers as a peace offering post fight, to let them know that he is thinking about them

“Obi”, you call as you step out into the garden, looking for the Snake Hashira who was in no doubt out here with his snake. You walk along the familiar path towards the big tree in the middle, your shoes crunching with each step from the fallen leaves. As you get closer, you see him sitting underneath the tree, so you call his name softly, watching as his eyes widen when he hears your voice, body turning to face you. “Can we talk?”, you ask him as you get closer to him. “Of course, if that’s what you want”, he responds, his multi-colored eyes watching your face carefully. “I’m really sorry, it was unfair for me to yell at you like that”, you tell him as you move to sit down next to him. “I want to apologize too, I should have never done that, without talking to you first”, Obanai tells you. You reach out and grab his hands, seeing his fingers tremble slightly. “I know, but it was still unfair for me to react the way I did, I am truly sorry Iguro. Will you forgive me?”, you question softly. “Of course, and I do accept your apology”, he responds, squeezing your hand reassuringly. The two of you spend the rest of the afternoon talking in the garden, the fight long forgotten by the end of the day.

Gyomei Himejima:

Honestly I don’t see many arguments happening with this guy. Gyomei definitely fits the gentle giant description, though as we have seen, he had no problem taking care of business like the badass he is

Anyway I don’t see you having bad fights, but what I do see happening is Gyomei not listening to your side of the story sometimes. As the de facto leader, it’s his way or the highway at times and that’s what causes an occasional fight

Gyomei would definitely be upset once he realizes he hurt your feelings (unintentionally in his mind) and would want to immediately clear the air between the two of you, but isn’t going to force you to do something you don’t want to do

I see big bear hugs as his silent apology. Be prepared to be scooped up into a tight but loving hug. Once the two of you apologize, things go back to normal fairly quickly, but for the next few days I see him being a bit more attentive to your wants and needs

You feel his large hands grip your waist softly as he comes to stand behind you in the kitchen. “Himejima”, you warn, but he doesn’t listen, he just spins you around so that way your bodies are facing each other. The dishes in the sink get long forgotten as the Stone Hashira moves his arms to wrap you in a tight embrace. “I’m sorry love, I didn’t mean to ignore your advice”, he starts, his deep voice soothing. “I know I need to get better at that, but I hate not talking to you”, he continues as your face nestles into his strong chest. “I just hate when you completely disregard what I say at times”, you tell him, pain still evident in your voice. “I am sorry and I promise I will work on it”, he responds before slowly releasing his hold on you. “I accept your apology”, you tell him with a gentle sigh, your fingers brushing against his own. “Thank you”, he murmurs, leaning down to kiss you softly.

[whereserpentswalk]

When you met your girlfriend in college she was studying to be a wizard. It didn't suprise you that much, there were a lot of magic majors at your school, and the city that your college is in has a lot of companies that hire wizards.

As time went on you started to realize she was become a very specific type of magic user. Her spells are long, taking yo hours of her time, longer then any other major user you know, and they're draining. She says she's always been interested in magic since when she was a kid, but this particular type of magic isn't something anyone gets into because they find it exciting, it's the type of magic you get into because it pays the most. You understand why she chose this, it's hard for wizards, for anyone really, to find work nowadays.

Your apartment isn't very big so you can hear her trying her spell from the other room every time, straining herself, sometimes screaming, spending the weekends of her youth alone in a closest trying to pull off these impossible spells, with purposes that normal people don't even care about. When you told two freinds you have who are wizards from diffrent specialties of magic, necromancy and illusion, what kind of spells she was doing, they became really afraid for her, and said that they hoped she transfered to a diffrent specialty before she was locked into this path. Every time you hear her screaming from that room you want to grab her and save her, let her rest and enjoy her world, but you know that you can't.

It gets worse once you graduate and while you start working as an artist, she gets hired on by a big company that could use wizards like her. You don't leave the city you went to college in so your freind group doesn't really change, but you realize that all of your freinds start talking about her in the past tense after that. You don't have to deal with hearing her funnel magic though herself in your apartment anymore, but instead you're spending days not really seeing her when she's at the office, and comes home later then you're asleep.

When you do see her, you notice her body getting worse. She was always skinny but now her body has lost so much weight you can see her ribs. Her skin is paler then it ever was before, and her eyes are almost bloodshot. Strange symbols even start appearing on her arms. You're starting to get really worried for her.

Most of the time you spend with her is just her recovering from her work. You'll lay with her in bed, and cuddle her, and let her rest her head on your breasts, and try to make her feel safe and warm, even though her body is so very cold now. You let her talk to you about the things she used to tell you about when she first met, she still loves telling you about video games, or obscure magic lore, though the latter is a bit more of a sore subject now. You watch cartoons with her a lot now, and old anime, they seems to be some of the only things that let her fully escape.

You have to be the one to cook for her, and to get her things, she's just to tired to do most things outside of work. But you still care about her, you try your best to comfort her, to pet her head, and to kiss her. She can't really have sex with you anymore, the spells have killed her libido, killed her ability to her physically aroused, but you end up wanting to cuddle her a lot, and hold her close while you have her. You try to ask if she's ok but she says that she is, that she can't stop doing this. Every time she leaves for work you want to save her, and every time she leaves she can't.

When you ask your other wizard freinds about what she's actually doing with her magic, to try and get some comfort about what's happening, they explain to you what it is. It's a type of magic their teachers taught about but warned agaisnt, that has to do with letting spirits and entities from other realms, sometimes really powerful ones, possess you for a long time, useally to talk and answer question. The necromancer specifically explains that it's useally used by companies to get knowledge about things that they want to know for their business strategies, it's why they pay so much for someone to be hurt like that. Knowing doesn't make you feel any better, it just makes you feel like she's being even more violated now.

Eventually your girlfriend tells you that she got another job opportunity out west, but it's somewhere she doesn't want to see you stuck living. She tells you to stay in the city, and that she'll text you and call you while she deals with this new job. She barely ever gets any chances to text while she's out there, and never calls. She's just able to communicate with you less and less, until she's fully gone.

You're working as an artist in the city now. You have a new partner. You sometimes think about what your old girlfriend is doing, you like to pretend that she got out of everything, that she doesn't talk to you because she found someone new. But you know that in reality very few people in that field actually make it out, and very few manage to stay fully human, it's quite unlikely she's any different.

[joocomics]

begging

day 7 — formal wear w/ gunil ⌞⌗ kinktober ⌝

𓂃⠀𓈒 brat tamer!gunil x fem!reader

genre: smut — mdni! wc: 1.4k

contains: established relationship, bratty!reader, spanking, degradation kink, strength kink, cussing, pet names, name calling (brat/slut once or twice), restraints, edging kink

[ kinktober masterlist | general masterlist ]

“Have you thought about what movie you want to watch tonight?” Gunil asks from the other side of the bedroom.

His hand is loosening up his tie, but his eyes don’t leave you out of sight as you’re stomping around. The usual excitement you have on your face when you’re here for the weekend is nowhere to be found. There’s only bitterness.

You don’t glance in his direction when you answer that you’re not in the mood to watch a movie, and it was better that you didn’t, because you were only going to complicate things for yourself. You were going to see his naked upper body exposed by the white unbuttoned shirt and distract yourself from being mad at him. Your desire would’ve only grown stronger at the sight and that would’ve frustrated you further, because you’re obviously not having sex tonight.

He barely paid attention to you in the car, he wouldn’t start now.

You tell him you’re going to bed after you shower and grab your towel.

“It’s still not even ten pm.” Gunil sighs as you walk past him without acknowledging his words, or presence even, and barge in the shower.

You feel his eyes on you the entire time as you get ready for bed.

You rarely bring any pajamas, because you prefer to wear his clothes when you’re here, and now he’s watching you go through his wardrobe. You're taking more time than you need just to force him to trace every single curve of your body that’s only in a pair of panties for as long as possible.

“What's bothering you, sweetheart?” He asks behind you.

“Oh, now you want to pay attention to me?” You huff and pull a black t-shirt before turning to face him.

Gunil raises a brow at your confrontation. He cannot have more of this attitude today.

“Is this about what happened in the car?”

You remain silent while picking your words. Your one foot is tapping at the floor while your arms stay crossed as the seconds pass.

Gunil takes a deep breath before speaking up first.

“You know I don't like being distracted while I'm on the road!” His jaw tenses as he tries to figure out why you can't understand this. “Are you seriously upset, because I didn't let you suck me off while I was driving? Where's this spoiled attitude coming from?!”

You decide to erase the distance between the two of you so you sit next to him on the bed with a sigh. You're just now noticing that he still hasn't changed from the suit he had to wear today for a work event - the black dress pants are still on his body, the shirt is still hanging loose, open, exposing his toned stomach.

“I just missed you, baby.” You put both arms around his shoulders, breathing in his cologne. Your pouty lips are close to his ear as you speak with a guilty tone that hopefully will ease his nerves. “Haven't seen you in days, I couldn't wait to have you back in my arms. I'm surprised how you can even deny me when I'm this needy. Most guys would be on cloud nine.”

When he tilts his head you're inches apart. Without realising, you swallow, so turned on by his serious gaze, as you wait for him to finally kiss you. The moment of anticipation only grows longer until his lips slightly curl up in a smirk as he moves a hand behind your back and positions you over his knees.

You've been in this pose before and you know what it means.

Your cheeks automatically flush with excitement, and you're thankful Gunil can't see your face and tease you for it.

