#pre season dump

[pernillecfcw]

@zeciramusovic - Home again after some intense but fun days in murica. A few once-in-a- lifetime experience off pitch and some good team performances on pitch . Two tough opponents and two wins , with loads of appreciated support in the stands . Until next time…..Thank you!🇺🇸🫶🏻

[forelsketparadise]

[mv1simp]

The Take ♥️

Trainer! Max Verstappen x Midsize!Reader

I wanna put you in seven positions for seventy minutes, you'll get it babe (take you down, I really wanna take you down)

Everyone knows Max Verstappen hates having to workout out constantly. If it wasn't for his physically demanding career as a F1 driver, his choice of a workout would involve a weekly padel game with his mates and FIFA on his PS5. His trainer tries something different and gets Max to be the instructor for once - to you, a sweet and naive girl whose jerk boyfriend told her to lose weight. Max couldn't resist using a hands on method to help you get your confidence back.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, dark max girlies rejoice we’re back in action, naive! Chubby! reader, dubcon, explicit cheating but reader’s boyfriend is an absolute jerk hehe, size kink, WC 2.7k

Rupert, Redbull's physical trainer that had been delegated to none other than the legendary champion driver Max Verstappen, was at his wit’s end with his client. With his 4 world championships, Max was very familiar with the intense workout routine an F1 driver needed to maintain. It was just, well, he was just sick of the same repetitive timetable over and over again. And his physical trainer could see the results reflecting in Max’s pre season testing, seeing how Max’s numbers were admittedly very good, they were not as high as they’d been in the past.

Everything Rupert had tried to brainstorm to inspire Max had fallen short. From different workout locations (Monaco is only so big, after all), to the most unique exercise techniques he had googled (Brazilian cold water immersive Pilates did not resonate with Max) - everything had come up short. At his wit’s end, Rupert decided to throw a last ditch resort at Max - training you.

You’re a pretty, pure hearted twenty something marketing executive in Monaco, with a narcissistic boyfriend who thinks he’s a top shot with the new money he’s raking in from making a new app. Such a top shot that he feels entitled to hire a personal trainer for his sweet girlfriend, demanding you look like a perfect Insta model. That’s what every man in Monaco wants! he says patronisingly to you, gaslighting you into attending the training. That’s why he reached out to Rupert, a very famous trainer - who consequently dumps you onto Max, stating that he needed a two week holiday from the Dutchman and he could take over his new client. You’ll survive, it’s the off season, he says to Max with a deadpan expression as he waves goodbye.

Max is pissed, of course. What the fuck was Rupert thinking, making a four time world champion F1 driver, multimillionaire, and just general degenerate gamer train some random goldigger chick? He’s rolling his eyes as he walks into his usual gym, where Rupert had told you to turn up. He’s ready to tell you to fuck off, all Mad Max and all, because no way was he wasting his time-

And then he lays eyes on you, and his heartbeat stutters. In front of him, oblivious to the predatory stares of men around her, is the cutest little thing he’s ever seen. You’re dressed in a matching workout set, tugging at the edge of your tight shorts a little self consciously, looking around with innocent wide doe eyes. Fucking hell, Rupert had most certainly not mentioned his new client had the body of a pornstar, all luscious tits and ass and chubby cheeks, and a face that looked like an angel. Max couldn’t wait to sink his big, bad teeth into the sweet looking lamb who stumbled right into his toned arms.

Smirking devilishly, he introduces himself as your new trainer. You gasp, eyes widening cutely, feeling butterflies swirl in your tummy at the tall, handsome and muscular blonde in front of you. Shall we get started? he murmurs, a gorgeous smile on his face and pretty blue eyes intently locked on you. I have to say, I’m surprised you signed up for such an intensive course, he says in an incredibly attractive, deep Dutch accent. You look like you’re in…great shape, if you don’t mind me saying, he adds, observant gaze flicking down to take in your curves. You flush, not minding the attention at all from such a hot trainer!

That’s so sweet of you to say! You say, blushing cutely and looking down, completely missing how Max’s heated gaze glances down your tight crop top, his taller height perfect to get an eyeful of your tempting cleavage. You tell him that actually, it wasn’t your idea, but your boyfriends’s…he thinks I’m too fat, you say with a pout.

What, Max says with a scowl that he quickly smooths when you peer up anxiously at the sudden spike in his mood. Honey was definitely a better way to win over something as sweet and innocent looking as you than poison. Well, ignore whatever your boyfriend wants. You’re here only for your own fitness and confidence, okay?

You beam up at him, nodding enthusiastically. God, Max couldn’t wait to have you for himself. Your boyfriend sounded like an absolute pathetic loser, telling someone as perfect and beautiful as you to change her body. Doesn’t matter, because it made it all the easier for Max to win you over. And he’d make sure to have his fun while doing it.

He’d started all your regular sessions with him with a good pre workout stretch, of course. Taking you into a side room to shield you from the hungry eyes of the other male gym goers, because only Max deserved to see your pretty body bent over for him. It didn’t stop others from walking past the glass door multiple times to ogle you, much to Max’s annoyance. But you remained clueless, twisting yourself in whatever position Max ordered you too like a good student.

And Max was such a nice instructor. He showered you with praise over the tiniest thing, making you blush up a storm, enjoying his reassuring and comforting voice. He was so different to your mean boyfriend! Max’s large hands settled on your soft body, helping position you perfectly, as he huskily whispered in your ear for you to bend forward, all the way like that, good girl. Can you touch your toes for me?

And when you can’t quite get there, he places a strong hand across your lower back to give you that extra push. His hand sometimes drifts lower, to your plump ass, giving it a reassuring squeeze as he instructs you. You gasp, and when he pretends to be none the wiser and ask you what’s wrong, schatje? in such a gentle tone, calling you darling in Dutch, you shyly stammer that you’re kinda sensitive down there…your boyfriend had said he wasn’t going to touch you until you lost weight!

Max’s brain temporarily short circuits at this information. Your idiotic boyfriend wasn’t fucking you every chance that he got? And judging by the way you’re shyly looking away and rubbing your thighs together, it had been a very long time since you’d been properly handled by anyone. Max would bet his multi story yacht that even when you had been sleeping with your boyfriend, he wasn’t making you cum. Leaving you so sexually frustrated that Max just feeling up your lush ass was getting you all hot and bothered. How cute, the Dutchman thinks, unable to hide the devious grin on his face at the new information.

He guided you back into position, his strong hips digging into yours from the back. The full wall mirror in front of you given Max a delicious view of your tits practically spilling out of your top as you lean forward. Good thing your ass is so fat he can easily hide his impressive semi erection behind it, he thinks cheekily. He can’t resist leaning forward and grinding himself against you, just for a second, leaving you gasping and looking behind you with a confused expression - only to find Max innocently looking at you. Something wrong, schatje? he says so sweetly that you feel embarrassed for even wondering what he was doing behind you.

He’ll have to do something about all the hungry states from the other gym goers though - he can’t have them even thinking about something which belongs to him. He glares at anyone who dares look at you through the glass doors, but he needs a more permanent solution.

So for the next session he invites you to his house, where he has a mini gym on his penthouse balcony. You’re unsure at first, but after Max tells you it’s just so hard for him to focus on your sessions at the gym, with the way everyone is always asking him for an autograph or a selfie…you say yes immediately, because you’d never want to make it harder for him when he’d been such a caring trainer! Soon enough he has you all to himself in his outdoor gym, wearing another one of your cute workout sets. Except he wanted to see more of your pretty body, so the next day he hands you a PR package - asking if you wanted to try on the gift from one of his sponsors. You beam at his thoughtful gesture, quickly getting changed into the slutty outfit he’s hand selected.

Max smirks wickedly as he helps stretch you out again, this time with your thighs bent up almost to your flushed face. The blue booty shorts are so tiny they’re practically underwear, slipping into your tanned asscheeks and giving you a cameltoe, much to your embarrassment. You squirm as Max’s keen gaze goes right to your pussy brushing up against his abs - separated only by a thin layer of spandex. Because of course, Max worked out shirtless at home - it’s far too warm! Getting better but still not flexible enough, sweetheart Max says with a disapproving tone that has you scrambling for his approval. Here, let me help you.

He pushes down on your thighs with his huge hands. Your tits almost spill out of the tiny cropped singlet he has you in when he buries his face into them. M-Max! you stammer, asking what he was doing, was it really needed, but he just reassures you that it absolutely was. After all, you didn’t want to pull a muscle and stop being able to exercise for two weeks, right? His deep voice is muffled against your plush tits as he pressed in deeper, making you squirm some more when his lips brush against your hard nipples.

He helps you cool down afterwards too, like the dedicated coach he is. You’re so grateful for all the deep muscle relaxation techniques he knows, moaning blissfully as you lay sprawled underneath him as he massages your sore body. He started with your legs and arms, and then your tense abs, and then one strong palm squeezing your lush tits and the other cupping your pussy through your sports set. You were always embarrassingly wet after your workouts, with all the close proximity to Max, and prayed he didn’t notice how soaked your shorts had become as he rubbed his palm encouragingly against your cunny. You couldn’t stop the contended moans as you arched into his skilled hands, finding the tension draining from your muscles completely.

Soon you’re over at Max’s everyday, working out longer and longer. To your delight, Max asks if you’d mind helping him with his workout! You’re so eager to return the favour after he’s been so considerate, taking time out of his busy schedule just to train you. All you had to do was sit on his back as he did push ups-

You insist that there was no way he could do that, you were way too heavy, what if he hurt himself? All it takes is one cocky smirk from him to convince you, and you climb onto his back, gasping in amazement as his muscular back flexes when he easily starts during push ups. You’re completely distracted by how attractive he looks, so much more broader and stronger than your own boyfriend who couldn’t even lift you up! You feel a bit guilty thinking that but don’t get time to think about it - because next you’re helping Max with his hip thrusts. You squeal as his impressive legs thrust you into the air with a bounce, making your sensitive pussy land on his rock hard cock each time. You stabilise yourself with hands on his abs, running over the taut, sweaty muscle, so enamoured with the sight that you don’t notice Max’s blue gaze fixed on your jiggling tits with each bounce. Mmmh-Ah! H-how many more do you have to do, Max? you say breathlessly, feeling yourself start to get more and more turned on with each thrust of his hips. You felt so dirty, practically dripping through your booty shorts onto his lower abs, feeling all horny while he was just trying to work out!

Just a few more, he says vaguely, grasping onto your thick asscheeks to steady you as he continues meanly grinding his angry, hard cock into your soft cunny. You end up cumming through your shorts, desperately biting down on your lips to keep silent but failing to suppress your slutty moans. You were so cute and naive that you had no clue Max was just dry jumping you to orgasm. Training your perfect body to respond to his, just how he wanted it.

He left you in your post orgasmic bliss on his outdoor couch to cool down as he ventured inside. He’d been planning on jerking off his raging erection in the shower, not wanting to scare you off with his impressive load. But when he caught sight of the protein powder on his kitchen counter top, he couldn’t resist. All it took was a couple pumps and the image of you riding him with your bouncing tits for him to cum, filling a good half of the glass he tops off with a protein smoothie. When he hands you his homemade drink, you thank him with wide doe eyes. You’re such a thoughtful trainer, Max! you say sincerely, eagerly drinking his gift. Mmmh, it tastes amazing, what ingredients did you use? He winks and tells you it’s a top secret world class athlete recipe.

