#yeah I know the barrel is bent

[cadmiumorang]

Have another crappy and rough sketch of my oc

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 11th. blaise - mirror sex, body worship.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: writing this was detrimental to my health. blaise is a man. a MAN. you’re having a terrible day, your boyfriend knows what you need to make it better.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, SMUT, PIV, fingering, multiorgasm, teasing, begging, doggystyle, dirty talk, praise so much praise, body worship, soft dom blaise, pet names, the usual nasty shit you'll find this month.

"Yeah that's what I said...he didn't listen to me, though. Of course."

Parchment crinkled under the weight of your hand, quill scratching faintly as your boyfriends voice hummed in the background—an effortless drawl that filled the room like low music. You barely caught the words, caught up in the mechanical rhythm of  your writing—but that didn't stop him from droning on, stretched out like a relaxed cat on your bed—one leg bent, both hands tucked behind his head, his gaze lost somewhere in the ceiling's quiet expanse.

"And? What happened?" You asked, finally letting the quill drop, grimacing at the ink smudged across your fingers.

"Detention," he said, clearly amused, "cleaning rat barrels for a week."

You managed a smile, but it was small, fleeting—more like a shadow of the real thing. Blaise noticed, of course he did, but he let it linger undisturbed, as if waiting for the right moment to ask what was really wrong. His stories were always an offering, an attempt to pull you from the depths of a day that felt as heavy as the sky before a storm—which usually helped, but today, even he couldn't shake the weight entirely.

You rolled away from your desk, chair wheels creaking until you reached the mirror. There you were, reflected back at yourself—no makeup, hair half-tumbling from the ponytail you'd given up on hours ago, the lines under your eyes telling a story you didn't want to read. You sighed, lifting a hand to touch the flyaway strands, knowing it wouldn't help. You were a bloody disaster.

"What're you lookin' at, baby?" Blaise was behind you before you even realized it, his warmth filling the space behind your chair, his arms snaking around your waist with the same natural ease as breathing. "Did I tell you you look beautiful today?"

You exhaled as he rested his chin on your shoulder, his eyes meeting yours in the glass—

"Don't lie, Blaise," you muttered, the exhaustion making your voice heavier than it should've been. "I look a mess."

"Not a lie," he whispered back, his lips so close you could almost taste the mint on his tongue. His hand lifted, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear before trailing down the side of your face like it was something sacred, like you weren't just a tired girl with too many thoughts. "You're always beautiful...so, so beautiful."

The heat from his words bloomed in your chest, a slow burn, even as the weight of the day pressed heavier. It felt as though the reflection was mocking you—this version of yourself you could barely recognize, worn down by everything that had gone wrong.

"I can tell when something's bothering you," he pressed on, his voice drawing you back, patient and unhurried. His fingers made soft circles on your stomach, waiting, coaxing. "Wanna tell me?"

"Nothing's bothering me...I just.." you shook your head, the words coming out on a breath, too small to carry the weight of what you meant. "I just had a bloody terrible day."

He hummed, thumb grazing your skin. "How terrible?"

"The kind that makes you feel like the universe is against you," you whispered, gaze falling, unable to look at him while your voice cracked. "I'm sorry—I know you wanted to go out tonight, but I just—"

"Shh—hey, don't do that," he interrupted, his fingers tilting your chin, forcing your eyes back to his in the mirror. "I don't care about going out. I care about you. We don't need to be anywhere else. I've got everything I need right here, baby. Okay?"

Merlin—your heart clenched, the ache reminding you just how easy it was to fall in love with him—and how you managed to do so, all over again, every single day. Blaise always had this way of making you feel like the center of the world, even on days when you felt like you were disappearing from it.

A small, trembling smile ghosted across your lips, and you nodded. "Okay."

"Yeah?" He nudged your chin gently, brushing more stray hair from your face—he never once took his fucking eyes off of you. "You're so fucking beautiful, babygirl...how are you all mine..."

A sigh escaped your lips as his fingers moved to massage your shoulders, his lips finding their way back to the curve of your neck, pressing slow, deliberate kisses along your skin. The tension in your body began to melt, replaced by something warmer, softer.

"Messy hair, no makeup...you're a fucking dream," he whispered. "Every morning I wake up...and I still can't believe..." his hands trailed down your arms, a slow blaze of fire, grazing over your belly before they curved up your chest. "...that all of this...is all for me..."

Your head tipped back, a soft whimper slipping from your lips as he pressed himself closer. One of his hands slid back up, fingers curling around the base of your throat, his thumb stroking the side of your neck. He groaned softly against your temple, other hand still pawing at your chest.

"Look at you," he rasped as his eyes met yours again in the mirror. You could feel his gaze tracing the outline of his hand wrapped around your throat. "Tell me you know you're beautiful."

Your heart was racing, breaths coming in shallow bursts as the intensity of his touch, his words, filled the room. He was crowding over you, pressed against the back of your chair, his hands insistent but not frantic, like he had all the time in the world—

"I know," you whispered. "You tell me every day..."

He hummed, the sound vibrating in his throat. "Mhm…and I'll keep telling you…because I don't think you get it yet...just how truly beautiful you are…”

Your lashes fluttered, eyes heavy beneath the weight of his gaze as his fingers moved lower, the buttons of your shirt parting effortlessly, baring the delicate lace underneath.

His jaw clenched, hunger flickering behind his eyes, his touch roughening with it. “…and just how lucky I am... to get to touch you like this."

Your head lolled back onto his shoulder, your back arched, baring yourself to him with a shivering sigh. His hand around your throat tightened, not too much, just enough to remind you he held you, that in this moment —this skin—belonged to him.

His other hand moved across your chest, teasing your nipples through the lacy fabric, kneading, coaxing your heart to race under his palm.

"I'm a better man because of you," he whispered, lips ghosting over the pulse at your neck. “...because you make me want to be."

Your whimper came unbidden, warmth flooding your veins as his eyes never left yours—devouring you through the glass. This wasn't just about touch. It was something Blaise always made sure you felt in this relationship, the thing tethered between you—the fulfilment of a need to be seen and a need to be known.

"Look at you." His lips tilted in a breathy smile, dripping with reverence, with something sacred as his hand roved over your chest, taking his time. "Perfect. So fucking perfect."

Both big hands fell to massage your tits now and a small, broken sound escaped you—helpless against the onslaught, your body betraying your efforts at control. You closed your eyes, biting your lip to stem the flood, but it was useless. Blaise, like this, was unrelenting, determined to make you remember this moment, every whisper, every touch. His voice was an echo you'd hear in your dreams.

"Blaise..." his name fell from your lips in a breathless whisper. “Gods.”

"Open those pretty eyes for me, babygirl..." he purred  as his teeth grazed the curve of your neck. You obeyed with a shiver—your reflection pure chaos — a mess of need and want, heat pooling low in your belly, an ache between your legs you couldn't ignore. Blaise hummed. "I want you to watch yourself. I want you to see what I see."

His hands slid lower, skimming the curve of your hips and settling on your thighs. You watched as he moved with deliberation, savouring the way your skin shivered beneath his touch. He shifted your legs wider, pushing the fabric of your skirt higher until it bunched around your waist. His eyes darkened, and for a moment, you weren't sure who was falling apart faster—him or you.

"Fuck," you moaned, barely holding onto the sound, feeling it slip past your lips like a breath. "Blaise.."

With a satisfied smile, his eyes flicked to yours and you noted the way his breathing shallowed—admired the way his fingers slipped along the insides of your thighs, tracing the soft skin without haste. The sensation made your breath hitch, and you bit down on your lip, fighting to keep your eyes open.

A low groan rumbled from deep in his chest as he pushed your skirt up further, exposing your underwear in the reflection.

"That's my girl,” he murmured, his voice thick with adoration. "These thighs...mm, fuck...so soft.."

His fingers dragged back down, agonizingly slow, tracing your thighs again.

You shuddered. You knew just how needy you sounded but gods—"Blaise, please..."

Blaise knew too, and of course he just chuckled, lips grazing the curve of your shoulder, his teeth catching on the fabric there. The nip was gentle at first, but just enough to make you gasp, your hips jerking reflexively—and you watched his eyes flash, lashes fluttering—

"Fuck...these hips," now he was growling, his nails biting into your skin. "The way you roll them...torture, pure torture... just to make me give you what you want..."

Your breath hitched again. You were a squirming mess, now—each fucking word a slow burn that licked at every nerve.

"Is that so bad?" You whispered, though the words barely left your mouth before a soft moan interrupted them. "Making you…give me what I want...?"

His laugh was rougher this time, his breath searing hot against your ear. One hand moved again, fingers teasing the edge of your underwear—and you realized you were holding your fucking breath—meeting his gaze in the mirror, wide and wanting, the tension between you thick enough to choke on.

"Not so bad...when I want to give it to you..." his fingers danced over your clothed cunt—light, taunting, threatening to give you everything you craved but holding just shy of it. Your hips rolled again, involuntarily. "But absolutely disastrous," his fingers traced higher, the ache of wanting made your pulse thunder. "...when I'm trying to make you wait."

You whimpered, snuffing a groan in your throat, and he smiled—watching the effect, his jaw falling open when he grazed over your clit through the fabric and you moaned loud—shameless.

"Gods—Blaise, please—" you were so fucking desperate now. Heat scorching your skin. Eyes squeezed shut. He was going to kill you, you were sure of it. “No more teasing—��

"Eyes open." He husked, bringing one hand back up to cup your jaw. "You close them and I'll stop. Keep being good for me, baby..."

You whinged—meeting his dark eyes in the mirror, lust blown pupils swallowing his irises. You watched yourself—his arms curled around you, strong and firm—long, slender fingers finally, fucking finally, giving you what you want—slipping under your underwear, fingertips kissing the sensitive lips of your throbbing cunt.

"Good girl...so good for me..." he muttered, slicking a single digit between your folds, grazing your clit. That did it—blinded with relief, you whinged, moaning deep in your chest. "Oh fuck, you're so wet...you need this, don't you, baby..."

"Yes—Gods—" you held his eyes in the mirror, hips jerking toward his touch. "Need it...need you..."

"So sensitive f'me..." he whispered in your ear, brushing the bundle of nerves again, earning another shuddered groan. He kissed at your jaw. "I'll never get tired of hearing you say that...that you need me..."

"Fuck—I do—always—" the words bled out, unfiltered. "Always need you."

Blaise shuddered, you could feel his hips rocking gently against the back of the chair as his fingers found your clit, indefinitely this time, and began drawing tight, frantic circles over it. Your back crested, your head falling back just slightly before you remembered what he said and returned your gaze to his in the mirror—he was watching you, body crowding yours like he was preparing a meal—and you spread your legs wider, noting the entire mess he'd made of you in minutes.

"Beautiful," he cooed, jaw tensing as you gripped his wrist—one hand shifting to grope your chest. "Messy girl...m'dying to get inside you..."

You cried out, your pussy clenching, craving to be filled by him. "Blaise—baby—please..."

Wetness soaked your thighs—coated his fingers as he dipped lower and pushed two inside you, crooking them deep. The reaction was involuntary—you cried out, ground your hips into his palm, fucking yourself on his digits, wanting—no, needing more. He groaned, squeezing your breast harder than you're sure he'd intended—teeth sinking into your shoulder in a futile attempt to compose himself.

"Fucking hell—that's it, baby—" his thumb twirled your clit, fingers driving deep—bliss burned your eyes, and you moaned. "Soaked and still so fucking tight...fuck.."

"M'gonna—I need you—" you were babbling, lost in sensation, coherent thoughts banished to the perimeters of your mind. "Inside—pleasepleaseplease—need you—"

"Cum first," his hand on your breast slipped up, tangling through your hair and nudging your face toward his—his lips found yours, soft and tender. "Wanna' make you feel good..."

Pleasure flooded you, muscles collapsing as you succumbed to it—Blaise kissed you again, holding you there, tongue delving into your mouth while he rubbed your swollen nub faster, pumped his fingers deeper.

"I...oh, Gods—already feel s'good..." you moaned into him, and he jerked you harder to his body, tongue massaging yours while his plush lips worked over your mouth. "Mm—fuck—s'good—"

He groaned. "Mhm—cum for me."

And then you did—every nerve in your body ignited at once. The obscene, wet sounds of him pumping his fingers into you filled the room, a rhythm that matched the frantic pulse in your ears. His mouth smothered the desperate cries of pleasure that fought to break free as your body convulsed, writhing against him. Your hips bucked, helplessly seeking more, fingers digging into his wrist like anchors as your entire world spun wildly out of control. He was both your rock and your undoing—keeping you tethered to earth while hurling you into the stars.

It felt like you were suspended in that ecstasy forever, the air leaving your lungs in shattered gasps, until, at last, your breathing found its rhythm again. Slowly, he withdrew his fingers, his own breath shaky, eyes dark with hunger. He brought his slick-coated fingers to your lips, pressing them past, and you groaned as you took him in, suckling greedily.

"You like that?" His voice was a low rumble, vibrating against your spine. You moaned in response, your tongue swirling around his digits, eyes fluttering shut at the taste of yourself. His other hand moved, urgently, his belt coming undone and echoing through the room as he freed himself, groaning, "Fuck."

Blaise had lost his composure completely—you didn't need to look at him to know it. In an instant, you were on your feet, his hands pulling you up as he kicked your chair out of the way, rolling into the wall with a thud. You turned your head to look at it but his lips crashed into yours, both hands cradling your face as he sank to his knees, dragging you down with him. The hardwood floor beneath you was cold, but his touch—his touch was a wildfire, scorching every inch of your skin, setting your blood to boil.

You moved instinctively and gasped as your fingers found him, warm and hard in your palm, twitching at your touch. He growled low in his throat, his hips jerking involuntarily as you stroked him, kneeling together on the floor, breaths mingling in the heated space between you. The moment stretched, unbearably tense, until with a swift motion, he spun you around, turning you to face the mirror.

His hands were everywhere—on your hips, sliding down your thighs, grazing the curve of your waist—pulling your skirt higher as he met your eyes over your shoulder in the reflection—

"Look at yourself," his fingers tightened on your hips, guiding you back against him, his length slicking between your thighs, grazing against your heat. "See what you do to me."

You gasped, melting into him, tightening your thighs around his shaft, fighting to keep your eyes on his in the mirror. Blaise exhaled, cranking your throat to the side and snatching a breast before biting the meat of your shoulder, cock pulsing when you whinged in delighted pain.

"Blaise—fuck—please..." your cunt clenched with anticipation, heat at your cheeks as you watched yourself in the mirror, desperately trying to tip your hips so he'd slide in. "Please, fuck me—"

Your voice was ruined. Music to his ears. Blaise could never deny that begging.

"Shit, baby..." he pressed in, leaning you forward until you were resting on your elbows in front of the mirror—seething as his girth stretched you open—splitting you wide in a way that made your eyes roll. He pulsed at your entrance, taking his time, letting you bask in the drag of your walls along his swollen length. In his reflection, his were lips parted, chest working with broken breath. "So goddamn tight..."

"Fuck," you moaned, unbridled, his hands bruising your hips as he picked up the pace. "Yes—mm—Gods, yes—"

The power of his thrusts stole your breath, quaked your bones, your cries of pleasure hiccuped by the rapid strokes of his hips. Blaise was the most patient man you'd ever met, until he wasn't. He groaned, his eyes trained on your ass, skin smacking skin with loud slaps—you were captivated, unable to think or speak or do anything other than watch—fire stoked by the sheer eroticism of watching him fuck your pussy. A hard, vicious plunge—you shrieked, and you could see him smirk to himself before gracing your ass with a soft smack, piercing your cervix.

"Sexy little thing. All fucking mine." He wound your hair in his fist, popping your neck back to hunch over you. "You like that, hm? Watching yourself get fucked?"