You squeal from the sudden swift way he balanced you on his thighs and how quickly the first slap landed on your ass. He didn't even gave you time to prepare or expect it.

He spanks you again. Then again one more time.

“Baby,” you whine, kicking your feet in the air. “Why?”

“And you have the audacity to ask.” Gunil smacks you again; this time on the other cheek while staring down at your underwear. “Why? You really want to hear how fuckin' spoiled you sound right now?”

You've gotten familiar with how his punishments work.

The slaps go from light, but firm, to hard, coming from a bigger distance. Even if he tries to smack you lightly it still wouldn't feel like a soft slap, because of how heavy his hands are. Most of the time he can't tell how much strength he's actually putting into his touch, but that's exactly what turns you on.

“Tell me,” you mumble quietly.

Several new slaps fall onto your cheeks. Each stronger than the previous one. You start to feel the bittersweet stinging on your skin more clearer now, but it's still nothing compared to how it's going to feel later.

“Tsk,” Gunil squeezes your flesh before hitting it again - this one makes you whimper louder and the erotic sound shoots a pleasant thrill through his body, “I should make your punishments longer.” His right palm roams over one of your bare cheeks; his nails are teasing the area of skin that's turning warmer with each slap. “Do you really believe other guys would want a girl who needs to be taught how to behave all the time, huh? Who won't stop running her filthy mouth?”

You hear a muffling noise above you - a quick sliding of fabric against another clothing. You gasp softly once Gunil gets a hold of your wrists and ties them together with what must be his fancy black tie. He hasn't done this before. The unexpected act forces you to answer faster.

“No...”

Gunil's attractive laugh rings in the silence, and you try to imagine how hot he looks in this dominant state, with your body dressed only in a pair of underwear, placed on his lap.

“I don't think so too,” he replies and his voice comes out more gruff sounding than a moment before, sending goosebumps over your naked skin where underneath there’s a burning delight flowing.

Soon enough, your ass is all heated up and Gunil's fingers decide to touch you elsewhere for a change. Not to give you what you want, but out of curiosity, and because the view of your punished ass which makes him weak in any state, but especially this one, doubles his desire to pull your panties to the side.

You mewl weakly on the instant at the nice feeling of his hand finally appearing between your burning cheeks.

“I knew you'd be wet, but not this much, fuck—” The tips of his fingers slide through your folds and easily get covered in your arousal. If he wants to push them inside you, he wouldn't need to use any amount of force, they would slip in right away. “You're one filthy girl.”

“Ah, baby, please—”

Your moisture fuels his body with the sweet familiar rush, and he sighs, suppressing the need to buck up his hips. The way your eager voice starts to plead at him as he spreads your cheeks to see how you clench around nothing makes it even harder to resist you.

“Please, I'll be good, please touch me.”

“Stay still.” He commands and approves of the way your feet freeze. “I hear you begging, but I didn't hear you apologise.” His strong hand slaps you out of nowhere, pulling yet another whimper out of your lips. “You behave like a true horny slut.”

“I'm so sorry, please!” Your brows drawn in together as you focus on the movements of his firm fingers gliding so softly, barely pressing against your slippery folds. “I'll be a good girl from now on, p-promise, I won't bother you when you drive anymore.”

Your figure vividly squirms on Gunil's lap as he guides them closer in the direction of your clit then all the way back only to smack you several times again, right on top of the reddish marks of his palm.

“I'll buy a toy and next time you act up I'll use that instead of my fingers, remember this.”

You cry out at the thought of some vibrator replacing his experienced touch.

“I'll take anything you give me, but no toys, please, baby!” You beg as your heart begins to jump harder the longer he keeps brushing his fingers against your dripping entrance. You need them inside as soon as possible, but you know how strong his patience can be when he has you in his control like this. The more you tell him to please you, the longer he will drag on this punishment. “I need you... just you.”

“Then you shouldn't have brought up those other guys, sweetie.”

He spits roughly onto your exposed slick folds, then fixes your stained panties.

And slaps again.

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise for any mistakes i’ve might missed

[lulublack90]

Prompt 15 - Drive

@jegulus-microfic May 15, Word count 734

Previous part First part

“Stop fiddling with it,” James warned as he watched Regulus poke the leaf with his tongue. 

“I can’t help it,” Regulus whined. Over the past few weeks, Regulus had opened up a bit to James and, apparently, underneath all that snark, he was a whiny little brat. Just like his brother. James honestly didn’t know how he coped with both of them. “Are you going to get the dew tonight?” Regulus asked, finally done with prodding at the leaf. 

“Mmhmm,” James nodded. He’d have to go into the forest this evening to be able to walk far enough in to find somewhere human feet or sunlight had never touched, and he’d be exhausted by the time he got back to the castle, but he’d cleverly picked a weekend to do it so no one would notice if he slept in.

A cold wind had swept over the grounds and only James’s sheer will kept the invisibility cloak from soaring off into the darkening grounds. He swore he spent most of his time out here when it was dark. 

Once he was hidden by the tree line, the wind couldn't hit him as hard. He whipped off the cloak and stuffed it into his robes. He walked a bit further in before transforming into the magnificent stag, as his white tail would be a beacon in the gloom for anyone watching. 

It felt good to be Prongs. His feet, while dainty, were strong and somehow always knew where to step, even on the most uneven ground. He had to be careful of his antlers catching on low branches, but he’d gotten pretty good at running through the forest and not letting that happen. His ears pricked as a knarl scuttled out from the undergrowth, snorted at him and continued on its way. He wasn’t sure if it knew he was an animagus or if it just didn’t like stags. Either way, it was gone now. He picked up the jar he’d brought with him between his teeth and walked into the gloom. 

He’d selected a wide-brimmed specimen jar, so that he could easily manoeuvre it in his animal form. Remus had even marked on the side of it how much he’d need to collect to fill seven teaspoons. Remus had also added a stiff handle that he could grasp it with his teeth.

It took him hours to get into a part of the forest where the undergrowth was so thick a human would give up trying to get through it and so dark he couldn’t see the sky. It was perfect. 

Lucky for him, Prongs’s legs walked over the undergrowth as though it were nothing. He found a plant with huge leaves and dropped the jar beside it. Now for the hard part. He lowered himself to the ground and with his teeth grabbed the giant cork protruding out of the neck and yanked it free. 

He placed it under one of the huge leaves and gently shook the leaf. A few drops fell into the jar. He tried again and soon had all the dew off that leaf safe in the jar. He moved on to the next one. 

It took him far longer to collect enough dew than it had to get through the forest. The amount of dew had just risen above the line Remus had drawn, when his ears twitched and his body tensed. There was something here with him and his animal self was telling him to run. He fought it and waited. 

Silently, he replaced the jar's cork and held the handle tightly between his teeth. 

A twig snapped close by and the drive to flee became too much. He spun around and fled. 

A roar followed him as he darted between trees with his head down. He had no idea what had been stalking him, but he wasn’t hanging around to find out. He didn’t dare look back and pushed on. His jaw clamped down hard as he leapt into the air over a fallen branch, and continued running. 

The relief that flooded him when he broke through the tree line and the morning sun-soaked castle burst into view was indescribable. 

He trotted over to the greenhouses and transformed. He was sweaty and exhausted but as he held up the jar in front of himself, a huge grin spread across his face. He hadn’t spilt a drop.  

Next part

[its-time-to-write]

Hi love! Im obsessed with your writing. They actually make my whole day!!

I was wondering if you could do something with like protective!Jamie? Like maybe they’re out at a club and some guy won’t leave her alone!

Whatever you like? Thank you!

I did it! I didn’t know what gif to put with this. Wasn’t sure I’d finish it this weekend, but I got it done! I have finals next week, which either means I’m going to have a bunch of time or none at all. And again, thank you for being so kind. Many anonymous requests are not. 💚🍊

don’t go yet

Roy only lets Jamie go to the club when Richmond has won, which is why you’re both dressed up tonight. 

“You can have two drinks. Not fucking four, not fucking three, two. And if you fucking go over, your girlfriend will fucking tell me,” Roy had said.

Jamie had relayed this to you, more than a tad scandalized, but you just shrugged and said, “Roy’s not wrong.”

So now you’re at the club and Jamie’s had one drink that he’s been making last way too long, but he’s finally downed it and you’ve offered to grab him another one. Dani’s in the middle of some hilarious story about his old team, involving shaving cream, an unsuspecting coach, and… snails? Anyway, Jamie’s deeply invested in whatever it is which is why you’re at the bar waiting for your drinks and he’s sitting down. 

You’re contemplating what you want to do to Jamie once you get home, when an unfamiliar body sidles up to the space next to you.

You half-turn away to give him more space, but he just moves closer so you give him a look. The man, oblivious, says, “Hello gorgeous, name’s Max. What’s a sexy little thing like you doing out here all alone?”

Any distaste you had been stifling out of politeness ends. “I’m not alone, I’m here with my boyfriend,” you reply shortly. 

Max makes a show of surveying the room. “Don’t see him,” he says, “so I suppose you’re fair game.”

Your drinks appear, and you grab them. “I’ve got to go.”

“Hey now, I’m only trying to be fucking friendly. Your boyfriend doesn’t let you have friends?” He’s now blocking your path back to Jamie. You try to dodge around him, but he won’t let you. 

Max does not like that, and he snarls, “Don’t be such a bitch, I’m sure your boyfriend wouldn’t mind me having a turn, especially if he lets you out of the house looking like that.”

