#but i'm still just throwing things out there to try and keep up my streak and break ocd

[grim-echoes]

can i interest anyone in an addispam and a spamspam

bonus:

[trashytracktales]

Poking the bear | OB⁸⁷

🧸 summary ──── They say poking the bear never ends well, but after Ollie’s incident at the Brazilian Grand Prix, both him and his girlfriend find out that silence hurts more than anger.

🧸 pairing ──── Oliver Bearman x she/her reader

🧸 rating ──── mature

🧸 warnings ──── 16+, angst, emotional distress, description of racing incidents, passive-aggressive arguments, guilt and vulnerability, implied sexual content.

🧸 word count ──── 3k

🧸 date ──── May 28, 2025

🧸 a/n ──── Had this idea tap dancing in my head since Brazil 2024. It came back in my dream last night. I cleared my schedule so I can write a quickie. Enjoy 💋

📍 São Paulo Grand Prix, 2024

“OFF THE ROAD into the tarmac runoff for Oliver Bearman!” the commentator’s voice cuts sharp through the rain static on the broadcast.

It’s Sunday at Interlagos, and the weather tests everybody’s nerves. The skies are heavy and grey, brooding with thunderclouds that haven’t stopped spilling for hours. The asphalt has a darker shade, smoother, but far from forgiving; it offers little grip and even less predictability. Where there should be confidence in traction, there’s second-guessing and white-knuckled steering.

On-screen, the Haas is already facing the wrong direction, half-stranded in the runoff at Turn 10, its tires carving muddy streaks through the damp tarmac. With worn inters and a gust of crosswind hitting off the Senna S complex, it just snapped under braking, enough to slide, to lock up, to go straight off and miss the corner entirely.

Because that’s what rain does: punishes the smallest errors. And the lack of experience becomes a curse rather than an excuse.

Inside the cockpit, Oliver’s first reaction is confusion, his brain trying to make sense of what just happened. All it took was a fraction of a second, and the car pirouetted like it had a mind of its own. His heart jumps into his throat in an instant and, luckily, the young driver manages to keep it out of the wall, just barely. As the adrenaline fades, disappointment crashes in like a wave, forcing him to grip the steering wheel, only to give him the impression that he’s still got something to hold on to.

In the garage, the helplessness of his error settles into her chest. “No,” she breathes sharply, hand flying to her mouth instinctively.

The camera shifts from the replay of the spin to her. She’s standing by the monitors, arms crossed so tightly around herself now that it looks like she’s holding herself together by force. Her eyes are wide, and she is visibly horrified. She doesn’t blink as she stares at the screen, like if she looks away, something worse than that might happen.

Next to her, Oliver’s father reaches out gently, placing a comforting arm around her shoulder. His voice is calm, as he tells her something that the cameras aren’t able to pick up, but she nods stiffly, agreeing with the man, even though her body doesn’t seem to relax one bit. She’s not the kind to show her panic so publicly, never was. However, everything happened too fast for her mind to process, and now her nails are digging little crescents moons into her arms, and the camera captures it all.

She’s aware that the world is watching — she feels like throwing up the second she sees herself on the monitor — but at this point it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is her Ollie.

As if summoned, his radio is displayed next in the right-hand corner of the screen.

“I’m such an idiot, man,” his voice comes through strained, full of self-loathing. For a little while, there is no response from Slade. Just the deafening static, his heavy breathing, and the weight of his disappointment that hangs between the words.

That’s what breaks her the most, not the spin. Not the fact that he lost so much ground or that he deprived the team of a potential finish in the points. Hearing him so defeated and unforgiving of himself, like he’s not allowed a single mistake in the same conditions where even the most experienced drivers are put to the test, it’s impossible for her to make peace with.

What’s worse is that she knows there are hours that separate her from him after the race is over, and she won’t be able to beat some sense into his pretty head that will for sure overthink every single second of his mistakes.

Two and a half, to be exact, when she finally sees him from the Haas hospitality. His shoulders are hunched, head slightly down, and though there are cameras following him, there’s nothing urgent in his steps, just exhaustion.

He knows he’s about to lose them when he enters the building anyway, but right before he can do so, Ollie hears his name. His team principal intercepts him just a few paces from the door, and the cameras shift and pivot like vultures drawn to movement; a few journalists still hang around, hoping for scraps of reaction.

The girl catches everything, her heart reducing to atoms when she sees her boyfriend suddenly so tense. She wants to run to him, to put herself between him and the noise, like Belle stepping in front of the Beast when the village came with pitchforks. She wants to shield him and tell them all to fuck off. But she can’t. Not without tarnishing his reputation, anyway.

“We talked about just keeping it on the track,” Ayao reminds him, and even though the man’s tone isn’t quite accusing, there is a hint of scolding behind his voice. “That’s what you had to do today.”

Oliver doesn’t speak, just nods once. Tight. Only to show his boss that he understands, he gets the message, but has nothing else to add. Not now, at least. Unfortunately, like it or not, his body language talks for him: it tells them he wants out of the conversation, away from the cameras, away from the moment he keeps replaying in his head.

At this point, he is just embarrassed. He doesn’t smile, and doesn’t give a quote. Just turns, opens the door, and finally disappears into the hospitality unit.

She’s catching sight of him right before he disappears down the corridor toward the driver’s room. His steps falter slightly when he hears her behind, and he glances back over his shoulder, waiting with his palm around the door knob.

When their eyes meet, he’s still silent. It’s as if he has lost the right to words, as if they can’t describe what he’s going through now anyway, so he chooses not to give them any power.

“I’m okay,” he says at last, his voice sounding mechanical, like he’s just repeating the same lie he told everyone until he got to her.

It makes her stomach twist.

She exhales a shaky breath, steps closer to reach up and touch the side of his face, ignoring the dampness in his curls. Or the fact that he just flinched at her gesture.

“Ol…”

He doesn’t look at her when he adds, “I just need a minute, okay?”

She nods, even though he’s not looking. “Right,” she says, her heart breaking a little at the way he’s pushing her away. “But is that all? Just a minute?”

For a moment, he looks like he wants to turn around and just let her fix whatever it is that needs to be fixed. It’s not as if she didn’t do that before. For him. But this time is different; everybody saw. He can’t physically move. Just stands there, hand still on the doorknob, his back still facing her.

“Can you just wait in the car?” asks Oliver as he opens the door, then disappears inside without waiting for her answer.

SHE FIGURES THE room is way too quiet the second she steps out of the hotel bathroom, towel wrapped around her body. The lights are turned off, and there’s just a tiny lamp on the bedside table that casts some of its poor rays across the walls.

Oliver sits up in bed, back against the headboard, eyes tracking her silently; he watches her as she moves around the room in silence, going through her routine like muscle memory. Moisturizer. Hairbrush. Towel switched for one of his old Ferrari Driver Academy shirts, its worn fabric hanging loose on her frame with the sleeves too long and the faded logo barely visible now. She always wears it when she’s trying to feel close to him, because that’s the first shirt he gave her back when they started dating.

And he knows that.

Even though they’re about to share a bed, they are currently miles apart.

He wants to tell her that he is still present, because he notices how, in her routine, she’s not leaving space for him anymore. But she keeps going, unbothered, plugging in the blowdryer and flicking the switch on. The low hum fills the room the next second, and it makes Oliver close his eyes at the noise, like it breaks whatever opportunity to speak he’s had left.

Her reflection in the mirror doesn’t look at him. Not even a glance. And it hits him once again, the same sick twist in his gut from earlier, when he just sent her away. He didn’t mean to, but he needed to be alone for his own sanity.

Looking back, Oliver realizes how wrong and heartless he was towards her, the only person in the entire paddock who didn’t deserve that treatment from him. He hates himself for it, and that’s one of the reasons why he desperately wants to at least try to get inside her head. To snuggle there and apologize until they fall asleep and forget that today existed in the first place.

But it would be too easy that way.

When the blowdryer clicks off, the room falls into silence again. Until he finds the strength to finally speak.

“Can you stop ignoring me, please?” asks Ollie, his voice breaking through, rougher than he intends. “I’m sorry.”

She’s still in her own world, avoiding to look at him. Just hangs the dryer on the hook and smooths her shirt down over her legs.

“For what?” she asks with a calm in her voice that sends shivers down his spine. “You didn’t do anything.”

Ollie narrows his eyes. “Come on, now. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend.”

“I’m not pretending,” she shrugs, walking to her side of the bed and pulling back the covers to slip under them. “I just want to sleep, Oliver. We have a ten-hour flight tomorrow.”

His full name sounds unfamiliar in her mouth. It makes his face twist in disgust, physically cringe, because it’s so wrong coming from her. Too distant.

“So that’s it?”

She shrugs again. “I’m just tired. That okay with you?”

He lets out an unamused chuckle. “No, actually, it’s not,” he snaps, sitting up straighter. “I am just trying to apologize so we can move past this.”

She turns her head toward him then, finally meeting his eyes. There’s no heat in hers, just quiet exhaustion. “Well, I waited in that car like a neglected dog for forty minutes, Ollie. After waiting for you to come back from the media pen. And after sitting through two hours of a race that never seemed to end. Respectfully, you can take your apology and shove it deep down your—”

“Baby, I’m sorry,” Oliver cuts her off. “I’m so bad at this, I know. But I’m sorry,” he insists. He runs a hand through his curls, eyes closing for a moment, enough to try to put his thoughts in order. When he opens them again, she’s already turned onto her side, facing away. “I just… I didn’t want to dump it on you, alright?”

Her brow furrows, and wants to ask him what he means by that. But then she feels the bed shifting slightly, and his arm slides around her waist, hesitant, like he’s unsure if he’s still allowed to touch her. Then firmer, Ollie pulls her back into him until there’s no space left. His body curls around hers, big and warm and familiar, as his face finds the curve of her neck, his nose pressing into her hair like he needs to just breathe her in, in order for everything to be right again.

He tangles their legs together beneath the sheets, his hold tight, too afraid she’ll slip through his fingers if he’d give her the chance.

“Don’t ignore me, darling,” whispers Ollie. “Please.”

Her heart starts racing at the sound of his mellow voice. She loves it and hates it at the same time, that a single word has the power to melt her so quickly.

His hand slips beneath the hem of the shirt, until his fingers find the warmth of her bare skin. They brush gently over her stomach, covering it completely, a soothing touch in the midst of desperation. It sends a jolt straight through her chest, and her heart stutters against her ribs once again, every nerve suddenly wide awake, hyperaware of the way his fingertips trace lazy, featherlight patterns like he’s playing the piano.

“I saw your face on the replay,” he finally explains with a defeated exhale. “You looked like the ground had just been ripped out from under you, and I am…” he pauses, swallows hard, then continues, “I’m supposed to protect you from that. From feeling like that.”

As if an arrow passes through her heart, she closes her eyes and just waits for it to go through to the other side, hoping that it will do as little damage as possible.

“I’m the one in the car,” says Ollie. “I signed up for this. I don’t care about the risks, because I chose them. But you didn’t. You chose me. And seeing you like that, like you’d just watched something awful happen and couldn’t do anything… Yeah, I don’t know how to handle that yet.”

She stiffens slightly in his arms, her fingers tightening around the edge of the blanket.

Oliver presses a kiss into the back of her shoulder. “I’ve been trying so hard to keep things normal between us. Same as before it got official, you know? Same stupid routines. But this is already changing things. Doesn’t it?” he asks, leaning in again to brush his lips over the curve of her shoulder.

She’s about to reply when she feels the tender heat of his tongue as he presses another kiss, on her neck this time. Her eyes sting, tears welling despite herself, and she turns in his arms, unable to keep her indifference intact. Her hands wrap around his torso, clutching him tightly, burying her face in his chest like she needs to feel every heartbeat to believe he’s here.

“I hate that you’re going to worry about me now,” he keeps going, as if his words have just returned from a long vacation, and he really needs to tell her everything. “Like, really worry. Not ‘what if his car breaks’ worry, but ‘what if he doesn’t come back in one piece’ worry. And I get it, because if this job ever made you regret being with me—”

She cuts him off before she even gets the chance to think of how to assure him best. “Ollie,” she breathes, shaking her head as her fingers press lightly against his chest. “That’s never going to happen. I could never regret you,” her voice is steady, in contrast with how fast her heart’s still beating. “I know what comes with loving you. And yeah, it scares me sometimes. But that doesn’t mean I’d ever walk away because of it. All you can do is be the best you can every time you’re in that car. That’s all anyone can ask of you, including Ayao. Including your team. And including me.”

He’s quiet, his eyes searching hers like he’s still not sure he deserves to hear that. But she doesn’t waver.

Instead, she reaches up, fingers threading gently through his curls, brushing them back from his forehead, her touch delicate. “I’m proud of you, my little cub. Not just when you get it right. If anything, it was pretty impressive what you did today.”

His eyes close for a second, her words settling into the cracks he’s been trying to hide all day. When he opens them again, they’re glassy and full of shame. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “For shutting you out. I didn’t mean to.”

She doesn’t need to say it. It’s in the way she leans in, closing the distance between them as her lips meet his, like they’ve both been holding their breath for too long.

As they kiss, his hand moves instinctively, sliding down her side until it finds her thigh. With one gentle motion, he lifts her leg over his hip, needing her closer than close. Her body pressed against his gives purpose a whole new meaning, the tension in his shoulders finally softening under her touch.

When they part, she studies him. His face is pale under the soft light, freckles stark against the skin that’s still slightly flushed from the day. His eyes are rimmed in exhaustion, but there’s something else beneath them that makes him look even younger than he is.