Max is completely addicted to feeding you his thick load and has you equally addicted, asking shyly if he’d make you another one of his smoothies after each session. He figured he has you enamoured enough with him to take things to the next level when you start asking for seconds. The thing is, schatje, since I eat so much protein and supplements, my sperm is super high in nutrients…but it’s not safe for you to take so much protein directly as a girl! So that’s why I had to put it in your drink, okay? You nod with wide eyes, your jaw dropped open in shock as Max unties his shorts to show you his huge swollen cock that’s been feeding you for days. You dazedly ask if maybe you should be getting “fed” from your boyfriend instead, you weren’t sure if he’d be mad if he found out-

Max cuts off your worries immediately, promising you that only his cum would be able to provide you with what you needed. In fact, you shouldn't be going anywhere near your boyfriend's weak release. You nod quickly, wanting to show Max what a good student you were, completely willing to obey him. And when he asks if you'd help him out in making your smoothie today, since his hand was kinda tired after so many days, you eagerly say yes! Soon you're snuggled up by his side, letting him guide both your hands up and down his cock. You're in awe of how big and hot his shaft looks, you'd never seen one that size. You swallow back drool in your mouth, already craving your daily treat, and when Max slyly suggests that you could just drink directly from the source? you're on him in seconds. Dutifully sucking and jerking him off, making him hiss and grab your hair as he thrusts in deep and cums with a deep moan. He makes you stick out your tongue afterwards to make sure you didn't waste even a drop.

Good girl. Let's do your cool down massage in the shower today, hmm? It's so fucking hot out. Max's praise fills you with heady warmth and you giddily agree, letting him guide you into his luxurious shower to cool down, stripping out of your skimpy workout set.

Too bad you ended up doing a lot more cardio than cooling down behind the steamed glass. Max grins devilishly as you both watch his cock go in and out of your creamy pussy together, every thrust making you scream his name and hold onto him desperately. After all, fucking up against the bathroom wall was a much more effective workout, right?

[goldfades]

MORE CONTROVERSIALLY YOUNG GF X SID

ive been having the worst insomnia ever so here's a blurb<3

It started with you staring at the ceiling.

The digital clock on the nightstand glowed red in the dark—2:13 AM. Your body was tired, your mind wasn’t. It wasn’t loud thoughts keeping you up, either. Nothing stressful, nothing particularly nagging. Just one of those nights where sleep felt like an impossible task.

Sidney was next to you, fast asleep, breathing slow and steady, one arm draped lazily across your waist. He was always warm, always solid beside you, a grounding weight even in unconsciousness. You swore he could sleep through anything. Planes, loud hotel hallways, your tossing and turning.

The only thing he ever seemed to wake up for was you.

You sighed softly, shifting under the covers, and just as you expected—he stirred. Not much, just a slight shift in his breathing, the faintest tension in his arm before he relaxed again. His grip around you tightened instinctively.

"You okay?" His voice was rough, sleep-heavy.

You bit your lip, feeling a little guilty. "Mmhmm."

Sid’s face was still buried against the pillow, but he made a quiet, unconvinced noise. Then, without opening his eyes, he tugged you closer. You let him, letting your body curve naturally against his, fitting like two puzzle pieces.

His warmth seeped into your skin.

"You’re awake," you murmured.

He hummed, his lips brushing against your hair. "You’re awake," he corrected.

A soft smile tugged at your lips. You pressed your cheek against his chest, closing your eyes, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

"Can’t sleep?" he asked, still half-asleep himself.

"Mmm." You inhaled the faint, clean scent of his skin, letting yourself settle. "Just one of those nights."

Sid let out a slow exhale, his hand running absently up and down your back. It was so easy, the way he touched you—not in any deliberate way, not trying to do anything. Just holding you, his palm warm against the curve of your spine, his fingers tracing lazy patterns over your shirt.

For a while, that was enough.

Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t empty. It was full of quiet things. His fingers against your skin. His breathing, slow and deep. The occasional shift of his legs under the sheets, brushing against yours.

You weren’t sure how long you laid there like that. But eventually, Sid shifted, pressing his lips lightly against your forehead.

"You want me to tell you a story?" he murmured.

You let out a soft, sleepy laugh. "A story?"

"Yeah," he said, voice still hoarse from sleep. "Something boring. Put you to sleep."

You smiled against his chest. "So you admit you’re boring."

Sid’s hand stilled for half a second before pinching your side lightly, making you squeak. "That’s not what I said."

You giggled, shifting closer, tangling your legs with his. "Okay, okay. Tell me a story."

Sid was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then:

"Did I ever tell you about the worst pre-game meal I ever had?"

You snorted. "That’s the bedtime story you’re going with?"

"You said you wanted boring," he reminded you.

You sighed dramatically. "Fine. Continue."

Sid smirked, but you could hear it in his voice more than you could see it in the dark. "Okay. So, this was early in my career. Rookie season. We had a back-to-back, and the second game was in some small-town rink. Not a lot of food options, so the guys and I found this one restaurant that looked halfway decent."

You hummed, eyes slipping closed as he kept talking.

"It was some mom-and-pop Italian place. Looked nice enough. I order a simple plate of pasta—"

"Simple?" you teased, voice muffled against his chest. "You?"

Sid poked your side again. "Do you want to hear the story or not?"

You giggled, nestling closer. "Go on."

"Anyway," he continued, "I take one bite—one bite—and I immediately know something’s off. It’s sweet."

You made a face. "Sweet?"

"Yeah. Like, sugary. Like someone dumped an entire cup of sugar into the marinara sauce. I thought maybe I was imagining it, but then I look around and every guy at the table is making the same face."

You laughed softly. "Did you say something?"

Sid let out a low chuckle. "Nah. We were too polite. Ate the whole thing."

"Ew."

"Yeah."

The silence that followed was heavy with warmth, with the ease of being with someone who just fit into your life.

Sid brushed a hand over your hair. "Feeling sleepy yet?"

You hummed, eyes still closed, fingers toying absently with the fabric of his shirt. "Mmm. Maybe."

Sid made a soft sound of acknowledgment, pressing another absentminded kiss to the top of your head. His arm curled tighter around you, his hand resting at the small of your back.

You exhaled, letting go of whatever it was keeping you awake.

Sidney made everything easier.

The way he just was—warm, steady, solid. The way he didn’t try to fix everything, didn’t ask a million questions, didn’t make a big deal of it. Just held you close and let you exist exactly as you were.

You sighed, tucking yourself further into his chest.

"You’re good at this," you murmured sleepily.

Sid’s voice was soft, full of something you couldn’t quite place. "At what?"

You yawned. "This." You curled your fingers around the fabric of his shirt, as if to emphasize. "Us."

Sid was quiet for a moment. Then, voice barely above a whisper:

"Yeah. I like us."

You barely had the energy to respond, sleep finally pulling you under. But just before you drifted off, you felt Sid press one last kiss to your forehead, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

And just like that, you were asleep.

[paceprompting]

Need a Ride?

written for ‘snowfall’ wc: 1000 # | steddie | rated: g | cw: non archive warnings apply | tags: alternate first meeting, pre-season four, feat. steve harrington's beemer

@steddieholidaydrabbles

He was sending his van right to the dump this time. He meant it.

Stupid engine he’d had to drop all his profits on for the third time crapping out right in the middle of the road. Leaving him to hoof it back to the gas station and hope that Wayne was home from his shift to get the call.

And of course, the snow season had to start today.

Head ducked against the wind, with only his battle vest and leather jacket against the bracing cold and snowflakes that stung his cheeks and nose where it wasn’t covered by his hair. He was just glad that there were streetlights so he wasn’t veering off into nowhere in the dark.

He could barely feel his fingers in his pockets by the time he made it to the station. He was still shivering, so he wasn’t quite at the point of hypothermia, but even dialing the numbers on the pay phone was a bit of a feat in itself.

Eddie put his back to the wind as the phone rang. And rang. Eventually, it rang out.

Wayne must have picked up a double shift. Not unusual, especially this time of year. Honestly, Eddie should have guessed that in the first place and called the plant instead of the trailer.

And he didn’t have enough change for another call. Guess he shouldn’t have stopped to buy that pack of cigarettes. That he’d already opened and smoked one from before his shitty van broke down.

“Fuck,” Eddie hissed, smacking the receiver into the hook.

He could trudge back to the van and settle in for the night. But without heat, he’d be just as well off trying to walk home in the wind and snow. And he wasn’t going to be getting sympathy with how he was dressed for spare change, much less did he have anything to deal to someone who would give him the time of day.

If he didn’t figure this out quick, he was going to get arrested for loitering.

Although…

“Munson?”

He perked up despite himself, recognizing the voice. Even if it wasn’t exactly someone he was elated to have run into at a pretty low point in his day.

Standing there under cover from the wind, the snow fell gently onto Steve Harrington. Of course it did. Settled on his hair and his jacket like powdered sugar on an overly-sweet dessert.

He wasn’t getting gas, pulled over and stood with the driver’s door open. One hand braced on the door and the other on the hood of his car, Steve stared curiously at Eddie. He was actually dressed for the weather, a puffy white and pale blue-striped monstrosity with fur around the hood.

Steve glanced at the rest of the gas station, noticing that his was the only car around.

“What are you doing here?”

Eddie stayed beside the payphone, in the wind and snow, but the farthest he could be from Steve. He’d dealt to him a few times, just weed, really, and only knew Steve by reputation. Last he’d heard, Steve had just dumped his two lackeys, Tommy and Carol and had slung ice cream at the Starcourt Mall until it burst into flames.

Why Harrington could care about him, Eddie had no idea.

“Van broke down,” he answered shortly, shoving his hands in his pockets even though the leather was nearly as cold as the wind. He gave a strained smile. “Stuck here.”

“Phone busted?”

“Out of money.” Eddie cocked his head, feeling bold. “Got fifty cents?”

It’d be enough for another call to the trailer and one to Wayne’s work for safety.

Steve raised both brows, and Eddie blanched. He and Steve were practically strangers, and he’d immediately hit Steve up for money. Even if he was known as the rich kid with parties every week because his parents were never home—Eddie was so far off his radar, he might as well have been gum under his shoe.

“I could give you a ride,” Steve said instead. “Forest Hills, right?”

A ride in the Steve Harrington’s Beemer. Sleek and maroon and drool-worthy.

The girls at school that would have literally slit his throat to be in Eddie’s place.

Eddie’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head, but he managed to find words and point back at the payphone with his thumb.

“I really just need to call my uncle. He’ll come get me.”

Steve leveled a gaze at him. “And you’ll spend an hour in the snow waiting. I’m not going to leave you out here to freeze.”

Eddie sucked his teeth, staring Steve down. He hated to give Steve the point of being right, but he was starting to lose feeling in his hands and his cheeks were stinging from the wind across his face.

He sighed, wetting his bottom lip. Or tried to, since the wet from his tongue only made his face freeze more.

“Fine,” he said, ducking his head as he trudged toward the Beemer. He didn’t dare stop to double-check with Steve, wincing as he pulled his hand from his pocket to open the door and slide inside.

The inside was immediately ten times warmer, blasting from the fans and Eddie nearly moaned. Until Steve’s door slammed closed and suddenly Eddie was inside Steve Harrington’s car. With Steve Harrington.

“You good, Munson?”

He was staring, he realized only after Steve spoke. If Steve wasn’t apprehensive about letting the school freak into his car, he was sure to be when Eddie acted as though he’d been raised far from civilization.

He forced a hard swallow. “Just surprised this isn’t all some trick. My type doesn’t exactly mesh with your type.”

Steve gave this chuckle, like an inside joke only he had any idea of.

“Right,” he said softly, and Eddie definitely felt as though he was way out of the loop on a new kind of Steve Harrington.

A kind he had a single car ride to figure out.