Your words catch in your throat, and before you can look around for help, there’s a tap on Max’s shoulder. 

“Oi mate,” says Jamie, voice calm but eyes simmering with rage, “pretty sure she wants to be left alone.”

Max turns to assess Jamie and you dart past him, behind your boyfriend. “And what’s it to you, shithead?”

Oh god. The last thing Jamie needs is to get into a fight tonight. You know that Nate would love nothing more than to bench Jamie whenever an opportunity presents itself. 

“Jamie,” you whisper, “let it go.”

Jamie doesn’t even look at you. “I’m her boyfriend, shithead.”

Max’s eyes betray a hint of surprise, then before you or Jamie can do anything he moves to shove Jamie. Jamie tenses up for a push that never happens, because Isaac has shown up from out of nowhere and has grabbed Max from behind. 

“Time to go, bruv,” Isaac says as he and Dani haul Max away.

Jamie fists are still clenched as he turns to you. Despite the anger on his face, his voice is gentle. “You alright, love?” 

You nod wordlessly and hand Jamie his drink. He takes both of them and puts them down. Your brain is playing catch-up because everything happened so fast.

“You wanna go?” he asks.

You nod again then shake your head. “No!” you protest, “This is your night out!”

Jamie’s hands are on your waist now, and you’re a little grateful because it’s grounding. You’re still reeling a bit.

“Babe,” he says, “I’m fucking exhausted, and you are too. And don’t fuckin’ lie, it ain’t gonna work. You’ve got little circles under your eyes. Let’s go home.”

You shut your mouth and sigh. That boy. He knows you too well. 

On your way out he says, “Can we do face masks? Can feel me face losing its sexy glow.”

You smile and squeeze his hand. Only Jamie can make a shit night into something good.

[natalievoncatte]

Lena was in the dark in more ways than one.

The lights in her penthouse were all dark save one, a night light in her en suite to ensure that she didn’t take a fall if she got up. Swirling the edge of a migraine, she’s grown tired of an again-delayed product launch and the hoary halls of power and their patriarchs. Few things frustrated her more than the spiteful condescension of old men clinging to a world with all the success of a man trying to gather all the sand in a desert through chapped fingers.

Few things annoyed her more.

One of those things, she could give no name. Since Lena had realized Kara’s identity, things had been tense between them. Mostly in a pleasant way; they had been feeling out this new normal, Kara tentatively broaching this or that topic to add to brunch chats and lunchtime gossip.

“Oh,” she’d say, “that last alien hit pretty hard,” as if being knocked clean through a fertilizer plant by a blow to the head were part of her commute.

To Lena it was all new, but there was something else with it. Something neither of them dared to name, some friable, delicate new shape that they could only feel by its edges. It began with Kara bombarding Lena with friendship. Fresh breakfasts hand-delivered at hypersonic speeds. Daily lunches. For the last month, Kara had spent every weekend at Lena’s, or vice versa.

Lena’s penthouse had a guest bedroom. Kara’s place had a bed and a sofa. Comfy, but it was no bed. That was how the dance began. The first steps were hesitant, the dancers circling each other without breaking the barrier. A token argument about who gets the bed, only for them both to share it. And once they’d shared it at Kara’s place, it made no sense for Lena to confine a living space heater to the guest room.

They didn’t discuss, or analyze, or talk it out. No boundaries were ever set, and so the dance continued. What started as two people curled up in a big king bed on opposite sides became the pair of them entangling during the night, then skipping the pretext and curling up with each other before the lights went out.

It was driving Lena insane. Kara never pushed, not really, and yet it just seemed to happen. It was as if her best friend was daring her to take the initiative. The morning when Lena awoke to find Kara’s arm protectively curled about her waist, her thumb hooked on the waistband of Lena’s lounge pants, she’d almost turned over and said something.

The excuse she made was that Kara needed her sleep after the pummeling she’d taken that afternoon. That Lena enjoyed how Kara grazed the pad of her thumb over Lena’s hip bone was incidental.

Lying in the dark, Lena knew that Kara had arrived by the sound of the balcony door opening and didn’t bother to call out to her. Still dressed in her suit, Kara peeked into the bedroom, her movements tentative, somehow almost birdlike.

She came back a moment later with a cool, damp cloth for Lena’s forehead and a few murmured questions, before excusing herself.

“Darling, you can stay,” Lena sighed. “I want you to.”

“Okay,” Kara whispered back, lightly seeping stray curls from Lena’s eyes. “I need to change. No peeking.”

And why would you be worried I’ll peek? Lena thought. A platonic Best Friend isn’t going to peek. Best friends don’t do that, just like they don’t nuzzle into each other on the couch. If Lena were Kara’s best friend, then Lena wouldn’t be looking so much, so openly. Admiring Kara’s smile and her biceps and the way her abdominal muscles strained those button-downs.

She wouldn’t be thinking so much about the touches, the way she’d sat in Kara’s lap for hours at a time or how Kara had carried her to bed or how Supergirl had lingered to cradle her post-rescue, well past the point of safety.

Lena wasn’t aware she was peeking until she’s already started. Kara’s suit had taken care of itself; it was her work clothes she needed to discard. When Lena turned over, there was the broad expanse of Kara’s beautifully muscled back, flexing deliciously as she pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms.

Because Kara kept multiple sets of PJs at Lena’s place.

In Lena’s bedroom.

Because this wasn’t the first time this had happened.

Lena turned back, knowing with certainty that Kara knew. She must have heard the creaking of the mattress and the soft whisper of skin on silk sheets and the rapidity if Lena’s traitorous heart.

When Kara climbed in with Lena, the world shrank around the pair of them. Kara swept immediately to the boundary tonight, gathering Lena in her arms, hands finding spots just on this side of chaste, and their bodies molded together.

Lena was finally able to get some sleep.

When she awoke, later, Kara stirred with her.

“Zhao,” Kara muttered.

Lena froze, blinking in the dark. That wasn’t a nonsense word; it was Kryptonian.

“Come back. Zhao,” Kara muttered, as Lena stirred. She didn’t seem to be properly waking.

A nickname?

Lena couldn’t remember when she’d started calling Kara Darling, though she increasingly wished she had.

Dear diary, it was on this day at this date that I admitted my feelings to myself before wrapping them in cardboard and then in concrete and then in steel before shoving them somewhere deep down.

Kara, for her part, had tried a few pet names but most were one offs, never quite fitting. She’d even called Lena “buddy” once before Lena had cut that shit off with an arched brow.

Lena stilled. She could deny Kara nothing, and so drifted off to sleep.

By some quirk of fate, they woke almost at the same time. Lena was still groggy and bleary-eyed when Kara’s sky-blues flitted open, bringing more light than the sun itself. She shifted in the bed without letting Lena go and began to murmur something in Kryptonian, cutting herself off as that last sharp, buzzing word tumbled from her lips.

The only world froze. Kara stared at Lena with wide eyes, and the sudden tension between them made both women go rigid, neither willing to move, to break it.

“You called me that in your sleep,” Lena finally whispered. “Zhao. What does it mean?”

Kara was unusually pale.

“Oh, it’s sort of a term of endearment in Kryptonian. It means, um, ah…”

Lena sighed, cracking a soft smile. “Kara, I’m not fluent by any measure, but I know enough Kryptonian to know what Zhao means.”

“Oh,” Kara whispered, barely more than a short and sharp exhale.

“Even if I didn’t,” Lena whispered, locking eyes with her. “Your hand is literally on my ass right now.”

“Oh. Um. Golly. I’m sorry, I…”

Kara started to pull back. Lena gently took hold of Kara’s wrist and held her hand there. Her heart fluttered not only at the strength in Kara’s forearm but how those steel cable muscles went slack beneath her touch.

Lena swiveled her hips.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Kara whispered.

“Oh, trust me, I’ve got that covered,” said Lena.

Kara shivered. “No, I mean… I don’t know what to…” She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing.

Lena pressed in closer, until the space between them was more a theoretical concept than an actuality.

“Just say what you want to say.”

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

Lena snorted a laugh, briefly ashamed at her inner dork, and afraid that Kara would take offense.

“Kara, you’ve been sleeping over every weekend with your hand in my pants for months. Yes, I will be your girlfriend.”

Kara grinned, starting to sit up.

“Come on, zhao,” said Kara.

Giving their partner a nickname/having their partner give them a nickname.

[hoshigray]

Only You Can Tie My Hands | K. Nanami

Hear me out: Nanami returns home from work to his loving partner, and you happily welcome him. Taking off his blazer, led him to the bedroom, giving him a "massage," doing all the things to help ease the poor blonde of stress. But what does a "massage" entail, and why does it involve his necktie?

A/n: Although it may seem like I only write for Toji because most of the stuff I put out is about him (bc I'm his one and only domestic wife outside of his late one whom I respect), don't get it twisted!! Some of these JJK men can make me swoon just like him (Choso and Nanami, my darlings~~~), so I'm writing yet another lil something in honor of one of them! This draft was an option for a poll but wasn't picked for a drawing. However, that doesn't mean I can't post it at all sooooo you get a win, Nanami stans :D

Cw: slight dom! reader x Nanami - the reader is androgynous or gn! bc I wrote pretty ambiguously in this piece - slight bondage (you tie up Nanami's wrist with a ribbon cloth) - sex with a blindfold (using Nanami's tie) - sensual touching - kisses on the body - handjob - ball massaging - blowjob - pet names (Nanami calls you beloved, darling, love, sweet pea; you call him "babe" and "honey") - throatfucking kind of (??) bc you go at your own pace.