“By the way, just so we’re clear,” she begins, “I don’t need you to protect me, Ollie. I just need you to talk to me. Like we always do.”

He smiles now, brushing the tip of his nose against hers. “Can I now?”

As a response, she shakes her head, eyes dark with desire. “Nope, you missed that train, I’m afraid. I have other plans for that big mouth of yours,” she whispers, her voice laced with all the love that’s been hanging by a thread today.

She kisses him again, deeper this time, her hands sliding up his chest, fingers curling around his shoulders as she guides him, rolling them gently until he’s above her. Then, with a push, she urges him down, beneath the covers and between her legs, where her need for closeness matches his.

Oliver lets out a breath of a laugh, eyes never leaving hers as he disappears beneath the sheets. His hands glide along her thighs, parting them slowly, his smirk lingering as their eyes lock one last time before the world narrows to just the two of them.

And for the first time today, he doesn’t feel like he’s spinning out. Shame turns to lust. Exhaustion to hunger. His breath ghosts over her smooth skin, leaving goosebumps behind while savoring her quiet whimpers.

Impatient, she lifts her hips slightly, nudging his shoulder with her knee, “Keep taking your sweet time, and I’ll poke the damn bear if it gets him to move.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[koojks]

note: did someone say.. progess? LOL.. actually maybe i'm lying, but there's definitely a shift. i just love making things difficult . anyways this is my favourite part so far!! so i hope u enjoy :)

wc: 4.5k

The library is too bright. 

Sunlight filters through the massive windows, stretching across the wooden tables, in long, golden streaks. The usual midday crowd is here. Groups huddled around textbooks, hushed voices discussing equations, and the rhythmic tapping of fingers against keyboards filling the space. 

It’s louder than last time. 

That night, it had been quiet, still, empty. There were no distractions. However, this time, it’s much busier, the atmosphere is different. But that’s not the problem. 

The problem is him. 

Jungkook is already here. 

You’re not sure why, but the fact of it bothers you slightly. 

Maybe it’s because you had counted on at least ten minutes of peace before he inevitably strolled in with some half-assed excuse for being late. That’s how it worked. That’s how it’s supposed to work. Maybe because it feels like a bit of a ‘fuck you’ call, to do this after last time, when he left you alone for almost an hour. 

But, nonetheless. he’s here. 

Sitting at the same table as before. Settled, sleeves pushed up, one arm stretched lazily over the back of a chair. His laptop open, notebook flipped to a page with actual notes on it. Pen twisting slowly between his fingers. 

Like he’s been here. 

Like he’s been waiting. 

You don’t pause, you don’t let it show that it throws you off. Instead, you pull out the chair across from him. and drop into it unceremoniously. 

“You’re early.” 

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t even look up at first. 

“Or maybe you’re late.” he says, pen now tapping against his notebook. 

Your eyes narrow at his response. “That’s a bold accusation for someone who could barely show up last session.” 

That gets his attention. 

He tilts his head slightly, finally glancing at you. The pen between his fingers, twirling once more before stopping entirely. 

“People change.” He says simply. 

You let out a scoff, opening your laptop. “Yeah? Since when?” 

Jungkook shrugs, a small smile on his lips. “Since right now.” 

You don’t dignify that with a response, choosing instead to pull up the project document and start working. 

Jungkook doesn’t push it. 

Which is weird. 

Normally he’d drag things out. Argue simply to hear himself talk. Prove a point that never needed proving in the first place. 

But today, he just exhales through his nose, clicks on the document, and begins writing once again. 

You’re not sure what to do with that. 

So, you don’t do anything at all. 

You fall into a rhythm. 

The scratching of pen against paper. The quiet, muted clacks of your keyboard. The weight of silence hanging between you. Not unbearable, but not exactly comfortable either. 

Jungkook is actually working. 

Which in itself is suspicious. 

You keep waiting for something. For him to sigh dramatically, roll his eyes, complain. 

But he doesn’t 

Instead, he seems rather focused. His jaw tenses slightly when he reads through something. Playing with the piercing on his lip relentlessly. You notice his fingers tapping lightly against the table, before he crosses something out and rewrites it. 

It’s almost more annoying than when he wasn’t trying at all. 

Because at least when he’s an asshole, its predictable. You almost expect it from him. it’s become the not so pleasant dynamic between the both of you. Natural, almost. 

Now? You don’t know what the hell to do with this. 

The silence stretches. 

But for some reason, your attention is situated on him. 

Jungkook is sitting back now. Gaze trained on his laptop screen. His posture casual, like he’s barely paying attention, but his brows furrow slightly when he reads something. His sleeves are still pushed up high, exposing the veins running down his forearms, wrist flicking as he scribbles something in the margins of the notes. 

It’s annoying. 

He’s annoying. 

“Stop staring.” 

You blink. “Excuse me?” 

Jungkook doesn’t even look up. “You’re staring.” 

You roll your eyes. “I was just lost in thought.” 

He hums, finally meeting your gaze. “Thinking about me?” 

The words come out of his mouth so easily, so smoothly, that it barely registers at first. But something in the way he says it. expectant. certain. like its obvious, makes your lips part slightly before you shut your mouth again. 

Because of course he thinks that. 

Of course, he expects people to think about him. 

Jungkook isn’t just anyone on campus, you know this. people know him. He’s popular, sought after. The type of guy whose name runs in passing conversations, whose presence automatically shifts the energy in a room. 

And he knows it. 

Which is probably why he’s looking at you like he’s right. Like he’s waiting for you to admit it. The realization hits. 

And then, just as quickly, it pisses you off. 

Jesus Christ. 

“Don’t flatter yourself.” You mutter, shaking your head, diverting your attention to your laptop.” You’re insufferable.” 

Jungkook grins, but something flickers behind his expression. It’s gone before you can process it. You don’t have time to dwell on it anyway. You don’t particularly care. 

Instead, you both fall back into your work. 

A while passes before Jungkook speaks again. 

“You look exhausted.” 

The words land softly, almost too casual, like he’s barely paying attention. But when you glance up, his eyes are already on you. 

It makes you feel strange. 

Your fingers hesitate over the keyboard before you sigh gently, shaking your head. “Long week.” 

Jungkook doesn’t reply right away. 

Instead, he leans back, stretching his arms over his head, before dropping them loosely by his sides. His jaw shifts, like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t. 

The silence feels endless until— “You should rest more.” 

It’s so unexpected, so out of place, that your brain stutters for a second. 

You blink “What?” 

Jungkook shrugs and brings his attention back to his notes, breaking the eye contact you two shared, as if he said nothing at all. “Just saying, you’re zoning out.”

There’s nothing teasing in his tone. no smugness. no lazy amusement. 

Just an observation. 

Which somehow makes it worse. 

You don’t reply. Just go back to your screen, ignoring the way your chest tightens slightly. 

Not awkward. not tense. 

Just... different. 

Your focus is slipping. 

It’s subtle at first. The words on your screen blur together, your fingers hesitate over your keyboard, eyes flickering towards the time in the corner of your laptop screen. You have no idea what the last thing you even typed was. 

The last hour has bled into itself. 

The steady rhythm of researching, analyzing, summarizing, feels excruciatingly repetitive now. Your neck aches faintly, your posture has collapsed slightly and there’s a dull hum in your brain that wasn’t there before. 

You weren’t lying when you had told Jungkook it had been a long week. This project may have drained you mentally, sure. But class work was slowly piling up. and most nights had been an array of dark rooms and bright screens, ensuring you don’t fall behind in any subject. You were tired... 

You flex your fingers, stretching them against the table.

Five seconds. 

That’s all you need. 

So, without really thinking about it, you grab your phone. It’s instinct, a small break, a way to reset before diving back into the mundane mess that is waiting for you. 

But before you even unlock it, the screen lights up. 

A message. 

Taehyung: Jimin said you’re still at the library like a LOSER 

Taehyung: hurry up, movie night. i already picked something none of you are gonna like 

You exhale, unlocking your phone, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. 

You: how does it feel being the most unbearable person I know 

The response is almost immediate. 

Taehyung: sexy of me tbh. 

Taehyung: don’t take 500 years getting here. love u xoxo 

You scoff quietly, shaking your head. what an idiot 

It’s nothing urgent, just him being him. but your fingers move anyways, tapping out a reply. It’s supposed to be quick. 

But then another text comes through. 

And another. 

And before you realize it, your focus has completely shifted. 

“Having fun?” 

The words cut through the silence, taking away from your distraction. 

Your fingers pause over your phone screen before you look up. 

Jungkook isn’t looking at you directly. His chin rests against his palm, elbow propped up on the table, gaze flickering lazily between his work and you. 

Casual. Flat. 

But seemingly annoyed. 

You stare at him. “What?” 

Jungkook nods towards your phone. “Are we done studying now hm? Should I start scrolling on twitter too?” 

You scoff, locking your phone and placing it back on the table. “It was one message.” 

“Right.” his pen rolls between his fingers. “Just one.” 

You exhale sharply, crossing your arms and boring your eyes into his. “Not that it's any of your business.” 

Jungkook doesn’t look impressed. 

He also doesn’t look away. 

Instead, his fingers tap once against the table before he speaks again. 

“Just Taehyung?” 

You nod slowly. “Yeah.” 

Jungkook hums under his breath. “Figures.” 

Your jaw clenches slightly at his passive comment. “What does that mean?” 

He leans back in his chair, stretching his arms and biting at his lip ring once again. a small smile appearing on his face. His gaze flicks towards you- bored, amused. 

“Should’ve expected this. Not like you have many other friends.” 

Your jaw almost drops. What a dick. 

“You are so annoying.” 

Jungkook smirks. “Am I wrong?” 

You glare. “Yes.” 

“Alright.” He leans forward, arms resting on the table. “Name three.” 

“Fuck you.” 

Jungkook grins, bright smile showing. like he found the outmost joy in taking the piss out of you. “That’s the reaction of someone with exactly two friends.” 

You consider throwing your pen at him. But before you can, your phone vibrates again. 

You glance down. Another text from Taehyung. 

Taehyung: Jimin's already on his way. u better be too 

Jungkook notices. His smirk drops, barely. And then, like it’s nothing, he shifts once again in his chair. 

“What’s so important that you’ve given up on studying anyways.” 

You shrug. unlocking your screen again, all focus on your phone as you reply. “He invited me over for movie night.” 

Jungkook pauses. Falters slightly. “...Ah.” 

You look up at him. “What.” 

Jungkook rolls his shoulders, eyes flickering to the window, staring intently at the trees. acting as unbothered as one possibly can. “Yeah. He mentioned something to me earlier. Thought it was just gonna be me and him.” 

Something about the way he says it, makes you feel weird. 

Not annoyance. 

Not jealousy. 

Just… something. 

“He probably just forgot to tell you.” 

Jungkook hums, clicking his pen a few times. “Yeah.” He mutters. “Guess so.” 

The moment stretches too long before you decide to let it go. 

The library has emptied out by the time you both start gathering your things. Pens clicking shut, laptops closing with a quiet snap, bags slung over shoulders. Jungkook moves slower than usual, like he’s almost not in a rush to leave. 

Maybe you aren’t either. 

Finally stepping outside, the air is colder than before, the sun is still out, barely, sky cloudy, thick with something unspoken. 

Jungkook is already half a step ahead of you when he speaks. 

“You need a ride?” 

You pause. Almost falter. He says it so casually, that for a second, it didn’t even fully register in your brain. Or maybe it’s because why the fuck would he say that? 

“You glance up at him, eyes trained on his face. “What?” 

Jungkook exhales, as if he regrets this already. “A ride. To our place?” 

You’re still processing this. You blink, thrown off. “You’re offering me a ride?” 

Jungkook scoffs. “No. I’m asking you if you want to freeze.” 

You hesitate. Not because you don’t want the lift. but because he’s the one offering. 

A week ago, he hadn’t. 

It was raining then, pouring actually. Much worse weather than it was today. Your backpack was literally soaked through. clothes clinging heavily to your skin, and Jungkook had barely spared you a glance before heading off that day, never mind a word. 

And now, he was here, offering. 

You shift on your feet. “Why?” 

Jungkook looks at you, no emotion can be found behind his eyes, but he doesn’t break the contact you two share. 

“Because I live there.” He mutters, adjusting the strap on his bag. “And I’d be kind of a dick to make you walk, especially since we are going to the same place. I’m not that awful you know.” 

It’s casual. Thrown out like it’s an afterthought. But something about it sticks. 

You suppose it’s better not to dwell on it, you’ve spent a lot of time with this man in the last week. Instead, you nod, messing with the rings on your fingers as a makeshift distraction. “Fine.” 

Jungkook doesn’t respond, he nods slightly and continues walking to his car. 

This time not ahead of you, but next to you. 

The walk to his car feels longer, and it’s quiet. almost too quiet. 

The air is slowly getting colder, crisp and sharp, slipping through the fabric of your jacket as the two of you make your way through the dimly lit parking lot. The sky has shifted a lot in a short amount of time. It’s now a deeper shade of blue, the last remnants of daylight stretching across the sky in streaks of orange and violet. 

Jungkook doesn’t say anything, doesn’t glance at you, just unlocks the car with a silent click of his key, and takes himself to the driver's side like this is totally normal. 

But it’s not normal. 

Not for either of you. 

Because despite sharing the same friend group, and spending several hours together for this group project, this is really the first time you’ve spent with each other truly alone. with no obligations. No one else is around, no distractions. 