You whimpered, neck aching with the force of his grip, nails digging into your palms as he drilled you. The switch in his demeanour was dizzying. His dick was hollowing you out, rending you wide—you could hardly focus on his words—

"Yes!" You managed. "Fuck—yes—"

He groaned, fucking faster—his gaze ravaged you, wandering over every inch of your reflection before stopping at your jiggling chest. His hand slipped down from your hair to grasp a breast—squeezing and kneading the soft flesh in his huge palm, his other hand snaking down around your thigh to swirl over your clit, and you choked—a noise wrenched from your lungs far louder than you'd have liked.

"Fuck—fuck—" his hips moved erratically. He was getting close. So were you. "Tight—squeeze me s'good—"

You whinged. He swirled his fingers faster. "Blaise—m'gonna—cum—"

It descended upon you—the promise of oblivion—as you found one breath, another breath, and then found yourself in the mirror, skin gleaming, expression wrought with pleasure, entire body shaking with the pistoning of your boyfriends hips.

His eyes were still on yours, reverence inside them, worship.

He grunted. "Yes—fuck, cum on my cock, baby—let me feel you—"

It was a command that shattered all thought, a primal cry of ecstasy that ripped through you, overtaking every nerve, every vein, every muscle in your body. Your limbs trembled, thighs shaking as the pleasure coursed through you, molten, burning under your skin. You were less than halfway cognizant of what was leaving your mouth—barely picking up on your boyfriends groans and moans in your ear as you squeezed and milked his cock through your climax, fucking you deep until he couldn't take it anymore and erupted as well—pouring his cum into you, rolling his hips until he was empty.

Swallowing hard, you collapsed onto the floor, your chest heaving as he pulled out, leaving you breathless and trembling. His hands, still warm from the heat of your skin, gently held your arm as he sank down beside you. Without a word, he tugged you against his chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing a calming rhythm against your back. His fingers threaded softly through your hair, untangling the remnants of tension as the two of you lay there, catching your breath.

After a few moments, he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple, the touch so tender it made you melt all over again. You tilted your head to meet his gaze, a soft smile curving your lips, all the stress that had plagued you earlier dissipating into nothing.

"Maybe I should have bad days more often." You smiled through an exhale.

"If this is what it takes to fix them," he murmured with a smirk, his voice deep and gravelly from exertion, "then I'm more than willing to be your remedy, anytime."

You hummed, a huff of a laugh slipping out as you traced lazy shapes on his chest—inhaling his scent with each breath. You loved this man. Loved that he never failed to make you feel so goddamn beautiful, so special, so needed.

"Seriously though," you whispered after a while, your cheek pressed to his chest, "thank you. For this. For knowing exactly what I needed."

His fingers stilled in your hair, a quiet hum of understanding in his throat.

"I always know what you need, baby," he said, his voice soft, filled with something more than just desire, something warmer. "And I'll always be here to give it to you."

[nmhdreamscape]

my turn! ✧ l.hc

pairing | dad!haechan x fem!reader

request | "sry to ask again but could you write whiny husband Haechan getting jealous of his son cause you give him more attention then Haechan by peppering him with kisses or cuddling him the whole time pls? (make it long if you can pls)"

word count | 944

content | fluff, slightly suggestive, jealousy, you and hyuck have a son, making out

“mum!” you heard a tiny yell sound down the hallway as the front door opened. you looked up at the clock, school was indeed over for the day. poking your head out of the laundry, you watched as your son came barrelling down the hallway towards you. you bent down to catch him, the boy landing in your arms quite harshly, earning a grunt from you.

“how was school today, baby?” you asked with a smile, squeezing him into a hug. you truly treasured small moments like this. moments where you could just truly take in your son. you pressed a flurry of kisses onto his cheeks as he tried to squirm away. when he finally broke free from your tirade of affection, he began to recount his day.

“and, we learned about dinosaurs today! dowon said the t-rex was the coolest but i thought it was the brac- bracio- bachi…” he trailed off, really trying hard to remember the name correctly. you let out a small giggle, pinching his cheek.

“brachiosaurus?” you quizzed, knowing you were right. what made it even better was watching the way his eyes lit up in delight at you knowing exactly what he meant.

“yeah that one! how’d you know that mum, you’re so smart.” he marvelled, leaning into your touch as you stroked his hair. 

“anything else happen?” you asked, wanting to make sure he was finished with his story.

“nope, i thinked that’s it.” he smiled up at you, looking like the direct copy of his father. you pressed a final kiss to his cheek before standing up again.

“it’s thought baby, not thinked.” you corrected, ruffling his hair. “why don’t you go and have a shower, i’ll make sure there’s a snack waiting for you when you get out.” the promise of food was enough to make your son take off running. you let out a hearty laugh, watching as his small frame disappeared upstairs.

the sound of someone clearing their throat rather loudly snapped you out of your motherly daze. you turned your head to find donghyuck leaning against the wall in the hallway, almost as if he hadn’t moved from the moment your son had greeted you. he was standing there with his trademark pout adorning his lips. you let out an exasperated sigh, rolling your eyes as you made your way over to him. as you got closer, he backed further away. you raised an eyebrow at him in confusion.

“what’s up with you?” you questioned half-heartedly as you moved towards your husband once again. this time, donghyuck didn’t back away and welcomed you into his space. his arms naturally came to wrap around your waist as yours wrapped around his neck. you looked up at him, waiting for your answer.

“i don’t get hellos like that.” he whined, pout still present on his lips. you let out a laugh in disbelief, hand coming up to clutch at your chest.

“seriously?” you stared at him in disbelief. you watched as a slight redness began to appear on donghyuck’s ears. biting a lip to surprise a laugh at his embarrassment, you watched as he stepped out of your grasp.

“yes seriously! you didn’t even say hi at all.” he continued in a huff, arms coming to cross over his chest. you just watched on in amusement, wondering how he could get jealous over his own son, of all people.

that’s when you heard the shower turn on, signalling your son was doing what he was told. it also signalled that the two of you now had some time alone. without much of a second thought you cornered your husband up against the wall, standing up on your toes so that you were now eye level with him. your noses brushed against one another as your breaths mingled, your husband staring down at you in anticipation.

“hi.” you whispered, as your arms came to rest around his neck once again. his hands came down to grip at your waist, eyes not so subtly drifting down to your lips.

“hey.” was all the response either of you needed. your lips crashed together hurriedly, donghyuck surging forward, so now you were pressed against the wall on the other side of the hallway.

while you had missed your son while he was away at school, you also missed this. the feeling of donghyuck pressed up against you after a long day of work. your kisses were messy and rushed, his tongue slipping inside your mouth with ease as you began to tug on the hairs at the nape of his neck. the two of you could easily lose yourself in the sensation, donghyuck beginning to trail open mouth kisses down the column of your neck. however, that was soon to be interrupted.

“mum! dad! there’s a spider in the bathroom! i’m scared.” you both heard your son yell from upstairs, causing you both to pause and stare at one another. in assessing each other dishevelled state, you began to laugh, attempting to make yourselves look somewhat presentable, so your son wouldn’t ask questions you couldn’t quite answer.

“i better go deal with that and i’ll finish dealing with you later.” he winked, giving you a light tap on the ass as he walked away. you simply shook your head, watching as he disappeared up the steps.

“i’ll be waiting.” you called out from the kitchen, having moved to prepare your son the snack you had promised. moments like those with donghyuck you treasured as well, especially with the promise of what was to come later on once you both tuck your son into bed for the night.

masterlist requests and asks are open!

[pucksandpower]

Worlds Apart

Max Verstappen x Sargeant!Reader

Summary: everyone seems to have something to say about your relationship with Max, but at the end of the day all that matters is the two of you

Warnings: Jos Verstappen

Based on a request by @butterflyexe

The sorority house is pulsing with noise — music, laughter, the clink of plastic cups. You weave through the crowd, feeling very much out of place amongst the scantily clad co-eds. Your sundress and sandals seem prudish in comparison.

“Y/N! There you are!” Chelsea, your big sister in Kappa Alpha Theta, comes barreling over with a few of her friends in tow. “We were just talking about you.”

You eye them warily. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, like how you’re totally wasting your college experience pining over some old race car driver instead of playing the field.” Chelsea’s friend, Brittany, smirks as she takes a sip of her drink.

You bristle at that. “Max is not old! He’s only 26.”

“Exactly,” Chelsea says, putting an arm around your shoulders. “You’re a sophomore dating a whole ass man who’s nearly 30. It’s weird.”

“No it’s not!” You protest, shrugging off her arm. “We’ve been together over a year. I really like him.”

“Like him?” Brittany scoffs. “Wake up, Y/N. He’s an international celebrity dating a little college student. You’re just his side piece.”

The words hit like a slap to the face. “That’s not true!”

“Then why does he never post about you on social media?” Chelsea counters. “I follow him and you’re never on his accounts.”

“We just value our privacy,” you mumble, but her words have sown seeds of doubt.

Chelsea gives you a pitying look. “Honey, I’m just trying to watch out for you. There are so many great guys here on campus that would treat you right.”

Your eyes narrow at the dig. “You mean like those meathead frat bros that never shut up about their high school glory days? No thanks.”

The girls all gasp in mock offense. Brittany steps closer, using her height advantage to loom over you. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, talking about our men like that.”

“Yeah?” You stand your ground, hands on your hips. “Well maybe if they acted like men instead of immature little boys, I wouldn’t have to.”

A hush falls over the nearby crowd, all eyes on your confrontation. Brittany looks murderous until one of her sidekicks tugs her sleeve, murmuring “Let’s go, it’s not worth it.” She sneers at you one last time before stalking off, leaving you and Chelsea alone.

Your big sister sighs, rubbing her temples. “Why are you so hell-bent on making this hard on yourself, Y/N? Max is a world away, both physically and in terms of life experience. You could have any guy at this school eating out of the palm of your hand. Why not take advantage of that?”

Her words are salt in the wound. You blink back tears, fighting to keep your voice steady. “Because I love Max. He makes me incredibly happy. And yeah, the distance is hard and he’s older and more established in his career. But he’s kind and smart and we just … connect, you know? I’ve never felt this way about anyone else.”

Chelsea shakes her head pityingly. “I’m just trying to watch out for you. I’d hate to see you get your heart broken over some long-distance fling.”

“It’s not a fling!” You’re sick of trying to convince everyone. Pushing past her, you storm out of the suffocating house and into the cool night air. Gulping it down, you sink down onto the steps, chest heaving with anger and hurt and frustration.

Alone at last, you let the tears come. You know the doubts eating at you are unfair — Max has been nothing but devoted and caring throughout your relationship, even with his insanely busy schedule. But the fears voiced by Chelsea and her crew have burrowed under your skin. Maybe you are just a naive little plaything for him. Maybe he’ll eventually get bored and move on to someone more sophisticated and on his level.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket — a FaceTime call from the man in question himself. You fumble to answer it, swiping hastily at your damp cheeks. “H-Hey you.”

“There’s my gorgeous girl!” His bright smile fills the screen, momentarily banishing your worries. “I only have a few minutes before FP1, but I couldn’t wait to see that pretty face.”

You can’t help but return his warm grin, though it doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “I miss you so much, Max.”

His brow furrows at your tone. “What’s wrong, liefje? You sound upset.”

You want to brush it off, but maybe this is your chance to finally get those nagging fears off your chest. “It’s just … things have been rough lately with the girls. They keep saying I’m wasting my time with you, that you’re going to leave me for someone else, that I’m just a naive little girl you’re using for fun.”

He’s silent for a long moment, then curses under his breath. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. That must be really hard to deal with, on top of the distance.”

“It is,” you admit, blinking back fresh tears. “And as much as I try to ignore them and have faith in us, their words have started to get to me. I mean … why don’t you ever post about me on social media? Do you not want the world to know about me?”

A shadow crosses his features. Clearly he’s heard this criticism before. “My reasons for keeping my relationships private have nothing to do with you, okay? I keep that part of my life off social media to avoid a media frenzy and protect the people I care about.” His expression softens. “But you better believe everyone important in my life knows about you — my family, my closest mates. Hell, the whole Red Bull garage is sick of hearing me go on and on about how amazing my girl is.”

You can’t help but laugh through your tears, some of the weight lifting off your chest. “Really?”

“Of course!” He chuckles. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, Y/N. No matter how far apart we are or what anyone else says, you’re the only one I want.”

Your cheeks flush at his heart-melting words. In that moment, you don’t care about your snotty sorority sisters or the distance or anything else — just being completely in love with this amazing man. “I wish you were here,” you murmur, drinking in every detail of his face. “I miss holding you so damn much.”

Max’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Maybe you can show me how much later tonight, when we’re all alone to video call properly?”

You giggle and smack your hand over the camera, feeling suddenly shy. “Max Verstappen, you incorrigible flirt!”

“You love it.” His voice takes on a deeper, huskier tone that sends tingles down your spine. “And you’re going to love what I have planned for your next visit even more ...”

You spend the next few giddy minutes shamelessly flirting back and forth, soaking up precious moments of intimacy through the phone line to sustain you until you can be together again. When his race engineer appears in the background, beckoning him to the track, you’re both full of regretful sighs.

“Duty calls,” Max says wistfully. “But I’ll call you later, okay? We can pick up where we left off ...” He waggles his eyebrows mischievously.

You can’t stop your face-splitting grin. “I’ll be counting the minutes.”

“Bye schatje. Love you to the moon and back.”

“Love you too!” You clutch the phone to your chest after he disconnects, completely lovestruck. All your insecurities have melted away under the heat of Max’s devoted words and that heart-stopping smile.

It’s going to be okay.

He chose you — Y/N Sargeant, sophomore student, for all your flaws and relative immaturity. And you’ve never felt luckier.

Spirits lifted, you bound back into the house and upstairs to your bedroom. You’ll ignore Chelsea and her nasty friends for the rest of the night, instead losing yourself in daydreams of the next time you’ll be wrapped in Max’s strong arms.

Your relationship may be a long-distance whirlwind, but you’re all in and you’ve never been happier. Let the other sorority girls whisper — you’ve snagged yourself a keeper.

***

Max drains the last of his water bottle as he exits the Red Bull garage, sweat still beading on his brow from the qualifying session. He stretches his arms over his head with a satisfied groan — even after all these years in Formula 1, there’s no better feeling than pushing a car to its limits on the track.

“Max! A word, if you please.”

He cringes at the familiar bark, turning to find his father bearing down on him like a storm cloud. So much for basking in the post-qualifying glow. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Jos’ mouth presses into a grim line, eyes smoldering behind the lenses of his sunglasses. “Well, for one, I saw that interview of yours from yesterday making the rounds online.”

Max fights the urge to roll his eyes. Of course his old man would find something to criticize. “And? I thought it was pretty standard, nothing controversial.”

“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t mean it to be controversial.” Jos sneers the word like a curse. “But dodging questions about your girlfriend and claiming you prefer to keep your private life private? It’s only going to stoke more media speculation and rumors.”

“Is that so bad?” Max counters. “I like to keep things out of the spotlight as much as I can. You know how ravenous the press is.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, son.” Jos steps closer, his voice lowering to a dangerous hiss. “I know exactly who this girl of yours is.”

Max feels his hackles rising at his dad’s dismissive tone when speaking about you. He opens his mouth to retort, but Jos barrels on.

“First it was that damn Kelly Piquet and her baggage, and now you’ve upgraded to jailbait? What is it with you and dating either old hags or naive teenagers, Max?”

“That’s enough!” Max snarls, feeling his face flush with anger. “How dare you talk about them like that, especially Y/N. She’s an incredible woman, and our age gap means nothing.”

Jos scoffs loudly. “Come off it, boy! She’s just a child, a nobody playing at being a WAG. You were born for greatness, bred to be a champion. Why on earth would you hitch your wagon to some college bimbo barely out of nappies?”

It’s like a red mist descends over Max’s vision at his father’s vile words about you. Before he can stop himself, his fist lashes out and connects squarely with Jos’ jawbone, sending the older man stumbling back.