Wc: 2k

It was a difficult day, but that's usual for Nanami Kento.

Today he had meetings after meetings with many of his sorcerer subordinates, had to go on two missions, and, of course, had to deal with the ever-annoyingly casual Gojo Satoru.

Nothing he couldn't handle, but the poor blonde man would be a fool to say he wasn't exhausted. All he wants to do is be in his space, his home. He can practically feel the soft surface of his bed.

It's all he's thinking about when he opens the door to his apartment and crouches to take off his shoes.

"Kento!"

Okay, that was a lie. There was something else he's been dying to see once he left work. Something more precious than his bed.

Then comes you walking from the corner, and your bright smile was the first thing that captured him. It was filled with such a glow that his fatigue almost vanished there and then.

He offers a small smile and straightens himself to greet you. "Hello, my love."

Your smile beams harder. It was a good thing Nanami wore his goggles before removing them. You rush to kiss him, and he hums into your lips. Then your gleeful glow is substituted with instant worry. "Oh honey, what happened to you? You look as if you didn't eat anything!"

"I didn't," Nanami admits as you unbutton and take his tan blazer. He follows you to the bedroom, where you hang his suit in the closet while he flops onto the bed.

"Kentyyy~" You use his nickname before you lecture him. A smile quirks up on his lips because you're the only one who refers to him with said name, and he prefers to keep it that way. "You're so lucky I cooked up something. You know you have to eat!"

Nanami hums, readjusting to lie on the pillow and headboard. His eyes follow your figure sit beside him, a warm hand coming up to stroke his cheek. "I know, darling. I was just caught up in too much, is all."

And you know he's telling the truth. It's the fourth day in a row that Nanami comes from work looking way more exhausted than he'd allow. But it was worse yesterday when he returned from past daylight hours, surprising even him. His face still looks the same, but you can make out slight depictions of dark circles forming under his eyes and muscles tensing, not from lack of sleep but because of his body being worn out.

Despite your worry, all he asks is for you to stay safe and smile. And you do just that with a willing heart. Thank goodness it's a Friday.

"Well. since the weekend is finally upon us," a brow is drawn upwards from your building excitement. "I cooked your favorite: chicken alfredo. But!" You cheekily stop him from saying something because his mouth opens, yet no words dare leave until you finish your sentence. "With a bread bowl! And yes, the pasta isn't ribbon."

A chuckle is well-received as you smile harder. "Oh, really? Is that what you've been working on all day?"

"Uhh, of course!" You proudly huff as you lightly pinch his cheek. "You've been working too hard this week, so you deserve to be spoiled by me!"

"You spoil me already just by living with me, my love." He leans in to kiss you, which you gladly reciprocate. One kiss leads to two, and two leads to three.

You break the kiss when you feel a hand finds its way behind your head, giggling at his sneaky action. "Aht aht aht, can't go having dessert without a meal."

"Oh, I know," his forehead gently lands on yours, "but wouldn't you be so kind as to let a tired man like me have a little taste?"

The way his mocha brown eyes survey yours, practically begging you for any sign of yielding to his request, it almost has you drop your guard down. But something else comes to your mind, and you can feel your grin go from ear to ear.

"Perhaps I have an idea to relieve you from your stress, Mr. Nanami." You lightly push his back onto the headboard, your eyes silently commanding him not to move from that spot. He indulges as you get up and grab for something in the closet. You come back to the bed with a smooth ribbon fabric. "Please put your hands up above your head."

A brow is raised, yet Nanami continues to oblige your wishes. With grace and patience, you wrap the fabric around his wrists and tie them onto the headboard. Nanami now voices his thoughts. "Something tells me you're going to get more out of this than me."

You only giggle as you untie his necktie from his blue dress shirt. "I wouldn't say that when I haven't even started yet, Kenty." You then tell him to close his eyes and wrap the dotted material around them.

Completely vulnerable in his line of sight, Nanami feels the weight of your body dent the bed as you move from the side of him down to where his legs are. He feels your hands slide down from his chest in tease, fingers delicately tracing his abdomen after you unbutton his shirt to reveal his well-built physique. You sensually kiss his body as your hands roam to his tan pants.

His breathing goes uneven when you spread his dressed legs apart, leaving his clothed groin in your line of vision. He hears you hum in loving anticipation. Oh, you're definitely getting a kick out of this. The sound of the zipper on his trousers alerts him, and he'd be a fool if he denied the titillation brewing inside him.

As for you, the image of his hard cock in his briefs has you swooned. The urge to pounce him beats your head like a drum, but that will have to wait for later. Because right now is meant to be a moment for him to relax and possibly give you something to do after cooking all day. The groans from Nanami when you stroke his member through the underwear are so hot to the ears that your ass sways from side to side to ease the heat growing south.

When his length is set free, your breath hitches at the marvelous sight. Even after all this time being together, you can't control the arousing pulsation of your core that manages to creep up whenever you see his dick. It's good that Nanami's blindfolded because how you liked your bottom lip would've baffled him.

Speaking of him, the blonde isn't used to this. When it comes to intimacies, looking at you is the highlight. Watching you ride him while his rough hands propel you down to his cock, how your body struggles to take his fingers drilling inside your sensitive hole, or the beatific expression on your face as you beckon him to come close for a kiss as he drives himself deep within you.

Just looking at you as he does whatever with your body can drive him crazy. Take that away, and Nanami feels like he's in an uncertain territory where you do what you want with him. It's a rarity and totally out of routine...That doesn't mean he doesn't like it, though.

How can he, when he silently gasps for air when he feels a wet muscle slide along the underside of his shaft? Or when your lips place teasing kisses on the beautiful veins that decorate his dick? And, oh Lord, when your tongue laps around the tip, causing the man to bite down on his lip?

You laugh at his attempt to suppress himself. "It's alright, honey, no need to limit yourself. Let it all out." You coo at him as your hand snakes up to his dick as the other massages his inner thigh. Pretty fingers slide up and down the length, and the pads of your fingertips rub against the sensitive tip, causing the poor blonde to groan through gritted teeth.

"Haaaah, haaah—Hnngh!" You could listen to his whimpers all day. "Aghhh—Y/n, my beloved, you're so..." The way he slightly ruts his groin towards you is telling. You smile at him even when he can't see it, but he knows you are. He knows you're watching and listening to him dissolve into a mess.

"I know, babe. I know just how to make you relax, huh." The hand on his inner thigh moves to his sack as the other strokes the base. Nanami jolts at both your hands, sculpting his dick simultaneously as his mind runs in circles at the pleasurable torture.

When he senses your plump lips faintly kiss the tip of his cock, he knows he's too far in. He curses the restraints on his wrists and eyes because he only wants to see you take his length to the base right now. Now those thoughts are challenged as your lips take in the pink tip of his member and slowly inch downwards.

Your jaw relaxes while you take in all of him at your own pace, his cock sinking further into your mouth until your lips almost brush his pelvis. His penis pulsating inside your mouth and throat has you under a euphoric spell. You slowly bob your head up and down, putting your hands on his thighs to hold him down before he starts thrusting and screwing with your slow tempo.

Nanami does all he can to maintain his composure, but God, the feeling of your throat on his shaft is doing wonders. Not only do the inner walls of your oral cavity feel so warm around him, but the blindfold has him using his imagination of how you look right now. He can just picture your pretty hooded eyes looking up at him, gauging his reactions as your ass rocks to and fro, tolerating the neediness between your legs.

It kills him that he can't physically see and touch you; however, your fleshy touch, paired with his creative fantasy, is doing just as much. That is, until a hand returns to massaging his balls, urging him to hunch further. He's now close.

"Hnngh!! Oh fuck, fuck, fuck," If you weren't so full in the mouth, you'd giggle at the blonde's curses. "I'm about to—Mhmm! Oh God..."

You decide to help him in his release, slowly withdrawing his cock from your mouth and going for the head, your tongue lapping and licking in his most sensitive glands. Your hand on his sack kneed presses down harder, and Nanami wastes no time shooting his load to you. You happily take in his cum with your mouth, none going to waste as you're licking in any excess amounts.

Once he's done ejaculating and you're done drinking his essence, a pop leaves the mark as your lips leave his twitching head while you sigh blissfully.

Nanami breathes heavily in euphoria, "I thought you said...dessert shouldn't come before a meal."

"Don't question the methods of a cook, babe." you climb on top of him to undo the ribbon cloth on the headboard, your pants mixed with his. "So, I hope that helped ease some stress of yours."

"No."

No??

And it was at that moment you realized you probably shouldn't have untied his wrists first. Because one moment you're above him, your back sinking deep into the mattress the next. His hands pin you down by the shoulders, and a leg is positioned between yours, a knee rubbing against the aching sensation between your pants.

Nanami takes off his tie to free his eyes, brown orbs now cast with the intoxicating guise of lust and want. Your blood runs cold. Oh, I'm in danger.

"N-Now, Kenty, we shouldn't be doing this now," you try to plead before he does anything rash. "You have to take a shower and freshen up before dinner or else—"

"No, sweet pea. I don't think it's fair you get to have a piece of me, but I'm subjected to wait afterward to do the same." He removes your pants in seconds and sets your legs on his shoulders. Heat spreads around your face when his face draws near your opening, and you already have a hand grab for his hair in anticipation.