And that feels noticeable. 

You hesitate briefly before opening the passenger door and sliding into the seat. The car smells clean, like leather, with something sharper underneath. Probably his cologne. It lingers enough to make you feel somewhat hyper aware of this unpredicted situation. 

Jungkook doesn’t start the car right away. He takes his time, adjusts his seat, and shifts around slightly, fingers drumming softly against the steering wheel. 

You get the feeling he’s waiting for you to do or say something first. 

So, you pull out your phone. Deciding it’s the simplest way to avoid such an awkward situation. Scrolling mindlessly, pretending he’s not here. 

The silence stretches. And for some strange reason he doesn’t put on music. Maybe he’s just focused, or maybe he’s equally aware of how strange this moment is. 

You don’t really like the thought of that. 

Jungkook exhales, sharp but quiet. “You always this easy to shut up?” 

You glance at him. “You always this desperate to hear my voice?” 

His jaw tenses, but he doesn’t take the bait. Rather, he finally starts the car, and the low rumble of the engine fills the silence between you two. 

As he pulls out of the parking lot, the streetlights flicker one by one, illuminating the inside of the car softly. The passing headlights of other cars on the road cascade over Jungkook’s profile, enhancing the sharp outline of his jaw, the dim sparkle of his piercing, and the soft look in his eyes, as they flick between the road and the rearview mirror. 

You’re not too sure why you notice. Or why you’re suddenly so aware of the way the lights move on his skin, shifting with each passing second. Maybe it’s because for once, he’s not being insufferable. 

Or maybe it’s because you’ve never had the chance to look before. 

Whatever the reason it, it weighs on you for a moment, it feels quite unsettling. 

“You’re quieter when we’re not arguing.” 

You blink, snapping out of it. “Huh?” 

He doesn’t glance at you, just focuses intently on the road. “Feels weird. I think you’re more annoying when you’re silent.” 

You scoff. “Maybe I just don’t have anything to say to you.” 

“Yeah?” He lets out a quiet laugh. “That’s a first.” 

His fingers drum idly against the gear shift. “You spend half of your time arguing with me. What? do you just pick and choose when to bite back?” 

You roll your eyes. “I argue with you because you are so difficult with me.” 

He smirks slightly, flicking on his turn signal. “Right.” 

The silence that follows is different to the last. Less tense, but still not comfortable. Like something has shifted, and neither of you really know how to place it. 

You turn toward the window, watching the city move past. The glow of the streetlights flash in and out of view, the scenery calming. 

Jungkook exhales sharply through his nose. You’re too busy looking out of the window to think much of it. Until he speaks again 

“You look better when you’re not scowling you know.” 

Your fingers twitch. 

It’s not a compliment. Not really. 

But from the way he usually speaks to you? he basically sung your praise. 

A second passes. Then another. You don’t say anything. 

He clears his throat. “Not that I care or anything.” 

You exhale a short laugh, shaking your head as you turn to look at him. “You’re so annoying.” 

“Tragic for you.” 

The weight of something lingers. You feel it in the quiet that follows once again, in the way the streetlights blur outside, in the way Jungkook’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel before he finally pulls into the street of his flat.

Neither of you speak when he parks. 

That moment. Whatever it was. Ends. 

Jungkook shuts off the engine, unbuckles his seatbelt, and steps out of his car without a word. You take a second longer before following. 

The cold air outside does something to shake off whatever that drive was. Not entirely, but it seems to make you feel lighter. 

Jungkook walks ahead to the apartment building, he doesn’t wait for you, but he doesn’t rush either. Just moves at his usual pace, knowing you’ll follow. 

By the time you reach the door, he unlocks it, pushes it open, and steps aside without looking at you. 

“Go ahead,” he says quietly. 

You do. 

And as soon as you step inside. As soon as the familiar scent of their apartment settles in your lungs, you come to realize. That shift that started in the car? 

It followed you inside. 

The apartment door clicks shut behind you, enclosing the warmth of the space. It’s The kind of warmth that is created by the energy of people who exist comfortably, peacefully. 

The scent of something woody and citrusy lingers in the air, more than likely one of Taehyung’s candles that he has forgotten to blow out. The lighting is slow, softened by the faint blue glow of the TV screen, casting soft shadows across the room. 

There’s a familiarity here. In a home that isn’t yours, but for some reason it just feels like it belongs to the people in it. 

Taehyung is in the kitchen, stirring something lazily in a mug. Tea, you assume. His sleeves bunched up to his elbows. Jimin is draped across a couch. stretched out like he owns it, one arm thrown behind his head while he mindlessly scrolls on his phone. The two of them don’t look up immediately when you and Jungkook step inside. 

Finally, Jimin glances up, gaze flicking between the two of you, his mouth slowly quirking into an amused smile. 

“Oh, that’s cute.” 

Jungkook doesn’t even entertain it. 

He doesn’t pause, doesn’t react. just exhales loudly thought his nose and heads straight to the kitchen. opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water. Like he needs to do something to drown out this conversation. 

Your brows furrow. “What is?” 

Jimin gestures vaguely in your direction with his phone. “You guys showed up together.” 

You blink. “We literally came from the same place.” 

Taehyung hums, lifting his mug and taking a slow sip. “And now you’re arriving at the same place.” 

Jimin nods. “Together.” 

Jungkook exhales sharply from the kitchen, muttering something under his breath. 

Taehyung just grins, setting down his mug on the counter. “Relax, we’re just making an observation.” 

Jimin smirks. “Yeah, there’s no problem, right?” 

You shake your head, ignoring them as you make your way towards the couch. 

“I hate you both.” 

Jimin lifts his hands in surrender. “And yet, here you are.” 

The apartment settles into a peaceful rhythm. 

The soft rustling of Taehyung flipping through movie choices. The occasional complaint from Jimin about every option. The background hum of the city filtering through the windows. 

Jungkook is still in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, sipping his water like it’s giving him something to do. His presence isn’t loud. He’s always had this ability to take up space without really demanding attention, and for some reason, you feel it today. 

Jimin stretches out on the floor now, crossing his arms behind his head as he watches Taehyung cycle through movies at a painfully slow pace. 

Casually, without diverting his attention, he speaks up. 

“You good man?” 

Jungkook barely reacts. 

Just shifts his weight slightly against the counter, his jaw tensing for a split second before he scoffs. 

“What are you talking about.” 

Jimin finally lifts his head, studying him for a second. Then shrugs. “Dunno. You just seem-” 

Jungkook interrupts, exhaling and tilting his head back slightly. “I’m fine.” 

Jimin's lips twitch. “Defensive.” 

Jungkook doesn’t answer. Just takes another slow sip of his water, like he’s done with the conversation. But something about it lingers. 

You sink into one on the couches, leaning slightly against the armrest. It’s comfortable, cozy. Everyone is settled in. 

Besides Jungkook. 

He eventually moves away from the kitchen, walking lazily towards the living room. However, you can’t help but feel what he’s doing is calculated. He doesn’t sit next to Jimin on the floor, you suppose he’d sit on the couch with Taehyung if he wasn’t outright lying across the whole thing. 

But he sits next to you.

It’s not an event, it’s not a moment, but you recognize it. You feel it. 

The apartment settles into silence as the movie begins, the glow of the screen covering the room in flickering shadows. It’s a thriller. Quiet, straightforward. The kind of film that thrives on tension rather than action. It’s quite boring, in all honesty. But you watch it, nonetheless, trying to make sense of whatever is happening on the screen. 

You move slightly, adjusting into the cushions, letting the film pull your focus. Not paying much mind to what you’re doing really. And then it happens. 

Not a deliberate movement. Not something intentional. 

Just a shift. 

A slow, unthinking action, as you attempted to settle more comfortably into your space. Except when you moved, your leg presses against Jungkook’s. 

Not a graze, or a fleeting touch. 

It settles there. 

You can feel the warmth of his body seeping to yours. Neither of you move. 

Not right away. 

Not even when the moment stretches too long, to the point where it’s no longer an accidental touch. When the weight of it becomes something tangible, something felt. 

Jungkook doesn’t tense. He doesn’t move away. He just...let's it exist. 

And so do you. 

For a second you tell yourself you’re imagining the heaviness of it. That if you really acknowledge it, like you are, then it will make it a thing, and neither of you are in the business of making things a thing. 

You are so weirdly lost in the thought of it, until Jimin notices. 

It’s not loud, not obnoxious. 

Just a slow, downward glance. A flicker of recognition, before his lips curve upward, smirk barely concealed. 

“Interesting.” he whispers. 

Jungkook shifts. 

And suddenly, the space made it enough to mean nothing. 

The warmth lingers, for a moment. and neither of you so much as look in the direction of each other. But what just happened, felt like you acknowledged each other in a way that isn’t spoken with words. 

The movie presses forward, progressing at a horrifically slow pace. But you aren’t following at all. 

The atmosphere in the room feels weird. Though nothing has particularly happened to warrant it. It’s still the same dim lighting, the same quiet dialogue on screen, the same people sharing the same space. But something feels off. 

Jungkook hasn’t moved much since shifting away earlier, but there’s something about the way he’s sitting now. It’s subtle, but there’s a quiet stiffness to his posture, and a tenseness in his hands where they rest awkwardly in his lap. 

You all watch in silence, some more entertained than others. Until, his phone buzzes. 

It’s quiet, hardly noticeable beneath the hum of the film, but you see it. 

See the way his fingers tighten around the device, the way his gaze flickers down, almost intently, reading something that doesn’t change his expression, but does something. 

It’s brief, the way his thumb swipes over the screen, but the glow of the notification illuminates long enough that you catch it. 

A name. 

One you don’t recognize. 

But then again, why would you? 

Because the second he registers it, he moves. 

Jungkook exhales, sitting forward like he’s making this decision in real time, like he’s choosing his next action in a way that isn’t completely thought through. 

He doesn’t make much of a scene. No explanation given. Just rises from the couch, too smooth, deliberate. almost practiced. 

For a second, no one else reacts. You suppose This is something he does often by the lack of bother from Jimin and Taehyung. 

Until Jimin finally glances up, a hint of what you can only assume is disgust in his face. His brows furrowing slightly. “Right now?” 

Jungkook doesn’t make eye contact with anyone in the room, attention focused anywhere else. He just shrugs, fingers still curled around his phone, as he makes his way toward the door. 

“Yeah.” 

No details, no offer the clarify. 

He picks up his keys from the counter, spinning them idly in his fingers before turning toward the door. And he’s gone before anyone can say anything else. 

The door clicks shit behind him, cutting through the quiet of the apartment like a knife. 

You exhale, shifting in your seat once again, almost like you’re trying to shake something off, something strange that feels like it’s lingering in the air. 

It’s almost nothing, but it’s not. You continue watching the film, feeling just a bit unsettled. 

The only issue being that you don’t know why. 

previous / next / masterlist

[multi-fandom-imagine]

I need an imagine of house vs a his toddler daughter having a tantrum

A/n: Girl!Dad House 👏

It started innocently enough, Emma, the one-year-old firecracker of the House family, had been happily playing in the living room with her favorite blocks. House was sitting in his chair, half-watching her while going through some paper work, his cane leaning against the armrest. You were in the kitchen, feeding Ethan, Emma's brother and your six year old Lilly. It was the kind of quiet moment that House knew never lasted long in their house.

It all began when Emma, determined as ever, tried to stack her blocks into a tower that was clearly too tall and unstable. As soon as the top block tipped over and the whole structure came crashing down, her little face scrunched up, and a loud wail erupted from her tiny lungs.

House looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Seriously? It’s a tower. They’re supposed to fall.” Glasses perched on his nose.

Emma didn’t care. Her frustration boiled over, and she threw one of the blocks across the room, narrowly missing the leg of House’s chair.

“Impressive aim,” House muttered, setting the down the paper.“But you’re not winning any points for sportsmanship.”

Emma, clearly not satisfied with her father’s lack of sympathy, picked up another block and chucked it in his direction. This one hit his shin with a dull thud.

House winced but smirked, leaning forward. “Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be, huh? You think you can intimidate me with your tiny arms and big feelings?”

Emma let out a loud, indignant scream, her face turning red as she flopped onto her back and began kicking her legs in full tantrum mode.

“Wow,” House said dryly, watching her theatrics. “You’ve really got this down, don’t you? I’m almost impressed...you know your sister would do the same thing. I'm immune to your tears."

You appeared in the doorway, holding Ethan on her hip, Lilly by you side your expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. “What’s going on in here?”

“Your daughter,” House said, gesturing to the tiny tornado on the floor, “has declared war on gravity and is taking it out on me.”

You sighed, walking over to set Ethan in his playpen before kneeling next to Emma. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

Emma didn’t answer, too busy flailing and crying, her frustration clearly reaching its peak.

“She tried to build a tower, it fell, and now I’m apparently public enemy number one,” House explained, still sitting back in his chair, his tone laced with sarcasm.

You shot him a look. “Greg, she’s a baby. She’s upset.”

“And I’m offering her valuable life lessons about disappointment,” House quipped. “What do you want me to do? Sing her a lullaby?”

You ignored him, turning your attention back to Emma. “Emma, sweetie, I know you’re upset, but throwing things isn’t okay. Can you use your words and tell Mommy what’s wrong?”

Emma paused her tantrum just long enough to glare at House, then pointed at him accusingly. “Daddy mean!”

House smirked, crossing his arms. “I rest my case. She’s already a natural at assigning blame.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, even as she tried to keep a straight face. “Greg, can you at least try to help calm her down?”