“Don’t you ever speak about her that way again,” Max seethes, cradling his throbbing hand. “Y/N is ten times the person you’ll ever be. Smart, mature, driven as hell —she’s going to accomplish incredible things someday, whether you respect her or not.”

Jos regains his footing, clutching the blooming bruise on his cheek and glaring daggers at his son. “How dare you strike me, you ungrateful little shit! I gave you everything — the training, the opportunities, the sacrifices to get you to this level. And this is how you repay me?”

Max refuses to be baited, meeting his father’s glare with stony resolution. “Maybe if you didn’t insist on being such a hateful, miserable bastard all the time, I wouldn’t have to. All I want is for you to be civil and show some respect. Is that too much to ask?”

He huffs out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “But that’s not your way, is it? You’d rather condemn me for daring to find happiness with someone, just because she’s younger or doesn’t fit into your narrow ideas of what my life should look like. Well, I’ve got a newsflash for you. It’s my fucking life and I’ll live it however I damn well please.”

Jos opens his mouth, undoubtedly to fire off more vitriol, but Max cuts him off with a raised hand. He’s said his piece, expending the last of his energy and patience dealing with his father’s bullheadedness — at least for today. Right now, all he wants is to retreat somewhere quiet and let his thoughts drift across the ocean to you.

“Save it. I’m done arguing.” He turns on his heel and stalks away, Jos shouting insults at his retreating back.

Don’t react, don’t react. His jaw clenches almost painfully as he navigates the familiar path back to his driver’s room, typing out a quick message.

You free to chat soon, gorgeous? Need to hear your voice.

The reply comes almost instantly. For you, always. Give me 20 mins? ❤️

He can’t stop the surge of warmth at your words, the tension slowly draining from his shoulders. That’s his girl — always knowing exactly what he needs, even from thousands of miles away. And isn’t that what matters most of all?

After showering and changing into casual sweats and a t-shirt, Max sinks onto the small couch placed against the wall, pillows arranged just so to prop up his aching back and shoulders. He picks up his phone and dials your number, heart rate kicking up a notch in eager anticipation.

After what feels like an eternity but is surely only a few rings, your face fills the screen. You must have just gotten back from class — your hair is tousled and loose, your makeup-free skin flushed and glowing in the South Florida sun.

“Well hey there, handsome.” Your teasing smirk dissipates as you get a better look at him. “Max? Are you okay? You look exhausted.”

“I am now,” he manages, relief already washing over him at the simple sight of you. He drinks in every last detail like a man parched. “Just had a bit of a run-in with my dad and needed an escape.”

Concern flashes in your warm eyes. “Oh no, what happened?”

So he tells you — the interview rumors, his dad ambushing him and lobbing insults, the explosive fight that caused him to lose his cool and strike the first blow. You listen with sympathy, every encouraging nod and murmured reassurance calming his frazzled nerves until the story is spent, leaving him strangely at peace.

“Thank you for sharing all that with me, babe,” you say once he’s finished. Your voice is gentle but firm. “I’m sorry Jos was so out of line, but you were totally right to stand up to him. Nobody gets to dismiss our relationship or talk about you like that.”

Max blows out a long breath, raking a hand through his shower-damp hair. “I know, I just … I hate letting him get under my skin like that, you know? No matter how much I try to rise above it, he always finds a way to trigger something deep down. It’s exhausting constantly needing to defend myself and the people I care about.”

“But that’s not your burden to bear alone, Max.” You shake your head adamantly, jaw set in that stubborn way he loves. “Let me help shoulder that weight, even if I can’t actually be there physically yet. I’m on your team, remember? We’re partners. I’ve got your back.”

Your words loosen a knot of tension he didn’t realize he was carrying. Of course you get it, you always do. He knows in that moment how lucky he is to have found his teammate, his shelter in the storm that rages on no matter how successful he becomes.

“Have I told you lately how amazing you are?” His voice comes out low, thick with emotion. “How did I ever get so lucky?”

Your radiant smile could power entire cities. “By being you, silly. And for the record, your dad is way off base. There’s nothing wrong with you wanting a mature, driven, accomplished partner — even if she happens to be younger.”

“Age shaming goes both ways, apparently.”

“Apparently,” you agree wryly. “I had my own fun today ...”

As you launch into explaining the shenanigans that occurred during your morning lecture, Max feels himself relaxing further and further into the couch, a dopey grin spreading across his face. On and on the two of you go, playfully trading stories until his father and the endless pressures of his career have fully melted away, replaced by this perfect bubble the two of you inhabit.

When you hit a lull, stifling a yawn behind your hand, Max reluctantly decides to let you go for the night. “Do you have some time before your next class? You should get some rest.”

“Aw, I’m fine!” You protest through another jaw-cracking yawn. “I’m not done talking to my favorite driver yet.”

Max chuckles fondly. This stubborn streak of yours will be the death of him someday. “We both know that’s a lie. I can practically hear your bed calling your name for a nap from here.”

“Hmph, fine.” You stick out your full bottom lip in an exaggerated pout that makes his heart skip. “I guess if you insist on being all reasonable and stuff.”

“That’s me, a real fun-sucker.” He matches your playful tone, though his eyes are serious. “But before you go … can you just say it? For me?”

You immediately soften, gazing at him through the camera with so much tenderness, it almost winds him. “I love you, Max. More than anything.”

He exhales heavily, as if your words have physically lifted a weight from his shoulders. “I love you too, Y/N. And your love, your belief in me … it’s everything. Never doubt that, okay?”

“I won’t if you don’t,” you promise with a wink. “Good luck, babe. I’ll be dreaming of you.”

“Sweet dreams, liefje.”

Even after disconnecting the call, Max sits there for several long moments, staring at the now-dark screen with a besotted grin. His chest is pleasantly warm, full to bursting with the soul-deep reassurance that only you can provide.

Screw whatever toxic nonsense his dad tries to peddle about your age gap or his career. You’re the beating heart that sustains him, the sun around which his entire universe orbits. No disapproving authority figure or rumor mill gossip could ever change that fundamental truth.

So let his father rage and splutter all he wants about how “inappropriate” your relationship is. Max has tasted the extraordinary, found his home and partner in the most vibrant woman he’s ever met. All those lonely, empty years without that missing piece suddenly feel like a hazy, long-forgotten dream.

As Max sips his energy drink and prepares for another demanding few hours at the track, he can’t keep the dopey smile off his face. You’re worth enduring a thousand more shouting matches with his dad, worth traversing any distance just to hear your laugh again.

Max is the luckiest bastard alive to have earned your heart, and he’ll never take that gift for granted.

***

You shoulder your backpack and push through the double doors of the lecture hall, finally free from classes for the summer. The late afternoon sun bakes the quad in a warm glow as you pause for a moment, breathing in the sweet semi-tropical air.

For two years, this campus has been your entire world. Endless cycles of classes, parties, study sessions, and chaos with your sisters from Kappa Alpha Theta. But now, as you glance around at the laughing students basking in the first days of freedom, you feel a strange sense of restlessness settle over you.

Like there’s some place — somewhere — else you’re meant to be.

Shaking it off, you start heading for the student parking lot to meet up with Chelsea. You only make it a few steps before unusually loud cheers and shouts draw your attention to a small crowd forming near the front entrance.

Rows of parked cars block your view, but the distinctive growl of a high-performance engine cuts through the commotion. Your pulse instantly kicks up a notch as your mind puts it together.

That’s no ordinary car.

That’s a multimillion dollar, 800 horsepower British rocket. Sleek, powerful, luxuriously elegant.

Just like-

“No way ...” you breathe out, books slipping from your slackened grip as the glossy green bodywork of an Aston Martin DBS Superleggera slides into view. Because draped over the driver’s side door in that achingly familiar display of casual arrogance ...

“Max!” You shout his name in disbelieving joy even as your feet are carrying you toward him at a full sprint.

His head snaps up at the sound and your heart nearly stops at the way his whole face ignites with radiant delight. That brilliant smile you’ve ached to see in person for so long now stretching those full lips in the most heart-stoppingly beautiful way.

He pushes off from the car, hands outstretched, and in the space of a single frantic heartbeat you’ve flung yourself into his arms with a breathless laugh.

“What are you doing here?” You demand giddily as Max’s strong arms engulf you, swinging your frame around in a tight circle. You’re vaguely aware of the other students going nuts, people shouting and whistles piercing the air, but you only have eyes and ears for this incredible man holding you tightly.

Max just chuckles warmly, murmuring your name with raw affection before crashing his lips to yours in a scorching kiss that leaves you dizzy. You melt into the fierce embrace, parting your lips eagerly to taste the slight sweetness of Red Bull and dark chocolate that is so distinctly Max.

“Surprise, schatje,” he rumbles against your smiling mouth between heated, openmouthed kisses. “Thought I would swing by and pick up my favorite student myself.”

“Oh my god!” You laugh delightedly, cupping his chiseled jaw to drink in every perfectly imperfect inch of his beloved face. The strong jawline, the dimpled chin, those piercing blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he beams at you.

“When did you … how did you …” You’re at a loss for words, overcome with giddy euphoria at having Max here, warm and solid and real in your arms again after so many endless months.

A fresh wave of cheers and hollers suddenly cuts through your joyful bubble as half the crowd seems to recognize the celebrity in their midst. Dozens of camera phones whip out to capture the unexpectedly intimate reunion between you and Max.

“Who is that guy?”

“No way, that’s Max freaking Verstappen!”

“Y/N, how do you know Max Verstappen?”

The shouts and questions reach a fever pitch, finally breaking through your amorous fugue. Blushing furiously, you pull back just enough to murmur against Max’s chest.

“Well, much as I’d love to keep making out with my insanely hot boyfriend in the middle of campus, maybe we should take this somewhere a bit more private?”

Max gives a deep, rich laugh at that, the sound vibrating pleasantly against you.

“You are a wise woman, liefje,” he praises in that deliciously accented baritone. He presses one last, searing kiss to your smiling lips before reluctantly disentangling himself. “Though I would have thought you might like to give all your classmates one more delightful bit of inspiration to remember you by before you depart for the summer?”

He leers at you playfully as a chorus of whoops and whistles greets his flirtatious suggestion. You can’t help but bark out a laugh, shoving his chest lightly in mock admonishment even as heat rushes to your cheeks.

“You’re impossible!”

“No, just hopelessly in love with you,” he counters easily, reaching out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear. The tenderness in his voice and touch instantly gentles your teasing mood into something infinitely fonder.

This remarkable man, so genuine and caring beneath the roguish exterior cultivated for the cameras. You’re struck by a sudden lance of melancholy at the thought of how little the world really knows of the real Max Verstappen.

But then his eyes crinkle in that way that speaks of unabashed adoration just for you and the feeling passes. Because you know him better than anyone. And he sees you just the same. Two souls intertwined by a rare, precious understanding.

Max’s hand slides around to cup the back of your neck, his thumb brushing lightly over your thundering pulse point. The tender motion instantly sets your nerves alight with renewed longing.

“So,” his voice drops to an impossibly deep bedroom octave meant only for your ears. “Shall we give the good people at the University of Miami one last show before I whisk you away for a few months of long overdue privacy?”

There’s the barest hint of a filthy promise underlying the words. You swallow thickly, unconsciously pressing closer as Max’s velvet tones wash over you like a physical caress.

“And just where will you be taking me?” You manage to tease back, forcing a bravado your hammering heart doesn’t feel.

“Well ...” He leans in until his lips brush the delicate shell of your ear. You shiver helplessly at the heated puff of air ghosting your sensitive skin.

“First,” he begins in a heated murmur, “we’re going to swing by your sorority house to gather your belongings.”

“Okay ...” You nod faintly, hyper-aware of Max’s intoxicating proximity.

“Then I’ll be driving us straight to your parents’ place in Fort Lauderdale,” he continues lowly. “Per the strict instructions of one Logan Sargeant, of course.”

You can’t help the surprised laugh that bursts forth. Trust your brother to strong-arm his way into Max’s surprise plans.

“He didn’t give you too hard a time, did he?” You ask through your giggles. “I can only imagine the threats he must have ...”

You trail off at the feeling of Max’s talented mouth blazing a trail of kisses along the slender column of your throat. Every exploratory brush of his lips and insistent swipe of tongue steals the breath from your lungs.

“Max ...” You whine out his name without conscious thought, going pliant against the solid wall of his body.

“Shhh,” he rumbles against your overwrought senses. “Let me finish first.”

There’s a maddening pause where the only sounds are the rushing waves of cheers and chaos from the delighted crowd watching your every move, hungered gazes drinking in every scorching caress Max bestows upon you. Under any other circumstances, the thought of being so shamelessly devoured by hundreds of strangers’ eyes would have you recoiling in embarrassment.

But Max’s presence, his heated touch and low, sinful voice have you spellbound, uncaring of your audience.

“After we’ve satisfied your family’s demands to see us with their own eyes,” he purrs. “We’ll be boarding my jet bright and early for someplace much more ... pleasurable.”

Your skin prickles with delicious tension as Max continues in that low, rough whisper.

“We’ll spend a few lazy days lounging on a private beach in Aruba, just the two of us.” His large hand roves provocatively down the curve of your spine to boldly grip your backside, pulling your hips flush against the insistent bulge in his designer jeans. “Catching up on all the things I’ve been dreaming about for months, schatje.”

A tremulous whimper escapes your parted lips at the blatant promise underlying Max’s words. You flatten your palms against the firm planes of his chest, feeling his powerful heartbeat thundering in time with your own.

“A-And after that?” You somehow manage in a breathy rasp, scarcely daring to hope.

Max’s only response is a low, thrumming chuckle that you feel vibrate across your heated skin. His chin dips, molten blue eyes searing into yours with naked hunger.

“After that?” He husks, stealing the breath from your lungs with a devastating grin. “Well, then I’ll finally get to introduce the world to my favorite girl.”

And neither of you can wait.

[cinnxmxngxrl]

“Camden’s sin”

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x Shelby!Reader

part 2 here Masterlist here

Summary: You were a Shelby working in your family’s business. You tried to convince yourself that it was just that, business. But Alfie Solomons wasn’t just business, not when he had you bent over his desk.

WC: 2.3k

Warnings: intense smut, minors DNI, unprotected piv, filthy language, oral(f!receiving), rough sex, creampie, reader is Tommy Shelby’s sister.

A/N: Again, english is not my first language, so sorry if any mistakes throw you off. I’m planing to do several more parts of this (please tell me if you have any request, this is my second time writing).

Your brother trusted you. For some reason, you were good with numbers—that was a fact. And you were good with people, probably because they all saw you as the innocent and youngest Shelby sister, but you were smarter than any man in the room. They underestimated you. That’s why you got sent to Camden Town almost every week. That, and because Alfie Solomons was utterly obsessed with you. Tommy found it convenient, really, since it always gave you the upper hand in every deal. Alfie simply couldn’t resist you.

You never thought anything of it. Yes, Alfie flirted with you—crude and blunt, filthy sometimes—but you were sure of his intentions. Just a game to piss your brother off. So you dismissed his banter.

The morning air was thick in Camden. It always was. You walked through the bakery like you owned the place, weaving through the towering barrels and busy working men until you reached his office. You didn’t even get a chance to knock. His voice came through the door, rough and immediate.

“Get in.”

You pushed the door open and stepped inside. The air reeked of rum and cigars. He was there, of course—seated at his desk, leaning back in the chair. Sleeves rolled up, revealing strong, tattooed forearms. His beard was thick and wild as ever.

“Well, bloody hell. The Shelbys sent me an angel today, eh?”

“You knew it was me coming, Alfie.”

“That I did. Every week, like a sharp clock, you are,” he grinned. “Lookin’ like fuckin’ sin, you do.”

You sighed. You knew all his lines by now. He’d used them a thousand times already.

“Let’s talk business, yeah?”