Part Two

[buddierecs]

fake dating buddie fics

all mature rating!!! make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)

keeping score by: arcanaphora "after getting dumped, buck is left with two tickets to a weeklong cruise. eddie steps in to support a friend in need, but complications arise when his friend becomes his fake husband. all's fair in love, war, and trivia" word count: 23k important tags: cruise ships, fake marriage, mutual pining, gay disaster!eddie diaz, first kiss, making out 'cause we belong together now by: smilingbuckley "on a call, buck and eddie meet an adorable little girl that they fall in love with and want to adopt. the only problem? they're not together romantically..." word count: 68k important tags: kid fic, marriage of convenience, slow burn, friends to lovers, getting together, soft!buddie, miscommunication burn the straw house down by: rarakiplin "buck gets stuck in time, has a break down and then, relatedly, a break through" word count: 40k important tags: time loop, angst, car accidents, happy ending all i can see (is you) by: trippedandfell "buck and eddie agree to fake date to win a reality tv show. it goes... well, pretty much exactly how you'd expect." word count: 21k important tags: reality show au, mutual pining, idiots in love, only one bed, gay disaster!eddie diaz for a holiday (and forevermore) by: wikiangela "eddie's sick of personal, intrusive questions about his love life whenever he visits his family, so he starts bringing buck for the holidays as his (fake) boyfriend. he only wants to shut them up, and doesn't expect that the small crush he has on his best friend could actually turn into something more..." word count: 94k important tags: slow burn, friends to lovers, sharing a bed, pre-relationship, soft!buddie, family feels, fluff, pining little lies by: david3096 "chris tells a lie at school and now eddie and buck must give a talk about love and work pretending to be fiances." word count: 62k important tags: idiots in love, mutual pining, christopher diaz is a national treasure, fluff you and tequila make me crazy by: cranberrymoons "in which buck and eddie lose chimney because they're drunk and horny" word count: 1.5k important tags: drunken flirting, season 7, sexual tension, pre-relationship fireflies where my caution should be by: littlesnowpea ".....“there are people on the porch,” eddie says, voice even. “saying they want to meet their grandchild.”" word count: 13k important tags: TW: past child abuse, fake marriage, hurt!evan buckley, emotional hurt/comfort, self-esteem issues, protective!eddie diaz what if i fall in love backwards by: redridingstiles "five times buck and eddie saved each other by pretending to be together and the one time christopher helps" word count: 9.8k important tags: 5+1 things, best friends, protective!buddie, teasing, homophobia, marriage proposal i'd never let you fall and break your heart by: autistic_nightfury "four times buck and eddie pretended to be in a relationship so people wouldn't bother them, and the one time they actually were together" word count: 5.8k important tags: 4+1 things, friends to lovers, holding hands, forehead kissies, getting together, mild smut

[pernillecfcw]

@lucybronze - Thank you America , it was real✌🏼until next time…

[kxsagi]

blue lock boys with an idol s/o and how would they feel with their girlfriend being shipped with another male idol when they're dating secretly

(back from my hellish exams 🤩)

- 🪻

“𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞”

a/n: welcome back!!! here's a little reward for completing those hellish exams 😍

ft. isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, reo mikage, itoshi sae, itoshi rin, chigiri hyoma, kaiser michael (i’m sorry if i’m missing any characters!)

𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢 𝐲𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐢 - “𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐤𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫��𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞”

while you’re showing him a new music video featuring you and your male idol co-star, your boyfriend’s arms are crossed, wearing the most unimpressed expression known to mankind.

➝ “his voice is kinda pitchy,” he randomly comments, despite having no musical knowledge whatsoever.

➝ you squint at him, unimpressed. “babe, that’s literally a pre-recorded track.”

but he’s already moved on, subtly muttering, “his outfit’s kinda mid too,��� just to cope. 

𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐢 𝐬𝐞𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐨 - “𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦”

you nervously introduce your boyfriend to your co-star at an exclusive event. your boyfriend, calm and composed, offers the briefest nod possible before he proceeds to talk over the guy every time he tries to say something. if the male idol comments on your vocals, your boyfriend suddenly remembers a “crazy goal” he scored last season and loudly retells the story, making sure you’re paying attention.

➝ “huh? what was that? sorry, i didn’t catch what you said,” he says with a fake polite smile, despite hearing the guy perfectly fine.

𝐦𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐨 - “𝐛𝐮𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭”

your boyfriend is scrolling through his feed when he comes across a high-quality, cinematic edit of you and your male idol co-star looking way too good together. the caption reads: “power couple energy 💫” and it has millions of likes.

he doesn’t say a word about it, but two days later, you randomly receive a diamond bracelet with a tiny soccer ball charm. when you confront him, he shrugs nonchalantly.

➝ “what? can’t spoil my girl?”

but you know the ship edit is still living rent-free in his head.

𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐬𝐚𝐞 - “𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨-𝐝𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲”

after your male idol co-star posts a behind-the-scenes photo of you two laughing together, your boyfriend suddenly becomes a lot more… active on social media.

he casually drops a photo dump with you in it. not too obvious, just little things like your hand in the corner of a pic or your reflection in his sunglasses. but his die-hard fans know.

➝ “wait… is that a girl in his pic? 👀”

➝ “the same nail color as [your name]’s recent live…?”

he smirks at the comments, satisfied.

𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐫𝐢𝐧 - “𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭”

your boyfriend doesn’t say anything when he stumbles across a viral ship edit of you and your male idol co-star looking all lovey-dovey. he just calmly puts his phone down and heads straight to his gym.

suddenly, he’s doing way too many reps, shirtless, with his jaw clenched and veins popping like he’s training for the world cup. his music is blasting obnoxiously loud and he’s muttering curses under his breath every time he slams the weights down.

when you come to check on him, he’s drenched in sweat, chest heaving. you raise a brow.

➝ “everything okay?”

he wipes his face with his shirt, exposing his abs. “yeah. just… thinking.”

about what? definitely not the ship edit he saw. 

BONUS: 

after seeing another viral ship edit of you and your male idol co-star, your boyfriend casually posts a gym selfie with his shirt off. his toned abs and veiny arms are on full display, the sweat glistening perfectly under the light. the caption? “feeling good 🤍” with absolutely no context. it immediately gains traction, his comment section flooded with fans thirsting over him. you instantly know why he posted it.

➝ “oh, you’re sooo subtle,” you tease, and he just shrugs with a smug smirk, checking his like count.

𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐢 𝐡𝐲𝐨𝐦𝐚 - “𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬”

during a post-match interview, your boyfriend is being his usual composed self until the reporter mentions a popular couple collab between you and your male idol co-star. the reporter grins.

➝ “their chemistry is crazy, huh?”

your boyfriend’s jaw ticks almost imperceptibly. but then, with the most neutral tone ever, he shrugs and says:

➝ “yeah, i guess. it’s called acting.”

the internet goes feral dissecting that clip. 

𝐤𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 - “𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞”

you’re casually chatting with your fans on a livestream when your boyfriend, who knows he shouldn’t, suddenly strolls into the room in his sweats, shirtless, with his hair still damp from a shower.

you glare at him off-camera, but he conveniently “forgets” you’re live, walking right into the frame with a lazy yawn and stretching his arms, showing off his toned abs.

the chat goes insane.

➝ “wait… WHO IS THAT?!”

➝ “omg her boyfriend?!!!”

➝ “ISN’T THAT MICHAEL KAISER THE SOCCER PLAYER”

you quickly end the live, shooting him a glare.

➝ “seriously?”

he shrugs with a sly smirk.

➝ “what? i just couldn’t take it anymore. the world needs to know you’re mine.”

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[forelsketparadise]

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiemicrofic & @steddiesportsau.

Left to Rot

April Microfic Prompt: Score & Sports AU Prompt: Sports Injury | Word Count: 351 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Recreational Drug Mention | Tags: Pre-Steddie, Canon Divergence Set After S2, Banter, Steve's Hurt And All He Got Was This Lousy Cellmate

This fucking sucks. 

Steve has his knee propped up in a chair in the ISS room, pillow under his calf. He's been left to rot in here. Torn ACL, basketball season over. Probably baseball and track, too. Senior year, ruined. If that wasn't bad enough, now he feels like he's being punished. He can't get upstairs, not on crutches, not with this big fucking brace. So, he's stuck down here. It's not like they had a lot of other places to put him. He didn't want to sit in the main office with Ms. Arlene.

But still.

Dumped with the in-school suspension kids is such bullshit. He didn't do anything wrong, he just got hurt.

Ms. Gordon is never in here either, always off yapping in the hall, and so far there have been no other students besides Eddie "The Freak" Munson, who flunked last year.

"What are you in for?" Steve asks, desperate for someone, anyone, to talk to. He's going stir-crazy.

"Wouldn't you like to know, Harrington?" Munson snaps, continuing to draw in his notebook.

"C'mon. I'll tell you," Steve wheedles.

"I already know why you're in here. Your knee is made of fine china, apparently," Eddie snarks.

Steve smirks, winding up.

"You calling me valuable, Munson?" Steve teases, happy when the blush creeps up Eddie's neck, unbidden. Serves him right. 

Rumors are abundant about Eddie. Of course they are, it's Hawkins and high school. There's no chance of escaping that.

"Tell me a secret and I'll tell you why I'm stuck with you, Harrington."

"There are monsters under Hawkins," Steve easily admits, and Eddie laughs.

"Yeah, and I'm gonna get an A on my quiz in Ms. O'Donnell's later. Sure."

Steve laughs. He was honest. It's not his fault if Eddie doesn't believe him.

Eventually, Eddie looks back up from drawing. Brown eyes that somehow look kind under the bluster.

"Your buddy Hagan wanted to score some weed. Got caught. Said he got it from me. They got no proof, but punished me anyway."

"Not my friend anymore," Steve says, then asks, "Well? Did he?"

"Duh," Eddie laughs. 

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for these challenges, pop on over to @steddiemicrofic and @steddiesportsau to follow along with the fun!

[seumyo]

manager duties! eumy. an anspiring lawyer who’s pursuing pre-medicine at 8teen.

sunflowers and strawberries. welcome to the humble garden! where you’ll find a journal of sorts where dear manager dumps all of her random thoughts, ideas, and save all of her fav artworks!! don’t worry, this place is a place filled with sfw content, but there would be spoilers . . . watch out for that, please ☆゙ ֶָ requests are CLOSED—though please check out her rules first + wips are under the cut. posts are always during weekdays !!

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[on-a-lucky-tide]

Laswell and Nik watch Price play a Rugby match. Part 2.

cw: brief mention of injury, hand job right at the end.

Look, I just love the idea that Nik, Laswell and Price are good friends outside of work. I want to write more of it. All my work is self-indulgent but this is PURE self indulgence.

The plastic chairs were damn uncomfortable and Laswell was pretty sure she could have managed an extra pair of socks inside her boots, but the atmosphere was contagious. Jubilant, loud; people stamping their feet and blowing on their hands in the cold, old comrades meeting again after a long time, families gathered to see fathers, sons, husbands, play.

Plus, she had promised, hadn't she? And seeing her long term friend do something that didn't have the threat of a bullet mixed in was an opportunity she felt she deserved as much as he did.

"Here, Laswell."

A plastic cup of beer appeared in front of her face between the large fingers and thumb of her companion for the day, and she took it in two gloved hands. "Thanks, Nik."

"It tastes very bad," he informed her as he swung his leg over the chair next to her and fell into it heavily, taking a swig of his own with a grimace. "Da. Like barman pissed into a cup."

"Really selling it to me," she chuckled before taking a sip, nose wrinkling. "That is... quite the aftertaste."

Nik shrugged. "It is all part of the experience, and," he ferreted through his jacket, lifting his ass off the seat, and pulled out his hip flask, "ha." He offered it to her first, to which she shook her head, before he unscrewed the cap with his thumb and dumped a generous helping into the top of his drink. "How long?"

"They headed in from their warm up about ten minutes ago."

"Ah, he looked good, no?"