House sighed dramatically, leaning forward and picking up one of the blocks that Emma had thrown. He held it out to her, his expression mock-serious. “Alright, Emma. Let’s make a deal. You stop crying, and I’ll help you build the best tower this living room has ever seen.”

Emma sniffled, eyeing him suspiciously but clearly intrigued by the offer. She sat up, still clutching one of her blocks, her little face tear-streaked but curious.

“That’s right,” House said, his tone softening slightly. “We’ll make it taller and sturdier. And if it falls again, we’ll blame it on your mom.”

“Greg!” You scolded, though the smile on your face showed you weren't serious.

Emma hesitated for a moment, then crawled over to House, handing him her block with a determined look. “Build!"

House smirked, glancing up at you. “See? Negotiation. It’s all about setting terms.”

Shaking your head, you watched as House lent forward to start stacking the blocks with Emma. As the tower grew taller, Emma’s tantrum was completely forgotten, replaced by giggles and babbling as she tried to help. House even pretended to cheer when she placed the final block on top.

“There,” he said, sitting back. “The Eiffel Tower of Blocks. It’s a masterpiece.”

Emma clapped her hands, clearly delighted. You smiled, leaning against the doorway as you watched the two. Despite House’s sarcasm and gruff exterior, he always managed to connect with the kids in his own unique way.

As if on cue, the tower wobbled and came crashing down again. Emma’s eyes widened, and you braced yourself for another meltdown—but instead, Emma looked up at House and laughed.

“Again!” she said, thrusting a block into his hand.

House smirked, glancing at you. “See? Told you I’ve got this parenting thing down.”

Rolling your eyes you stepped forward with a smile spreading across her face. “You’re impossible.” You stated placing a kiss to the side of his temple.

“And yet, you love me,” House said smugly, already starting to rebuild the tower with Emma.

"That I do,” you said softly, watching your husband and daughter bond in the aftermath of what could’ve been a disaster. For all his flaws, House had a way of turning even the worst tantrums into moments of connection and that is something you wouldn’t trade for anything.

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

I had a sucky geography exam today you should totally cheer me up with a subby james fic🌚🌚❤️

-🦀

A/n: I know I'm a few days late to this one but I hope it still helps nonetheless

Also this is the actual fic based (???) on the teaser I made for April Fools Day, as you can tell I like getting two things out of the way at once, I also really liked how this turned out because a lot of people really wanted it and I never felt like writing it but here you have it

Warnings: Smut, James isn't stated to be a virgin but it's kind of implied I think (it was supposed to be in the original but I never added it in this), dacryphilia, mutual masturbation, overstimulation, orgasm denial, oral (f receiving), submissive James, mommy kink, degradation, praise near the end, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

James sat there, naked on the bed in front of you. You straddled his lap, hands working his cock fast, using your spit as lube. His chest was all red, his face flushed as tears rolled down his cheeks, heels desperately kicking into the mattress.

“You’re not cumming yet.” You stated, James didn’t miss the annoyance in your voice, it made more tears come to his eyes. “I’m not letting someone fuck me if they can’t last more than a few seconds.” You’d been at this for almost a half hour, ruining countless highs for him while he just whined and begged for you to let him cum.

“Please-please, mommy… I-I can’t- I can’t take it anymore, please, just lemme cum, been so good!” He said through grunts, teeth gritting together as his hips bucked helplessly into your hand.

"Been good?" You repeated, eyes widening slightly as you scoffed. "Been so good, but you're humping my hand, have been for a while." He whined loudly, throwing his head back and doing his best to force himself in place. "You're a fucking whore is what you are." You pulled your hand off of James and he cried out for you weakly. "Get yourself off if you're so desperate and I'll think about riding you."

James watched you with wide eyes as you got off his lap and pushed yourself to the other end of the bed, watching him try to catch up with what just happened. You were no more clothed than James was, naked with your legs spread so he could see just how wet you were, how much seeing him cry and beg was truly turning you on. It gave him some motivation and he wrapped one big, calloused hand around his girth.

He knew what got him off, he'd been working with his hand for so long and it sucked to keep going when you were right there. He started slow, whimpers leaving him as he was severely overstimulated. He tried moving his hand faster but it just made things worse. You couldn't help but to laugh at his pathetic little noises.

"Little dicks hurts so bad you can't even get yourself off." You teased with a chuckle.

James's breathing was coming out in rough pants. "It-it's not small-small..." He managed to get out.

His eyes followed your hand as it trailed down your body, landing on your cunt as you spread your lips with two fingers, showing him your pretty pussy clenching around nothing. "I'll give you that, at least." You murmured, watching his hand painfully work his length.

You started rubbing yourself, two fingers circling your neglected clit at a good rhythm. James's eyes were locked on the side, his breathing coming out ragged as he watched you touch yourself while his hips bucked up into his hand before jerking away from the pain of overstimulation.

Your fingers moved faster, breathing getting heavier. "Fuck, you really do look so pretty like that." You mused, looking at his glassy eyes and tear streaked cheeks, bruised lips pursed in a pathetic little pout, soft little whimpers leaving him along with the sobs he did his best to choke back. "Just a good boy, all this pain for a little satisfaction?" You asked. "Doing everything mommy tells you to, huh?" He still couldn't take his eyes off your fingers on your glistening cunt. "Perfect little slut."

He couldn't take it anymore and crawled across the bed, grabbing your hips and holding you in place while he buried his face in your cunt, hungrily lapping at your folds while he humped the mattress. You gasped at his little burst but quickly relaxed, liking this much better. "Ah- oh fuck, James! Oh god, oh you know how to do something right." You said between moans as you threw your head back, leaning back on your hands while you let him eat you out.

He looked up at you, desperate eyes locking on yours when you looked back down at him, aching for praise, something to show he was doing it right. "Oh, fuck, you're mommy's good boy, aren't you? Keep-keep doing that- fuck!" You reach for the back of his head, fingers tangling in his lank blond hair and giving it a harsh tug which he just moaned at.

He was whining into your cunt, hips sputtering as he fucked your mattress. His brows knit together as he watched your every expression, loving the way your hips moved against his face as his tongue dipped into you, clit bumping his nose and drawing out little sounds.

"Ah-ah! James! James, you're-you're gonna make me cum!" You moaned out loudly, words echoing off the walls. Your legs twitched, knot quickly building in your gut before snapping as you came.

James lapped up everything, every little drop that squeezed out your pussy landed on his tongue sooner or later. He was getting too desperate, licking a little too low and that's when you yanked his hair back. "Fuck, you're good but not that good." You scolded, glaring down at him.

"M'sorry, m'so sorry, mommy." His brain was fried, the words came out all mumbled and slurred but he couldn't do anything about it now so he just leaned against your thigh, searching for some comfort.

Instead you got off the bed and left him alone. "Can you roll over for me?" You asked, tone a lot softer than it had been as you walked over to your closet. You went to look for clothes so you could change after you showered, glancing back you saw James flopping onto his back, dick limp and dead on his abdomen, a milky white puddle where he'd been rutting into your sheets.

[poisonsage808]

streak of bad luck

John Munch x Reader

He always got what he wanted and, to your sudden change of luck, it seemed he very much wanted you.

warnings: black cat reader, you’re so unlucky (sorry babes) past abusive relationship, lingering trauma, hurt/comfort, reader gets mugged, munch crashout, happy ending always

"A trial run?" You echoed.

"Yeah, y'know, that test people do to see if-"

"I know what a trial run is, John, I just..." know I'll fuck it up; know you'll hate it; know you'll hate me after. You swallow the doubt that creeps into your voice, wringing your fingers until he takes them and holds them to his chest. He always knows how to soothe you.

"Finish your thought, honey." He prompts softly, pulling you closer to him.

"I'm worried. I don't want you to get sick of me."

John laughs lightly, not trying to be cruel but you want to shrink away from the sound all the same. His arms come to collect you, keep you together and by his side. He kisses the top of your head hard, like he wants the affection to take root in your brain.

"That won't happen, baby, trust me. With my track record, you’ll be the one running for the hills.”

You gasp at his awful joke, especially knowing there’s truth to it, brows pulling together in unfathomable horror, “I would not!”

And that pleases him to hear, he kisses your cheek so sweetly you’ll have to go to the dentist for the toothache he singlehandedly caused.

“Then there’s no reason not to try, is there?”

Lips part but no argument follows, you’re genuinely stumped on a defense. Everything you might want to suggest suddenly crumbles on your tongue and instead tastes like a shared kitchen and minty sweet kisses goodnight. Besides, you know every reason you could throw at him would be batted away like he was a World Series champion. He always got what he wanted and, to your continuous change of luck with him, it seemed he very much wanted you.

You gnawed the inside of your cheek, hesitating for a moment longer, “You promise you’ll let me know if it’s not working for you?”

“Promise,” John holds his hand up like a boy scout yet keeping that air of sincerity to him, “I’ll always be honest with you.”

That was months ago. You lost track of how many on account of the fact you were keeping tally of the great number of fuck ups and inconveniences instead. Like washing a shirt that was supposed to go to the dry cleaners, like closing the door on his tie, like stepping on his expensive shoes— how could you be so clumsy with his attire, they’re only the most important things to him! Dumbly burning your hand and letting his coffee pot shatter on the ground, sending him into a brief panic. Ruining dinner because the recipe called for four teaspoons of spice and not tablespoons, practically inedible even for his tolerance. Making him late for work because you couldn’t find your keys and later realizing they were in your pocket the whole time, even though you swore you checked no less than fifty times. Forgetting to do stupid things like turning off the lights, cleaning one spot, the damn grocery list.

The worst was when you locked yourself out of the flat with the stove on. Your day was horrible and your brain was fried and you still aren’t quite clear on how it happened but with your never ending bad luck you aren’t shocked! He thinks it’s funny now but when he got a call it looked like someone was breaking into his apartment, he was scared out of his mind. It was the one time he hoped, prayed, you weren’t there. Throwing his car into park, crooked and half on the sidewalk, John ran over to where the officers stood next to you. They explained what you did, how you’d locked yourself out but your name wasn’t on the lease so they didn’t believe you. It was reasonable, wasn’t it?

His face switched comically fast when he saw the handcuffs around your wrists.

He sent you inside to spare you but you could hear through the door. He was loud when he was mad, his quick witted snarky profanities had nothing on the infinity train of insults he rammed into those uniforms. Shocked wasn’t strong enough, you were nearly fully convinced he was lying— at the very least embellishing as he’s prone to do— when he admitted he had a bit of a temper issue. Your heartbeat was louder still in your ears, a warning drum. You didn’t mean to flinch when John joined you inside, you didn’t mean to cry, you didn’t mean to back away, you didn’t mean for the apologies to fly out of your mouth the way they did. He looked pained when you held your arm out as if it could keep him from coming closer. Of course it did, because how could you not know he would always listen.

Every time you expect his wrath, prepared to receive it in any way it would come, he reaches for your shoulders so carefully that you wonder if you had the power to slow time. “Sweetheart,” he says in that tone you love and hate, the one that can’t forgive you because what could be there to forgive, so soft it makes you want to cry, “it was an accident.” And after eleven months exactly— oh look, you do remember— you think you’d get used to it, eventually it would sink in that John Munch is never going to hurt you in any conceivable way.

“What are you thinkin’ over there?”

You blink at yourself in the mirror, then at John leaning in the doorway. Ready and dressed for work, hair slicked back meticulously and suit pressed to perfection, he was devastatingly handsome. Maybe it was just the lost look in your eyes that made you feel less put together today, but he looked at you like he always did. Radiant. When your confidence was lacking, he lent you some of his because lord knows he has more than enough to spare.

“Did you know it’s been eleven months?” You ask, turning around to match his ease and lean on the counter, “Since we, well, y’know, not technically moved in together.”

Because you hadn’t, not really. A good portion of your stuff was here but you still went back to your apartment… once in a blue moon. In your absence you think a spider might’ve moved in.

John knew how to boil a frog. He put up with you living out of a suitcase for a week, if that, then put your clothes away in his dresser. He noted, not unkindly, that you were doing laundry frequently, maybe you should bring over more clothes. When work got busy and he ended up coming home later, he casually suggested moving over your hobbies so you wouldn’t be bored waiting for him. Did you know he really liked that painting you had in your apartment? So much so that he made a space for you to hang it up in his. He surprised you by stocking the fridge and pantry with things you, and only you, liked.

And he smiles, really smiles, because he absolutely did know that and isn’t it just so perfect that you brought it up!

“Not that I believe in cosmic signs but I do think that might be the universe trying to tell you somethin’, sweetheart. Quit wasting money on that place, you’re over here all the time now.”

“Not all the time,” you mumbled, averting your eyes as if looking for the last time you even thought about going there. ‘There’ and not ‘home’ because his place transformed into a shared one somewhere between all those disasters.

His careful steps closer are not unlike the ones he takes when he thinks you’re going to crack if he so much as looks at you wrong.

“Admit it,” he cages you against the counter, kissing the crown of your head, “trail run’s over. Time to move in. I can get off early today,” a kiss to your temple, “we’ll pack the rest of your stuff and drop off the notice,” your nose, “go out to celebrate?”

John always gave you space to say no, always made sure you knew he wouldn’t be mad if you did. However it was more of a question than he was willing to admit, you almost forgot that in his alluring cloud of confidence. His tone bled with hope because it’s not the first time he’s suggested it.

“I—” You huff, try to breathe air and not the infectious hope. Being pragmatic was proving to be a struggle, “I want to.”