"Dinner can wait, darling. Right now, I just want you."

[winchester-girl67]

Wild Hearts (Part 1)

Summary: Y/N tags along to a bonfire on the beach with her brother and his friends. She tries to fit in with them, but winds up finding more of a connection to the guy crashing the party. 

Masterlist

Pairing: AU!Dean x reader 

Square: Age gap @spnfluffbingo Meet cute @spnaubingo “Are you stupid or stupid?” 

Word Count: 3,374 

Warnings: underage, age gap (reader is 16, Dean is 20 but closer to 21), underage drinking, mostly implied physical abuse, past injury (bruising/scars), language, slow burn, a little angst, arguing, maybe a little gaslighting, mutual pining, a kiss to the forehead, fluff 

A/N: Also written for @spnfluffbingo and @spnaubingo. 

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A/N #2: Masterlist summary and warnings have been updated. Please review before reading. 

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Your brother grabbed your arm and roughly yanked you back towards the party going on down the beach. "Stop being such a bitc-" 

"Ow! Quit it, jerk." You tried to shake your arm from his grasp but his fingers dug in, "You're hurting me." 

"Don't be such a baby," he growled, stopping far enough away from the bonfire so the crowd of his friends wouldn't overhear. There was a chill in the air and his friends were gathered closer around the flames now. "I told you, if you wanted to tag along you can't just wander off by yourself. Mom would have my ass if something happened to you on my watch." 

"Screw you, I'm not a baby. Let. Go." 

He finally did. 

"They're all ignoring me. I wanna go home." You said, pointing to the mean girls a ways away. 

"Well, I'm not taking you. I'm not ready to leave yet." He said, crossing his arms over his chest with a glare. 

You knew it was a mistake taking a ride from him in the first place, but you didn't have your own car. And you failed your driver's test over the last weekend. Fun way to spend your sixteenth birthday, with your brother mocking you the whole way home. 

"Then I'll walk or call mom to come get me." 

"No, you won't. Unless you want her to know that I was right and you are a baby." He stared you down, "Just have a drink and relax for a bit, maybe it'll loosen you up and people will want to talk to you." He glanced back at the busty blonde he'd been eyeing all night; the girl you knew he came here for. He'd only been following her around like a lost puppy all summer. She waved and gave him a little wink. "Stop being so selfish, Y/N, and maybe we'll get along for once." 

"I'm selfish?!" You scoffed, you'd only sat around watching the sunset and shuffling your feet in the sand for the past couple hours while he chatted up said blonde. His friends weren't the only ones excluding you. Not that you wanted to be in on that conversation, but you thought the night was going to go a little different. You thought it would be like the old days when things between you weren't so tense all the time. "Just leave me alone and go drool already."

"And you wonder why I never wanna hang out with you anymore." He snapped and stalked away, throwing his arm over the blonde's shoulders when he reached her. Her eyes gleamed in the firelight and you heard her giggle echo along the shoreline when he tickled her sides. 

Everyone liked your brother and you tried to be just like him when you were younger. You were only a year apart but it made a world of difference. You didn't even mind wearing his hand-me-downs until you got to high school and got made fun of for it. But you made your peace with it now, you'd always be more of a tomboy and you couldn't be anyone but yourself. Graphic tees, jeans and sneakers were the epitome of comfort and that's what you wore now while the mean girls had skimpy dresses and tank tops that did nothing against the cold breeze that wafted in from over the open water. 

But a drink might help. 

The beer cooler was up the beach from the horny seventeen and eighteen-year-olds, but you didn't have to pass them to fish one out from melted ice. You cracked it open and took a sip, souring your face instantly and spitting it out onto the sand. 

You heard someone chuckle and whipped around. A tall guy with shadows cast on his face stood a few feet away, watching you. You glanced down to the bottle in your hand, then back at him. He followed your eyes, his expression turning stoic before you could read him. 

"What?" You asked. 

"It's kind of an acquired taste." He nodded towards the bottle in your hand and you took another sip, choking it down to prove him wrong. He wasn't wrong. Beer was gross. "Are you okay?" 

"Why wouldn't I be okay?" 

He cocked his head towards your brother who was now chasing the blonde down towards the shoreline. You didn't think they'd go in, since it was nearly winter and the water was freezing this time of year. But he teased her and grabbed her like he was going to drag her out into the icy depths. 

"Oh. Yeah, he's just an asshole is all and I needed a drink." You explained, raising the beer to your lips for a third sip. 

You wanted him to leave already so you could dump the rest out in the bushes. 

"Same," he nodded and chugged the rest of his own beer. "He shouldn't treat you like that, though." 

You didn't think he overheard but he'd certainly seen the two of you, "He's my brother, that's what brothers do." 

You toyed with the label on your beer, peeling it back from the glass. 

"No, it's not." 

He stepped forward, setting his empty bottle in the bin next to the cooler. The light of the bonfire catching his features enough for you to finally see him. The first thing you noticed was that he was not a friend of your brother's. He was older, too, though you couldn't tell by how much. 

He was a party crasher. Probably here for the free beer. 

"Whatever. It's not like he hits me, he just gets mad and pushes me around a little." You said, stepping back a foot when the guy took another step towards you. 

"He shouldn't. That's called abuse." 

"Not when I do the same to him. Then it's called sibling rivalry." 

"I know abuse when I see it." His voice lowered as he shoved his hands in his pockets. His words held a story he wasn't telling and you didn't ask. 

You eyed him again. Between the full moon and the light of the fire you noted a few details that jumped out at you. He wasn't bad looking, actually kind of cute. His eyes held a world's worth of emotion as if he vaulted it up inside himself and swallowed the key. Days old bruising covered the left side of his face, particularly around his jaw, cheekbone, and eye. And he intermittently sucked on the split in his bottom lip that had reopened, probably from when he first smiled at you. 

"Well, your story isn't mine." You said, having had enough of this stranger who thinks he knows your life at a glance. He sighed and looked away, steeling his jaw and rubbing the back of his neck. Your eyes cast down to his stomach when his shirt lifted and your heart sank at the sight. A thick scar stretched up his torso from his hip and disappeared beneath the dark fabric of his shirt, peeking back out around his collarbone where the neck hole had been worn loose. Someone had hurt him, badly; you thought that must've been why he was so conscious towards abuse. "Sorry, I didn't know-" 

"Do you wanna go for a walk?" He asked, meeting your eyes and taking another step forward. 

You didn't back away this time, though he was still a good five feet away at least. 

"Yeah, that sounds like a great idea, taking off with some judgy guy I just met and wandering down a dark secluded beach alone with him. Real smart. Maybe wait until I've had a couple drinks first, then try again." You rolled your eyes making him laugh silently. 

"I don't hurt women. Ever." He said as if it was a law of his own. 

"What about men?" 

"Depends," he shrugged. 

"On?"

"I've never started a fight in my life." He said, answering a question you didn't ask rather than the one you did. 

"Somehow I don't believe you." You squinted up at him, trying to read him. 

"Then why haven't you walked away yet?" He looked at the party continuing around the bonfire and then back at you. "You don't wanna be here any more than I do, so let me show you something."

"I swear if that something is your-" 

He raised his hands from his pockets and smiled, "I promise it's not. You'll like this." 

"You get five minutes and I'm counting. Also, I'm a black belt so don't even think about trying anything." You lied, although he didn't strike you as the violent type despite the evidence on his face and stomach. 

You scanned the beach for your brother, spotting him still engrossed with the blonde, so you knew he wouldn't notice any time soon if you'd left without causing a scene. You dumped your nearly full beer out onto the sand and set it in the bin with the other empty bottles. Ignoring the knowing smirk from the party crasher as you did so. 

"Beer is kind of gross." 

"Yeah, it is." He chuckled, "but it's cheap and gets the job done." 

"I don't see the appeal," you said, following in stride with him down the beach. The sand beneath your sneakers making it hard to keep up with his long legs. "Can you walk slower?" 

"Sorry," he slowed his pace and you easily caught up. "Drink a bit more than a couple of sips next time and you will." 

"I'd rather waste the calories on chocolate, thank you." 

He laughed silently again and sucked the split in his lip, "What's your name?" 

"Uh, Y/N, you?" 

"Dean." He smiled, shoving his hands in his pockets again. "So, how come I haven't seen you around here before, Y/N?" 

"We just moved here," you said, not wanting to explain how you didn't exactly get out much and explore the town over the summer. 

"Then you haven't been to the pier?" He asked, cocking his head towards the end of the beach where you were headed. 

It wasn't so much a pier as it was a small row of shops and a parking lot. Some storefronts were still lit up against the darkened sky and a lighthouse sat on the rocks near the shore. The light at the top swung around and around over the jagged rocks reaching into the water. 

"Seriously? You wanted to show me a lighthouse? That's not exactly special. Lighthouses are a dime a dozen around here, if you haven't noticed." You said a little disappointed and glancing back at the party. 

The bonfire merely a speck amongst the stars along the beach now. If you accounted for the walk back it would definitely stretch over the five minutes you'd promised him and you stopped walking. 

Dean noticed when you fell behind and turned to you. He laughed a little and smiled, "That's not where we're going." 

He reached out to you and grabbed your hand, tugging you gently until you laughed and skipped a step. He was troubled, that was for sure, but you didn't have a reason not to trust him. Not that trust should be given easily without question; but still, you welcomed the warmth of his hand wrapped around yours as he led you across the parking lot and up to one of the shops. 