Laswell nodded, her eyes crinkling with her smile as she noted the blush of pride on Nik's face. John Price had, indeed, looked good. He had been rosie-cheeked and energetic through all the drills despite the cold, keeping up with the younger members of his team without any apparent issue.

And, perhaps most importantly of all, he had been laughing and grinning throughout, exchanging banter, and pausing to talk with someone he recognised in the stands, only ending the conversation with a handshake and bump of the shoulders when his coach - a Major something or other, according to the introductory leaflet - bellowed at him.

It was John's boyish glee that had caught Nik's attention more than all the tight woven shorts around thick thighs, the bulging biceps and full chests stretching through Underarmour base layers, and she had watched his eyes blow wide as he fidgeted in his seat, desperate clearly to be closer and bask in John's happiness rather than observe it from afar. She'd sent him for the beer to cool off.

It was an interservice friendly. Navy versus army. A pre-season warm up before the international competition began and the British armed forces would field a composite team of the very best. "Will they win this one?" Laswell asked, chancing another sip of beer and regretting it the moment it touched her tongue.

"Da. The Navy have uh, what to say, fast backs, but their forwards have bad... set pieces."

"Did you understand a word of what you just said?"

"Nyet." Nik grinned. He loved listening to John talk about the game and absorbed every iota of information he could to share in that passion. That didn't mean he was any better than Laswell in understanding what the hell was going on.

"Do you think he'll be selected for the internationals?"

"He has already been asked for his availability."

"Of course he has. Annoyingly, I don't think I've ever encountered an activity that John Price doesn't excel at."

Nik huffed a laugh. "He is an overachiever. Although, not such a good cook. I have never seen someone turn custard into rubber before."

"Aha! A weakness. I will store it for later use."

They lapsed into a momentary pause and watched the crowd find their seats. Nik checked his phone, and then nudged Laswell for a selfie to send to John. They toasted their crappy beers and Laswell conjured her cheesiest grin with a thumbs up. Nik sent it without filters, because he was brutal like that.

Nik (10.15): [image.jpeg]

JP (10.17): good-looking pair of muppets 👍

Nik (10.18): are you feeling ok?

JP (10:19): hammies tight but physio happy.

Nik (10:19): I will help with that later

JP (10:20): countin on it 👌💦😜

"You better not be sexting while I am right next to you, Nikolai."

Nik smirked at her and shook his head once. "He is fine. Nervous."

"You got 'nervous' from that?"

"Da."

"Nervous for a Rugby match but doesn't even bat an eye at leaping from a Hercules into an active firefight with a single page's worth of intel..."

"He feels out of practice. He missed the start of the tournament due to work."

"Ah. Story of our lives, Nik." They missed so much living due to work. Kate had missed the birth of both of her nephews, her brother-in-law's wedding, her sister's fortieth birthday party. So many big life events that would never repeat. But that's what made things like this special. It may be a forces match, but John was choosing to do it. He enjoyed it. Sharing in that enjoyment, that moment of happiness, that was special too.

"They are coming," Nik said like an excited boy on Christmas morning, having spotted the players at the mouth of the changing rooms. He stood with the rest of the crowd and Laswell rolled to her feet too, joining in the cheers and clapping as two lines of outrageously built men jogged out onto the pitch.

Nik and Laswell stood in respectful silence as the band played through the national anthem and the two teams lined up to bray along with it, hands on chests. The British national anthem was a damn drone, but at least it allowed everyone to pull it off. They sat down after the applause, when the two captains met with the referee in the middle of the pitch for the coin toss.

John tried to make the glance into the stands discreet, but the smile when he spotted Nik and Laswell - due to Nik's not so discreet full-armed wave - was difficult to hide. Hands on his hips, he looked down, scuffing the grass with his boot bashfully before turning to listen to the referee outline his expectations.

Sometimes she forgot about the sixteen year age gap between them; he was so brilliant at it all, so driven, so focused and relentless, he was her peer and her equal, but she had already been at the game for twelve years when he enlisted at 16. Whatever she felt in that moment at seeing John so pleased by their presence, his cheeks dimpling in that full-hearted grin he had, felt annoyingly maternal. She necked some beer.

Nik leaned in. "He will choose to receive."

"Mhm."

"Laswell," Nik said, feigning shock as she hid her smirk against her plastic pint.

The navy took the ball with them, the ref jogged backward with his hand in the air, and the two teams lined up. John was the 'fly half', which Kate understood to mean he was the decision maker of the team. It required effective leadership and communication to connect the forwards with the backline and navigate the enemy defence. The perfect role for one Captain Jonathan Price if ever there was one. Which explained the bright yellow captain's band wrapped around his bicep, clashing with the green and white jersey with its big number 10 on the back.

A single peep of the whistle marked the start of the game and the navy's number 10 put their boot to the ball, the rest of the team surging down the pitch behind it. One of the backline received the ball and immediately shipped it out towards the wings to begin making progress in the opposite direction.

The difference between American football and Rugby had always struck Laswell; the ball was the same-ish shape, there were set pieces for different scenarios, but that's where the similarity ended. Rugby was about keeping play moving. It was a relentless, brutal battle down the pitch, with hits that made her teeth shake and no padding between bodies and the impact.

The navy was playing aggressively, forcing the army's backline to reset. Every time the army's scrum half dug the ball out of the breakdown - which was what Laswell understood the huge pile of bodies on the floor to be called - John was there to receive it. He was agile, twisting, turning, everywhere at once; a testament to his own hard work to maintain his fitness and mobility.

One of the navy forwards was too slow off the mark and slammed into John once he'd passed the ball, bringing him to the ground hard with a shoulder to the gut. Nik was halfway out of his chair on instinct, and Laswell reached out a hand for his forearm. "It's part of the game, Nik. An honest mistake." The ref blew the whistle. Free kick.

John rolled to his feet, tugging the legs of his shorts down from the creases of his thighs before plucking the ball from the ground. He chose to kick into touch and gathered his team before the lineout. They hunkered down, listening intently. Laswell could hear his voice in her mind, imagined his tone, and when she glanced off to Nik and saw the look on his face, she knew he was doing the same.

John set the backline, barking over his shoulder and gesturing with his arm to get them in position, once he was happy, he indicated to the scrum half to take the throw in. The ball sailed over the heads of the two lines and found the hands of the army's flanker, who knocked it with practised ease into John's waiting palms. It sailed down the line quick, John sprinting behind the line. The navy thought they were going for a try at the wing and sent their players down to meet it. John cut in halfway and took the ball through a gap created by their miscalculation.

The hulking opposition forwards couldn't catch him once he had the space to open up with long strides, and he pushed one optimistic player off him like he was nothing. Laswell heard Nik breathe something in Russian, leaning forward in his chair, only to leap up the moment that ball touched the try line. She stood with him to clap and he threw an arm around her shoulder jubilantly. "He is so good, did you see? Like a jet, I cannot--" she missed the rest, because he was too busy celebrating, half his beer splashing onto the ground.

An orange five appeared on the scoreboard at first, and then John turned it into a seven when he kicked the ball over the middle bar between the two posts. "A conversion, Laswell," Nik informed her, toasting the scoreboard as it ticked up.

John's try seemed to turn the tables. Now that the army's side had seen the defence clinically dissected, it was like they were more confident in picking those holes. Seven turned to fourteen, fourteen to twenty-one. The navy managed to land a try shortly before half time but their fly half, John's junior by about fifteen years, missed the conversion kick, leaving the scoreboard at twenty-one to five.

Nik topped up their drinks while the two teams disappeared off the pitch, and returned with a flushed face after a suspiciously long time away. "You snuck into the changing rooms, didn't you?" She asked as she took the beer.

"Da," Nik confessed, shifting in his seat. "I did not stay long. He had a briefing to do."

"Of course he did," Laswell said, chuckling. No doubt Nik had gone to admire John in his kit up close; all that clinging lycra and polyester around John's frame. For a man, John had one hell of an ass. She was surprised Nik wasn't foaming at the mouth every time John bent over to receive the ball from the breakdown.

The second half started shortly after Nik's return. The army started with the ball this time, kicking it into the second half and chasing after it to shut down the offence before they could make ground.

The navy had apparently had what John would call a bollocking, because they were back to their form of the first twenty minutes, hitting hard and punishing gaps. Nik frowned as John was tackled for the third time in ten minutes. "They are targeting him," he growled.

"Oh yeah," a man to their left chimed in, "reckon their skipper told 'em to break that one's legs."

"Nik, it's trash talk," Laswell warned as the big Russian suddenly coiled with tension. "They will try to close down any advantages. He's one of them."

She, perhaps, spoke too soon, because the next hit made John stay down a bit longer, and he disappeared under a pile of bodies that dwarfed even him. When he finally got to his feet, there was blood streaming from his eyebrow. The ref blew his whistle and pointed at John's face, then the sidelines. He didn't even argue his case, chucking his armband to the scrum half's hand before jogging over to the medic, replaced by a sub.

Nik had been on his feet throughout, and now tracked John to the sidelines with his eyes, no doubt scrutinising his gait for abnormality. "It is superficial," Nik said, perhaps convincing himself not to vault the stands. "He will go back on."

"After being kicked in the head?"

Nik frowned, arms folded over his chest. He wasn't happy about it either.

As predicted, John returned to the pitch at the next blow of the whistle, his head wrapped in bandages and tape. The army had put up a valiant defence while he'd been off, and did so for the rest of the game, allowing only one more try to sneak through and returning it threefold. The final score at the end was forty-two to twelve in favour of the army, and the boisterous celebrations on the pitch carried on through the sportsmanlike cheers exchanged by both teams, followed by handshakes and cheers for the ref.

Nik and Laswell picked their way through the stands to the main bar to wait for John to emerge from the changing rooms. Another thing she quite liked about this sport in particular was that the players cleaned up in shirts and ties before they were allowed out. She had thought it was a services thing, a hang up about order and respectability, but no, they even observed the rule at club level. It was about respecting the clubhouse, the fans, the game and each other.

It took John about thirty minutes to arrive, his white shirt and green tie neatly pressed, wool trousers belted at his waist. Nik was on him in seconds, one hand taking his jaw, tilting his head left and right, to inspect the cut through his eyebrow. "Nik," John said through a soft laugh, "s'olright, been checked over."

"For concussion?"

"Yeah. Just a stud scrape. Nothin' dramatic."

Nik's hand slipped around the back of John's neck and Laswell could see the desperate desire to kiss his partner flash over his face, but in the end he only nodded and drew away. She sighed. So much had changed, and yet so much stayed the same.

"Kate, you made it," John said, that Quokka-smile in place and big arms enclosed her in a hug.

"Oh, I was in the area." She returned the embrace and then pushed the pint of bitter into his hands. "Well-earned, I think."

"Huh, yeah, 'm fuckin' knackered," he admitted, wiping the foam from his moustache after he took a sip. "A few of the lads want to do a crawl through the local bars, but I'm gonna turn in. Monday's chocka."

"I don't blame you," Laswell said, hopping onto a stool. "I thought you'd play soccer, you know."

"Rugby is a gentleman's sport and the captain is a gentleman." Nik sat next to her, his elbows on the bar. "Soccer is for thugs and idiots, no?"

"Hoohoo, shit, don't let Simon hear you say that, Nik," John said, leaning his hip against the bar at Nik's side. "You'd have to sleep with one eye open."

"So, the Liverpool scarf is just for show." Laswell recalled the tattered old thing hanging up in a frame in John's office. It sat right next to his medals of valour and a photograph of the 141 in Belgrade.

"Naw, once a Red always a Red."

"That means something very different where I am from," Nik said lightly.

Laswell chuckled low in her throat and John threw his arm around Nik's shoulder for a squeeze. They stayed until the man of the match was announced and, unsurprisingly, John had been selected by the team for his try.