He’s painfully patient, running a hand up and down your arm, “But?”

You swallow, “No buts… I want to. Let’s move in together.”

You thought it was just an expression, but his eyes sparkle at your agreement. Someone else might think he’d won the jackpot with the way he was beaming.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! I mean, if you’re sure.”

You’re ass on the counter before you can blink. His mouth is on yours, sending a jolt of energy up your spine and it’s not from the taste of coffee! He’s sure, he’s so sure and he wants to show you how damn sure he is. You’re so dizzied by the passionate kiss that you forget what you even agreed to. John gets a little carried away, excitedly murmuring things he absolutely should not be before you both have to work.

“Baby!” You squeak as he pops the button on your pants, “We have to leave in—“ you take his watch off the counter and point the proof at him, “15 minutes!”

Humming, he nods feverishly like he really and truly understands. Behind his glasses, his eyes work overtime to find a solution for the massively inconvenient problem you reminded him about. He figures it out because he always does when he really wants something.

“Do me a favor, honey,” he winds the belt of said watch around your wrist and fastens it securely, kissing your palm, shoulder, ear, “tell me when it gets to 10.”

~

It all happened so fast. He hates that, he’s sick of hearing that expression. They’re cliches because they’re true, though. One minute you’re walking— no, floating— to the police department, more than ready to take that next step with your boyfriend. Butterflies tickle your insides with their pretty wings every time you think about it, making you involuntarily smile.

That must’ve been it.

You must’ve been looked too happy, too pleased with everything. Higher powers were surely warring over your good fortune, one of them isn’t on the same page as the rest because you’re supposed to be horribly, miserably unlucky in all departments. John wasn’t meant for you and, really, you should’ve known. His affections were marvelous and magical and easy. God, it was so easy to fall in love with him. Nothing was easy for you, you always had to learn the hard way.

“Gimme your wallet and you can walk away.”

Something you don’t see, can’t register, rests between your shoulder blades. Even through your clothes it’s cold and sends a shiver out to the rest of your body, effectively freezing you.

“I said gimme your wallet.”

Wordlessly, you fumble for it. You make the incredibly fucking stupid mistake of handing it to your mugger and not throwing it far like John told you to.

“The watch, too.”

In your fear induced rush of adrenaline you didn’t understand, the words hit your ear but didn’t compute. You don’t wear a watch, you don’t have one to give him. Then the weight of it around your wrist is so heavy your arm wants to pop out of its socket and fall off entirely. The watch— his watch.

“No.” The word dumbly crashes off your tongue, practically a question.

The weapon, whatever it was, was made quick and painful jab to the side of your head, the connection spinning both you and your head. You stumbled against the side of a brick wall, keeping your eyes downcast because that’s what you used to do to when you were hit.

“I ain’t asking, gimme the damn watch.”

Unconsciously, your hand wrapped over it as if to hide what you both knew already existed.

It wasn’t yours to give, you shouldn’t even be wearing it! What if you had cracked it or wo— well, actually, this would qualify as a worst case scenario, wouldn’t it? You risked a glance at the ground by your assailant. Cargo pants licked against bright red sneakers, information you could trade later to redeem yourself. Only, you had to be alive to do that.

Horribly ashamed and teary eyed, you unbuckle the leather.

~

You swallow hard on the lump in your throat but it won’t go away. It just sits there, undecided, waiting to choke you or send you into tears. John didn’t get off work for another five minutes and you, in your hilariously foolish streak, thought that you could quietly reporting the mugging.

In the precinct your boyfriend worked at, around people that recognized you immediately, to someone that knew him by name.

The officer took his darn time going over the questions with you, looking for a pen for you to fill out your contact information when John bursted in. His wild eyes searched until they found you, then he was over in two sweeps of his long legs. You hated that your impulse was to back away, you had to force yourself to be impossibly still as his hand leapt forward, but he caught that tiny jump.

His hand curled into a fist and fell just before he touched you.

“You’re bleeding— Why are you bleeding? What happened?”

Brown eyes, usually so soft and comforting, were murderously locked on the side of your head. You went to cover the wound that offended him, the aching bump on your temple but the light touch might as well have been a full press. You hissed and pulled away. Flakes of dried blood dusted your fingers. You didn’t even notice.

“Can—“ you inhaled sharply, eyes darting all around at the people who were starting to stare, “Can we not talk here?”

Sending a pointed glare all around, John didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. Still, he mumbled “we done here?” to the officer who nodded even though you hadn’t filled out the form. Without touching he put his arm around you and angled himself as a shield, ushering you out of the building.

You had practiced everything you were going to say on the rest of that shameful walk to the precinct. You’d explain, apologize, offer to replace the watch, and then maybe he wouldn’t be so upset! Out the corner of your eye he seethed like a quiet moment before thunder boomed and lightning struck. And you forgot everything.

He barely made it halfway through the parking lot before he turned around, kicking a tire of a car. His hands threaded his hair like he was grasping for a shred of composure even though he’d already lost it. To you, he gestures up and down with a hardened expression that makes you feel smaller than ever.

“What happened!? I had to hear from Lewis that you walked into the station with a bruise? Why didn’t you come straight to me!?”

Ever since the incident, he always tried to protect you from his temper. He’d go on walks, presumably to hit something outside, or to the bar to yell at someone there. He doesn’t bring his rage through the front door. John never so much as raised his voice at you until now.

“Please don’t be mad.”

“Don’t be—!?” He cuts himself off with a curt breath, shaking his head, “You can’t ask me that, you just can’t! Look at you! What the hell happened!?”

You blink, searching the ground trying to find air but there’s none.

“I lost your watch.”

“What?”

You wince at his incredulous tone, crossing your arms to protect yourself from his ire.

“I got mugged. I didn’t throw my wallet like you said to an-and the watch, your watch, he asked for it and I said no. But then he hit me and I didn’t have a choice!”

He clenched his jaw so tight you swore any second that you’d hear a crack of a tooth. His eyes were dark, yet ablaze like a wild forest fire.

“You—“ He scoffed, smiling sardonically at the sky. Sliding his hands under his glasses, he dragged them down as he sighed heavily, like he was trying to come back down to Earth, “My watch? Why? Why would you do something so incredibly reckless!?”

Tears sting at your eyes again but this time you can’t keep them at bay, they flood and pour over. You dig your nails into your skin.

“I just.. I didn’t know what else to.. I’m sorry, I’ll pay you ba—“

He crosses what little distance there is too fast, you squeeze your eyes shut and hold your breath.

You’re enveloped in a crushing embrace. John presses you to his chest like he wants you to move in, you can hear his rapid heartbeat right under your ear.

“Baby, I don’t give a fuck about the damn watch! I care that you’re hurt! You were mugged, and you didn’t wanna tell me that first!? Jesus Christ. Never scare me like that again, I don’t ever wanna hear from someone else that you got hurt— y’know what, better yet, I don’t want to hear you got hurt at all.”

You feel awful all over. Of course he didn’t care about the watch. Of course the only way he could ever hurt you was by holding on too tight.

“You’re… not mad?”

“Not at you.” He breathes, pulling away slightly to look down at you. “Honey, if you don’t know by now how much you mean to me then I’m doing something very wrong here. You’re the one thing I could never replace.”

He cradles your face with a gentleness that fills you with guilt, how could you ever think he would hurt you? That fire in his eyes was fueled by fear the whole time, you didn’t notice it because of your own. John ghosts his thumb around the bump at your temple and you feel every little movement before it even happens.

“Are you hurt anywhere else? Should we go to the hospital?” He shook his head right after the question left his lips, deciding himself, “Yeah, we should. Car, where’s my car.”

He’s looking everywhere but at you as you flounder for words, still attempting to catch up to him. You dig your heels into the gravel as he starts to guide you forward.

This was too easy. He was being too nice, too understanding. He forgave you too easily. He deserved better than a black cat that just happened to cross his path and follow him home.

“John—“

“Don’t argue with me on this, ok? Not now, not ever. You are the single most important thing in my life and you’re…” he sucks in a sharp breath, catching his voice and temper rising again.

His eyes flicker to the side and back but you know where they went. You shift in his grasp, wrapping your arms around him this time. His hands don’t know where to settle for a change, struggling to find a hold that will give him the closest proximity to you.

“Finish your thought.” You say softly.

A weak, proud chuckle leaves him. He’s been working tirelessly to help you unlearn the abuse you went through. It’s always worth it he says, but moments like this are unbelievably special. To both of you.

John’s arms squeeze carefully and he breathes you in like you’re oxygen.

“You’re hurt. Baby,” the fond moniker is so heartbreakingly soft, “you don’t know how badly I never wanted to see you with another bruise.”

“I’m,” you swallow the instinctive apology even though it’s true, you are sorry, “I’m hurt, yes, but.. you’re making it better. Can we just go home?”

The word slipped out before you could snatch it back, making both of you go still.

“Home?” He echoes quietly, thoughtfully, hopefully. Pulling away, just enough to look into your eyes, “You still wanna move in?”

You almost succumb to your doubts, but you persevere and manage a slightly teasing, “I should be asking you that.”

“No,” its immediate and makes your heart swell, “you shouldn’t.”

He leans in slowly, tipping your chin up so he can capture your lips in a sweet and gentle kiss. The gesture washes away any lingering worries, replacing them with that delightful buzz you had earlier. John rests his forehead against yours, his smile is infectious.

“We can go home after I make sure you’re not concussed.” He promises.

Knowing your luck, you should’ve seen that coming. There was surely more to be said later, the conversation was left far from unfinished. However you stopped tallying up your misfortunes, deciding right there to erase the mental board on a whole. Because if you really wanted to keep score of something, the focus should be on him. The comforting thought of eventually being home with John would forever be more than enough.

[usagiarchive]

angel of the codeine scene — [05] mist flower corolla

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sypnosis. [ 1.6k words. angst + fluff at the end. ] — a confrontation, a consultation, and a confession.

usagi's note: hi! so the last few weeks have been sooo long, i took my college exams then had to attend multiple classes and events, it's been tiring, but hey here's an update ^^

His words are forgotten the moment you see him fall on his knees.

Despite Paimon’s protests, you skid down the hill as fast as you can. From the distance, you can see that the traveller doesn't know what to do, she sets Xiao down on a boulder and leaves to finish the job.

When you reach him, his eyes are bloodshot, he's having trouble breathing, and there's black gel-like substances streaking from his mouth.

“Xiansheng, are you alright?”

Weakly, he turns to you, then calls the traveller's name.

“Lumine,”

She turns to him as she finishes the last of the hillichurls.

“Get her away from me.”

A series of “what”s resounded, a surprised one from the traveller and her companion, and a hurt one from you.

“... Can't… handle it, her… body, call for … -ngli…” he heaves.

“What? Xiansheng- no!” you yell in confusion as she seemed to understand whatever it was he said and grabbed a hold of your arm to get you somewhere safe.

“It's his karmic debt,” she explains, “It's not safe for humans-”

“I know what karmic debt is,” you try to get out of her hold, “I'm not human!”

You successfully pry her hands off of you and run back to Xiao, his breathing has diminished even more.

“Get… -way… me,” he says weakly and you can't focus on how you feel that sinking feeling in your stomach again, not right now.

Please, please, let this work, you pray as you take a hold of Xiao’s body and close your eyes. The traveller had tried to yank you back but stopped in awe.

A bright light emitted from you and the wind began to swirl. She couldn't pry your hold off of Xiao even if she tried, it was like your hold had welded with him.

If anything, she was more in awe as she watched the light from you travel through Xiao's body, making it seem like it was travelling under both your skins, through your veins, from you to him.

Xiao squinted at the brightness but the traveller could see the color in his face come back.

When your light faded, you collapsed onto Xiao who had caught you. It was as if nothing had happened to him, he could breathe properly now and he didn't feel like throwing up.

He calls your name and shakes you.

Once.

Twice.

You weren't responding.

Xiao pulls you away from him and you still aren't responding. In a panic, he calls for Rex Lapis, an emergency summons.

The Archon reveals himself in no less than three seconds. The moment he lays eyes on you unconscious in the Yaksha’s arms, he takes you from him.

Xiao doesn’t know what to say and he just looks at his God with a helpless and shocked look as he stares back with… disappointment…

He swallows.

“Come, Alatus, we have much to talk about,”

…

Shame is the only thing Xiao feels as he enters Rex Lapis’ teapot. He looks at your unconscious body in his God’s arms and he feels shame.

He doesn't know what happened, he tried to protect you from his karmic debt, but he really doesn't know what happened.

Morax lays your body to rest beside him as he rests your head on his lap.

“Take a seat, Alatus,”

He takes a seat facing his God, “Is she… going to be alright?” he asks, tentatively.

Morax nods, “Her body just couldn’t handle the process of healing you, it’s… new to her you see,”

He nods slowly, eyes still on you.

“Did you know she was made specifically for you?”

“My lord?”

He sighs, “She was created for you, her purpose is to alleviate your pain,” he looks at him and a beat passes in silence, “Your karmic debt.”

“I hadn’t meant to keep it from you…”

“No, I understand,” he tells him, “But you mustn’t underestimate me, either,”

“I apologize, Morax,”

“No need for that, just take care of those I give you,” he says and pets your head.

“She was made for you,” he repeats, “But her support does not come easily,”

Xiao tilts his head and he continues.

“Even an Archon has limits,” he admits, “there must be balance to the universe,”

“A give and take,” Xiao fills in.