"Ice cream," you stared up at the sign before Dean pulled you into the store. 

"Mhm," he licked his lips, guiding you up to the display of tubs sitting in the freezer and separating you from the older blonde woman behind the counter. 

She nodded to Dean like she knew him and he smiled back, "Hey, Donna." She didn't react at all to the bruises on his face and your mind started to wander. 

"I was starting to think I wasn't gonna see ya before closing," she said, retying her pink apron as if she was getting ready to close up for the night. 

"You know me better than that," he feigned hurt and wrapped an arm over your shoulders, tugging you into his side. 

You scanned over the flavours, some so bright you wondered if it was possible to taste a colour. "Isn't it kinda cold for ice cream?"

"Never," Dean shook his head like you'd said something foolish. "These shops are seasonal and it's the last night they're open until they close for the winter. You'll have to wait at least four months before you get this again. And trust me, once you try it, winter will feel like an eternity for your tastebuds." 

You smiled, you couldn't argue with that logic, "What flavour should I get?" You asked, assuming he'd probably have tried them all by the looks of it. 

"My favourite is the mocha with all the little chocolate pieces. It's basic, I know, but classic." He pointed to a tub filled with dark brown speckled ice cream. 

"Two mochas, please." You said. 

"Sure thing," Donna said and scooped you out a couple of cups. 

Dean gave your shoulder a squeeze before giving you some space to enjoy your ice cream.  

He kept eyeing you as you took your first bite, then your second, "And?"

"Okay, you're right. It's fudging amazing! Can we get more?" You asked, glancing back at the shop from where you sat outside on a bench under a streetlamp. 

"You still have a whole cup.” He barked out a laugh and you shovelled a few spoonfuls into your mouth. 

A chilled throb wracked through your brain and you paused mid-bite to squeeze your eyes shut and fan at your frozen mouth. You pressed your tongue against the roof of your mouth and just as the feeling started to ebb away you felt hot, sticky lips lay flush against your forehead. Dean’s hand held the back of your head and you blinked open your eyes, feeling warm and fuzzy. 

"Better? My mom used to do that for me when I was a kid. Always seemed to help." He said and tilted his head to the side. 

You weren't sure if it was what he did or the shock of the unexpectedness of it, but it dulled the pain. He hadn't backed up an inch and you could see the gold flecks in his green eyes under the streetlamp. Framed by the yellow edges and purple patches of the bruising next to his left eye. His hair was sandy brown and short but still fell over his forehead and brushed the tips of his ears. And freckles speckled across the bridge of his nose on pale skin. He was pretty cute and different from most of the boys you usually met. 

You nodded and blushed, sneaking another spoonful of mocha ice cream between your lips. He laughed silently and leaned back, picking back up his own cup of ice cream from the bench next to him and digging in. 

"You're strange and kinda wonderful." You said around a bite full, pressing your tongue to the roof of your mouth when the brain-freeze threatened to come back. 

"That's oddly the nicest thing someone's said to me in a very long time." He took a bite and licked his spoon clean. 

"That makes me sad." 

"Makes me happy," he mumbled and smiled. 

"Like I said, strange." 

"Because you're so cool and composed, right?" He's teased, pointing with his spoon. 

"I'm a delight and you know it. That's why you just had to get me away from all those other guys down on the beach. Before they had the chance to notice too, of course." You joked, brushing your hair back when the breeze carried it away. 

"You caught me, I'm a sucker for a girl who tries to bite my head off with one wrong look." 

"You make me sound like a praying mantis." 

"In that case, I guess I'm safe as long as we don't have sex." You both frowned. "Sorry, that was awkward, I swear it sounded funnier in my head. Because you know they only eat their mate after-uh-mating..." He stuck his spoon in his ice cream and stirred until it was smooth like soup, "What?"

"You're blushing," you said, "it's cute." You liked being able to do that to him. "But you should know I'm sixteen." 

"Wait. What?" He looked like you'd just punched him in the gut. "But you were drinking." 

"When did you have your first beer?" 

He thought to himself for a moment, clearly he had been younger than you; then he abandoned his ice cream on the bench beside him. “What about your friends?” 

"Some are eighteen. But most are seventeen, same as my brother, they're his friends." You explained. "Don't ask me how they got the beer." You attempted to lighten the mood but he just stared down at his hands, rubbing at the cuts in his knuckles. "How old are you?" 

“Too old for you,” he shook his head and picked at one of the scabs. “Twenty-one in January.” 

So essentially there was a five year age gap between you. It wouldn’t be a big deal, if only you were older; but for now it didn’t mean you couldn’t be friends. Your gut twisted at the thought of never seeing him again and you could use a friend; and it looked like he could, too. 

Your cell rang and you fished it from your back pocket. Your brother's name sprawled over the screen. 

You sighed and rolled your eyes, then answered, "What do you want?"

"Are you stupid or stupid? Where the fuck did you go?!" He shouted and you were sure Dean could hear, so you turned down the volume on your phone. 

"For a walk." 

"We're leaving." 

That meant the blonde was tagging along, either hitching a ride home with you or your brother was just going to drop you off at home before taking her to park somewhere and... -You didn't want to think about it. Your brother, like that. Gross. 

"Maybe I don't wanna leave yet. I made a friend." Dean mirrored your smile. 

"Find your own way home then..." he grumbled a few choice words and hung up. Asshole.

"Any chance you have a car?" You asked, silencing your phone and shoving it back into your pocket. "I need a ride." 

"Uh- no. But I know where we can get one." Dean said as he checked the time on his wrist. You fingered your ice cream and booped him on the nose. "What was that for?" He laughed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. 

You shrugged, "Just trying to lighten the mood. You look so sad," you raised his chin with your fingers, "Chin up, Dean." 

"Did you mean that?" He asked. 

You lowered your hand to rest on the bench between you, "Mean what?"

"That we're friends," he asked, chewing on the split in his lip. At this rate you didn't think it would ever heal over. "I mean, that we can be friends." 

"Uh-huh, unless you don't wanna be my friend." You nodded and searched his eyes, some kind of hurt flashing through them. 

"I think that's all we can be. At least, until you have a couple more birthdays." 

Your typical luck, the one guy you could see yourself interested in and he's too old. It was only nearly five years, sure, but you were only sixteen and he'd probably had a lot more experience that you couldn't compare to. But he was cute. 

Window shopping couldn't hurt right, until you had the means to buy. 

"I can wait," you teased and laughed. "But you look like you could use a friend. And I got your back, since I kind of owe you one for introducing me to this ice cream." 

"You don't owe me anything, Y/N." 

You shivered when the ice cream was gone and Dean stripped out of his hoodie, draping it over your shoulders as you walked along the side of the road towards his house. He apparently didn't live far away and if his father was home, he could 'borrow' his car to give you a ride. He actually used air quotes when he said borrow though, so you were a little skeptical. 

_________________________

Part 2

_________________________ Dean: @akshi8278 @laycblack @thoughts-and-funnies @mrsjenniferwinchester @crustycheeks @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @lyarr24 @suckitands33  @eliwinchester99 @yvonneeeee @igotmajordaddyissues @djs8891 @leigh70 @globetrotter28

SPN: @hobby27

Wild Hearts: @justrealizedimmascifygurl @evieluvsjamie @kimberkingrivers @globetrotter28

[screams-in-writing]

More fluff snippets; two 2nd pov and two 1st pov. Mainly fluff, but some humor and shenanigans too.

7- falling asleep in each other’s arms

I did not like to admit it, but I’d been nervous over this party being held at Smg4’s castle. One that would end with some movies I had no input on, when I ought to have been consulted, seeing as I’d seen every moving picture that existed. Surely that counted for something, didn’t it?

Surprisingly, this party went much better than I initially believed it would.  

Sure, many of Smg4’s friends gave me the cold shoulder, or even outright ignored me, but at least no one was being outwardly hostile.

I considered this an improvement. 

It helped that Smg4 and 3 held some tolerance toward me, but I was…quite content with your company this evening.

I’d taken to settling on the sofa in a supine position, and in the past hour, you’d fallen asleep on me. 

Tari had offered a blanket, a few minutes after this. 

I’d taken the offered blanket to drape over you, very well aware and self-conscious of all the eyes on me. 

Once the attention was on the next movie, my focus went back to you, the expression on my screen softening. I didn’t notice that Tari was still watching, and had quietly ‘awed’ over the way I was treating you so gently. 

It was a surprise to me that I fell asleep halfway during the second movie. It was not as deep of a sleep as I could usually manage, but it was enough that I didn’t notice candid photos being taken of you and I, other joints in as if in disbelief that I was capable of having of such a different to myself.

8- mumbling unintelligibly into the embrace

You’d had an unnerving encounter the night before with your roommates. 

The three of you had been marathoning a movie series that weekend when the power had gone out. This meant it had been scary to hear the sound of breaking glass with no alarm blaring due to said electrical outage. Neither you nor your roommates had been able to call for help until the burglar had gone upstairs, before a cellphone was used. 

There was no answer, as it appeared all of the small town had lost its power. 

You hadn’t began to panic until you couldn’t connect to Mr. Puzzles’ world either, but before that panic could really set in, the burglar suddenly let out a yell.

A thudding sounded, indicating the person may have had an unexpected tumble down the stairs accompanied by curses. To add to the confusion, something fell from the top floor down, causing the burglar to scramble out of the way of something that then crashed. 