He received the award in the same understated way he did his medals; a thank you to his team and to the panel, then 'all the best' before heading back to his drink. Once again Laswell watched Nik swallow the desire to demonstrate the affection bubbling beneath his skin. She was glad for Nik that John would require plenty of care this evening; an opportunity to dote to his heart's content.

Despite the generally positive experience, she was glad to flop into the backseat of Nik's hired Audi, watching the streets of London flit by as they left the pitch behind. By the time they dropped her off at the hotel, John was struggling to keep his eyes open, slumped low in the front seat, his arms folded tightly across his chest as if to hold himself together. She exchanged a look with Nik in the rearview mirror, the creases around his eyes betraying his knowing grin. John was clinging on for her benefit. Sweet, but unnecessary.

She opened the door but leaned forward to squeeze his shoulder before stepping out. "Well done today."

"Cheers," he said sleepily, one of his big paws parting over the top of her palm. "Thanks again. 'ppreciate it."

"Any time, John. I enjoyed myself. See you soon."

She patted Nik's shoulder too and he touched her wrist in return, before she left them to head to a well-earned rest in their Premier Inn. Hopefully a kiss too, or Nik might just implode.

--

Nik managed to convince John into a bath with the promise of a glass of whiskey. Without it, he would be stiffer in the morning and not in a way they could enjoy.

Once John was settled amongst the bubbles, Nik sat at the side with a pillow beneath his rear, one hand in the water to stroke whatever part of John happened to be near, while the other held a novel open against his thigh.

"Thanks for comin' today," John said in the comfortable quiet. His voice was soft, his eyes lidded. He had sunk lower, the waterline lapping at his collarbone.

"Of course. I enjoyed watching you in your element, John."

"It was the... uh, first time someone's come t' see me play."

Nik let the novel fall closed and twisted, resting his chin on the edge of the tub. "Have you not invited the sergeants, or the lieutenant?"

"Ah, they have better things to do 'n come and watch me play rugger at the weekend."

"I think you underestimate how much your team loves and admires you."

John hummed in the way he did when he wanted to argue but knew it was a losing fight. Nik got that noise more and more these days when it came to John's perception of other's opinions of him. He had an accurate and pragmatic understanding of his own abilities when it came to work, but that didn't seem to translate into a sound understanding of how much he was admired. The hum was a step forward towards acceptance, in Nik's opinion.

"You will invite them next time."

"Oh will I?"

"Da. And they will feel honoured by the invitation."

"What if I get my arse kicked? Almost did today."

"Then they will be there to pick you back up again, as they are in the field."

John fell silent, heaving a sigh through his nose. Nik gathered his legs underneath him and slipped his second hand in the water to caress the aching body within it. He ran the backs of his fingers over John's chest, down the valleys of his abdomen to the v-shape dips of his hips, and finally to his thighs.

"How are these?"

"Sore. They'll be fi--mm, Nik...'

"Is good?"

"Mmhm."

Nik rubbed his thumbs in firm circles, feeling knots and tension pop beneath them, and watched John's expression melt back into relaxation. He moved from one leg to the other, working his way up slowly across the large expanse of muscle to John's hip.

"Enjoyin' yerself?" John asked, an eye popping open to study Nik's face.

"Da. Watching your legs today was... hm, it made me want to spread them in the shower and demonstrate my admiration."

If it wasn't for the warm water, John would have flushed, but Nik was content by the shy smile he got instead. "In front of the entire team, eh? Filthy git," John mumbled.

"If you would enjoy others watching me make love to you, then I would consider it."

"Fuckin' 'ell, Nik," John said, scrubbing a hand across his face. His body betrayed him though, because the mere thought of it has caused his prick to harden enough to peak just above the surface. Nik tickled up the inside of John's thighs to his sac, fingertips stroking the heavy weight of it in the warm water. John's knees tilted out to give Nik access and he reached for Nik's chin with one wet hand, guiding him down for a kiss.

Nik kissed greedily as he played gently between John's legs, revelling in the vulnerability of his lover's exhausted body surrendering to the tenderness he offered. His tongue swept into John's mouth, licking the taste of whiskey from his teeth, the tip brushing the ridges of his pallet, sucking his tongue, his lips, before sinking lower to kiss his neck.

John made soft noises of pleasure, his heels skidding across the ceramic of the tub, damp fingers winding into Nik's hair. In the warmth of the water, his skin was soft, sensitive, and Nik knew how to touch him. Had spent many a night learning what made John moan and sigh, how his entire body was a map of erogenous zones desperate for a gentle hand that Nik was more than willing to provide.

When Nik encircled John's prick, stroking slowly back and forth, John let out a pleased sigh. "Fuck, Nik... Dunno whether I have the energy."

"You do not need it. Let me look after you."

"Would prefer t' give as good as I get. Ahh, fuck, Nik..."

Nik soaped his hand using the pump at the side of the bath and returned to John's eager prick. Tired he may be, but his body yearned for Nik as much as Nik's did for him. Nik kept a firm pressure, squeezing a little former on the upstroke, precum splashing over the edge of his fist. "John, you are so beautiful... You are so desperate for me."

"Yeah, Nik, haa, ah, god fuck, I'm close already..."

"Come for me then. Do not hold back. I will have you tomorrow, spread your legs and take what I want..."

"Fuck..."

"I know you wanted me to take you in that changing room, your blood running hot--"

"Ahh, Nik, fu--"

"--I know you wanted to touch yourself in the shower, thinking of me--"

"Mm, yeah, yeah, please, Nik..."

"I know what you need, I know how you ache for it, how you want to be filled by my cock and fucked well."

John latched onto the edge of the tub as he came, his thighs and stomach pulling tight, head pushing back as his cock pulsed in Nik's hand. Nik slowed his stroke, milking out the aftershocks as John gasped.

Nik kissed him lightly on the lips as his pleasure faded to throbbing embers, releasing his softening prick to rinse his hand. "Beautiful."

"Just nutted to dirty talk. Not sure beautiful's really the word."

"You do not see yourself as I do," Nik replied, admiring the brightness in those blue eyes, the ruffled hair, the flush. Beautiful was too empty a word for the majesty of John Price, but it would suffice for now. "Time for bed, John. Come."

Nik helped John out of the bath, teasing him about his shaking legs as he helped dry him with a second towel. John slipped naked into the soft, clean sheets Nik wasn't complaining; it would be easier to tease him open tomorrow morning. He was asleep and snoring softly before Nik had even switched the lamp off, the pillow clutched under his head.

Before Nik could sleep, he worked himself over to a swift and gutless orgasm that would allow him to sleep, knowing full well he would be satisfying himself in John come the morning. He fell asleep admiring the peaceful lines of John's face, eternally grateful he had the honour of calling John his.

[paceprompting]

A Morning Coffee Kind of Question

steddie | rated: t | cw: no archive warnings apply | tags: pre-season four, getting together, strangers to lovers, fluff with dash of angst

Part One

The bed was too comfortable.

Which was kind of fucked up if he were to look too closely at it. But even all the blankets he could muster and that Wayne could spare were only so much against a mattress with two broken springs and a near-permanent indent from a previous owner and himself.

The mattress he was currently on wasn’t anything like his. He hardly sunk into it, and (as far as he could tell) he was only under one blanket and still warm. This time of year, he’d need at least a comforter and two thinner blankets to ward off the cold in the trailer.

So, while not surprised to find he actually wasn’t in his own bed, there was enough surprise in the fact of whose bed he was in to have him sitting straight up, scowling at the room around him.

All in all, the bedroom was relatively plain. The walls a kind of color you kept so that the house would sell well without repainting, wooden furniture with little to nothing on them except the odd magazine or a trophy. Even the walls were devoid of posters of bikini girls or hotrod cars, no collection of random polaroids stuck up with some care to remember a memory.

Steve’s bedroom hardly felt like more than a set piece.

As though it had been designed before he ever arrived and he wasn’t allowed—or didn’t care—to make it his own.

The only item that had any personality wasn’t even his. It was Eddie’s.

The jacket that Steve had given him as a present was hung off the back of the desk chair, an obvious peculiarity of black amongst the blues and reds of the room. Eddie remembered shucking it off his shoulders and letting it drop to the floor last night.

While they’d kissed.

Made out, really.

He touched his lips as though he could call back the feeling of Steve’s mouth on his own. The confident way he directed them, the scrape of his stubbled against Eddie’s cheek, his throat. The party had gone on for a while without them downstairs, Eddie wasn’t sure when it had ended.

He’d pretty much stopped paying attention to the noise once Steve laid him back on the bed.

Which explained how he’d gotten there, at least.

Still being fully dressed explained the other question.

A soft creak pulled Eddie’s attention toward the door, and he rose up onto his knees in case he needed to book it out the door. He wasn’t exactly going to get the benefit of the doubt if somebody found “The Freak” hanging out in Steve Harrington’s bedroom.

He could at least breathe again when it was just Steve who entered, although he didn’t sit back on the bed.

He was sure he looked an absolute disaster, having just woken up—curls a wild rat’s nest on his head and clothes disheveled from the chaotic way he usually slept.

Steve held a plain green mug in each hand, looking down at them to avoid spillover as he walked carefully across the carpet. He glanced at Eddie, this soft half-smile on his face before he looked back down until he reached the bed.

Setting one mug on the bedside table, he offered the other to Eddie.

Eddie eased back down on the mattress, and reached out with both hands for the mug. It warmed his fingers immediately, the dark liquid inside wobbling as Eddie shifted position. A roasted, bitter smell wafted up to his nose.

“I didn’t know how you liked it. But, um,” Steve reached into the pocket of his sweatpants, pulling out a handful of items he deposited on the bed by Eddie’s knee. A few sugar packets and disposable plastic creamer cups. He patted his thighs and said, “Just in case.”

Eddie lowered the mug to sit in the space between his knees, holding it steady with one hand and using the other to grab all that Steve had offered.

“Good instincts,” he said, shaking first the sugar packets before dumping them into the coffee. As he worked through the creamer cups, he looked at Steve from under his bangs. “The only thing I don’t like in black.”

Eddie took sugar and cream for the same reason he only smoked menthols. He couldn’t stand the bitterness.

Steve let out a breath, shoulders dropping a tension that Eddie had mistaken at first as worry about spilling the drinks. Then, he reached for the other mug and took a seat beside Eddie on his bed.

He drank his coffee while Eddie prepped his own, taking it straight-up apparently with no problem. He didn’t know if it was all part of some special jock diet or if Steve enjoyed battery acid black, but…Eddie supposed choosing to make out with a metalhead probably meant Steve was bound to make other questionable choices.

Eddie sighed as he took his first sip, the warmth of the coffee soothing the morning raspiness of his throat.

Whatever his problems, Steve could make a good cup of coffee.

They sat in the quiet morning, drinking their coffee. Eddie risked a look at Steve; noticed that he had changed at some point in the night into his sweatpants and a Hawkins swim team shirt Eddie wouldn’t have been caught dead in.

Steve finished his first, but sat with it while Eddie continued. Empty, Eddie held his mug awkwardly, unsure of where to put it.

Clearly what he was waiting for, Steve took the mug from Eddie’s hands and reached forward to place both his and Eddie’s on the bedside table. He had to lean over Eddie to do it, which Eddie huffed a breath up toward the ceiling at when he leaned back on his hands.

Steve eased back, but paused before going too far. His nose grazed Eddie’s, hazel brown eyes half-lidded and rooting Eddie to the spot. He tilted his chin up toward Steve, mouth parting.

Maybe the night before had been a dream. He’d drunk too much—even though he didn’t remember drinking anything at all—and rudely passed out in Steve’s bed and somehow the guy was nice enough to leave Eddie until morning.

If it was true, Steve would brush him off. And Eddie would leave.