“What? No hello? No how’ve you been, Alfie? No I’ve missed seeing your face?”

He twitched his jaw when you stayed silent, completely ignoring his advances once again.

You tried your best to talk numbers, to finalize the new distribution routes. But it was almost impossible with the way his eyes were trailing over your body—lazy, deliberate, like he was undressing you with every glance.

“Are you even listening to what I’m saying?” You were pissed now.

“Well, forgive me, yeah? It’s fuckin’ hard to focus when you’re lookin’ like that.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk, smirking. “You do it on purpose, you do. That dress, that mouth painted red like bloody temptation itself.”

“This isn’t a bloody game, Alfie.” You warned him, trying to stay cool and composed—even while he was practically eye-fucking you across the desk.

“Course it’s not a fuckin’ game,” he said, voice low. “I want you. And yeah, yeah, before you say it again—I know you’re Tommy’s sister. I don’t give a fuck whose sister you are, right?”

“You’re crossing the line. Stop it.” You were trying hard not to flinch, not to blush. Trying to seem unimpressed.

“Oh, am I crossing the line?” His eyes dropped to your legs. “I’ll stop it when you stop sittin’ there with those… those fuckin’ legs crossed tighter than a nun. Pressing your thighs together since the moment you got here. Probably the same way you press them every night thinkin’ of my mouth.”

He smirked, proud of the reaction he managed to pull from you.

He had you now. He bloody well did. And it pissed you off that he was so damn observant, that he noticed everything.

“Fuck you.”

“God, please.”

Your cheeks burned—with anger, yes, but with something deeper than that. Something dangerous. Something like desire.

“You’ve mistaken my tolerance for interest, Alfie. If you want to keep doing business with the Shelbys, then you fucking behave,” you hissed.

“Business?” he scoffed. “Treacle, the only thing I’m gettin’ from business with the Shelbys is fuckin’ blue balls. Havin’ to stare at you every fuckin’ week without being able to touch you the way I want.”

“Are you done? Done saying all the… filth that’s inside your mind? You’re a pig.”

“Done? I’m nowhere near done.” He leaned back, eyes gleaming. “Next time you come here, I’ll tell you what I want to do to you—page by page—like a fuckin’ scripture.”

You stood up, turned away without another word, and walked straight out of his office. Just like that. Gone. Leaving Alfie cursing under his breath.

⸻

The truth is, you should’ve told Tommy. Should’ve told him that Alfie crossed a line, so he’d send someone else. But you didn’t.

No matter how hard you tried to stay away from that man, there was an invisible string pulling you toward him.

You wore black that day. High-necked. Buttoned all the way up. But when you walked into Alfie’s office, the first thing you saw was him—waiting for you with a little old leather notebook in his hands.

He didn’t say hello. Didn’t greet you like most days. He just opened the notebook and looked at you.

“I made you a promise, right? And I’m a man of my word.” He tapped the cover with a grin. “Fuckin’ poetry I wrote for you.”

“You think I came here to hear your filth?” you said, sitting across from him, arms and legs crossed.

He ignored you completely. Cleared his throat. Adjusted his glasses. And began to read from the first page.

“You come here all proper, all buttoned up, pretendin’ to be holy. But I’d get you against my desk anyway, with my hand under your tight little skirt, as you moan my name like a fuckin’ prayer.”

He turned the page.

“You’d tell me to fuck off—’cause you love to pretend you don’t want me. But when I feel your thighs squeeze around my fingers, I know it’s all lies.”

Another page turned.

“I’d put my mouth between your legs, eat you until you can’t remember your fuckin’ name. Make you scream so loud your brother in Small Heath would hear you.”

“And I’d fuck you from behind, right on this desk we’ve signed a hundred papers on. You’d beg me not to stop. In fact, you’d beg me to go harder, ’cause—”

“Stop.” You cut him off. Your voice soft, but sharp.

You felt the heat pooling low in your stomach. Felt your undergarments dampen. But you didn’t show it. You stood up, hands trembling, legs unsteady.

“You think you’re clever? Think I’ll melt because you wrote all your filth in a book like some fucked-up priest?”

He stood too, walking around the desk toward you with slow, measured steps. “Maybe. Tell me—is it workin’?”

“You should be locked up.” You should’ve slapped him. Should’ve run. But you didn’t. You stayed. You listened to every word.

“Maybe,” he whispered, closing in. “But I’d find a way out. Just to find you.”

He was towering over you now. So close you could smell him—cigars and rum and sin.

“I should take what I want right now,” he murmured, voice rough. “Should bend you over my desk and do every fuckin’ thing I wrote in that notebook. Everything you’ve been denyin’ me.”

Your knees buckled. Your breath hitched.

“But I won’t, treacle. And you wanna know why?” His voice dropped to a growl. “Because when I do—yeah?—you won’t be walkin’ straight for a fuckin’ week. And it’s gonna be your choice.”

“My choice?” you whispered, your voice barely there, feeling his eyes devour you.

“Yours. You’ll come back here tomorrow. Not for business. Not like a Shelby. You come back for me.”

Somehow, your legs carried you out of his office. Out of the distillery. Back to the car waiting for you outside.

⸻

The moment you stepped inside Alfie’s distillery the next day, you knew it—this would be the last time you ever walked out of here untouched.

You made your way into his office, and like always, he was already expecting you. Leaning back against his desk, arms folded, eyes on you like he’d been waiting all fucking day. He looked as irresistible as ever.

“You’re late,” he said.

You checked your watch. “No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, you’re about twenty fucking meetings late for what I really want.” His voice was low, husky. “Lock the door.”

You obeyed without thinking. As you stepped closer, his thumb grazed your throat—rough, calloused fingers surprisingly gentle.

“You want to hear it again? Page by page? ’Cause I’ve written a thousand more.”

“No,” you breathed, “I want you to show me.”

He groaned—and that was it. Restraint fully vanished. He grabbed you and crushed his mouth against yours, desperate, hungry, all tongue and teeth as he yanked your head back and devoured you like a man starving for something only you could give, with the need to own you.

You moaned when he shoved you against the desk, one hand on your throat—holding, not squeezing—while the other dragged your dress up.

No knickers. He swore.

“Fucking hell… You woman… you’re trying to kill me, are you?”

Before you could reply, his hand was already between your thighs, feeling the heat, the wetness.

“Oh, you’re so ready for me, ain’t you? Fucking dripping on my fingers.” He growled—and then dropped to his knees, right there on his office floor. Because there was only one reason Alfie Solomons got on his knees, and that was to eat cunt.

“Alfie—” you began.

“Shut up. Let me read my scripture,” he rasped. Then his mouth was on you—no patience, no mercy.

His thick beard scratched the inside of your thighs, but all you could feel was the way his tongue worked you open. Lazy circles over your clit turned into relentless strokes as he devoured you like you were his first hot meal after the war.

He pulled back for a second, just to look at you.

“Tastes fucking divine.” He gave one long, filthy lick. “Like fucking salvation.”

“Oh God—God—” you whimpered.

“No, treacle, the Lord’s got nothing to do with it. This is all me. So say my fucking name.”

“Alfie… Oh, Alfie…” you moaned, hands buried in his hair, grinding shamelessly against his mouth. He latched on your cunt harder, tongue ruthless going through your slick folds, sucking your clit in the right way. fingers gripping your thighs to keep you from flying apart.

And then—you broke. You came in seconds. Hard. Loud. Messy. Your whole body shook, and you would’ve collapsed on the floor if it weren’t for his strong arms holding you up.

He stood, his beard glistening, soaked in your fluids. Eyes dark as the night, wild. He didn’t wait a second—his hands were already unbuckling his belt.

“You ready for page two?” he growled. “’Cause I’m still fuckin’ hard. And tired of waiting.”

You nodded, It was all you could do, you were speechless, breathless.

He grabbed your body forcefully, turned you around, and bent you over his desk, one hand pressing between your shoulder blades, pinning you down like he’d envisioned a thousand times.

He spit into his hand, stroked himself rough and fast, like the world was about to end. And then—

He slammed into you.

You screamed his name, gripping the desk so hard your knuckles went white. He was huge, and if that wasn’t enough, he was brutal with his unforgiving thrusts that had you seeing stars and the whole fucking galaxy.

He pounded into you so hard you didn’t know if he loved you or hated you, hands bruising your hips, balls slamming against your ass over and over.

“Fuck—fucking—” he choked out, and you realized that this was the first time you’ve ever seen Alfie Solomons struggle to find words. “You trying to kill me? Squeezing my cock like that with this tight little cunt.” He smacked your ass, hard.

All you could do was whimper, pathetic little whimpers that came out of your mouth as he continued to dive into you.

The room was full of it—all of it—the wet slap of skin against skin, the creak of the desk under your body, your muffled cries, his snarling breath mixed with all the filthy words that came out of his mouth.

“Custom-fucking-made for my cock, you were.”

“You feel so good… so wet and hot and tight for me.”

“Look at you, listen to you—moaning like a fucking whore for me.”

He was feral for you. He had turned into a beast like never before. Because even if he had his fair share of women in the past, no woman had ever made him feel like this, not a single one of them had ever felt as good as you did right now, It was all he had ever dreamed of, and more.

And you—you—were taking it, it was all you could do, cause you were built for this. No one ever fucked you like a real man should, no, that was something only Alfie could.

That sharp sting built in your belly and then it snapped—and you came again, harder this time, clenching so tight around his cock he cursed in Yiddish. You didn’t know what he said, but the way he said it made your whole body throb.

“I’m gonna fill you up… so bad it’s gonna fucking drip out of that pretty pussy all over your thighs yeah? You want that?”

“Yes… please, Alfie… fill me up.”

He pulled your hair back, arched your back against his chest, and fucked into you harder. Once. Twice. The third thrust—he buried himself deeper and he came with a guttural growl, spilling himself inside you as he moaned your name into your shoulder.

He stayed there inside you, holding you close, his lips at your throat, whispering things that made you melt, and kissing your shoulder softly, as if trying to comfort after he was the one to wreck you

When he finally pulled out, you felt it—his cum, mixed with your juices, dripping down your thighs. He shoved it all back inside with two fingers, stuffing you full of him again.

“Tell me you’ll come back next week, yeah?” His voice was oddly soft now.

You barely managed a whisper. “Try not to go mad until you see me again.”

He smiled against your skin. “Now that, treacle… that’s a promise I can’t make.”

Part 2 here

[peariote]

HI AGAIN!!!

another request if you don't mind:p specifically mari again oops I love her lmao

precrash? or maybe no crash idk. they've been dating for about a year now (maybe Danny happened long before them lmao).

r is like complete opposite of mari in like every way. she's shy and stuff (and shorter if u ever add details like that idk but its good for cuddles and hugs because r likes that crap :p). the team doesn't know about them because r didn't want to tell anyone (she's not on the team and she doesnt know them that well). so mari didn't tell them but after a while she does brag about being in a relationship and they just keep calling bs.

eventually they see them together (r doesn't care about telling them anymore but mari wanted to keep messing with them)

ok that's all I got

THANK YOU AGAIN!!!!!!!! the small (but slowly and ever growing) mari fandom thanks you😞🙏

oh yes more mari x reader !! thank you for requesting <3

"You guys would love my girlfriend." The whole team groans, lockers slamming and conversations puttering out at Mari's familiar echoing.

"Mari. Stop telling people you have a girlfriend." Shauna's most fed up with it; she's bent over, head in hands, like someone died. Her dramatic groans make snickers erupt, Lottie ruffling Shauna's dark, messily-ponytailed hair as she slides past towards the door. "Yeah, Mari. We know you're salty about Danny, but Jesus Christ, it's been a year." The tall girl snickers, grin crooked as she slips out of the locker room towards the field. Mari scoffs, eyes almost rolling white in her annoyance. It's not the first time Danny's been brought up—it's basically their go-to. Losing an argument against her? She's wholly prepared for Danny's name to drop. She gets in a particularly good barb? Your ex-boyfriend broke up with you for his own cousin. It's enough to set her teeth on edge—especially when that dweeb doesn't even occupy an inch of her brain space anymore. Him and his incestual tendencies can give his kids genetic diseases for all she cares. She's got you. Sweet, perfect you.

How she so wishes she could shoot back with your name or shove the sweet polaroid she keeps you the two of you in their faces. But instead she just groans a what-ever, laces up her cleats tight and plays a little too hard. (So what if she barreled over a freshman? They need to get tough.)

She’s found that the faster she moves, passes, destroys the other team, the faster she can get back to you. Her rapid improvement is putting her in contention for a varsity spot, she’s heard, but all that work comes from a desire to see you. The harder she practices, the less time she has to think about how much longer there is, the faster practice goes. She’s got it down to a science.

Her desperation to see you isn’t truly unfounded. She barely sees you at all during the day, just for English—where she can barely even cough without the teacher writing her up—and lunch—loud, oppressive lunch that always makes you hole up like a turtle. A cute turtle, but still a turtle. It’s hard to get conversation when all her friends crowd, so she settles for half-an-hour of hand-holding and daydreaming about after practice.

So as soon as practice ends she’s out. Her excuse, the one she started long before you started dating, is that her parents are super strict. No one would expect the stern-faced Mr. Ibarra to be an absolute teddy bear—especially for his daughter—so it works out. She doesn’t even bother to shower, just hops in her car and peels off towards your house.

She always, always comes through your window. Even though she has a key to your front door she’s insistent on climbing up the tree like some kind of Romeo. You worry about her falling and spraining an ankle, but leave the window unlocked regardless.

She pushes open the glass, crawls through. Flops on you, all sweaty and gross and dirty from the field, right onto your clean sheets.

“Gross, Mar.” You scoff, half-asleep and barely conscious at her routine arrival. It makes her pout, hard.

“You’re not even happy that I’m here? You’re terrible.” She pokes your cheek until you peek open an eye, and then tips her head.

You groan and shift as she wants you to, letting her sweaty ass bundle you to her chest. You curl easily into her, nose nuzzling at her damp collar.

“Asshole.” You murmur.

“Princess.” She retorts.

Rolling your eyes, you go quiet. You’re not sure how to breach the subject—the discussion about going public. Mari’s never expressed the desire, but she’s never kept you much of a secret anyway, even with your pleas to keep it under wraps.

You sigh, and then speak.

“Mar.”

“Princess.” She scoffs, half-amused.

“Be serious!” Laughing now, you hit her on the shoulder, bringing a faux wince and another pout. “I… well. I think it would be good if we went a bit more public.”

Mari goes silent, before a wide grin spreads. It’s spells trouble—big trouble—for you, and anyone else she intends to direct it at.

"Can we fuck with them, at least?"

So you help her do just that. You press lipstick-coated kisses (whether or not you wear it) just low enough so that when she changes into her jersey they'll be visible—bright red and prettily defined. She lets you (begs you) to press hickeys there as well, the skin of her collarbone molted purple and green.

Everyone starts asking who the fuck she got to agree to do that, and all she responds, smug grin splitting her face, is "oh, just my girlfriend,” met with many eye rolls.

At this point you’re getting restless—you’d already waited so long to build up the courage to ask her, and now she’s dragging it out because she wants her friends to suffer.

So, in a show of reckless bravery (though your hands still shake), you kiss her in the lunchroom. She’s unaware of you coming up behind her, even less aware of how her teammates’ gazes stray towards you.

The entire table goes silent as you shut her up yourself, tilting her head back to seal a kiss over the thin seam of her mouth. She smiles, all teeth, as she pulls back.

“Hey, princess.” She murmurs, soft as she scoots so you can sit next to her.

The entire table erupts.

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

❤︎ first meeting ❤︎

❤︎ Dean x Salem ❤︎

Warnings: mentions of Bobby Singer's ghost, language.

Word Count: 1,619

Dean met you in a salt circle.

Not the usual kind—the hastily scribbled, panic-drawn kind he’d seen smeared across motel carpet or church floors. No. This one was art. Chalked with purpose. Candlelit. Scattered with herbs he didn’t recognise and crystals that hummed when he stepped too close.