Something must have been flung past the burglar’s head after that, from the sound of a smaller thud against a wall. 

None of you checked; you and your roommates remained huddled down out of sight. 

The front door’s lock was opened, and a slam of the door itself soon followed, indicating that was unlocked, opened and then slammed shut. 

A pause, then Derek, one of your roommates, spoke into the tense air. “What the hell was that all about?”

You didn’t say anything, merely relieved that it was over with, hopefully. At least you were going to see Mr. Puzzles tomorrow, so you had something to look forward after that.

In all honesty, you should have figured out why the burglar had fled so suddenly, but things only fell into place when Mr. Puzzles was instantly near the gateway between your world and his to greet you.

Puzzles appeared to be getting better at gauging other people’s mood as of late, as he wordlessly accepted you into his arms. The tv headed man held you in the small room within a snug embrace. Mr. Puzzles stooped a little in order to surround you in order to offer as much comfort as much as he could. He couldn’t have possibly known what had happened, as you quietly speak into his chest what had happened. You were taken aback when Mr. Puzzles spoke in a low, fury laced tone. 

“Are you all right after last night?”

“Did my message get through?” You asked in return.

“I didn’t receive any message, so I decided to…come and check in.” Mr. Puzzles answer was a low growl with static edging into his voice. 

“You scared the burglar away.” You felt Puzzles’ arms tighten around you. 

“I don’t think he expected to find me sitting in a dark room with a ‘crazed, unhinged’ expression..” The tv man agreed without hesitation.

“Rose is going to be mad that you broke her tv.” You pointed out.

“That poor outdated widescreen tv had it coming.” Mr. Puzzles stated tartly. “As did that dratted baseball bat.” A beat of silence, then, curiosity. “Did that break too?”

“Nope.”

“Unfortunate.” Puzzles lamented, a little dramatically, as he lowered his metal head to nuzzle one side of your face. “But as you don’t want me to ‘kidnap’ people into my ‘tv mind dimension’ I had to make do with what was available. I’m…not much of a fighter.” Puzzles’ voice trailed off at the admittance.

“You might have been able to get to the police station and back before he took anything.” You lean into the hug the man still had you wrapped within. “But thanks for looking out for me and my roommates, even if they still think I’m crazy to date you.”

“You’re welcome, my dear.” Mr. Puzzles swept you off your feet to carry out of the room that held the gateway. He made a face, his screen showing annoyance before it became the resignation of one who didn’t want to say something, but would anyway. Mr. Puzzles sighed. “Smg4 said he had something to show everyone, and you are invited.”

“Think he’d be offended that I’d rather just spend some time with you after last night?”

“Doubtful.” Mr. Puzzles said quickly as he leaned his head into you again. “I’d say I’m a lucky man.” Puzzles all but purred through his speakers, as his arms tightened around you. “Ask Smg4 to see it later. He loves to show off.”

“Pot calling kettle black.” You teased, getting comfortable in Mr. Puzzles arms. 

“Ah, but the difference is that I only care about your opinion versus the others.” Puzzles’ expression flashed gleeful. “Smg4 hasn’t figured out I installed a device to randomly delete non-essential data to make him think he’s lost content, along with a little surprise.”

“Rude.” You playfully prod the side of Mr. Puzzles metal tv head. “He catch on yet?”

“MR. PUZZLES WHAT THE HECK DID YOU DO TO MY COMPUTER?!” A loud shout rang out.

“Just now.” Mr. Puzzles said smugly. 

You clung to the man’s shoulders as long lanky legs took both of you off down a path with an upset Smg4 in pursuit. 

“I was just about to show everyone some really cool memes and your stupid face popped up instead!” Smg4 continued on, fall by a little behind but otherwise kept pace with Mr. Puzzles. 

“You sure we’re going to be able to hang out?” You casually asked, glancing up at Mr. Puzzles screen, which had gone to grim annoyance with a furrowed brow and a technicolor frown. 

You saw why.

The path ahead was blocked by Smg3, Meggy, and a few others. 

Almost at once, you’re set on your feet before Mr. Puzzles was ganged up on by Smg4, Mario and Meggy, the tv headed man spluttering at the way he was being manhandled back in the direction of the castle to fix whatever he’d done. 

This left you alone with Smg3, as the others had followed after 4. 

“I guess since there’s been a change in plan…any chance at a drink?” You asked Smg3. “Eggdog’s watching your cafe when you’re not there, right?”

“Ha! That scrub ruined his chance to show off whatever stupid meme he thinks is funny.” Smg3 appeared to briefly think about following the others to heckle Smg4, but at your mention of his cafe and Eggdog, 3 lit up, red eyes brightening at the prospect at getting more customers. “I guess so.” Smg3 eyed you with played-up suspicion. “You got money this time? I can’t be giving out freebies all the time. I got a reputation to maintain!”

You are pretty certain 3 would give you freebies regardless, since you actually tended to hang out in his cafe more often than the others. The fact Smg3 had live ammunition in the building was a bit dicey, but it was a fun atmosphere, especially if Swag and Chris showed up, or someone else who’d zero in on the weapons and bombs instead of the food and drinks. 

It was fascinating to watch someone suddenly ragdoll and fly out the wall without any harm.

“I do, actually.” You answered 3 as you caught up with him on the path that led to the showgrounds. “I may have…borrowed it.”

“Oh?”  A grin slowly made its way on onto Smg3’s face. “And by borrow, you mean steal, yeah? And after you said that stealing was wrong?”

“Stealing is wrong. In my world.” You clarify, with a smile of your own. “Here, it seems that ‘stealing’ is more acceptable so long as it doesn’t hurt anyone. And Mr. Puzzles has quite a lot of money he just…leaves in plain sight, so I figure a little doesn’t hurt?”

“Nice.” 3 said approvingly. “Someone needs to keep that tv freak in line.”

“I have a feeling he knows. I think Puzzles just doesn’t mind if I treat myself once and awhile with less…extravagant purchases.” 

“Ugh.” Smg3’s amusement at Mr. Puzzles’ stolen money turned to a grimace at the reminder that you and Puzzles were in a relationship. “It’s nauseating when he’s in those lovey-dovey moods.”

You laughed at the fake gag of disgust Smg3 made as he opened the door to the cafe, about to let you go in first when he saw apparently caught sight of something. He swore and tugged you back, out of the way of a sword being flung out the open door.

A heated tirade in Japanese rang out along with 3’s name as Saiko flung another weapon out.

“I did not understand a word of that other than she’s talking to you, 3.” You say, taking another cautionary step back.

“Wait here.” Smg3 grimaced as Saiko’s voice got louder. “I’ll go take care of this.” 3 stomped into the cafe and raised his voice in return, a mini battle and explosions ringing out in the cafe. 

You were never going to get used to the casual violence, especially when Smg3 returned to let you into the cafe with a dagger embedded into one of his shoulders.

“Doesn’t the hurt?” You asked, following 3 to the counter.

“Eh, I’ve had worse.” Smg3 tugged the blade out with a wince, but apart from that, the injury didn’t seem to bleed profusely. 

What?

How?!

“The usual?” 3 asked, casually tossing the dagger somewhere near his feet.

“Sure…” You glance at a pasty. “And one of those.” You exchange money before taking a seat warily at a table with Saiko. There was a sense of relief that she’d not only calmed down, but Saiko someone spoke with you, there were subtitles so you could understand her. 

That had taken some getting used to as well. 

The two of you had an animated discussion about music until Smg3 deposited your drink and pastry at the table; you caught a quick glare between the pink haired woman and the shorter man.

Luckily, Eggdog diffused the tension by hopping onto your lap. 

You cooed at the silly shaped critter and pet Eggdog, noting the softening in Smg3’s expression at the sight of Eggdog. 

Saiko’s attention went to the door, a scoff-laugh emitting. 

You and 3 look over, to see the sight of Mr. Puzzles inching his way along the ground with a determined expression, tied-up from ankle to collarbone that  didn’t allow him easy movement.  

“Lame. I would have left you stung up somewhere for people to laugh at.” Smg3 commented, then paused as he looked at you, back down at the tv headed man, then to staring Saiko down with a questioning look.

Saiko stared back, then smiled as she glanced down at Mr. Puzzles, who scrunched up defensively in response. 

“Don’t you dare!” The bound man static-growled in a higher pitch.

You sipped your drink and ate your pastry while Mr. Puzzles begged for you to help him as Saiko, Smg3 and Bob (who’d just shown up) gleefully dragged and then used duct tape to pinion Mr. Puzzles to the wall like he was a decoration.

You helped ‘rescue’ the man later once you’d had your fill of the chaos (someone had decided to hold a competition to see who could remove the most duct tape without letting Mr. Puzzles fall off the wall). 

Puzzles sulked for some time once freed, in the corner of the cafe that wasn’t as crowded. He eventually accepted an ‘apology’ for not coming to his rescue sooner via you cuddling with him. 

This, in turn, annoyed Smg3 whenever he looked up from the counter and saw the two of you there snuggling, though 3 soon turned his ire on Smg4 when he came in to show off his cool memes.

9- caressing their back while holding each other

A party was being held in the castle, and dancing involved. 

With some persuasion, you were able to convince Mr. Puzzles to dance with you. 

Since the tv headed man was comfortable enough around the smg4 crew to be (somewhat) open to being affectionate and softer around you, he accepted the offer of a dance with some dramatic flourish. He even proffered an arm to you with a pleased digital smile, as if you didn’t actually have to persuade him to dance with you.