If it wasn’t…

Steve closed the last distance between them and Eddie could taste the bitter coffee on his tongue as their lips met. They sunk together, Eddie falling back on his elbows and Steve cradling the side of his jaw with one hand.

His thumb rubbed the start of Eddie’s stubble on his cheek. Eddie sighed into it, pressing up for more. For Steve’s tongue slipping past his lips and the low rumble of a groan deep in his chest.

They had to part for breath after a moment, and Steve asked, “Can I take you home?”

Kissing again, a delay neither of them seemed to mind, Eddie let his mind wander. With the last vestiges of Steve’s cologne and the solid weight of his body, Eddie could really only think of him.

I could give you a ride, Steve had said, that first time.

Being a chauffeur was apparently a love language for this guy.

Unlike that night at the gas station, Eddie did have other options. And he didn’t want to think about the pull at the bottom of his stomach the came at the thought.

“I’ve got the van back,” he said, letting his head fall back from Steve’s mouth. It was pink and slightly swollen, and maybe Eddie’s was too. “Thank you, though.”

Steve nodded, his thumb still stroking Eddie’s cheek.

“Can I see you again?”

He’d said as much the night before. Steve wanted Eddie. For some reason.

Eddie clenched his hands in the comforter underneath him. He’d never been quite this unsure about rejecting something. He knew he shouldn’t do this, with Steve. It could only lead to broken hearts. Possibly broken bones.

But all Steve had done already…just to get Eddie’s attention. To hint at what he wanted.

“I don’t know,” he said.

Steve’s gaze on him faltered, eyes flickering downward with his disappointment. They closed too late for Eddie not to have seen it, and Eddie rushed to fix it, to explain himself.

A cute guy gives him a normal amount of attention, and he loses his damn mind. What the hell had happened to him?

“I haven’t done this before. The whole…sticking around in the morning and having breakfast thing.” Steve seemed to ponder that for a second, a hesitant question in the rise of one of his brows. Eddie swallowed hard. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

A warm smile grew across Steve’s face and Eddie soaked it in, closing his eyes as Steve pressed his nose to Eddie’s cheek. “I think you’re doing okay.”

“Steve, please.”

He couldn’t stop the twinge of panic in his voice. He was getting too caught up and he didn’t know how he could wrangle it back and shove it down.

Steve froze. Caught his breath, warm on Eddie’s skin, and then pulled away.

Eddie opened his mouth to apologize for ruining the fucking mood with his hangups. For revealing the mess of a person Steve had tried to falling into bed with, and was probably now entirely regretting.

“It’s okay,” Steve said before Eddie could. “I’m not upset.”

Eddie wasn’t sure he could believe him, but either way Steve slowly extracted himself from Eddie’s personal space and stood from the bed. He tried to hide it by facing away, but Eddie noticed the shift of his arm as Steve adjusted the evidence of their activities in his sweats.

Eddie knew he was the same in his jeans, if they did manage to hide it better. He sat up onto his hands and asked to Steve’s back, “Can I give you an answer later?”

He sounded like a damn customer support line. But Steve finding it in himself to pull away had made Eddie near-frantic to grab onto him and keep him from leaving. He needed to figure all this out.

But he couldn’t do that in the middle of Steve’s bedroom.

Steve turned, his face in profile toward Eddie.

“You’ll call?” he asked, biting his bottom lip.

Eddie let out a breath.

“I’ll call.”

Tag List: @estrellami-1 @here4thetrama @tillystealeaves @th30ra3k3n @fairytalesreality @rabidhungryrat

[writing-mlm]

would you ever write a bottom dean winchester (saying this with earlier seasons Dean in mind, pre castiel) x male reader? I think your take on that would be wonderful!

if you don't, then different request. Dean's (again, saying this with earlier seasons Dean in mind, possibly pre show Dean of you think that's more fitting, but can be any Dean) more bitchy than usual and its obvious his upset about something but his too stubborn to say what about (to the reader) so now you (the reader) have to find out. it can be pure angst or angsty smut, ect, whatever you thinks fitting.

Baby Issues

Summary: Dean’s been in a mood for a couple of days but you’re not going to pull teeth trying to figure out why. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Male!reader word count: 2k tags/warning: cigarettes, dean drinking, cursing, light arguments, issues get resolved in the end, though, I haven’t seen SPN in a hot minute, there's an apology if you squint and step back and dont think too much about it a/n: ngl I hate fics where the guy is being so rude and the mc just like takes it??? like omfg, why are you running away crying also the original plot did have smut but I haven’t been in a smut mood, part two when I am :3

Dean is a prideful man, everyone who’s met him for longer than thirty seconds can agree on that one thing. He’s Dean frickin’ Winchester and he was going to hunt monsters and do whatever the fuck he wants. And you like that about him, sure he’s cocky and sometimes he really fucking gets on your nerves but that’s just Dean. 

Whatever the fuck this was, isn’t Dean, though. 

He’s sucking his teeth and barely giving you responses as you prepare for a hunt. Some bullshit ghost you don’t even care about because your idiot boyfriend won’t admit something is wrong. He’s not being reckless, though. He snatches your gun to check the bullets and he recounts your knives as he always does before entering a hunt— just now it’s done with an attitude that’s working on putting you in a sour mood. 

“Dean,” Your voice cuts over the sound of the extremely loud track blasting through the Impala. An extremely telling track at that. Bon Jovi’s You Give Love a Bad Name. “The fuck is your issue?” You lower the music and he slaps your hand away, pointing his index and middle finger at you as some sort of warning that you just roll your eyes at. 

“My issue?” He echoes. “You’re touching my fuckin’ music for one. It’s my car and I’m driving, I control the goddamn music!” He raises the volume again as if that was the end of the conversation. You suppose it is because you huff and roll down your window, the night air brushes against your face as he drives a little faster than normal. Occasionally you’d hear him muttering under his breath, nothing concrete but it’s definitely irritating.

“Know what?” He asks as he’s opening the trunk to the car. “How about you be the lookout tonight? I think I got this one,” He grabs only his gun and goes to close the hood when you grab it and prop it back open. 

“We never have an outside lookout,” You remind him through gritted teeth. “I’m going on the hunt, dipshit!” Snatching your gun from the trunk, you let him close it. He might be upset but you know better than to do something as precious as slamming the trunk closed. Lord knows he’d go crazy if you did it too hard.

“Dipshit, real mature,” Dean rolls his eyes before he shakes his head. “You’re staying out here. I saw a patrol car on the way to this dump,” He eyes the rundown house for a moment. 

“Why don’t you stay here? That way you and Baby can just drive away if the cops show up,” Walking past him, you slip your gun into your pants and get a hold on the gate that separates the road to the home. It’s not a tall gate by any means, maybe three feet at the most so you’re able to swing your legs over. 

“Don’t say Baby in that tone!” He calls after you, jumping over the gate. “A-and what? You think you can just do the hunt alone?” Stopping, you turn to him and cross your arms. He shifts his stance and copies you, jutting his chin while waiting for you to talk. 

“Yes, the fuck I can. Considering I did it alone before meeting you, Dean.” He huffs and shakes his head, looking away before his eyes return to you. Waiting for a moment to pass, you let him have a turn to speak but he doesn’t say anything. “Whatever, I’m going inside. Do whatever the fuck you want, I guess.”

“I will!” He calls and you roll your eyes at his childishness. 

—

As far as hunts go, it was mostly uneventful. The same old stuff you’re used to and you wrap up nicely. Dean had gone off to find the bones to salt and burn while you dealt with keeping the ghost busy. Once it was over, you counted your bullets and tossed the gun into the trunk before climbing into the backseat. Dean nearly says something, nearly demands you to take your normal seat but he bites his tongue and instead watches as you lay back and toss your jacket over your face. 

You lay there with your arms crossed and face blocked for the entirety of the ride. Not moving until he takes the keys out from Baby and you climb out without saying a word. While sure, you’re mad, Dean notices that you don’t slam the car door like you do with the motel door. 

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks, watching as you clean your hands in the kitchenette’s sink. “Cause you’re all pissy and it’s annoying,” If he had just said the first part it would’ve been fine. You would’ve gladly talked about whatever was bothering him that was subsequently making him be a bother to you. But Jesus fucking Christ he just had to add the last part. Hanging your head, you huff through your nose and then shake your head. 

You don’t want to argue. You don’t want to yell. Not tonight and not with Dean.

“Dean, fuck off.” You grumble, digging under your nails to get out the dirt. 

“Oh, so it’s fuck me now?” He tosses his burner phone into the table and then his jacket. Inhaling, you blink and try to just roll it off. He’s just in a mood and he’ll learn soon enough that being an adult means being mature enough to speak. 

Sure, you weren’t doing that yourself but it’s been damn near three days of this. 

“The fuss all ‘cause I wanted you to be lookout this one time.”

“Dean, I’m not dealing with your obtuse shit.” Flicking the faucet off, you turn to face him. He scoffs and circles to the bed, plopping down to take his boots off. 

“Obtuse, I’m not a fucking triangle.”

“No, but you’re being a fucking bitch.” He stops mid shoe unlacing and looks at you. You stare back because you’re doing nothing but telling the truth. 

“I’m the bitch?” He asks. 

“Yes, Dean. Do I need to put it in other words? Bitchy, annoying, bratty, termotulous, a handful, spiteful, tiresome, irritating— I can go on if you’d like!” By now you’re out of the kitchenette and moving into the bed— there’s two because it’s better if one of the beds is shitty. Options. But lately it’s because Dean refuses to share a bed with you. 

“I’m the bitch! Oh my god,” He laughs, taking a hand through his spiked hair before he starts to lace his boots again. “You ask for once fuckin’ thing.”

“Oh my fucking god, I can’t do this with you right now. I’m going for a smoke,” Snatching your pack of cigarettes from the table, you grab your coat before heading to the door. 

“Yeah, you do that. I need a drink,” As the door slams shut he takes a long sip from his beer, listening to the shitty motel decor rattle against the wall. 

Outside you’re not far from the motel. You’re in the parking lot with your back to the motel door, sitting on a concrete block that was supposed to house bushes but no one’s been tending to them so they've since died. Your eyes flicker across the property as your cigarette burns between your lips. There are maybe three other cars in the lot; a truck and two cars that leave as soon as you spot them. 

Flicking the ash from the cigarette, you shake your head before putting it back to your lips. It feels like you’re a teenager again, grasping at straws with a shitty boyfriend because he doesn’t know how to talk. How you’ve gotten stuck in this nasty cycle is behind you. 

You care about Dean, of course you do. You wouldn’t have given up your full-time office job to commit to hunting on the road if you weren’t crazy about him. And you know how he is, you understand that he doesn’t deal with conflict as easily as others do, but sometimes you’re just tired of being understanding. 

Sighing, you take a long drag from the cigarette and try to remember anything that would’ve set him off in recent days. He was in an amazing mood from what you remember, you’d visited Bobby and his dad had left for some hunting trip. Baby had just gotten some new coating and detailing, something that hasn’t happened in a while. And then… downhill from there. 

“You got a spare cigarette?” A woman asks as she sits next to you. You don’t welcome her to the spot or even look at her. You open your pack and extend it towards her, though. “Thanks,” Nodding, she uses her own lighter to light it and you continue staring at the car. 

Maybe he was upset about the case. It was a pretty long drive from Bobby’s. Not to mention incredibly boring. But you’ve been on longer drives and more boring cases. Was it something you did? You don’t remember doing anything out of the ordinary. 

“Which car is yours?” The woman asks, and you blink away from the car and over at her. Looking back at the cars, you sit up straight. 

“The impala, she’s my boyfriend's car.” You explain. 

“Mm, he has good taste,” She nods and you nod back, now smiling. 