He didn’t mean to find you. The EMF had been going haywire two towns over, and the lore led him here—to a crumbling Victorian at the edge of nowhere, dripping with ivy and bad vibes. He kicked the door in expecting a demon.

What he got instead was you.

You didn’t even flinch. Just sat there in the middle of that salt circle, cross-legged on velvet, fingers stained lilac and glowing faintly in the candlelight. The room smelled like lavender and danger. Something heady and sweet, like sugar and sin. You were sucking on one of those old parma violet candies, purple tongue curled around mischief.

And you smiled at him.

Like you knew him. Like you’d been expecting this exact moment all along.

Dean raised the barrel of his gun before he even thought about it. “You summoning something nasty in here, sweetheart?”

You blinked once. Tilted your head. Twirled your amethyst ring like it was a nervous habit—or a hex. “Depends,” you said, voice syrupy and slow. “You here to stop me or help me?”

He should’ve put a bullet in the chalk. Doused the room in holy water. Walked away and never looked back.

But every single candle in the room bent toward you—just slightly. Like the flames wanted to be closer. Like they belonged to you.

And Dean—hunter, skeptic, man who’d seen too much—stood there, heart skipping a beat like it had forgotten how to handle pretty and dangerous at the same damn time.

He licked his lips. Lowered his gun a fraction.

“I don’t help witches.”

You grinned like you knew he would say that. Like you liked it.

“Good thing I’m not just a witch, then.”

He didn’t have a comeback for that. Not one that made any sense. His brain was already molasses.

You stood up slowly, like the air moved different for you, all velvet and violet and fuck me. You stepped over the salt like it never held you, and he realised—too late—that it didn’t.

You weren’t trapped in the circle. You’d drawn it for protection. From whatever else was coming.

And now you were walking straight toward him, sugar and danger and Stevie Nicks under your breath.

Dean swallowed hard. Told himself to move. Didn’t.

You stopped just close enough that he could smell your perfume—lavender and smoke and something sweet. You looked up at him through lashes spiked in shadow, smile lazy, dangerous.

“Something tells me you’re gonna be fun to hex,” you whispered.

Dean’s jaw clenched.

God help him—he wanted to see what that felt like.

Dean didn’t move as you stepped closer. Just watched you through narrowed eyes, jaw tight, whole body coiled like he was expecting something to lunge at him.

But you didn’t touch him.

You just tilted your head… and looked right into his eyes.

Not at them. Into them. Like you were reaching in and sorting through the mess of him—past the leather and scars and bravado, past the guns and the ghosts and the whiskey-worn edges. You didn’t blink.

Then—just as suddenly—you looked past him. Right over his shoulder.

Dean frowned.

You tilted your head, slow and thoughtful, your brows pinching slightly like you were listening. To what, he didn’t know.

He turned to look behind him—instinct more than anything—but the room was empty. Just shadows and incense smoke.

He looked back. You were still watching that same spot. Still listening. And that? That made something crawl down the back of his neck.

Then you looked at him again. Soft. Crooked smile. No games in it. “You’re surrounded by some beautiful people, you know.”

Dean blinked. Scoffed. “Yeah, okay. Cut that out.”

“Cut what out?”

“That spooky Miss Cleo shit,” he snapped, shaking his head. “I’m not buying it.”

You shrugged. “I’m not selling anything.”

“Right.” He dragged a hand down his jaw, exhaled through his nose. “You got a name? Or do all witches just answer to trouble now?”

You smiled wider. Didn’t rise to the bait. “Do you always come in this guarded, or do those walls ever come down?”

Dean smirked. That cocky, don’t-look-too-close smirk he wore like armour. “You always this nosy, or just when someone doesn’t fall at your feet?”

“Touché,” you said, sweet as sugar, then stuck out your hand like this was a meet-cute and not a mid-hunt standoff. “I’m Salem.”

Dean barked a laugh. Loud. Sharp. Disbelieving. “Of course you are.”

You raised a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He didn’t answer. Just looked at you—really looked—and the thought she’s hot for a witch crept in before he could stop it. He scowled. Internally. Jesus, get it together, Winchester.

You watched him with that unreadable, almost fond expression, like you could see every thought he didn’t say out loud.

And maybe you could.

Damn witch.

"I'm Dean."

You didn’t flinch when he said it. Just stood there, patient and a little amused, like you knew what was coming next. Like you were waiting for it. Then you tilted your head again. Slightly to the left this time. Past his shoulder.

Dean’s smile faded.

You nodded. Softly. Then again. A little laugh slipped from your lips—short, surprised. Like someone had said something funny. Dean tensed.

And then you looked at him.

“He says you’re an idjit.”

Dean’s breath caught. Eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he covered it with a scoff and a glare. “What?”

You didn’t blink. Just tilted your head the other way, like you were trying to get a better listen.

Dean glanced behind him. Just shadows. Nothing. Still.

He looked back. “Who?”

You smiled. Like you’d been waiting for that question.

“Bobby,” you said, like it was obvious. “He says you’re an idjit. And—” you paused, looking over Dean’s shoulder again, then let out another soft laugh before meeting his eyes, “you should trust me. I, and I’m quoting here, ‘ain’t Rowena.’”

Dean froze. Everything in him stilled. Jaw locked, heart thudding once—hard. He looked around the room again, slower this time, scanning like maybe, just maybe, you weren't full of shit.

But the room was still empty. Still candles, still salt, still you. And you were watching him like you knew exactly what those names meant to him.

Dean cleared his throat. “That’s a hell of a guess.”

You raised your brows. “It wasn’t a guess.”

Dean looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time. Really seeing you. All violet and velvet, sugar on your tongue and ghosts in your pockets. Pretty. Sharp. Dangerous. Useful.

Shit. He didn’t trust witches.

But right now? He wasn’t so sure you were one. And even if you were—Dean couldn’t deny it anymore. You were hot as hell. And you were talking to Bobby, right in front of him.

Fuck.

Dean still hadn’t moved.

You just smiled at him, like all this was normal. Like reading him like a book was your party trick and haunting him with the ghost of Bobby Singer was just Tuesday.

“Y’know,” you said, eyes dragging over him like you were cataloging something ancient and worn and deeply interesting, “your aura’s all… leather and fire and regret.”

Dean raised a brow. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” You leaned in slightly, like you were telling him a secret. “And horniness. Can’t forget that.”

Dean choked. “Jesus.”

You just grinned. Popped the last of your candy into your mouth and rolled it between your teeth like a threat. “Not Jesus. Dean.”

That made his stomach flip. He hated that it did. He scowled again, which only made your smile soften.

“You’re not as hard to read as you think you are,” you murmured, gaze flicking briefly to his hands. “You wear everything you’ve lost like armour. And you hate that I can see it.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, because you weren’t wrong. And that pissed him off.

But instead of doubling down, you turned—spinning slowly, that violet corduroy swaying at your hips like the hem of some goddamn fairytale—and walked back toward your circle. You crouched again, trailing a lilac-stained finger over the salt, humming something under your breath that sounded like Fleetwood Mac filtered through static.

Dean watched you for a beat. Too long.

Then: “You always talk to ghosts mid-conversation?”

You looked back over your shoulder. “Only when they’ve got something to say.”

“And they always do?”

You nodded, dreamily. “Mmm. Especially around you. You’ve got that vibe. Haunted. Hot. Stubborn.” You paused, then added with a wicked little smile, “Daddy issues.”

Dean made a face. “Alright, I’m leaving.”

You laughed. Bright. Real.

But then your tone shifted—just a touch. You didn’t look at him as you said, “You should call me, y’know.”

He paused. Half-turning. “Why would I do that?”

You tilted your head, still facing the candles. “Because something’s coming. Something big. I don’t know when, but I’ll feel it. And when I do, you’ll want someone like me on your side.”

Dean frowned. “Someone like you?”

You finally turned back around. Walked toward him until you were toe to toe, and looked up at him with that lazy, lidded gaze that made his brain short out.

“Someone who sees what you won’t say. Who’ll be two steps ahead when the lore runs cold. Who can make the spirits talk. And—” you licked the sugar from your bottom lip, “someone who looks very good in violet.”

Dean swallowed. Hard.

You reached for his hand, traced your number on his palm with your fingertip like a sigil. Not a pen in sight. But he felt it.

Then you stepped back.

“Remember, I’m Salem,” you said again, voice silk and smoke. “Try not to miss me.”

And with that, you slipped back into your haunted greenhouse, the door creaking shut behind you.

Dean stood there a second longer. Then looked at his hand. Still warm. Still tingling.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, but there was no heat behind it.

Just something he couldn’t name.

And maybe—just maybe—the start of something he wasn’t ready for.

A/N: Broke my own heart writing Bobby into this, because I ADORE that man. Most girls be Sam or Dean girls... I be a Bobby girl. And honestly? Valid. I freaking love Salem so much. She's gonna absolutely torture Dean, with his witch-hating-ass, and we love to see it. Tell me what y'alls thought, pleaseeeee. All the love.

@mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @0ccvltism @lyarr24 @podiumackles @spxideyver @tinas111 @cevansbaby-dove @paristheonewhoreads @winchestersbgirl @blossomingorchids <3

[izuglazer]

no body asked for this, but here's a little fic i made where alex from stardew valley finds the mermaid pendant

-male farmer

-fluff

words: 4,717

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

Another hot day for the farm, the summer sun beating down as the faint sound of the cows and chickens kept the place noisy for the poor farmer who was stuck cleaning out the jam containers for new fruits.

A huff and a sigh the farmer leaned his elbow on the barrel, sweat beating off his forehead from the heat. “Sometimes the city sounds nice again..” He looked off to his cat sitting there on the fence next to him, just cleaning itself with low purrs.

The sound made the farmer crack a smile. “Ah but then I wouldn't have you.” A small meow came from the cat as he petted it with his clean hand.

Before he could get back to cleaning out the big jar he could hear faint sounds of shoes scuffing against the rocks and dirt at the entrance. Being on the farm must have given him super hearing, he could even sometimes hear mice scurrying under the floorboards in the winter.

When he turned he could see that all too familiar face of his boyfriend. “What brings you out here, sugar?” He threw the dirty rag across his shoulder, landing behind him next to the jar as he walked to the fence to meet Alex, seeing him roll his eyes at that name with his southern accent.

“Haven't seen you in awhile, thought to check in on you. Feel like I never see you enough.” Alex leaned against the fence on the other side, sliding his hand onto the farmers but recoiling it when he felt the old sticky jam.

“Ew, why are you sticky?”

The disgusted face he made just made the farmer let out a giggle. “It's just jam, I've been cleaning up everything that's been sitting over the winter. Should have gotten it done in spring but just.. procrastinated.”

There was hesitation at the end of his words, Alex noticing but not sure enough to comment.

“Right, well at least you're getting it down now.” He looked at the jar, grimacing slightly just thinking about how sticky that is. He may roll around in dirt for practice but sticky stuff was hell to him.

“Can I pop into the house and wash this off?”

“Yeah, ‘course.” The farmer waved him off, Alex humming a thanks as he went towards the house. Stepping in he felt that same warmth the farmer always gave him, the small scent of hay and fruits lingering from the wood.

Alex walked towards the sink in the kitchen, turning the faucet and coating his hands in soap to get that blasted jam off.

After he searched for a hand towel of sorts, rummaging through the drawers, finding one and just snatching it out.

But when he grabbed the towel something fell out, the item landing at his feet. Instinctively he bent down to pick it up but stopped mid way when he saw what it was, that familiar blue of the shell made his heart drum against his chest.

The mermaid pendant. Why did.. the farmer have this?

He grabbed it right when the front door opened, seeing the farmer's face drop when he saw Alex holding the pendant.

“Hey.. where.. ehah- where'd you find that?” The anxious pitch in the farmers voice filled the room, both of the boys faces red from this new discovery.

“Um.. I found it in the drawer, in the towel.” Alex held the towel up, still holding the pendant in his other hand while feeling his heartbeat in his feet. Was this real? Everyone knows what this is for, there's no way he could have stumbled upon this randomly and not known.

“Look- You see, I can explain. Y-you weren't supposed to know yet, I had a whole plan of asking you, I was just trying to find the right time- Though you don't have to say yes, obviously. I won't force you. This is.. uh a big thing. Just-” Alex muted out the fumbling words of the farmer, clutching the mermaid pendant in his hand.

There was no doubt he liked this guy- no, loved. Would it.. be so bad..?

Taking a breath Alex steadied himself. “y-yes..” The words stopped the farmer mid sentence where he was still anxiously fumbling his words.

“Yes?” Just a puzzled look across his eyes, his face red and his palms sweaty from the heat and this whole interaction.

“Yes, yeah.” Alex was firmer this time. “That's my answer.” He clipped the pendant on his neck, his eyes darting between it and the other man.

A moment dropped before it the farmer realized, his shoulders relaxing and a smile sliding onto his lips. “oh.. oh my god.”

Without thinking he ran into Alex, wrapping his arms on his now fiance. “This wasn't how I planned it to go.” Though it was obvious how happy he was.

Alex huffed, feeling his nerves still shooting through him from this new step. “Maybe find better hiding spots.” He hugged back with a smile, feeling the farmer jab his side playfully making Alex grunt out a laugh.

Everything felt calm, nothing mattered in this moment as the two simmered in each other, until something clicked for Alex.

“You just hugged me with sticky hands.”

[the-californicationist]

Ok but imagine price being a dockworker and coming to the bar the reader is a server at after long days. Smelling like the salt on salt, chest hair peeking thru his shirt. She knows his exact order down to how much froth he wants on his beer and he just melts into his chair once he sees her on shift but their asses won’t even kiss yet (they wanna fuck diiiirty in between all the barrels out back tho)

Thank you so much for the ask!! I wish I got more of these <3 I love impromptu writings!! ^_^

MDNI

Somehow, you knew it was him by the sound of your door. The way that it creaked and popped, and the force with which it knocked the tinkling little bell at the top - all of these noises were the same, or at least they should have been, no matter who was coming or going from your bar. The way the metal bolt clicked out of the frame, the way the warped wood of the threshold whined and bent, the way that one pane of glass shuddered in the top left corner... it shouldn't have sounded different when he walked in. But, it did.

He sat in his seat, objectively the worst one in your bar. It was out of the line of sight from the television, and it was down at the fruit-filled service end, far from the keg taps. It was where you ran credit cards and kept your phone to take breaks, and you flattered yourself that the reason he sat there was to spend time with you.

John Price was a piece of work, that was for sure. He would come by right before close and linger. It was nice to have someone walk you to your car, especially on cold nights, since you were so close to the docks. He'd ride his old Triumph over from his work as a shipping and receiving foreman in the harbor, and he'd smell like sweat and the salt from the sea. His clothes would reek of tobacco from those fat cigars he'd always smoke, and you knew his beard would smell like it, too.

You wondered what it felt like, his beard. You wondered if it was as soft as it looked. You wondered what he would say if you asked him to give you a ride back to his place on that old, worn-out bike and lay you on his bed so he could kiss you from behind that beard all night. You wondered, over and over when you lay in your own sheets alone, what it would feel like for him to drag that rough-shaven chin over the swell of your breast. How would it feel on the insides of your thighs? Would it hurt you?

"You want the usual?" You asked him, trying your best to concentrate on shining the glass in your hand and not about having his body between your legs.

He smiled up at you and nodded,

"Sure, love. The usual."

As you poured his lager, keeping a little extra foam at the top, just how he liked it, you caught yourself staring again.

It was cold out, so he was in a thick coat, but he never had his collar buttoned up. There was always a bit of his chest on view for you through the drab plaid shirts he wore. He had a cut tonight, and you could see it soaking through the white of his undershirt.

"You okay, John?" You set his beer down and motioned to his gash.

"Oh," he chuckled warmly, "Yeah. Just got a little too close to the off-loader crane and paid for it. No harm, really."