Morax smiles sadly as he looks down at your unconscious form, “I made her in the likeness of Guizhong, she provided me a reprieve from the expectations on my shoulders during the war,”

“A solace, if you will,” the hand over your head then glows bright yellow and orange, a manifestation of the Archon's powers, “But that solace did not come easy, Guizhong had me earn her trust,”

The light fades out and the color comes back to your face, yet you still lie unconscious.

“She only needs rest, worry not,” his Lord assures him.

“My point, Alatus, is that you have to prove to her that you are someone she can trust, too,”

“Why?”

“Because the war is over, Xiao, there is no need to be tense all the time, people can be trusted once more, and she will not fall like the others,” Morax tells him in such a tender voice, as if he, too, remembers his own time at war.

“You can rest easier at night, warrior of mine, the war is over.”

The war is over.

…

You don't wake for a day.

The moment you do, you find yourself in your room in Wangshu Inn and Morax-shen is the first one that greets you.

“How are you feeling, little adeptus?” he asks as he sets tea in front of you. It was an ironic sight. The healer being taken care of.

“I am fine, Morax-shen,” you say and thank him as you drink from the cup.

“Where is Xiansheng?”

He hums, “Alatus is on a mission right now, you mustn't worry about him,”

“But the contract…?”

“I've made a few adjustments to it, do not worry about him,” he says, whatever those adjustments were, he does not explain.

He drinks from his own cup, “How is your progress with Alatus?”

You purse your lips and think, “Well, xiansheng has been… less receptive to my care, but he's allowed me to treat minor wounds, scratches and the like,”

“I see… and earlier?”

Ah, he was referring to that.

“The first time I've tried,”

The corner of his lips turn, “I am proud of you for taking initiative,” a hand meets your head and ruffles your hair, you smile in pride.

Xiansheng never does that.

“Why not?”

Oh- I said that out loud.

“Um well… xiansheng tends to keep a distance from me,” you confess, your hands curling up the blankets, “At times, it seems that he takes care of me more than I do him, he treats me like I'm… human. I feel useless, like I'm not helping him enough,” you sigh.

“It's normal to feel that way, do not fret,”

Zhongli puts his own cup down.

“Xiao has been… devoid of human contact for a long while, especially after the Cataclysm, he has become somewhat of a recluse,”

“This has changed slightly with the arrival of the traveller,”

“Lumine…”

“Yes, Lumine, she has helped Xiao with his duties in protecting Liyue a while back, she has also helped Xiao in personal matters,”

“Seems they're closer than I thought,”

Zhongli takes note of your reaction to the information and sips on his tea.

“They are, the traveller has helped Xiao become more receptive to human contact,”

“I see…”

“Ah, that aside,” Zhongli says, taking the hint to change the subject when he notices your increasing disinterest and how you look like you're thinking deeper.

“I'll explain the observed effects of your abilities from Baizhu,”

…

It was past midnight when you heard the familiar thump from outside your window.

Still, with all the recent events and the information you've learned from Zhongli, you keep your eyes closed.

You feel, rather than hear, Xiao walk towards you, his hand coming up to your forehead, probably to check if your fever has still kept you.

(According to Zhongli-shen, your fever has been alarmingly concerning when he first held you, it was as if you had a passionate flair while having a pyro vision.

“Had I not encased you in crystal, you might've combusted from the heat you were emanating,” he says.

You then notice the wilted mist flower corollas surrounding the room. All exhausted from their coolness.

“Thankfully, Baizhu-yisheng had been quick enough to send their supplies and provide the appropriate aid,”)

Still, you kept your eyes closed, afraid to face him.

Afraid of what exactly? you ask yourself.

“I am glad you are having a dreamless sleep,” he murmurs in the quiet of the night.

When his hand leaves your head, your eyes open, just enough to catch him sneaking out the window.

“Xiansheng…”

His head turns.

He steps down from the window and walks toward you. Wordlessly, your hand raises and his lower down to meet yours.

His eyes don't leave yours until your thumb circles his knuckles, his eyes look down to your intertwined hands, then back up to you.

His other hand rests on top of your head then slides down to cup the side of your face.

Your eyes are locked on him.

It was so soft you had no idea it happened.

Your eyes fluttered close and you squeezed his hand.

Xiao leaned lower, pressing his lips a bit deeper.

As he pulls away, his forehead rests on yours, your eyes still closed as you sigh against him.

He pulls back a bit and watches your eyes flutter open and meet his immediately.

“Xiansheng…?”

He's quick to pull you into him, his head resting in yours as you slot perfectly into the slope of his neck.

“Don't go where I can't follow,” he murmurs with more emotion than you've ever heard from him, “Don't leave me again,”

You can only nod against his skin, his hand resting on the back of your head to keep you close.

…

Again…?

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usagi's note: hey! so i added a note at the start and one at the end, im experimenting with my layouts once again! so yeah! also agalaea has been so pretty im def gonna pull for her and for furina cons ^^

taglist (open! green can't be tagged): @irenedoesthings @cherrysnows @makuzume @smoochi-modest @bvtterflyyy @original-person @aphxdea @iratempestatis @constellationguy @lloversss @femaholicc

@usagiarchive 2024. do not repost, translate, or use for AI. reblogs, likes, and comments are very appreciated!!

[appocalipse]

Congrats! How huge! Can I shop?! 🛍️

There's an antique lock and key set and a pair of velvet gloves that look like they have my name written all over them (or a smutty friends to lovers with Steve Harrington where maybe we're partners in a game - drinking game at a rager, yard game at a bbq, board game on a game night, chicken at the pool party...I'm not picky - and celebrating our winning streak gets...a little out of hand 😉😉)

thank you, angel ♥ i got more than a little carried away with this one lol 6.4k words | cw: fingering, oral sex, unprotected sex 18+ only! mdni! literally the smuttiest smut that ever smutted

amy's flea market ♥

"Ready?" Steve asks.

No. Fuck, no.

“Yeah,” you respond. Steve smiles that almost evil smile of his and dives down so you can climb onto his shoulders. Again. You can't believe you're doing this again.

It's the third round of chicken fighting that you and Steve are participating in, and as you climb onto Steve's shoulders, you try not to think that you're climbing onto Steve's shoulders.

Steve. Your friend Steve. The guy you have the world's biggest crush on...no, fuck that. It's more. You know it's more, but you're afraid to admit the stronger word.

Because Steve is Steve. He's off limits.

Which doesn't make it any easier for you to try not to think about the way his big, warm hands are now on your thighs, holding on tight so you don't fall off his shoulders, where you're sitting in nothing but a bikini, his head between your legs...

"1, 2,3...go!" Robin yells, sitting on the edge of the pool with her feet in the water. You raise your arms as the team in front of you advances, the girl's arms stretched in hopes of pushing you off Steve.

But you and Steve are, apparently, invincible today.

It happens faster this time; next thing you know, the girl's grip slips, and you are the one who ends up pushing her into the water, her partner also losing his balance in the process. They laugh and the crowd — including Robin — goes wild. The adrenaline surges through your veins as you realize you've won. Again. Steve keeps you up there for one more moment, just so you can throw your arms in the air, giggling, enjoying your third victory in a row. Then, he carefully lowers you down into the water. 

When he emerges again, wet hair sticking to his forehead, he's grinning at you as he grabs your wrist, making you raise your arm one more for the crowd.

You giggle.

Steve sighs. It's that laugh of yours, the one that makes his heart skip a beat every time. 

"I think that's enough for today," you say, lowering your arm and grinning up at him, a bit dizzy from the adrenaline of the victory and the heat of the sun on your skin. 

Steve suddenly feels dizzy too, for a completely different reason.

He unsuspectingly watches as a fat drop of water travels down your lower lip, to your chin, your neck... and then you turn around, moving in the direction of the pool ladder. Against his better judgment, he follows.

Once out of the pool, you look around. 

"D'you want me to grab a clean towel for you?" Steve offers, ever the gentleman.

"Towel, yeah, that would be great..." you murmur, feeling ten times more self-conscious now that the two of you are out of the water. You don't even know most of the people here… "Can I come with you?"

Steve coughs.

The pool party had started earlier that day. The only clean towels remaining in that house now are in his bathroom. 

In his room.

And you're all wet.

For God's sake. That's the last place where he should be alone with you right now. 

But, like an idiot, Steve nods, "Sure, let's go." 

He leads you through the living room, past a group of people who are sitting on the floor, drinking and laughing, to the stairs, taking them two at a time. You're a little out of breath, but manage to keep up with his long strides until he reaches the top. The hallway up here is a lot dimmer, but you can still see the soft, warm sunlight coming from beneath his bedroom door. It's strange how you've never been in his room before. Countless times in his house, sure, but never his room.

Steve clears his throat and then opens the door, stepping aside to let you enter first. 

It's... not what you expected. It's not messy like the stereotypical rich boy's room, but it's not pristine either. It's neat, orderly, but... lived in. There's a king-sized bed in the center of the room, covered with a duvet that looks like it's been slept in. A small nightstand on each side of the bed, with a lamp and a few framed photos on top — you're even in some of them with him and the kids. The walls are painted a soft, warm blue, and there's a big window next to the bed, letting in the bright sunlight.

The air smells like... like him. Like soap and hairspray.

Steve clears his throat, drawing your attention back to him. He's still shirtless, so it's not like that's hard to do. "Here, take this," he says, tossing a towel in your direction. You catch it reflexively, feeling the softness of the fabric against your bare skin.

"Thanks," you murmur, rubbing your hair with it. 

The sound of laughter from downstairs seeps in through the partly open window. Steve is standing on the other side of the room, a towel loosely draped around his neck, and maybe it's that mysterious drink Robin offered you earlier making you imagine things, but there's a strange tension in the air and you're under the distinct impression that Steve is consciously avoiding you as you dry off.

You wonder what he's thinking. 

Steve clears his throat again, seeming to steel himself for something. "Um... I'm gonna go grab a drink. You... you want one?" he asks, not quite meeting your eye.

"Sure. And...can you get my dress? I left it downstairs earlier."

Steve nods, turning away from you so fast you almost wonder if he's mad. He disappears into the hallway, and you hear the click of the door being closed behind him, followed by the distant sound of footsteps as he makes his way downstairs.

Left alone in his room, you wander over to the bed and sit down on the edge, now wrapped in your towel. The duvet is soft against your bare skin, and the pillows smell like him. You can't help but wonder what it would be like to curl up here with him, to feel his warmth surround you as you drift off to sleep.

Probably not the kind of thought you should have in your friend's room.

The door opens again, and Steve steps back in, two glasses of something clear and fizzy in his hand. "Here you go," he says, handing you one of them. You take the drink gratefully, sniffing at it before taking a sip. It's some kind of spritzer, sweet and tangy. "And here's your dress."

It's draped over the curve of his arm. Steve sets his own drink on the nightstand before sitting down on the bed beside you, extending his arm so you could take the dress.

You do take it, but make no move to put it on. "I didn't know you were that good at chicken fighting," you say, trying to make it sound light-hearted.

Steve smiles. "Pretty sure it was all you."

"Of course not," you playfully nudge him. "We're a team."

He looks at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he reaches for his drink and takes a generous sip. "Yeah, a team," he repeats softly.

"What?"

"Nothing."

He studies you for a moment, taking another sip of his drink. The silence stretches between you. You wish you knew what was going through his mind, if he was feeling the same things you were.

"It is something," you quietly insist.

Steve looks at you, his eyes flickering uncertainly. "I don't know what you mean," he says finally, but there's a catch in his voice that betrays him, a hint of vulnerability that you've never heard before.

You stand up. He looks at you like you had just slapped him. 

"I'm still wet," you explain. Then, way too quickly for your embarrassment to go unnoticed, you add, "from the pool, I mean! Not...I don't want to make a mess of your bed or anything, you know...I mean, by sitting there while I'm wearing a wet bikini and-"

Steve cuts you off with a laugh. "Hey, hey," he says, reaching out to take your hand. "It's okay. You're fine. You can sit here." He squeezes your hand gently, and there's a warmth in his touch that sends a shiver through you. "And if you did make a mess, I'd clean it up. No worries."

You sit down again. Better than awkwardly standing there. 

"Very gentlemanly of you," you murmur, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Steve shrugs, returning your smile. "I'm not that bad, am I?" he asks, his voice teasing.

"The worst. But you're a good partner in chicken fighting, though."

Steve swallows hard.

"Just that?"

There is a moment of silence, as you and Steve stare at each other. You know exactly what he means, what's behind that question, behind the look he's giving you right now, studying your face like it's the first time he's seeing it. At least...you think you know. 

He puts his glass aside again. You open your mouth to say something, but he's faster.

"I need to go."

"Wait-"

He doesn't wait. Steve is on his feet in a second, almost at the door in two. 

But you, somehow supernaturally faster…you grab his wrist. You grab his wrist with both hands and oh God, Steve's not quite sure what to do with you now. He doesn't respond, doesn't move. You tug at his arm, wanting him to turn around, look at you. He doesn't.

"Steve."

His name feels like a whisper on your lips. It's not loud, but it's urgent. 

Steve is having a hard time remembering why he's supposed to keep his distance from you. He turns around to look at you, your hand slipping down to his, still not letting him go…and he realizes it was a bad idea.

The desperation in your eyes mirrors his own, and before he knows what he's doing, Steve is leaning in, hands grabbing your face, mouth finding yours, lips parting. 

He's not gentle, not soft. 

You moan into the kiss and Steve kicks the door closed without looking, his hands finding your waist as you cling to his neck, the towel falling at your feet. Your lips part and he slips inside, tasting you, feeling the warmth of your breath on his skin as you gasp, stumbling back as he pushes forward.