“He takes such good care of that car. Better than he does himself. He does all the work alone, too. Doesn’t trust a mechanic to work on Baby and look at her— I dunno what’s the word for a cool fucking car but that’s it,” 

“I was talking about you,” She muses, and you snort. “Your boyfriend asleep or something?” She looks across the motel windows, trying to imagine which one is yours.

“Nah, I just don’t like smoking in rooms,” Flicking the cigarette again, she nods and takes her own, the end of the cigarette lighting in a small red flame. In the distance you see a car rolling down the block, the headlights on and a woman sits in the driver's seat with her arm hanging out of the window. 

“My rides here, thanks for the smokes. And tell your boyfriend his car is nice,” She stands and flicks her glasses to the top of her head before starting to walk away. 

“No problem, and yeah,” You watch as she gets into the car, kissing the woman on the cheek before waving at you as the car speeds away.

“You noticed I detailed Baby?” Dean asks and you turn to him, flicking the now small cigarette onto the ground. 

“Yeah, you spent like two whole days on it.” Shrugging, you look back over the impala. “Shit looks good but the wheels are getting worn, I gotta find some new ones for you soon.” He sucks his teeth as he sits next to you, his half empty bottle of beer hanging loosely from his fingers. 

“I…” He pauses and takes a long sip from the beer. “I was pissy ‘cause you hadn’t said anything,” 

“About the detailing?” He nods, unable to look at you and you chuckle. “Babe, I did! You were probably too busy getting your rocks off to notice,” In the dim lights you can see his ears turning a soft red that makes you smile. You should’ve guessed this was about Baby, he doesn’t get worked up about much else aside from that car. 

“What? No you fucking didn’t!” His head snaps to you and he looks you up and down, as if his glare would make you confess that you were lying. Instead, you nod and wave over to the impala. 

“I did! I did a whole walk around Baby and everything, Bobby started saying that she was our third because I kept saying good things. Go ahead and call him,” Rather than taking his phone out, he finishes the bottle and tosses it into the barren flower bed behind the two of you. 

“Whatever, let’s just forget about this,” He stands, wiping his pants and you follow him with your eyes. “Get your ass in our bed ‘cause if you think you’re sleeping in the back of Baby again I’ll shoot you in the head.” He calls from the door. Getting up, you rush behind him, kissing his neck twice.

[pernillecfcw]

Cats photo dump 💙📸

[dixons-sunshine]

js read your shopping spree and dying for your haircut fics and omg

can u pretty please, with a bow on top, write another part to that series or like an au where they get separated at the fall of the world and a few season later (preferably that prison era of daryl he was so fawking sexy there like omg) they found each other again and i want some build up to their reunion yk like someone else finds r and brings them in and some ppl kinda chatting abt the new girl or wtv and dars not rlly gaf cuz he kinda getting tired of trying to find r (realistically i don’t think he’d give up easily but let’s js pretend yk) but then they see each other and they’re like omfg the love of my life’s here and safe and like i need that glenn and maggie type reunion but like tenfold bc r and dar alr loved and knew each other before the fall yk and like yeah😣

idky but i’m a sucker for “r and daryl had a relationship beforehand, got separated, and reunited” trope (?) fic, blurb shit and you’d literally be godsent if u wrote this oml

I Found You | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: When the dead started to rise and the world went to hell, Daryl got seperated from you, the love of his life. After over a year of searching for you and finding no evidence of your survival, Daryl was beginning to give up and count his losses. One day, Carol stumbled upon a wounded woman while out on a run with Glenn, and the two of them decide to accept you into the prison. Little did they know, that would end up being one of the best decisions they could've ever made.

Genre: Angst to fluff.

Era: Prison, pre season 4, post season 3.

Warnings: Swearing, blood, death, mentions of attempted sexual assault (not descriptive)

Word count: 4.3k

A/n: Thank you so much for the request! I've decided to write the au since there's already a part three for the SSHD (Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams) universe in the works, but this request was way too good to not write. I hope you like it! And I absolutely agree with you. There's something about prison era Daryl that just hits different. He was on another level completely.

As always, my requests are open for any TWD requests.

(Just thought I'd say that both third- and second person is used. I referred to the reader in third  person when Glenn and Carol first met her, but it soon shifts to second person when she introduced herself. Just thought I'd let y'all know the shift is intentional.)

—

“Okay, so I can't guess what you did before all of this correctly, but I bet there is something that I will be right about.”

Daryl looked at Zach skeptically as they trudged through the abandoned store, looking for supplies to bring back to the prison. “Yeah? Wha's tha'?”

“You're brooding, quiet, you like to keep to yourself,” Zach started, leaning nonchalantly against one of the shelves while he watched the archer place multiple different packs and boxes into his bag. “The way you act most of the time would suggest you've never been in a relationship before, but there are clear signs that you were with someone before all of this.”

Daryl stiffened for a moment, his hand lingering above a pack, before regaining his composure and continuing his task. “Wha' signs?”

“Well, for one, you know exactly what kind of tampons and pads to get for the ladies at the prison. I would've just dumped everything in and have them sort through it, but you are only taking specific brands,” Zach pointed out, motioning to the box of tampons Daryl had just put back onto the shelf.

When Daryl didn't reply, Zach took that as his cue to continue. “And while we're on the topic of periods, you seem to know exactly what to get the girls for the pain and what to do to curve their bad tempers. What guy would know that if he didn't have a girlfriend before all of this? And to top it all off, and this is totally unrelated to everything I just said, I've seen that locket necklace you keep in your pocket. It's pretty worn out and faded, but you can definitely tell it's something from this generation, so it can't be something that was passed down from a relative, so that brings me to my conclusion. You, Daryl Dixon, had a girl before all of this.”

Daryl sighed, shutting his eyes tightly as he willed the onslaught of memories away. Memories that were too painful to think of, memories that did nothing but remind the archer of his failure. His failure at finding you, the love of his life, after the dead started walking. A failure he had to live with for as long as he remained alive.

Daryl opened his eyes and turned abruptly, leaving the young man behind him as he stalked towards the exit, his bag slung over his shoulder. Zach hurriedly caught up to him, struggling to keep at a steady pace beside him as Daryl strode quickly, wanting to put some distance between him and Zach.

“Woah, man! Slow down!” Zach complained, jogging to keep up with him. “Was it because I brought up the girl thing? I didn't realise it was a touchy subject.”

“It ain't none of yer damn business,” Daryl grumbled under his breath, stalking over to the truck him and Zach were using that day.

“Daryl! Come on, man. It's not that deep.”

Daryl gritted his teeth as he opened up the driver's side door of the truck, throwing his bag into the back before climbing inside. He started up the truck and revved the engine, a warning sign to Zach that he was about to leave, with or without him.

Zach hurriedly scurried into the passenger seat, barely having time to close the door before Daryl started speeding off. He gripped the edge of his seat, sending Daryl an exasperated look.

“Daryl, what the hell? Calm down!” he exclaimed, unnerved by the archer's sudden burst of fury. He'd seen Daryl angry before, but it was never directed towards him. It was downright scary.

“'M calm,” Daryl replied through gritted teeth, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.

“That's what you call calm?!” Zach exclaimed, motioning out towards the road. “You're driving like a maniac! Slow down!”

Daryl simply ignored the man, keeping his eyes trained on the road. Memories of you unwillingly flooded his mind. Memories of your smile, your laugh and your beautiful eyes. Memories of the calm mornings you'd spend with the archer in your shared sad excuse for an apartment where the hot water was a joke. Memories where you'd both stand under the cold water of the shower, Daryl embracing you from behind in an attempt to make the cold water bearable for you. Memories of your loving touch on his skin, your fingers lightly tracing over the scars on his back as you whispered reassuring things into his ear, assuring him that his father's abuse had nothing to do with him, that it wasn't his fault that any of that happened to him.

The more Daryl's mind wandered, the more he remembered some of the bad memories. All those arguments you had with him over some of his escapades with Merle, telling him that it would only get him into trouble, flooded his mind. One of those arguments ended up being the reason he got seperated from you in the first place.

Merle had wanted to go do some drug deal and had barged into your apartment, practically dragging Daryl from your bed. You had begged him not to go, arguing with him that it was a bad idea and that something would go wrong this time. He remembered being so angry at you for insisting during that argument that Merle wasn't good for him, that he needed to cut back on seeing him or set some boundaries with him. He had stormed out of the apartment without so much as a goodbye, and now he regretted it more than he's regretted anything before in his life.

Daryl blamed himself daily for not having listened to you that day. If he had, he never would've been seperated from you and you would've been safe by his side. He longed to have you by his side again, to tell you that he was sorry and that he loved you. However, even after all this time of searching, going out for extended periods of time to look for signs of you, it was to no avail. You were gone, and it was all his fault.

“Daryl? Are... you okay?”

Daryl snapped back to reality at the sound of Zach's concerned voice. He felt a droplet of water roll down his cheek and he hurriedly wiped it away, realising that he was crying. He hadn't even realised that tears had started to well up in his eyes, so immersed was he in his own thoughts.

“'M fine,” Daryl insisted, wiping his eyes hurriedly as he willed the tears away.

Zach furrowed his eyebrows, before realisation dawned on him. “You did have a girl before all of this. You lost her, didn't you?” he asked sympathetically.

Daryl hesitantly nodded, swallowing in an attempt to get rid of the lump in his throat. “I didn't lose her,” he began, bringing the truck to a halt in front of the prison gates as he waited for someone to open them.

“I don't know if she's even dead at all. She's just... Gone.”

—

“What are we looking for, exactly?” Glenn asked Carol as they scanned over the shelving of an abandoned pharmacy, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Carol sighed as she looked upon yet another empty shelf, its medical contents a thing of the past. “Anything medical. With all the new people we've been taking in, the supplies we have aren't going to be enough.”

“Okay,” Glenn drawled hesitantly. “But it doesn't look like there's anything worth scavenging here.”

“Let's just do a once over before we check the back. If there's nothing, we head on back. It's getting late,” Carol instructed. Glenn nodded, and the two of them dispersed to sweep through the small store once more.

“So,” Glenn started. “Is it just me, or has Daryl been more grumpy than usual?”

Carol hummed in agreement. “He has. He gets angry at the smallest of things lately.”

“Do you know why?”

“No,” Carol said, shaking her head. “I've asked him, but he won't say anything. Just tells me to mind my own business. It's really odd. He's more like he was back at the quarry. More closed off and snappy and I don't know why.”

“It's ever since he came back from that run with Zach a week ago,” Glenn replied, meeting up with the Carol again to go into the back room. “I've asked Zach if he knows why, but he refused to say anything. Says it's not his place to say.”

Carol frowned, opening the door that lead into the back room. “That's odd. So that means something—”

“Stay right there. Don't move another inch or I swear to god I'll shoot.”

Both Carol and Glenn froze in their tracks. They looked up and locked eyes with a woman, who's eyes were fiery as they darted between them.

“Names. Now. And weapons on the ground.”

“Okay, alright,” Carol responded, trying to diffuse the situation. She slowly lowered her gun and knife to the ground, urging Glenn to do the same. “I'm Carol, and this is Glenn. Now before we answer anymore questions, what's your name?”

The woman hesitated for a moment. “Y/n. What are you doing here?”

“We were looking for some supplies,” Carol spoke truthfully, eyeing the gun aimed at her carefully. “We're running low on medical things.”

After a couple of long, tense moments, with you scanning them from head to toe, you nodded to yourself after spotting something. Deciding to trust them for now, you slowly lowered the gun. However, you quietly hissed in pain, quickly clutching your side as you stumbled to regain your balance. After you steadied yourself, you limped over to your bag and grabbed a few things before handing them over to Carol and Glenn.

“Here. Hope these help. The place was ransacked when I got here. Wasn't a lot left to clear out.”