"Let me clean it up for you. C'mon," you opened the bar's side door and lifted it so he could duck underneath, taking his beer with him and following you upstairs to your office.

Your barback would take care of the two other patrons you had. It was a Tuesday after midnight. You could close without any harm done.

As John wandered into your space, he noticed your makeshift cot in the corner.

"Surely you're not sleepin' at work, love?"

You laughed a little nervously,

"Don't tell the health inspector on me. Have a seat in that chair. Lemme get the first-aid kit."

He sat. Your heart pounded in your throat. As you dug around for the kit, you felt your nerves fraying. Maybe you liked John a little more than you thought.

"Here. Alright, can you show me the cut?"

You knelt in front of him so you could be in line with the wound. You tried to clean it, but his clothes were getting wet.

"Oh, sorry. Uh -"

"Here, love," he shucked his jacket off and peeled his shirt off from his back, leaving it around his arms, pinned in the sleeves, "That better?"

You nodded, feeling your breath catch in your throat.

He was huge. It was almost monstrous, the way his body bulged out around his bones, enormous snapping muscles rolling around his shoulders and neck, making him look like an animal. He was covered in soft, brown fur, and as you went to touch him, you made a grave mistake.

You hesitated.

Ever observant, you knew he caught you stumbling over him, frozen in place like a scared doe. But, mercifully, he said nothing, and allowed you to get to work.

Clean. Dry. Salve. Bandage. Smooth the edges. Make an excuse to do it again, once more to seal it down.

"There, all done. You have been a very brave patient," you smiled up at him and went to box up the supplies back in their little tin.

"You know," he purred, "Brave patients usually get some sort of prize."

You laughed softly,

"Fresh out of lollies and peppermints, I'm afraid."

"Sure there isn't anything else you'd offer me to suck on, love?"

His voice was low, dark, and deep. It crawled to you on its belly from the bottom of the sea, from the pressures and the cold, black hell of the fathoms of the water, lapping at the sides of your boat, threatening to sink you. He looked at you like a tiger shark studies a diver, with a chilling curiosity from the mighty to the fragile, wondering what you taste like and deciding if he'll bite.

John's arms were still bound by his clothes. If you wanted to flee, you would've had plenty of head-start. But, you didn't. You were moving outside of your own volition. It was as if you were dreaming, watching yourself be piloted by an unknown force. You stared him down and stood, stepping right between his knees, forcing him to look up at you and wait for your reply.

You peeled off your white tee shirt, revealing your bare breasts to him. Going bra-less meant usually meant more tips, but tonight you weren't concerned about the money. You wanted him to praise you. You wanted to call his bluff. You wanted him to fuck you on the stack of kegs in the corner of your office and let the sharp metal rims dig into your belly as he stuffed his cock into you from behind.

His shirts were gone from his arms in a second, and he leaned forward just enough to put his face to your breast, letting you feel the heat of his breath on your skin, sighing into you. John held your eyes captive in his the whole time, as if he may look away and break the spell. Then, he watched you watch him take your nipple into his mouth, suckling on it as gently as he possibly could, as gently as anyone had ever done.

You trembled, letting go of a breath you'd been holding, looking down at him as he sucked your flesh between his wet lips. You were right about the smell of the tobacco.

[squintyeyedjoel]

Look For The Light | (Joel x Reader) - Coming Soon!

Synopsis: When Joel and Ellie are on their way to find the Fireflies, they stumble across something else in an abandoned farmhouse. Something unexpected and life changing - you. ….and the three year old toddler you rescued three days ago that happens to harbor something familiar Joel has a hard time reconciling with.

(Sneak peek below the cut!)

Suddenly the handle on the door to your room jiggled, making the breath stutter in your chest.

The low voice on the other side of the wooden barrier made you jump. “I’ll give you to the count of three, otherwise I’m breakin’ this thing down.”

You gulped.

“One.”

Silence.

“Two.”

A beat more.

“Three.”

Suddenly the door swung open, the latch busting into pieces and skittering across the floor as the hulking frame of a man barreled through shoulder first. Just behind him you saw a teenaged girl peeking in curiously from the top of the steps.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, offering a timid smile. “I’d have met you at the door, but,” you looked down toward the bundle in your arms, the smile turning more genuine. “My hands are full.”

“Holy fucking shit,” the teenager mumbled, before trying to make her way around the grumpy looking man. He caught her by her backpack, not allowing her any closer, to which she turned a skeptical look his way. “Really, Joel? It’s a baby. What’s it gonna do, drool me to death?”

You snorted a laugh, arching an eyebrow at the man- Joel’s unimpressed look your way.

“It’s a toddler. They’d scream your ear off b’fore they’d drool-” He stopped when he glanced from the tiny human in your arms who looked up at him with wide, curious eyes, and focused back on the teen, finding her already looking at him with raised brows.

After a moment he released her with a sigh, and she took a few tentative steps your way, wide grin climbing up her face.

“How would you know, anyway?” She teased the man without sparing him a glance.

The look he shot at the back of the girl's head made you want to grin, but you successfully tucked it into the top of the little human’s head in your lap.

“I’m older ‘an you. Been ‘round the block a few times, is all. Know a thing or two.” His voice was a rumbling grouse, the dry tone exasperated and saying he’d been here a time or two before, this argument worn and thin.

“Yeah, because you’re ancient,” she mocked.

“Ain’t that old,” he grumbled.

“Dirt is younger, Joel.”

“Not worried I’m infected?” You kept your voice calm, not wanting to poke the angry bear known as Joel.

The girl smiled in a way that said she had more to say than what she was telling as she knelt next to you. “No. Not really.”

“Ellie,” Joel groaned, taking a step closer as the teen sat next to you, her shoulder lightly bumping against your own as her back pressed against the wall.

“I’m not, by the way,” you looked between them both. “Infected.” Looking down to the toddler in your arms, snorting as she tried to hide further into your threadbare shirt, you couldn’t help but smile softly. “Neither is she.”

“What’s her name?” Ellie reached out a finger for the little one to hold. It was taken tentatively, and given a firm shake like she had seen countless adults do around her in the QZ you’d been in before.

It made Joel snort out a laugh through his nose.

“Sarah.”

The laugh turned into a choking sound, quickly melting into a coughing fit as Joel bent over at his waist, bracing his hands on his knees as he fought for air.

“You okay, old man?”

You tried to stifle the smile Ellie’s comment brought to your face before you turned your gaze back up to Joel once again.

After a long moment, he stood up straight with a huff. “Fine.” Another long pause. “Just swallowed wrong.”

Wanna be tagged if/when I write any future Joel stuff? Here’s how to sign up!

[funeralpartyclown]

dale has got to have insane kinks…… like this man is going to want to have cameras on you and shove random shit up you and make you say weird stuff to him . I LOVE HIM I CANT

SO TRUE…

Sorry if this is too much for you guys im just writing anything I think of 😭 pls lmk if it gets to be too much,,

I think he would be into a lot of worse stuff. Blood, knife play, bondage (unsafe probably) corruption, marking you up, age gaps (LEGALLY. Not that kinda freaky)

Cameras for sure, he’d love that. Pull your hair and force you to look right at it while he rams into you from behind. The way it makes it feel so much dirtier, his own personal pornstar. He’d watch them over CONSTANTLY and make you watch too while whispering filthy things into your ear.

Random stuff in you, I can see that. I imagine him having very few limits,, as much as I do love him. You cannot look at a picture of him and go yeah that’s a regular guy. He is into anything and everything fucked up and weird. If you’d let him do that he’d abuse the opportunity and just see what he can fit up there for fun and you’re probably ending up injured or with an infection to be honest..

Making you say weird stuff,, I can see too but it would probably be realll fucked up with him. He knows exactly how to make you uncomfortable and what gets you flustered and hes forcing you to repeat the nastiest things he can think of just to watch your face flush in red, stumbling with your words.

I think he’d really enjoy wax play too and he had plenty of candles. Idk if this is true because I wasn’t paying attention to it but I’ve seen people say the gun Lee has at the end of the movie isn’t hers, and was probably dales. Gun play…. With Dale… cold metal being slowly dragged across your skin. Loaded pressed to your temple safety off. Fucking you with the barrel, finger on the trigger, better sit still for him.

Size difference for sure, which is great for him because hes huge. The one shot of him and Lee from the side in the interrogation room where hes slouching and his legs are bent but hes still SO much larger than her? I need him to lay on top of me and suffocate me.

I think he’d enjoy making his partner cry (only during anything sexual) just watching you squirm and beg incoherently with tears running down your face, listening to your voice crack.

Marking up for sure, especially if afterwards he can make up an excuse to drag you out in public and show it off. In most longlegs fanfics it takes place in a small middle of nowhere town, he’d love risking your friends and family having to see you not only with him but covered in a painting of bruises and indents. No shame no restraint no respect for others comfort or social norms. He’s being awful in public, and with most of the fandom from what I’ve seen being like early 20s-30s the age gap would be VERY visible.

One sweeter thing I think he’d especially enjoy, have you in top for specific reasons. He’d be used to the treatment he gets from most people by now and have a hard time believing you actually want him, he needs a lot of reassurance. Esp if you initiate things, having you on top would have him in tears. Facing him, nails digging into his clothes, hot breath on his neck, repeatedly making the effort to bring him closer to you. Every sweet second you spend moving on top of him is just more confirmation to him that you want and need him.

Non-sexual but, I think he’d really like to do things for you as well. Having you need him, reaching things off a shelf, opening containers, lifting something heavy.

Bdsm, bondage, whips, paddles, restraints, all of it anything you ask hes okay with trying. If you’re really vanilla, good luck I don’t see him being able to adhere to that. If you reciprocate his feelings it will take very little time for him to feel serious about your relationship and he looks at you almost like his property, though that extends both ways. He’s just assuming you’re okay with whatever he wants, because he’d do the same for you. I think at first he’d ask if you’re okay with it before trying something but eventually he just does what he wants and waits for your reaction.

[vortexdoll]

A piece of home

Warnings: N/a

Jim Root x reader

Summary: Jim is surprised by a visit from his partner and daughter backstage during a tour.

A/n: n/a

Word count: 547

Jim always knew tour life wasn’t easy—not for him, and definitely not for you and your daughter. It wasn’t just the long hours, the travel, or the endless cycle of shows. It was the way he missed the little things: bedtime stories, morning cuddles, the sound of your laughter filling the house. No matter how many years passed, leaving never got easier.

Tonight’s show was in Chicago, and as Jim sat backstage, wiping the sweat from his face with a towel, he sighed heavily. The energy of the crowd was electrifying as always, but it didn’t quite fill the empty space in his chest.

Shawn smacked him on the back. “Good set, man.”

“Yeah,” Jim muttered, forcing a small smile. He grabbed his phone, expecting the usual post-show messages from you. Maybe a picture of your daughter, a sleepy ‘miss you’ text. But as he unlocked his phone, he saw something unexpected—a message from Mick.

Mick: You might want to get your ass outside.

Jim frowned. Mick wasn’t the type to send cryptic messages, but something about it made his heart beat a little faster. Without a word to the others, he pushed himself up and made his way toward the back entrance of the venue, the air still thick with the scent of sweat and smoke.

As soon as he stepped outside, he heard it—a small, excited giggle that made his breath catch in his throat.

“Daddy!”

Jim barely had time to register the little body barreling toward him before his daughter threw her arms around his leg. His heart swelled as he bent down, scooping her up in one fluid motion. “Oh my god, what are you doing here, bug?” His voice wavered, emotion thick in his throat as he pressed kisses to her forehead.

She giggled again, her tiny hands gripping the collar of his stage-worn shirt. “Mommy said we could see you!”

Jim looked up, and there you were—standing a few feet away with a knowing smile on your lips, arms crossed over your chest.

“Surprise,” you said softly.

For a moment, he could only stare, as if afraid he was dreaming. Then, with his daughter still clinging to him, he closed the distance between you in just a few steps and wrapped his free arm around you, pulling you in tightly. The scent of home—of you—filled his senses, grounding him in a way nothing else could.

“You have no idea how much I needed this,” he murmured against your hair.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, brushing damp strands away from his face. “I figured. Thought we’d bring a little home to you.”

He kissed you then, slow and deep, his grip tightening on your waist. His daughter made a small noise of protest, squirming between you both. “Ew, Daddy,” she giggled.

You laughed, stepping back while Jim chuckled, pressing another kiss to his daughter’s cheek. “You’re just jealous ‘cause I’m kissing your mommy.”

She scrunched her nose. “Mommy’s mine.”

You shook your head with a smile. “She’s been saying that the whole drive here.”

Jim grinned, his heart full in a way it hadn’t been in weeks. He glanced toward the tour bus, suddenly aware of the exhaustion in his bones, but it didn’t matter now. “How long are you staying?”

“For a few days,” you said. “I wanted to surprise you before you headed overseas.”

He exhaled in relief. “Best surprise ever.”

[peacefulwriting]

A Christmas Wish

For years, you were used to Jake being gone for some holidays, including Christmas. His job had him gone for countless holidays and sadly, it was nothing new to you and you'd be able to handle it. When you started a family, that had all changed.

You and Jake got extremely lucky and he didn't have to leave for any deployments for a few years but that had all changed in a matter of time.

Your son had just turned 5 and you little girl was 2. Your son was old to know and remember why daddy wasn't around for the holidays, but your daughter didn't know much. You got lucky and he was gone for the spring and summer holidays and home for the ones that mattered the most.

Jake left in late October for his temporary deployment. It was only supposed to be for a little over a month, but the news came barreling down on you at the begging of December that it was going to be longer and that he should be expected to be home after the new year.

"I hate this, I know it's your career and you can't help it, but I hate this, Jake." You choked back tears. " Your kids miss you. I miss you."

"I am so sorry, honey. It breaks my heart that I'm not there. I miss you all so much."

Jake hated it as much as you did. He hated knowing that he was missing being able to go visit Santa with the kids and go look at Christmas lights while drinking hot coco. He hated being stuck on a ship with nothing but the ocean skyline in the distance.

You had to be strong for your kids and not have them see you break down. You had to still go and do everyday life with them, including going and doing Christmas things, without Jake, so that it seemed somewhat normal, even though, none of this was normal.

So, that's what you did.

You would load them into the car and go grocery shopping, Christmas shopping, going to see Santa, and Christmas lights and Ice skating, all of the things. You had to take pictures and videos for Jake and man did that break your heart.

You never thought you'd be the one to breaking down crying in the middle of a store when your son pointed to something that reminded you of Jake.

"Mama, look! It's a plane like daddy's!"

He pointed to an F18 ornament and your heart dropped while tears started to brim the edges of your eyes. You bent down, gracefully holding the ornament in your hands. Tears were spilling out of your eyes as your turned towards your son.

"Can we get it for daddy, mama?"

"I think he'd like that, baby."

You shook your head as your song grabbed the ornament and gained the biggest smile on his face. He held it so close to him throughout the whole store and all the way home. It was his little plane just like daddy's.

You got everything in the house, laid your daughter down for a nap, and took a rest, and when you looked over into the living room, you saw your son looking at the Christmas tree that uncle Rooster helped put up. He had the plane in his hand and you knew he was contemplating on wether he wanted to put it up or keep it close.

"What are you thinking, baby?"

You bent down, hugging him to your side, looking at him. He just stared right ahead at the Christmas tree and the lights.

"Will daddy be home for Christmas?"

You sighed, your heart breaking all over again. You couldn't lie to your son but you didn't want to ruin anything for him, so you did your best by sugar coating it with a little Christmas story.

You sat down on the floor and your son turned to look at you, still with that innocent smile on his face.

"You know how Santa has to work on Christmas so that all the children can get their gifts and treats?" You asked, and he shook his yes, "that's kinda like daddy's job. He he gets to fly to all these places so that he can help us and provide things for us when we need them."

"Daddy's like Santa!" He shouted with a big smile on his face.