The dancing eventually became a sway as the music switched to a slower song. 

Mr. Puzzles quietly sang to you, taking the lead again while the two of you enjoyed the peaceful moment, until Puzzles noted that you’re tiring. He ended the current dance with a flourishing bow before Mr. Puzzles led you off to the side to rest. 

Once seated on a bench, you leaned into Mr. Puzzles side while he wrapped an arm around you, shuffling closer while you slip an arm behind him too. You toyed with one of the suspender straps before trailing your fingers along his lower back, before settling your hand.

Mr. Puzzles shivered as he brought you closer to his side, humming delightedly. 

“Eugh.” Smg3 made a face as he passed by. “Don’t get so close or you two might combine into one person.”

“Isn’t that what Mario said to you and Smg4, when you attempted to take Smg4’s laptop?” Mr. Puzzles asked smoothly. “Or should I say, when you attempted to take something from off the device?”

“No.” 3 denied immediately, even as he stomped off. He paused to point warningly at the massive grin on the tv man’s screen. “Forget what you saw! I just wanted to steal his newest meme for my stream!” 

“Nuh-uh.” Mr. Puzzles had the audacity to do a playback on his screen of the incident in full view of Smg3 and a few others who’d wandered over to see what was going on.

You swiftly duck out from under Mr. Puzzles arm and his side as you hastily stand and step backward. 

3 tackled the taller man off the bench and to the floor in an attempt to try and cover up the screen. 

Mr. Puzzles let out a maniacal laugh and used the one hand bit being used to fend Smg3 off to turn the volume of his tv head up, drawing even more people in the castle over to see what was going on, including Smg4.

“Wow, I didn’t know you two were that close.” Bob commented, peering over 3’s shoulder. “Do you think I can pick up women by wrestling them for their laptop?”

“Why are you wrestling for the laptop like that?” Tari wondered.

“Hey, you stuck a usb into the laptop!” Smg4 suddenly cut in as he reached over to yank Mr: Puzzles metal head toward him.

Smg3 yanked it back to try and hide the screen.

Puzzles shifted uncomfortably but was still letting out unsettling laughter to the soundtrack of the scene playing on his screen. 

“Ooooo. That’s-a where Mario put his show of spaghetti...” The Italian was suddenly there, leaning over both Smg4 and 3’s shoulders as the latter two snap their heads to the side to glare at the former. 

“You stole my usb!” Smg3 griped.

“Mario, what the hell, man, I had stuff saved on there!” 4 added in exasperation.

Mr. Puzzles pointedly jumped to the point where Mario did, in fact, slip the usb away while the other two had been otherwise occupied try to (poorly) beat the shit out of one another.

“I don’t-a know what you’re talking about.” Mario offered hastily, despite surely seeing the screen. This was shown by Mario creating a diversion as he quite out of the blue lunged over 3 and 4’s should to punch Mr. Puzzles in his screen and ran off. Mario then proceeded to let out a ‘wahh’ soundtrack noise as he ran away. 

Mr. Puzzles let out a shriek of offense at the shattered screen, hands flying up to protect his face from further harm. 

Mario didn’t get far as Smg3 and 4 pounced on him, preventing his departure from the castle. 

“Where the hell is my usb?”

“Give it to me, Mario! Don’t let 3 have it!”

The three shorter men began arguing with one another over the missing usb, eventually taking it outside the castle when Mario inevitably slipped away, Smg4 and 3 hot on his heels.

You spent the rest of the evening petting Mr. Puzzles neck and the back of his tv casing soothingly. 

Puzzles nursed his broken screen with an air of injured dignity and fuming fury, even if the had brought it on himself by dealing with the uncontrollable force that was Mario when he knew better. 

10- reveling in their body warmth

I often found myself back on that armchair; the one that was big enough to comfortable hold my taller frame. And as time passed, I also began to spend more time sitting on it because I was curled up on the armchair with you.

I was presently holding you snugly in my arms while you dozed against my chest, your legs off the side of the armchair this time versus resting along my own. 

It was rather endearing to me when you would sleepily move closer into my chest and shoulder before settling again. 

I had my fingers intertwined with one of your own, lightly petting the back of you hand. My other arm was wrapped around your back to support you. 

You were so warm compared to me. 

A perfectly normal temperature, as one would expected of a human. 

I, on the other hand…was no longer a temperature that would be considered that of an average human. 

What remained of my human body did not adhere to the normal physics of one, nor the temperature. My torso and waist ran much cooler than your body, but it was somewhat warmer than my metal robotic limbs. 

I shook the unpleasant thoughts of my body’s state away, and chose to focus on my enjoyment of holding you close to him. When I held you like this, I could remember, distantly, what it felt like to be a human with a normal human temperature. I could feel a little warmer, when I held you so close to me in my arms. 

Tuning back into the present, I carefully nuzzled the top of your head with the lower part of my screen, causing static to build up in your hair. 

It caused a sleepy mumble to rise from you.

I chuckled lowly at this before quieting as I got myself into a comfortable position while waiting for you to wake back up.

[itti-bitti-yibbi]

I wrote a little Moon comfort thing, it can be taken as romantic or platonic, I think.

For a lil bit of context, the reader is a nighttime security guard in a post-virus Pizzaplex, and they've known Moon for a while but they have never met Sun.

Reader is stressed and tired and Moon lets them cry and gives them a nap. :P

It's been a long fucking day. A long couple of days, if you're being honest. The past weekend, which was normally your time to recharge before beginning a new work week, had been a whirl of drama and chaos and change all at once.

You are so fucking tired. Just of everything.

But you have to pay rent, so here you are, starting your shift. At least you're not gonna have to deal with any customers or co-workers, working the overnight shift.

The bright lights of the Pizzaplex power down with a resounding whoom as you clock in, leaving the place only barely lit by the neons decorating nearly every wall.

Well, you won't have to deal with any human co-workers, at least.

Your patrol begins in the Theater tonight, so you head off in that direction. You're about halfway to the Daycare shutters when a voice sounds above you.

"Tired," Moon rasps.

"Piss off," you snap back automatically, your whole body tensing immediately afterwards.

There's no response from Moon, and when you look up at him, he's staring at you with his eyes off entirely, his surprise obvious even with his immobile face. When he doesn't move or speak, you look back down at your shoes.

"Sorry," you mutter. "Didn't mean to snap at you."

After a moment you hear Moon's feet hit the ground beside you, too quietly for a robot his size. He leans down and sideways into your view, looking carefully at your face with pale eyes.

"Long day?" He says gently, more gently than you think you've ever heard him. It rattles you to your core.

Moon steps closer, carefully, slowly as a lump forms in your throat and your eyes begin to burn and prick with tears. You try to keep it out of your expression and fail miserably as he gingerly places his hands on your shoulders.

He says your name, barely more than a whisper, and you shatter.

The first sob racks your body, and you collapse against him. He pulls you close as your legs give out, keeping you from falling to the floor.

There are no words for several minutes, just you sobbing uncontrollably as Moon holds you, rubbing circles between your shoulder blades. You cling to him while all of the stress and anxiety from the past few days boils over and pours out of you.

When you do speak, it's barely decipherable through your sobbing and sniffles.

"There's just so much- I can't- I just want it all to stop!" You cry, tightening your hold on your friend. "I can't- I can't-"

Moon shushes you gently, pulling you back and cradling your face in his hands. He swipes his thumbs underneath your eyes, catching your tears as well as observing the dark circles that should have lightened since he saw you last, not darkened.

"Breathe, Starlight," he murmurs, producing a tissue and handing it to you. You blow your nose, trying to do as he says, but your breaths are short and shaky, and threaten to turn back into sobs.

After several moments of this, Moon comes to a decision, and scoops you up into his arms. You cry out in alarm and he hushes you.

"No working tonight," he says as he lifts the both of you into the air by his wire, "you will rest."

"But I have to patrol," you argue between sniffles, "I'm at work, I have to do my job-"

"No." Moon cuts you off. "You have to rest. Not suitable for work. I will look after you."

"But what if something happens-"

"I can access cameras," he interrupts you "I will take care of anything that happens."

You don't get another chance to argue. He cuts you off anytime you try, and frankly, that outburst sapped what little energy you had left.

Moon brings you into the daycare, then up to his room, and before you can try to object, he has you swaddled in a blanket and rested in his lap. He removes your cap, setting it beside him on the floor, and cards his fingers softly through your hair, watching your sleepy expression. Though his face doesn't change, you can feel the softness of his gaze.

"Sleep, Starlight," he whispers. "Dream sweet dreams, that you may awake with a lighter heart."

You chuff a short, sleepy laugh. "Theater kid," you mutter.

Moon chuckles quietly, followed by a comfortable silence. You're past the point of trying to fight sleep, and your mental and physical exhaustion is overcoming you rapidly. As you drift off, you're fairly certain you hear him begin to hum a gentle lullaby.

You will sleep until your alarm goes off, the one you set on your phone to tell you when to clock out, after that time Moon conveniently "forgot" to tell you your shift was over on the night the power went out and the lights couldn't keep him on a timer.

Until then, Moon keeps watch over you, also checking the cameras in the background, but mostly watching your sleeping face. The way your eyes flit behind the lids when you dream. He wonders if you are dreaming of him, your friend, your protector.

He hopes your dreams of him are sweet, rather than terrifying.