“Thank you, but we need more than this. This isn't going to last us long,” Carol responded, placing the items into her bag.

“No offence, lady, but I think I need the supplies more than you do at the moment. And I gave you more than half already. I can't spare more,” you said, clutching your side tightly.

“What happened?” Glenn asked, pointing to the your side, unable to stop his curiosity from seeping through.

“Flesh eaters,” you replied nonchalantly, shrugging your shoulders. “I was fighting a bunch of them when one lunged at me from the side. It toppled me through a broken window, and a shard sliced me.”

“Don't you have a group? Couldn't they help you?” Glenn questioned.

“Nope. I've been on my own since this whole thing started. I guess I should probably find a group, though. Things like this wouldn't happen if I had backup.”

You gingerly lifted your shirt, and both Carol and Glenn grimaced at the painful sight. The wound was deep and oozing blood. It would definitely need stitches, as well as someone to remove the remaining fragments of glass that still painfully stuck out of the wound. It was terrible. You wouldn't be able to get it all out without a professional.

Suddenly, an idea struck Carol. “You gave us some of the supplies you scavenged without even knowing us. Why?”

“Well, you didn't try to kill me, even after I held you at gunpoint. And by the looks of it, you guys have a group and are set up somewhere. Figured I should do the honourable thing and offer up some medical things if there's kids involved.”

“How do you know there's kids?” Glenn asked, confused.

“I can see the toys in your bag,” you pointed out, motioning to the toy truck that stuck out of the top of his bag. “Figured that adults wouldn't be playing with toy trucks while the world was ending.”

“Still, why would you? You don't owe us anything,” Carol questioned, though her mind was already set on one thing.

“Some might call me naive, but I hope that by doing some good in this fucked up world, karma will decide to do something good for me. That probably makes me stupid as shit, huh?” you replied, laughing before wincing at the pain that shot through your side at the small action.

Carol smiled at you. “We have a group set up not too far from here, at the prison. You can join if you want, but you have to answer three questions first.”

You raised your eyebrows at her. “Three questions? That's it?”

“Yeah.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Alright, shoot.”

“How many walkers have you killed?” Carol began, watching you closely.

“A lot. Too many to keep track of at this point.”

“How many people have you killed?”

You hesitated for a moment, guilt creeping up on you. “Three.”

“Why?”

“Two of them were bit. They asked me to kill them. The other one... That bastard tried to rape me. I wouldn't let him.”

“I'm sorry,” Glenn said sympathetically.

“It's fine. I'm fine,” you waved him off, before turning your attention back to Carol. “How'd I do? Satisfactory enough?”

Carol nodded. “For me, yes. You'll still need to meet the leader and have him evaluate you, but I think you'll be alright. You'll fit in just fine.”

“Hopefully,” you laughed nervously, instantly paying the price for it with a sharp pain shooting up your side, making you visibly wince.

“Come on, let's get going. We have a doctor who can get that checked out for you,” Glenn prompted. He walked over to you and grabbed your bag, stopping your protest instantly. “It's fine, I've got it. One extra bag won't kill me.”

Together, all of you made your way out of the pharmacy and over to their car. You got settled in the back while Carol and Glenn got into the front, and before long you were setting off to the prison. Your eyes were beginning to droop, but Glenn seemed eager to get to know the new recruit better.

“What were you doing out there on your own anyway?”

“I was looking for my boyfriend. I was hoping that he might still be alive.”

“No luck?” he asked.

“No,” you shook your head, pursing your lips. “I'm beginning to think I might never find him, if he's even still alive.”

“Never say never,” Glenn encouraged you. “You'll find him someday, I know it.”

“I really hope so.”

—

“Have you seen that new chick Glenn and Carol brought back? She's a real looker.”

“I know, right? You think she's into blondes?”

“Even if she was, I doubt she'd go for your scrawny ass.”

“Easy, boys. She might not even be into guys. I could have a shot with her for all you know.”

Daryl groaned inwardly as he entered the cellblock. The new girl that Glenn and Carol brought in the day before was seemingly the hottest topic of discussion amongst everyone and he couldn't escape it, no matter where he tried to run to. Nobody, apart from Glenn, Carol, Rick and Hershel have officially met her, yet everybody had seemingly already formed an opinion about her. Although there were a lot of different opinions, everyone seemingly agreed on one thing; the new girl was hotter than hell.

Daryl was the only guy in the entire prison that hadn't seen her yet. He was out hunting when Carol and Glenn brought her back and he hasn't bothered to go out of his way to introduce himself to her ever since he got back. He'd meet her soon enough and he wasn't hoping to make friends with her. The more people he managed to keep at arm's length, the better.

“Yo, Daryl. What do you think about the new chick?” a guy called Mitchell asked him, snapping him from his thoughts.

Daryl shrugged. “Ain't met her yet,” he replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Okay, but have you seen her?” another guy called Ronnie asked. “I'm telling you, man, hotter than the sun on a summer day. I'm hoping she'll let me hit at least once.”

“How 'bout ya leave the poor girl alone?” Daryl snapped, turning to face the group that was walking with him. “She ain't even been here two days and y'all are already ogling her like she's some prize to be won. Have some more respect.”

“Jeez,” Mitchell whistled. “What's got your panties up in a bunch?”

“Nothin',” Daryl muttered angrily, turning around to walk further into the cellblock. “Jus' wanna get this fuckin' job done and all y'all can do is yap 'bout some girl ya dun' even know properly. I dun' give two flyin' shits 'bout who or wha' ya talk 'bout, but do it after the job's done. Y'all ain't free loadin' here. Do yer job, earn yer keep.”

“Sorry,” a girl called Ariana muttered, sending him an apologetic look. “What do you need us to do?”

“Take those planks over there and take em to the guard tower. Rick wants to fortify it and wants it done by the end of the week.”

“What are you gonna do?” Ronnie asked, crossing his arms as he sized Daryl up.

Daryl glared at him and squared his shoulders, looking down on his shorter, scrawny frame. “Hershel needs help with somethin'. I believe ya can understand tha' if the doctor needs somethin' done, it's considered top priority?”

Ronnie shrunk under Daryl's intense glare, nodding quickly. “Yeah, of course.”

“Great.”

With that, Daryl turned on his heel and set off to find Hershel. He didn't have to search far, however, because Hershel halted him before he could go outside.

“Daryl, over here,” the old man called after him, halting him in his tracks.

Daryl turned and walked over to Hershel, nodding at him respectfully. “Wha' ya need, Doc?”

“I'm sure you've heard of the girl Carol and Glenn brought back yesterday by now?” Hershel questioned, chuckling at the slight groan Daryl emitted.

“Who hasn't? Apparently she's really good lookin'. Her looks has been all people has to say 'bout her.”

Hershel nodded. “Unfortunately, that is true. Only Rick, Glenn, Carol and myself has had the pleasure of meeting her personally up until this point. She's a lovely woman. Had no problem that there wasn't anything to ease the pain when I had to stitch her side and she's more than willing to get up and start working to earn her keep. She won't be able to for at least another day or so since her side needs to heal up a bit first, but Carol and Glenn did good with bringing her back. She'll fit right in.”

“Good,” Daryl nodded. “She a good fighter?”

“From what I understand, she's been out on her own since the beginning. She's not dead yet, so I'd say she's alright,” Hershel replied, adjusting on his crutches.

“Alrigh', now enough 'bout her. Wha' did ya need me to do?”

Hershel gave him an encouraging pat on the back, confusing the archer. “You're going to be one of the very few people who gets to say they met the new girl for the next couple of days. I was hoping you could help her fix her bunk? One of the legs on the bunk broke and she's dead set on repairing it. She won't let me help because she keeps insisting I've done enough for her, so I told her I would send someone else to help. She'll be expecting you.”

Daryl pursed his lips but nodded, parting ways with the older man. He walked over to the cell that Hershel had pointed towards and stopped at the doorway, hesitating to make his presence known.

You had your back turned towards the door, hunched over as you inspected the leg of the bunk. You weren't aware of the archer that stood a few feet behind you, engrossed entirely in your own thoughts. That was, until he spoke up behind you.

“Hey. Hershel said ya needed help?”

You froze at the voice, willing the supposed hallucination away. You slowly rose to your feet and turned, locking eyes with the one person you've been searching for since the world went to hell—your boyfriend, Daryl Dixon.

The moment Daryl locked eyes with you, a whirlwind of emotions flooded his being. Relief, love, happiness, wonder, sadness, confusion and so much more that he couldn't decipher. Although his first instinct was to wrap you in his arms and never let go of you again, he hesitated, refusing to believe you were real. He took a step back, his eyes wide as he looked at you.

You stared back at him with equal amounts of disbelief. You took a hesitant step forward. “Daryl?” you whispered. The man in front of you looked slightly different; a little bit older and his hair was longer, but there was no mistaking it. The man in front of you was Daryl.

Daryl remained silent, his eyes locked on you as you continued to take agonizingly slow steps towards him. He watched as you stopped in front of him and hesitantly raised your hand, bringing it to rest on his cheek. Daryl instantly melted into your familiar soft touch, and that was all the confirmation he needed. Without another thought, he gently grabbed you and pulled you into his arms, tightly clinging to you as he pressed multiple kisses to the top of your head.

“Yer real,” he whispered, a laugh of amazement falling from his lips. “Yer real. Yer alive. Yer actually still alive.”

You laughed quietly against his chest as you held onto him tightly, never wanting to let go ever again. Your laughter soon turned into sobs, tears of relief and happiness falling from your eyes.

“I thought I'd never see you again,” you whispered through your tears, burying your face into his chest. “I thought you were dead, Dar.”

“'M here,” he whispered into your ear, a few tears of his own falling from his eyes. “'M alive. Yer alive. 'M never lettin' ya go ever again. 'M sorry I ever left tha' day in the first place.”

“It's okay. I'm sorry, too. I never should've asked you to cut Merle out of your life. He's your brother. It was unreasonable of me.”

“Nah, it wasn't,” he denied, placing another gentle kiss on the top of your head. “Ya were jus' lookin' out fer me. I never shoulda gotten mad at ya in the first place.”

“Let bygones be bygones?” you whispered against his chest.

Daryl chuckled before nodding. “Yeah, of course.”

The two of you held onto each other for a couple of moments longer until you pulled back. Daryl was about to voice his protest until you pressed your lips against his in an urgent kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. His arms settled on your waist, pulling you closer into him as he kissed you back. There was no lustful hunger behind the kiss—there was only love and longing, two broken parts finally reuniting and mending together as one.

Daryl pulled back and placed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. “I missed ya so much,” he whispered, willing the lump in his throat to go away.

“I missed you too. More than you even know,” you replied, cupping Daryl's cheek with one of your hands. “But I found you. I finally found you.”

Daryl leaned into your touch before turning his head to kiss the palm of your hand. However, he soon pulled away from you and strode over to your bag, slinging it over your shoulder.

“C'mon,” he said, taking your hand in his as he pulled you to walk beside him.

“Where are we going?” you questioned, falling into step beside the man you loved.

“There ain't no need fer ya to sleep in there. Yer gonna sleep with me in my cell,” Daryl said simply, pulling you along to his cell.

You giggled but said nothing, silently following him into his cell. When he placed your bags down on the floor, Daryl placed a soft kiss on your lips before stalking out of the cell.

“Where are you going?” you called after him, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion.

“'M gonna find tha' prick who objectified ya and teach him a lesson. Yer hot as fuck, yes, that much I can accept people sayin', but Ronnie implied he wanted to sleep with ya outrigh'. He's really gonna regret sayin' tha' in a few moments. Dun' even try to talk me outta it.”

“Hey, Dar?” you called after him, halting him in his tracks. “I love you.”

Daryl smiled at you. “I definitely love ya more.”