"Yeah," you said, tears threaten to spill out again, "and that means that daddy might have to work on Christmas, like Santa, so that we can get what we need and want."

"Does daddy and Santa work together then?" He asked, so innocently.

You had to blink up so that tears wouldn't come out in front of your son. You composed yourself and looked back at him.

"I think so, baby. They are both working super hard to make sure everyone gets what they need."

You son smiled, walking to the tree and putting the F18 ornament on the tree. "Mama, if I'm really nice and ask Santa to let daddy not work on Christmas, do you think he'll get me that?"

Your heart shattered.

"Maybe if you're extra nice, baby."

Your son jumped up and down, giggling. You sat there watching him with his excitement and you had tears welling in your eyes that were slowly dripping out.

You cleaned yourself up, heading for the kitchen to make dinner for the kiddos. You silently hoped the night would go by quick, more so, the whole month of December.

"Our son thinks he if he's really nice for Santa that you'll come home."

You snapped. You know this wasn't Jake's fault, nor yours, nor your sons. He was hopeful and full of dreams while this was breaking you. The only time Jake could FaceTime you was late at night due to the time zone.

"Our little boy, full of hopes and dreams," Jake whispered, you watched through the phone as tears were coming out of his eyes. "I want that so badly, for you and the kids."

"You have no idea."

As the days passed and Christmas grew closer, you felt more and more sadness. You were loosing sleep making sure everything was wrapped and Christmas dinner was bought, and watching your son remain hopeful that Jake was coming home. You were exhausted.

Christmas Eve approached and no sign of Jake coming home. You wanted to scream and cry knowing that when you'll wake up that Jake wasn't going to be here and how sad your kids were going to be.

You finished up cleaning up the kids, laying your daughter down before your son, partly, because you know he's going to ask a thousand questions as to where daddy was.

You gave your daughter a kiss on the forehead as she cooed. You turned on the rain machine and shut the lights off and walked into your sons room.

You walked over to him as he was slipping under the covers. You grabbed the corners of them and pulled them up on his body. He pulled his arms out from under the blanket and turned on his side, looking at you.

"I think I was really nice for Santa."

"You were very nice, yes. I'm proud of you."

"I asked Santa to bring daddy home since I was so nice."

"I hope that Santa is able to give you that gift." You leaned down and kissed him on his forehead. "Goodnight, baby. I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, mama."

You shut off the lights and to your bedroom. You shut the door, sighing. You didn't have anymore energy to cry, just felt empty. You knew that Christmas was going to be extremely hard and you just wish things were different. You swallowed, shutting off the lights and slipped into bed, drifting off to sleep.

"MAMA! IT'S CHRISTMAS! WAKE UP!"

You woke up to your son jumping on you and laughing. You blinked your eyes open and looked at your son, smiling. You grabbed him and pulled him in for a big hug.

"Merry Christmas, baby. Why don't we go grab your sister and see what Santa brought you?"

He shook his head with the biggest smile and jumped off the bed. You walked into your daughters room and she was already awake, just standing in her crib. You smiled, grabbing her from her crib. You gave her a kiss on the forehead.

When all of you approached the staircase, you heard the backdoor opening and jinglebells jingling. Your heart began to race as your son looked up at you with a big smile on his face. He took off down the stairs.

No, there's no way, you thought. Jake wasn't due to be home for another few weeks.

You began to take a few steps down the stairs when you heard your son gasp. Flight and fight mode activated but when the next word came out of his mouth, you felt your heart flutter.

"DADDY!"

You began to rush down the stairs with your daughter in your arms, trying to hide a smile, and once you rounded, your eyes locked with Jake's.

"I was right, mama!"

Jake laughed, giving your son a kiss on the forehead. He looked at him again and released him and your son went flying past you to the presents. Jake began to walk towards you with a big smile on his face.

"Is this real?" You whispered. "Are you really here?"

Jake stopped in front of you, grabbing your face and pulling you in for a kiss. You pulled back and placed your head into his chest, laughing. You heard him give your daughter a kiss.

"I'm home, darling."

You lifted your head, looking into his green eyes. He grabbed you by your waist, pulling you into him and placing the soft kiss on your lips. You stayed there, taking it all in and embracing your husband. You just wanted to stay in this moment forever.....

"MAMA! DADDY! COME ON!"

You and Jake pulled apart, looking at each other, laughing. He took your hand in his and you walked over to the couch, and sat down. You set your daughter on your lap and you gave your son the okay to open his presents.

You were so thankful and happy that Jake was home, able to spend Christmas with your and the kids.

A Christmas Miracle.

[throneofrayllum]

The Moment She Became a Mother

Warnings: Child birth, swearing, mentions of things that might make some people uncomfy idk. If your familiar with child birth you'll be fine tho. Do not proceed if these things make you uncomfortable

Hi!!! This is a little spin off to my post season 2 series "I Never Stopped". This is set not long after Jinx arrives in Demacia and begins living with her boss (bestie/mother figure) and Lux (her lowkey situationship at the time). I'll probably be posting more slice of life stuff about Jinx and her daughter Felicity in between chapters of the main fic :) By the way, this one shot is in Lux's POV.

Lux's eyes flutter open when she feels the weight of the mattress shift. Jinx must be having back pains again. Recently, Jinx's back pains got worse at night and she would have to pace the bedroom to relieve them. The millions of pillows Lux set up for Jinx to prop up her back seemed to be doing nothing for the poor girl. Lux turns over to try to see if Jinx needs her help, but instead of being met with the familiar sight of her girlfriend friend pacing back and forth, she sees Jinx bent over the dresser, her eyes clamped shut in pain. Lux shoots up immediately and crawls across the bed. When she reaches Jinx's side, she feels a wet patch on the sheets. Shit. Lux scrambles out of the bed, and rushes to the bluenette's side. She rests her hands on Jinx's shoulders as she asks, "Did your water break?" The pregnant girl shakes her head, "Yeah. About twenty minutes ago." Lux can't help the surge of anger she feels. She rests her head against Jinx's back and can't help the bite in her tone as she asks, "Why didn't you wake me up sooner? What the hell were you thinking? Do you understand how dangerous it is for your water to break this early?" Jinx pushes herself off the dresser and snaps, "Yeah, I know! I'm the one having the fucking baby, you don't need to freak me out even more!" Lux closes her eyes and rubs her temples, "I'm sorry, J, I'm sorry." She looks back up and her heart breaks when she sees Jinx's lip wobbling and the tears running down her face. Jinx crashes into Lux and pushes as close to her as she can with the barrier of her bump. "I'm not ready", she sobs. Lux runs her shaking fingers through her best friends hair, "I know ,honey, I know. But you have to, this baby wants to come right now and there's nothing we can do to stop them." Jinx sniffles and backs away, her hands instinctually resting on her bump. "What do we do?", she asks, pain etched on her face. Lux gives her a smile, "I'm gonna go get Masyn and she's gonna help us ok? I'll be right next to you the whole time." Jinx nods, and Lux presses a kiss to her temple, "Sit down on the bed ok? I don't want you standing while I'm gone." Jinx rolls her eyes but obeys, slowly lowering herself on the edge of the bed. Lux moves to walk out the door but turns back, "Remember your breathing ok?"

Lux sprints down the stairs leading to the bar, almost falling on her face as she does so. Heads turn in her direction as she barrels into the bar room. She spots Masyn pouring a drink and catches her eye from across the room. Lux lets out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding when Masyn taps her husband on the shoulder and begins walking over to Lux. Everything will be ok if Masyn's present. She was a midwife before she committed herself to aiding in the mage revolution and bought the bar. Masyn had been a saving grace for Jinx throughout her pregnancy. When the older woman makes it over to Lux, she grabs her hands. "Tell me Jinx isn't in labor", she says, her tone serious in a way that scares Lux. The blonde girls stomach drops. "She is", Lux replies. Masyn closes her eyes and sighs heavily. Lux feels her throat get tight as she asks, "She's gonna be ok, right?" Masyn ignores her question and asks, "Did her water break?" Lux nods. The older woman lets out a curse before pulling Lux back up the stairs. She explains as they climb back to the apartment; "Well, she's already a month early and since her water broke so soon there's an increased risk of infection, but I think she'll pull though."

Lux rushes back into the bedroom as soon as they enter the apartment and falls to her knees in front of Jinx. "Hey, honey. May's here, ok? Your gonna be ok. I promise." Jinx nods and grips the sheets in pain, Lux rubs soothing circles on her leg. Masyn walks in carrying her medical bag she had been keeping in Jinx's closet in preparation for the birth. She places it on the floor and runs her hand through Jinx's hair, "Hey J, I know the situation isn't ideal, but I'm gonna make it work." Jinx looks up at her with tearful eyes, her body shaking slightly, "I don't wanna jinx my baby. I don't wanna, I don't wanna, I don't-" Jinx ending her rambling with a sob, her hands clutching her head, eyes squeezed shut. Masyn crouches next to Lux and pulls the bluenette's hands away from her face, "Baby girl, I want you to listen to me. Ok?" Jinx nods, her eyes frantic in a way that scares Lux. Jinx can't have an episode now. That's the last thing her body, and the baby's body, need. Lux backs away to give Jinx space when Masyn speaks, "I know your scared. Your terrified, and that's ok. I was too when I became a mom. But you need to be here for yourself. You need to be here for your baby. You can't do what you need to do if your not with us right now, ok? And baby girl, you are not gonna jinx this baby. I know the situations risky because of how early you went into labor, but were gonna make it work." Lux smiles when Jinx's eyes finally lose their panic and her breathing slows. Good, this is good. Masyn leads the expectant mother through some breathing exercises, and when Jinx comes back to herself, she says, "No epidural." Both Masyn and Lux's heads shoot up at that. Lux approaches her friend and sits down beside her, taking her hand gently, "Honey, I don't think that's a good idea. I think an epidural would be really beneficial." Jinx scowls, "Ok? Did I fucking ask for your opinion?" Lux takes her hand away. "No, you didn't. Your right. It's your body, your decision." Jinx sighs and scoots, well, tries to scoot closer to Lux. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's just...because of what happened to me, you know, with the...shimmer. I just don't want any needles." Jinx's voice grows quiet when she mentions the drug that had been injected to her without her consent. The drug that changed aspects of her psyche, that changed her biology. Lux and Masyn both smiled sadly at her. "No epidural. You got it", Masyn said, her voice kind and soft. Lux forgets how great of a nurse Masyn is. It's a shame she quit her career, but Lux owes May so much. She's helped tremendously with the rebellion. After a few moments of silence between the three women, Jinx speaks up, "Okie dokie! Let's have a baby!"

Over the next couple hours, Lux and Masyn take turns holding Jinx through the contractions and applying gentle pressure to her lower back to ease the pain. As of right now, Jinx is lying back in between Lux's legs on the bed, Lux rubbing Jinx's head to help relieve tension. Lux is caught off guard when her friend speaks, she'd gotten used to the silence over the last ten minutes, the only sound being Masyn prepping the bathroom. "Do you think I can do this?", Jinx asks, her head falling back against Lux's chest. "Yes, J. You are gonna be just fine, Masyn said you look clear of infection." Jinx snorts, "No, I mean this. Being a mom." Lux smiles and kisses the top of her blue head. "Honey, you gonna be an amazing mom. This kid is gonna be so lucky and so loved." Jinx nods, and Lux can feel her crying softly. "Baby, what is it?" She brings her hands to Jinx's belly, rubbing gently. Jinx shakes as she says, "I just don't wanna mess them up. I don't wanna hurt them, like I hurt everyone else." Lux feels tears welling in her own eyes and quickly wipes them before saying, "You don't hurt everyone, you haven't hurt me. You haven't hurt May and her boys. You haven't hurt the kids at the orphanage. Jinx, since you've come to Demacia, all you've done is good." Jinx grabs her hand and brings a kiss to her fingers. Lux's heart skips a beat, and she lets it. She's been so reluctant to let herself fall for Jinx out of respect for Ekko, the father that the child will never meet. But, even though he's absent, she still couldn't bring herself to pursue Jinx. The way her bluenette talks about him...it's plain as day Jinx will always love him. But, the reality of the situation is that he's not here, and Lux loves Jinx, and that's that. She smiles and kisses Jinx's head one last time before helping her into the bathroom. They had a baby to deliver.

Lux watches off to the side of the tub feeling quite useless. Sure, she's the one holding Jinx's hand through her screams but other than that, there is nothing she can do. Masyn furrows her brow in concentration as she kneels in the small tub between Jinx's legs. After what feels like forever, she looks back up at her patient, "Ok, J, this is it, the head is out. One last push, girl!" Jinx grips Lux's hand with impossible strength and screams as she gives her last push. Lux counts in her head, and at four seconds, she hears the sound of a precious cry pierce the air. Jinx goes limp in the tub and Lux supports her head. She watches with wide eyes as Masyn pulls the baby out from between Jinx's thighs and hands them over to her. Jinx smiles tiredly, and holds her arms out. When she takes the baby in her arms and sees that it's a girl, she begins to sob. Lux feels tears streaming down her face at the sight in front of her; Jinx, holding her little girl and sobbing as she presses kisses to her little head and whispers "I love you's". Jinx presses her forehead to her little girls and says, "Mama's got you bug, I always got you." Lux leans forward and lets herself cry fully when she looks at the little girl; brown skin with a little tuft of blue hair. She had never seen a more precious baby. Lux presses a kiss to Jinx's forehead, then to her bare shoulder, "I'm so proud of you. Your so amazing." Jinx looks over at Lux, and she's never seen such a vibrant smile on the blue haired girls face, "Thanks, Sunshine. Your hand did pretty well as a stress reliever. Sorry bout that by the way." Lux smiled, "It's alright, honey. It was worth it."

After Masyn cuts the umbilical cord (which Jinx requested to keep, along with her placenta), Lux holds the baby while Jinx gets cleaned up by May. Thankfully, the girl is asleep because Lux doesn't know the first thing about baby's. She supposes Jinx has minimal experience too, except for her late daughter Isha. But Jinx said Isha was seven, that's much different than a newborn. They have Masyn to teach them though, so Lux thinks they'll be alright. When Masyn situates Jinx on the bed and throws a blanket on her, she immediately demands to have her daughter back. Lux chuckles as she brings the baby over to the bed and places her in her mothers arms. Masyn sits on the edge of the bed and asks, "What are you gonna name her?" Jinx smiles, "Felicity, after my mom." Lux and Masyn both coo and tell her how beautiful the name is. After a minute, Jinx giggles, "Hey, don't fancy people do like...middle names or something?" Masyn laughs, "Yeah, my sons middle names are Jenson and Hunt." Jinx smiles, a strange look crossing her face. "Well then, Violet will be her middle name." She smiled wider and kissed her daughters head, "Felicity Violet."

This was fun to write. I'm gonna be getting back to the main series but I was itching to do this.

Ngl, most of the stuff in the fic was inspired by my sisters birth (except Lux was a lot more calm than my sisters wife was during labor.) The whole infection thing because of water breaking too early is very real and did happen to my sister but... in a lot of cases it's actually not a big deal so I did milk that one a bit lol.

[kitkat13001]

જ⁀➴ 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚎

⊹₊  𝟺 ⟡ 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎𝚗  ᥫ᭡

⤷ bandit!ochako uraraka x f!knight!reader

⤷ prev ⟡ m. list ⟡ next ♡ 1.6k words

⟡ as your relationship with ochako grows, so too does the unrest in the kingdom. you prepare for a coming storm, and it’s looking like trouble ahead on both fronts… ♬.ᐟ tracklist : i know you - faye webster, casual - chappell roan, dreams - fleetwood mac, trouble - cage the elephant, for you - tv girl

“ocha—”

“mm.”

“ochako, i—”

“hm, yeah?”