The bed is soft but cold beneath you as you land, Steve on top of you, pinning you down."God," he groans into your neck. "Sorry."

You giggle. "God, sorry?"

He groans in reply, lips moving against your neck as he continues to kiss his way down your collarbone. "I mean it," he whispers, his voice hoarse with desire. "I shouldn't be doing this."

"M' not...complaining."

Steve laughs roughly into your skin, pressing his lips to the dip between your breasts and finally looking up into your eyes. He pauses for a moment, searching for something there. You can see the uncertainty in his expression, the fear of losing control, of what will happen if he really lets go.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No," you say automatically.

He chuckles at your answer, a soft, low sound that vibrates through your chest. "You're sure?" he whispers, leaning in to kiss you again, this time softer, slower. "Because I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to take advantage of you."

"How could you possibly take advantage of me?" you ask, sounding almost annoyed.

Steve smiles. "I don't know. I just..." He trails off, pressing a quick kiss to your chin. "I just want this to be right."

You can feel his hesitation, his worry, but you don't want to push him away. You reach up, gently cupping his cheek, and look into his eyes. "I want to."

"You want to?"

"Yes."

There's a moment where the weight of what you've just said seems to press down on Steve, making him pause. He looks into your eyes, searching for any sign of doubt or fear, but finds only the truth. He exhales shakily, looking like it takes every ounce of his self-control to do so. "Tell me you're not drunk."

You reach up, tracing his jawline with your fingers. "I'm not drunk."

"Fuck..." he mutters, trying to concentrate as you trail your fingers down his neck, over his collarbone. "Really? Don't lie to me."

You smile, shaking your head in disbelief. "I'm not drunk," you repeat. "I had like…two drinks. Are you drunk?"

Steve laughs, a choked-up sound. "I've had more than that," he admits. "But I'm…I'm okay." He looks at you for a long moment, like he's trying to commit your face to memory, just in case. Then he leans in, kissing you softly, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that belies his earlier urgency. "But even if I were drunk, you're welcome to take advantage of me anytime."

You smile against his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I'll keep that in mind," you whisper, feeling a rush of affection for him. Steve groans into the kiss, pressing your back against the mattress as his hips move between your legs. His skin feels hot against yours, his muscles tense, and with nothing but the thin fabric of your bikini bottom and his swim trunks between you, there's little left for the imagination.

"Steve," you breathe out as he kisses his way down your neck, nipping at your skin with his teeth. His name feels heavy in your mouth, like you've been holding it there for years and it's finally been given the chance to be spoken. "Steve…"

"You keep saying my name like that and I'm going to lose it."

You feel the wet heat of his mouth as he kisses his way back down your neck, over your collarbone. His fingers are patient, too patient as they trail up your sides, over your ribs, stopping just shy of your breasts like he's afraid he'll go too far, too fast, too soon.

"Can I-"

"Yes."

His laughter is soft as he pulls back to look at you, eyes half-lidded and mouth slightly parted. He brushes a strand of wet hair away from your face, tracing the line of your jaw with his thumb. "You don't even know what I was going to say."

"What were you going to say?"

He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "Something about wanting you. About how I can't believe I'm finally here with you." His fingers drift lower, tracing the curve of your neck before one hooks playfully under the delicate string of your bikini top. "I was going to ask if I could touch you."

You nod, feeling the anticipation building inside you. "Yes," you breathe, arching into his touch. "Please."

His smile is slow, almost wicked. He lets go of the string and instead cups your breast, thumb tracing the hardening peak of your nipple through the thin fabric of your top. Your back arches further, and a soft moan escapes your lips as his fingers find purchase and squeeze. He pulls back slightly, watching as you close your eyes, your chest rising and falling rapidly. "Is this okay?" he whispers, tracing a circle around your nipple with his finger.

"Yes," you manage to choke out.

Steve hums in understanding, his touch growing more confident as he cups your breast in his hand, squeezing gently before circling your nipple with his thumb. The sensation is almost too much, making your hips twitch against his as you arch further into the touch. 

He wonders for a moment if he should take it further, if he should untie the knot and push the bikini top down, revealing your breasts to his touch...would you be okay with that? Or should he keep going, teasing you until you beg? His eyes flicker down to your lips, watching as they part slightly with each shallow breath, how your tongue darts out to wet them. 

You're so beautiful, he thinks, almost dizzy from the sight of you.

He can feel the warmth between his legs, the insistent pressure as his cock strains against the fabric of his trunks. You'll be the death of him, he's certain. He's already so fucking hard and you're not even naked yet.

He leans in, lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Can I?" 

He kisses your neck, your collarbone, your shoulder. And then his fingers slide lower, tracing the line of your stomach, pausing at your navel… 

"Can I touch you here?"

The feel of his fingers tracing the line of your stomach, so close to where you ache for him to touch, is almost too much to bear. You chuckle as you arch your back, offering him more of your skin, more of yourself, then grabbing his wrist when he doesn't seem convinced, guiding his hand lower. 

"Please," grinning, you run your fingers through his hair with your free hand, feeling the dampness there as it clings to the strands, "stop asking."

He smiles against your skin, his fingers finding the soft, warm skin of your inner thigh, tracing up and down, so close to where you're aching for him. "You're sure?" he whispers, his voice low and teasing. "You're sure you want this?"

"Steve Harrington, you-"

But you can't even finish the sentence before he's kissing you, his mouth warm and wet and demanding as his fingers finally slip between your legs, sliding beneath the thin scrap of fabric and you gasp into his mouth, arching into his touch, forgetting whatever insult you were going to say.

You feel the rough pad of his index finger against your clit, and then he's pressing, circling, teasing.

"Fuck."

"You're so wet," he breathes, watching your face. "So fucking wet for me, honey, God," His fingers move faster, his touch more demanding as he presses deeper, finding your entrance and circling, circling, wanting to push inside. 

You grip the back of his head, your other hand clutching at the duvet beneath you, your hips arching off the bed as his fingers move in a blissful, insistent rhythm. It's been so long since anyone has touched you like this, since you've felt this kind of need and desire, but this…this is even better than you could have imagined. This is Steve, your Steve.

"I want you inside me," you pant before you can think twice about it, your words breathless and urgent. "Please."

Steve hums, his fingers still working their magic as he leans forward, kissing your neck, your shoulder, your collarbone. "I want that too," he whispers, and then he's pushing the bikini bottoms aside, throwing them across the room, revealing your wet, aching folds to his gaze, moving to trail wet, open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, over your hip, and finally to the juncture of your thighs. 

Shit. He parts your legs with his shoulders, bending his knees to kneel between them. "Let me make you come first."

With...his mouth?

You prop yourself up on your elbows to look at his face, more than a little self-conscious now. "Wait, but you...you're gonna...?"

He wraps his arms around your hips, holding you still as he leans in, his breath warm against your exposed skin. Curiously, he asks, "You don't want me to?"

You shake your head; no, of course you do. But the idea of him going down on you...it's so intimate. So much more than just having sex. "I just..."

He looks up at you, and there's something in his eyes that makes you forget whatever you were about to say. Something that makes you feel safe and wanted and desired. "You just...?" he whispers, his lips brushing against the soft skin of your inner thigh.

It's hard to concentrate when he does that. You squirm a little, but his hold on you is surprisingly firm.

"I just..." You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. "I just haven't had anyone do that for me in a really long time." It's true; the last time you can remember was with a boyfriend years ago, and even then it was more of a "be polite" thing than anything else. But with Steve...it feels different. "Do you *really* want to? Because you don't have to if-"

You feel him smile against your skin as he continues to gently kiss his way up your thigh. "I want to," he whispers, and the way he says it, the sincerity in his voice, makes you believe him. "I really want to. But, um…only if you want it too."

You open your eyes, watching as he looks up at you, waiting for your answer. He looks so hopeful, so eager. If he wants this, if he wants to make you feel this good...how can you say no?

With a shaky breath, you nod, your fingers threading through his hair. "Okay," you whisper. "Okay."

Steve hums in satisfaction. You feel a shiver run down your spine as he slowly pulls your legs wider apart, resting his elbows on the bed as he leans in closer, his hot breath fanning across your folds. His hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he gazes up at you, watching your reaction, almost daring you to tell him to stop. 

You watch, mesmerized, as he tilts his head, licking his lips before he leans in, pressing a gentle, open-mouthed kiss to the very center of you. 

Boy... does he know what he's doing.

Your eyes flutter shut as he begins to lick and suck, his tongue dancing over your most sensitive skin, his fingers curling into the flesh of your hips, urging you to arch into his touch. You gasp, feeling your whole body tense, your hands tangled in his hair, your nails almost digging into his scalp. He moans, his breath hot against you, and you realize he's watching your reactions, taking cues from your body. 

"Good?" he asks, as if you're not already on the verge of coming. 

But you can't answer, can't form a coherent thought, let alone a word. So you nod.  Frantically so, head thumping against the mattress. He smiles against your skin like he's won some sort of prize, and then you feel the slip of his fingers, two of them easily sliding inside you, tight but wet enough to be ready. You cry out, his name a desperate plea falling off your lips as he thrusts his fingers deeper, curling them up to find just the right spot. 

"Oh, God..." you moan, your hips bucking up against his hand. "Steve..." Your fingernails dig into the duvet, your back arching as he expertly works his fingers inside you.

Steve seems to sense that you're getting close, the way your hips are moving erratically against his hand, the way your breath is coming in short, ragged gasps. He looks up at you for a moment as if to gauge your reaction, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. He keeps his fingers exactly where they are while he leans up over your body to kiss you, propping himself up on one elbow.

"You taste so good," his voice is a whisper against your lips as they part beneath his. "So wet. God, I want to feel you around me." 

"Yes, please."

Your enthusiasm makes Steve grin against your lips. "Please?" he muses. He's hard, of course he is hard in his swim trunks, cock straining against the fabric as it leans against your thigh. But he doesn't want to rush this. Not with you.

"Steve," you admonish, sliding your hands up his arms.

His fingers are still moving, but more slowly now, less urgent. It's almost as if he's teasing you, drawing this out. Your hips rock up against his hand, and you feel a surge of wetness between your legs as you arch your back, seeking more contact. His lips find yours again, tongue sliding against yours as he thrusts his fingers deeper, curling them to hit just the right spot. You moan into the kiss, your body trembling as the pleasure builds, your fingers tangled in his hair.

"Oh God," you say in a shaky voice. "Steve, please..."

He groans against your lips, curling his fingers deeper inside you, searching. "Please what?" he whispers as he kisses along your jaw, teasing, not mean, never mean, but drawing it out just a little bit more.

In lieu of an answer, you find yourself arching your back in a desperate manner. His fingers brush against something deep inside you, something that has you gasping and tightening around him, close too close. His fingers find the rhythm you've been craving, your orgasm building, building, building.

"That's it," he whispers against your neck, his own breath hot and uneven. "That's it, baby."

And you do. It's unlike anything you've ever felt before, a rush of pleasure so intense it makes your vision blur, your skin warm all over. 

Steve, watching your expression as you come apart beneath his touch, feels the warmth of your release coat his fingers, the tightness of your body around them. God. It's a heady sensation, knowing that he can make you feel this way.

His fingers are slick with your wetness as he pulls them free and gently pushes you back onto the bed. You're lying flat on your back again, and he's grinning as he looks down at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"You're...very good at this," your voice is a breathy whisper as you glance up at him, a flush rising in your cheeks. You chuckle, wrapping your arms around his neck, bringing him down for a gentle kiss. Steve's skin is warm beneath your fingertips, his kiss featherlight soft against your lips. "Do you want-"

"Yes," he cuts you off with a husky laugh, leaning down to nip at your neck. "If you do," His hand finds the string of your bikini top, finger following along it all the way up to the bow. With a practiced flick, he undoes it but doesn't yet pull the fabric away, watching your eyes as he lets the knot slide free, half expecting you to tell him to stop. You don't, though. You watch him, your chest rising and falling with every breath, and something in his chest aches at the sight.

"You can take it off," you reassure, feeling a blush creep up your neck. "It's just me." 

You hope that comes across as playful and confident, but maybe you don't seem so convincing when you're still a little breathless, a little sensitive, so you decide to take matters into your own hands and reach up, fingers shaking only a little, to pull the cups of your bikini top down and away from your chest. 

Steve watches you, his expression somewhere between adoration and awe as you reveal yourself to him like a fucking gift unwrapped. 

"You're unreal," he breathes. "You're so..."

When he reaches out to touch, just the very tips of his fingers brushing against the sensitive flesh, you try to encourage him by arching into the contact.

"So fucking beautiful," he whispers, leaning down to kiss your collarbone. "I can't get enough of you." 

His hands slide down your sides, over the smooth skin of your hips, and then lower still, cupping your ass. He pulls you closer, pressing your body against his, slowly grinding against you. "Do you want..." he tries, an urgent edge creeping into his voice. "Do you want me inside you?"

Steve looks like he's about to explode at the mere suggestion, his expression a mixture of raw desire and aching need. You're about to reply when he nips at your neck, his teeth grazing the skin there. You momentarily lose your words.

"You're killing me," he half groans, half laughs, his hips moving harder against yours as he pushes himself as close to you as he possibly can. You can feel him through the thin fabric of his swim trunks, hard and insistent, and you're sure it wouldn't take much more of this teasing before he loses control completely. "Just say the word," he whispers, kissing along the line of your jaw, "and I'll give you anything you want."