“mm, i should…”

you trail off, unable to get a word out between her kisses, and then stop completely when her lips migrate to your neck. 

you jump, fists knotting in the grass when you feel nimble fingers tug at your shirt collar, her teeth nip at the soft skin beneath. 

she pulls away with glossy lips and a lovesick smile. “somethin’ to remember me by.”

your fingers ghost over the mark, admiring it in your helmet’s metallic reflection. you hum. “oh yeah?”

“yeah. don’t worry, your armor’ll cover it.”

“what if i don’t wanna cover it?” you tease, leaning back against her. 

“ooh, feeling brave are we?”

you giggle, both of you lapsing into silence after a moment until ochako speaks again. 

“we’ve got a big mission coming up.”

you hum. “yeah? how big?”

“i probably won’t see you for a while after tonight. it’s a while to travel and we’ll have to lay low for a bit after.”

you sigh. “detriments of having a vigilante lovergirl.”

ochako giggles, reaching down to pinch your nose gently. “try not to miss me too bad. i’ll come back, i always do.”

you heave another dramatic sigh, gazing out at where the sun is getting low in the golden sky. 

“i should be getting back,” you hedge, but you don’t really want to go. 

“don’t go yet,” she murmurs, beaming up at you from where her head is resting on your shoulder. “the night is young, c’mon, let me take you somewhere before i have to take off.”

you snort a little laugh. “and just where are you going to take me?”

“out,” she replies with a cheeky smile. 

“out” ends up being a little tavern on the edge of the castle city. it’s rowdy, crowded with all kinds of people bustling around eating, drinking, singing loudly. the mugs your mead is served in are all mismatched. you’ve been to taverns, usually on your rare days off with the other knights, but this place is different. it’s quite charming, and it makes you smile. 

ochako retrieves your drinks and loops an arm through yours, leading you past the bar into a back hall. 

“where are we going now?”

“you’ll see.”

she lightly kicks open a door that leads into a large storage room in the back of the tavern. the crates and barrels have been pushed to the walls to make space for a large table and some mismatched chairs and sofas. 

several heads look up, most of which you recognize from the wanted posters plastered around the castle and surrounding city. 

“welcome to headquarters!” ochako declares proudly, arms spread in exaggerated glory. “figured i’d at least give you some faces to put to the names.”

she brings you over to two figures standing by the table, bent over a map that has red pins sticking out of it — some of which you recognize as locations you’ve supplied. 

you catch sight of a familiar head of green hair and smile. 

“this is deku! he’s kind of the whole reason we’re all here, the real heart of the operation.”

“uraraka’s exaggerating,” he laughs nervously. “it’s equal effort on all our parts. sorry we haven’t formally met — i’m izuku midoriya, but you can call me deku if you like! everyone does. ochako and shoto have told me a lot about you. your help’s really been invaluable!”

you flush, somewhat embarrassed. “ah, i was just trying to help out. i—”

you’re cut off as the blonde next to him, who’s visibly been growing increasingly more frustrated, finally snaps. 

“goddamn it, round-face!” he growls at ochako, “you can’t just bring people back here! that’s how people get caught!”

ochako seems unbothered, waving him off dismissively. “yeah, whatever. no one says that when you bring kaminari over, do we? ‘cause he’s so crucial to the operation, right?”

the blonde turns red with what you can’t tell is anger or embarrassment. “he’s an informant!”

“so’s she!”

the two of them descend into rapid-fire bickering, while izuku turns to you with an apologetic smile. 

“they do this all the time,” he assures you, leaving them to it. “that grouch back there’s kacchan—”

“bakugou!”

“right, sorry. old habit, we’ve been friends since we were young. anyways, this is shinsou, toga, kirishima, and ashido!”

he gestures to the other four people occupying the room, who look up and offer a smile or a wave. 

“you’re even prettier than ochako said you were!” giggles one of them, a girl with bright pink hair and rosy skin. the blonde, fanged girl next to her nods conspiratorially. 

“alright, lay off, would ya?” ochako huffs, cheeks pink when she wraps an arm around you to steer your away. she ignores the jokes the others crack as you leave, ushering you out the back door. 

it’s dark out, but the light from the windows filters out to illuminate the little deck behind the tavern. fireflies hover around the edges of the field that extends out back, little dots of light floating in the dark. 

you fix ochako with a wry grin. “so…you think i’m pretty?”

she rolls her eyes, but the bashful smile that overtakes her defeats any annoyance she might’ve been trying to project. “‘course i do.”

“you’re jealous,” you tease, reaching out to pinch her cheek as she swats you away. 

“stop that! i am not, they just like to get on my nerves. i like having you aaall to myself,” she replies, pulling you into her strong arms. she pecks your cheek and you giggle. 

“you’re jealous.”

ochako heaves a dramatic sigh, but you feel her smile against your skin. 

you wish you could stay like this forever. 

things have been boring without your nightly escapades with ochako. 

nothing much has happened around the palace. king enji is still on the manhunt for the vigilantes, oblivious to your involvement, and blatantly ignorant to the needs of his people. 

in addition to your guard duty, you’ve been assigned brief patrols around the castle city while shoto’s in training. 

you and iida make circles around the perimeter, ensuring the palace’s defenses are secure. while you’ve been out, you’ve heard more and more whispers about the uprisings. 

they started in the outskirts, but they’re growing increasingly closer to the city. alarm is setting in around the palace, only feeding the flames of tension.

you notice fewer familiar faces around the castle, and when you asked keigo about it he told you that one of the higher legions was sent out to diffuse riots in the innermost city. 

“it’s getting bad,” you tell iida in a conspiratorial whisper. his face is stern, as always, but there’s worry in his eyes. 

“it does seem to be getting worse. i fear there’ll come a breaking point, and i…i don’t know what i’d do should that situation arise…”

you hadn’t thought about that before. 

the palace knights are undoubtedly loyal to the royal family. no one would ever go against king enji’s word, but there have been times — quiet little remarks in the barracks, far out of sight, where they’d occasionally mention the injustice in the kingdom. how they’d concede, admitting that maybe the defectors had a good reason for leaving. 

if the people were to riot, to take up arms against the king…would he order you as knights to fight back? and if he did, would you?

“yeah,” you agree nervously, your stomach turning slightly when the thought passes through you. 

if it really came down to it…who’s side would you be on?

you change the subject quickly, trying to distract yourself. 

and distraction does come, in the form of a flash of a familiar pink tunic. 

your heart jumps in your chest a little, and you try not to seem obviously excited. 

you tell iida you’ll meet him back up in the keep, that you need to stop back by the armory first. you wait until he’s gone before you take off in the direction you saw ochako going. 

you’re breathless as you run, almost giddy with the thought of seeing her again after what feels like way too long. it doesn’t even occur to you that she shouldn’t be anywhere near the castle given the heightened security. 

you dart after her carelessly, completely oblivious to cries of alarm and thundering footsteps coming up all around you. ochako disappears into an alley right as you call her name. she must not have heard you over all the commotion. 

you’re panting when you skid to a halt, about to call out again, but the visage that awaits you on the other end of the long, desolate alley shuts you right up.

ochako is there, but so is izuku. 

you’re far enough away that their figures blur, but there’s no mistaking it. they’re too close to be doing anything else. 

she’s kissing him. 

you feel sick. one thing is for certain, if the sinking feeling in your gut is any indication. 

you’re not supposed to be seeing this.

it all happens so fast that you don’t even see the cohort of guards closing in until they’ve formed a wall all around you. you’re snapped from your trance when a gauntlet falls on your shoulder, too tight to be friendly. you’ve lost sight of ochako in the sea of armor, and you look up to be met with fierce golden eyes. there’s no trace of the usual mischief or humor in keigo’s eyes. there’s a tinge of pain, maybe even regret. you see it for a moment before its masked with practiced ease, then a wall of apathy.

you flinch at the screech of metal on metal when the gauntlet on your shoulder tightens its grip.

“you had real potential, kid,” keigo says with a grimace. “i…i didn’t think we’d lose you, too.”

you can hear the regret in his voice, and your stomach sinks even lower. you can’t form any words, but even if you could, what would you say?

you hang your head, shame burning on your face. there’s no coming back from this. 

dividers by @/anitalenia and @/saradika-graphics — second to last part! i rlly enjoyed writing this one 😈 🫶

[multiheadcanons]

BABYS FIRST RESPAWN

aka tf2 mercs and the first time they died and respawned

tw: death, murder, marginal gore?

spy: it’s embarrassing, he hates to say it… he fell out of his smoking room window in the middle of the night. he was taking in the view, sitting in the feeling of new. he didn’t know whether he maybe leaned too far out the window, or if something or someone had pushed him, he didn’t see anything but the ground approaching. it was swift, and virtually painless. he squeezed his eyes shut before he hit; and before he realized the pain his eyes opened to the infirmary. he sat there in shock for a moment; confirming he was actually alive. he felt his body for any trace of ache, and felt his heart drop when there was none. that fucked him up. he quit thinking too much about it after the first few dozen times he encountered the respawn machine. he does not want to think about whether he’s actually him or a perfect clone or— never mind.

sniper: it’s also embarrassing and he hates to talk about it. he would consider it a case of murphy’s law. he was actually having a really good day! it was his first day on the job, and he made it out alive. he didn’t think much about the fact that the same guys were showing up between his crosshairs. he didn’t think much about it until he was cleaning his rifle. and as he finished, and inspected it, he’s pretty sure it misfired. he’s the one who didn’t put the safety on before he inspected the barrel. he doesn’t know. he knows he was staring down the barrel and a loud, a familiar crack rang through his ears for a fraction of a second before he saw the white of the infirmary. he immediately jumped to his feet; dazed. and, without really thinking about it, other than his eyes making out a red cross, yelled for the medic. the medic who took his time coming to reassure him. he also quit thinking about it the first few dozen times because he didn’t want to think about whether or not he was himself. he had enough on his plate as is.

medic: okay, technically it was his fault. he pushed heavy, who was a stranger at this point, verbally. he made a couple off handed comments, a few too many underhanded insults on their first day of work. and the worst part was, he would laugh about them. loudly. and when heavy would confront him, he would immediately back down. and heavy hates cowards. the final time he was given the opportunity to do this was in the infirmary; heavy simply…. picked him up. arms pinned against his own rib cage, which was trapped between heavy’s hands. he was still laughing when heavy started to squeeze. and said nothing more. he continued to laugh until he felt a painful snap. and after the pain, he almost felt…. a relief. a glorious relief in his back he hadn’t felt in years, no… decades. he sighed, and found he could not breathe in again. a final, firm grasp and squeeze around his neck sent him staring at the white wall of the room next door. and his back hurt again. there was a whisper of wind, almost like someone was also taking their first breaths; and turned to see demo; who was staring at the wall in shock. a slow turn revealed his one eye to be wide, pupils resizing as he attempted to focus it in the brilliant white room. “what the fuck just happened.”

“well… i see we must both still be alive.”

demo: tavish…….. poor guy was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. he happened to be entering the infirmary, a few drinks in, with a small cut. he literally just wanted a bandaid. he didn’t expect to walk in to the heavy weapons expert holding a…. very clearly dead doctor. well, maybe he was just giving like a fucked up chiropractic lesson, but doc’s back was bent at an unusual angle, and his eyes were not moving, and his lungs looked like they collapsed, and he was not making any sound... yeah. that’s a dead medic. he didn’t register that, or the doctor’s falling body, before he felt a palm encase his entire face, and something that he could swear was steel made contact with his temple. and his vision came back to him being in the room next door. next to the very much alive medic, who also seemed a little dazed, but at least was at the correct angle and breathing and making noises. after regaining his bearings, he actually didn’t hold it against heavy. nobody knew what it meant when they were told that they would come back, and nobody needs to mention it. emotions got hot and things just happen that way sometimes. medic should take the lesson in stride and stop pushing buttons. but he held no ill will. it actually makes him incredibly confident to know that he can go through anything and still come back. and he’s bolstered with more confidence to have a guy like heavy on his side. drives him through battle.

heavy: heavy had apologized to the doctor immediately after he (and demo) entered the main infirmary room from a set of double doors to the side. demo said all was well. medic said all was well. all was not well. medic did not forgive him for murdering him in what medic considered to be cold blood. and played the slow game about it. medic let their other teammates die in favor of making sure heavy did not see the inside of that infirmary for months, past minor to moderate damage. medic carefully cradled heavy’s life in his hands, and never dared to disrespect it again. medic never babied him, but was clearly better than had he… not snapped the man’s spine in half and crushed his rib cage. he had never truly seen what the others began to call “the respawn room”. he had sat in there a few times, pondering the feeling of it. heavy did not consider that medic’s intense intensive care could be a ruse. he didn’t consider that as they made their usual idle chatter on the field as they sped into the heat of battle; he didn’t think about it as he reminisced on that moment. he only thought about it as he mentioned medic’s grace and kindness for his outburst. how he actually quite liked the doctor. how he couldn’t believe he could get that worked up. “over a silly joke, no less.” was actually the last thing medic hissed in his ear as he shut off his medigun and stepped away from him, ubercharge wasted, as heavy rounded the corner to heavy fire. and he had never felt a burn like it to date. the medigun truly made bullets feel like nothing. what a medical wonder, he thought briefly. he turned his head, his final action, and watched medic make direct eye contact with him, before offering him a smile, a wave, and walking away. that was the first time he had seen the walls of the respawn room without his express permission. he decided then that he did not like that doctor. they’re fine now though. they can laugh about it.

engineer: it’s embarrassing, he hates talking about it. having family that worked in Mann Co, he generally knew and understood the workings of the respawn machine. he was a couple beers in, there was an outage. he felt confident enough to do it. he thought “i shouldn’t let the outage sit and wait for me to sober up, something might happen and we’ll need full electricity!” and he was haphazard. he didn’t give enough time and care to practice safety and paid that price. he felt a shock begin in his ungloved fingers and reach his chest, fast. but at that point he couldn’t let go. he woke up in the ward with his hand still clenched in a tight fist. he didn’t like that feeling much. but he’s glad the price wasn’t his life…. permanently.

pyro: pyro willingly jumped off a cliff on a question from scout; “do ya wanna know what it feels like to die?” and five dollars and seventy two cents. they returned, seemingly unfazed, and took scouts money, and pushed him off the edge in return. they both made a point from then on to never get too close to the edge, and pyro makes it a personal mission to warn others of the fall. they know what pain feels like. it bothers them more to not actually know what death feels like. they don’t like opening their eyes to the infirmary. and they wonder when it’ll be the last time they open their eyes to that sight. however, they’ll regularly air blast enemies off the cliff. they take every opportunity to show them that they shouldn’t be that close to the edge!

scout: scout…. honestly didn’t remember the first time. he remembers driving into teufort, and he was being kinda reckless, but he didn’t really care. there was nobody on the road for miles in either direction but him, he felt like he should be able to cut loose a little, even though he knows safety on the roads is paramount. if he died, at least he would just take himself out, right? and then the wheels popped on his dogshit car. he panicked, he couldn’t get the car under control, and the last thing he remembers is seeing a sign saying “welcome to teufort!” before he woke up in an infirmary. he didn’t put two and two together until pyro pushed him off the cliff he had just dared them to jump moments prior. and he screamed. he screamed until he hit the floor and shot up in the respawn room screaming. and seeing that infirmary again… he realized what had happened that first day. he now takes road safety very seriously. he can’t believe he is an actual story for road safety. he can’t believe he’s dying, or dead most of the times he sees that room. it bugs him. he would like to die permanently. not any time soon, but he does wonder when he’ll die permanently.

soldier:

pauling: “alright soldier, so you get how to rocket jump, right? you want to practice with the—“

soldier: “i got it ms pauling! shoot at your feet then jump!”

pauling: “no soldier it’s— no soldier WAIT—!”

soldier promptly blows himself to bits and returns to the training ground from the respawn room. takes approximately two and a half minutes.

soldier: “I DID IT! I JUMPED ALL THE WAY TO THE INFIRMARY!”