"Can I...can I touch you?"

You feel Steve stiffen at your request at first, his body tensing beneath your fingers. "Of course you can," he breathes, a shudder working its way through him. "You can do whatever you want, baby."

You reach down, fingers shaky in your eagerness to please. You grasp the hem of his trunk and tug gently, almost hesitant, but he's already cooperating, kicking them off and letting them fall to the floor without so much as a second thought.

"Oh,"  you breathe, eyes widening as you take in the sight of him, naked and perfect in front of you. Steve's cock is already hard, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip, and you can't help but reach out and touch it, tentatively at first, but then more confidently, wrapping your fingers around the base of him and waiting to gauge his reaction.

"Oh, fuck," he moans, closing his eyes as you stroke him. "That feels...that's so good."

Your fingers feel warm and soft around him, and with each gentle stroke, he feels himself growing harder and harder, unable to contain the pleasure building inside of him. He opens his eyes to look down at you, watching your expression as you touch him, your focus solely on the way your fingers slide up and down his length.

Before you can get too carried away, though, Steve's hands are grabbing yours, guiding them away from his cock rather urgently. "If you want me inside you," he pants, a strained smile tugging at his lips, "you're going to have to stop that." His voice is a little shaky, a little rough, and you can tell he's struggling to keep himself in check.

You grin up at him. "I...do want that."

Steve's answering smile is a little more confident now, and he leans forward, brushing the pad of his index finger across your lips, tracing the shape of your bottom lip as he does so. "I think you've had enough teasing today," he whispers, hand moving to cup your neck, his thumb rubbing gently over your pulse point. "You really want this?"

"Yes," you breathe, unable to keep the word from slipping past your lips. "Yeah, I do."

Steve's thumb continues to trace circles around your pulse point as he leans in, pressing his lips against yours. His kiss starts gentle, a mere brush of his mouth against yours, "Yeah? Can I?" sliding his hand down your stomach, between your legs, he adds, "Fuck, yeah, you're...you're wet enough."

You gasp into his kiss as he brushes his fingers against you. "Yeah," you moan, arching your hips up into his touch, with a grin, "Yeah, I am, I...you're gonna make me beg or something, huh?"

"I'd never make you beg for anything, sweetheart."

His fingers move in a slow circle, spreading your wetness around your entrance, making sure you're as ready for him as you can be.

You reach up, wrapping your arms around his neck. You pull him closer as he begins to shift between your legs, his hand coming back up to gently guide himself towards your entrance, and then he looks down at you, searching your eyes for some sign, some reassurance, before he's pushing inside, slowly, gently, taking his time to ease his way into you. 

You gasp at the feeling of being stretched, filled, but at the same time it's perfect, it's...right.

He leans forward, bracing himself on his arms, and watches as you arch your back, your lips parted in a silent moan. "More?" he whispers, his voice a rough rasp. "Should I...?"

"More," you breathe, meeting his eyes.

And Steve gives it to you. He slides deeper, pushing in farther, stretching you just enough to make you feel so full of him. You're tight and he's impatient, but he makes sure he doesn't rush, doesn't force it. You feel the muscles in his back and arms tensing as he fights against the urge to go harder, how much he wants to lose control and just fuck you into the mattress.

He takes you like he's been dreaming of it for years, like he's never going to get the chance to feel you like this again. Slowly.

"Steve," his name rolls off your tongue like a sigh the moment he's all the way inside you, your muscles clenching around him in an attempt to hold him close. 

He tries to remember how to breathe, pressing his lips to your shoulder. He feels you squeeze around him and muffles a sound between a moan and a growl against your skin, "Can I move?"

"Yes, I...yes."

He pulls back slightly, just enough to adjust his angle, and then pushes back inside you. The sensation is almost too much, the way your body seems to fit so perfectly around him, the way your muscles clench and release, drawing him deeper still. Fuck. You're so wet that he can feel himself sliding easily in and out of you. The sounds of your skin slapping against his is a perfect counterpoint to the gasping, keening noises you're making into his shoulder.

He knows he won't last half as much as he'd like if you keep that up.

"God, that's it," he growls, the words lost in the movement of his hips against yours. "Tell me how it feels, sweetheart." One of his hands slides down between your bodies, cupping your aching clit, rubbing in a tight circle as he thrusts into you. The sensation is overwhelming, too much and not nearly enough all at once.

Your legs twist, one hooking behind his back for leverage, and you arch into his touch, your nails digging into his shoulders as you feel the tension building, the familiar tightness coiling in your core. "So good," you moan, thrusting your hips up to meet his, wanting more of that friction, more of his skin against yours. "Can you go...faster, please?"

He's lost to the sensation of your body moving against his, the feel of you slick and hot and tight. He's close, so close, but he doesn't want this to be over yet. He pulls back slightly, only to slam back in harder, the head of his cock hitting the spot inside you that makes you arch your back and gasp.

His hand moves faster on your clit, circling and pressing, and you're so close now, so close, you can feel it building, making you shiver and writhe underneath him. Steve leans down, lips finding the skin of your neck, sucking and nipping as he thrusts harder, deeper, faster.

"Yes," you moan, arching into his touch, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Fuck, yes."

Steve lets his hand move from between your legs to the back of your knee, hooking it there, holding you open to him as his cock slides in and out of you with a harsh, wet sound. You feel so full of him, stretched and sore and aching in the best way possible. 

He's so close now, the tension in his body almost painful as he fights against the urge to come before you do. Steve watches your face as you writhe beneath him, lips parted and flushed, eyes glazed over in pleasure  like you can't quite focus. It's the most erotic thing he's ever seen. He doesn't want this to end. Being inside you like this, feeling the way you move against him...he doesn't think he'll ever get enough.

Your nails scrape down his back, leaving little red lines in their wake. Steve thinks he's going to lose it every time you do that.

"Fuck," he groans, the word caught in his throat as he thrusts harder into you. The sounds of your skin slapping against his makes it almost unbearable and he has to think of something else, anything else, to keep from coming. "Feels good, sweetheart?" he whispers, his hand moving between your legs again, this time finding your clit and rubbing in a steady, circular motion.

You arch into his touch, your hips moving in time with his thrusts. "So close," you moan, your voice shaking. "I...I..."

Steve feels the tension building inside you, knows that you're close. He watches your face, the way your eyes have almost rolled back in your head, the way your lips are parted and your breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. 

He leans down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking and teasing as pushes inside to the hilt, holding you there, feeling your body trembling beneath him. You cry out then, your back arching off the bed, and Steve feels you tighten and pulse around him, gripping him like a fist as you come. 

The sensation is almost too much, but he somehow manages to ask, "Can I come inside you?"

You nod, your eyes closed tightly, and he thrusts once, twice…then one last time, feeling himself spill inside you as he moans, body tensing and then relaxing, spent. 

Steve collapses on top of you without pulling out, sweaty bodies sticking together. He somehow finds the energy to kiss your shoulder, your neck, your ear, nibbling and sucking until you laugh, shifting beneath him.

"You're heavy," you tease, but you don't really mind. It feels right to have him pressed against you like this, his heart thumping against yours, his breath warm on your skin.

He chuckles, nuzzling deeper into the crook of your neck. "Sorry," he mumbles, before pulling himself up enough to look down at you. You're beautiful, even with your hair tangled and your lips swollen from his kisses. "Do you want to get cleaned up?" he asks, running a hand through his sweaty hair.

"I think I love you."

The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them, and for a moment, you're not sure if you should take them back. But then Steve's eyes widen, his lips part in surprise, and you know it's too late. You've said it.

"Sorry, I shouldn't...I mean, I-"

Steve cups your face in his hands, his eyes wide and serious. "I love you too," he says, his voice a little unsteady. "I have for a long time." 

He leans in, pressing his lips to yours gently, then more firmly, as if he's making sure this is real, that you feel it too. 

But you feel it too.

God, you feel it too.

[cozmowrites]

Beach Vibes and Sabrina

anon request

=====

The sandwich bags crinkled as you zipped them shut, stacking them neatly into the small cooler next to the cut-up fruit and prepped drinks from yesterday's shopping trip. The kitchen smelled faintly of strawberries and toasted bread, and Bakugou leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with a small smirk.

"You sure we ain't overdoing it?" he asked, motioning to the pile of snacks.

You grinned, stuffing the last container into the cooler. "No such thing as too many snacks for a beach date. Besides, you eat like four people."

He scoffed, reaching over to flick your forehead gently. "Tch. You'll thank me when I carry your tired ass back to the car after you crash."

You shot him a mock glare, but you were already too excited to keep up the banter. Your first beach trip together. It wasn't even supposed to be this elaborate, but somewhere between his late-night grocery run and your Spotify playlist planning, it had turned into a full-blown early morning adventure.

+++

The alarm went off at 4:30 AM, and you were already half-awake when Bakugou rolled over with a groan.

"Too early," he mumbled, voice gravelly and low, muffled against your shoulder.

"Come on," you whispered, brushing hair from his eyes. "We'll miss the sunrise."

He squinted at you with one eye. "You better have coffee in the car."

"Three kinds," you said smugly. "Now move, sleepyhead."

You changed quickly, slipping into your baby blue bikini and a loose linen button-up on top. Bakugou did a double take when you came out of the bathroom, toothbrush hanging from his mouth, eyes very obviously dragging down your frame.

"What?" you asked, smirking.

He didn't even try to hide it. "You're hot."

You rolled your eyes, heat rising to your cheeks. "Yeah, yeah. Hurry up and brush your teeth, perv."

+++

The drive to the beach was golden — literally. The sky was just starting to warm with streaks of pink and orange when you climbed into his Porsche, music already blasting.

"Sabrina Carpenter again?" he muttered, throwing a sideways glance at you as you danced in your seat to Please Please Please.

"You secretly love her. Just admit it," you teased, reaching over to adjust the navigation on his dash.

"She keeps saying she's hot and better than everyone," he said flatly. "She got a god complex or something?"

You laughed. "No, she's just self-aware. It's sigma."

"Sigma? What the hell does that even mean?"

"It means—just vibe, Katsuki," you grinned, turning the volume up. He groaned but didn't stop you, fingers tapping on the steering wheel in time with the beat. When Nonsense came on, he made a face at the lyrics.

"'You said you like my eyes and you like to make 'em roll'? What the hell kinda line is that?"

"Hey," you said through a laugh, "you love when my eyes roll back..."

He glanced at you, brow raised, and you gave him a slow once-over, pointedly eyeing his hands on the wheel.

"...Stop lookin' at my hands while I'm drivin', dumbass."

You just laughed harder.

+++

By the time you arrived, the sun was barely peeking above the horizon. The beach was nearly empty, just the sound of the waves and a few early risers jogging by. Bakugou parked and grabbed the cooler, while you carried the towels and speaker. The air was warm, salt clinging to your skin before you even got close to the water.

You laid the blanket out and sat down beside him, still watching the sky melt from deep blue to orange. It was quiet for a few minutes—peaceful. You sipped on your iced coffee and leaned against him, fingers brushing his.

"Thanks for doing this," you murmured.

He hummed low in his throat. "You're the one who planned it."

"Yeah, but you drove. That counts as effort."

"You're worth it," he said simply, eyes fixed on the sea.

You smiled so hard it hurt.

Bakugou was weirdly calm, looking over at you. "Stop smiling like a dumbass."

"You make me smile this big."

+++

Later, the sun was fully up, and you were halfway through reapplying sunscreen when you looked over at Bakugou and gasped.

"Hold still."

"Huh?"

You straddled his lap, holding the sunscreen bottle like a weapon. "You're not putting this on yourself right. You're gonna burn like a rotisserie chicken."

"I know how to—"

"Nope. Gimme."

He grumbled but let you squirt a generous amount into your palm, gently rubbing it into his cheeks and nose. You tried not to giggle at the way his brows furrowed, eyes squinting shut.

"You look like a grumpy baby."

"I'm gonna drown you," he muttered.

"Oh really? Then who's gonna rub sunscreen on my back?" you teased, handing him the bottle.

He hesitated, then tilted his head. "...Turn around."

You did, pulling off your shirt and lifting your hair as he started rubbing the lotion into your back — strong, careful hands, warm against your skin. You sighed happily, stretching like a cat.

"See?" you murmured. "You don't complain when it benefits you."

He smirked, fingers lingering a little too long. "I ain't complaining now. How about I make your eyes roll back? Hm? I'm not driving."

"Katsuki-!" you blushed, standing up abruptly.

+++

You ended up in the water not long after, running ahead and shrieking when the first wave crashed around your knees.

"COLD!" you yelled back to him.

Bakugou waded in after you, water glistening on his abs, his shorts clinging to him in the most unfair way.

"You dragged me here," he called. "You deal with it."

You kicked water at him in response, catching him square in the chest. He stared at you, slow and deadly.

"...You really wanna start that?"

You didn't get a chance to run before he surged forward, splashing a huge wave of water right at you. You screamed, laughing, trying to retaliate as he caught you in his arms and hoisted you over his shoulder.

"KATSUKI!"

"Too late now," he said, wading deeper and tossing you gently into the waves.

You came up spluttering, hair sticking to your face, and he was laughing — a rare, bright sound that made your heart skip.

You swam back over and launched yourself at him, pulling him under with you.

It was chaos. It was perfect.

+++

Afterward, you sprawled out on the towel, hair still wet, crumbs from your sandwiches littering the edge of the blanket. Bakugou was beside you, sunglasses on, arms folded behind his head.

"You look like you were made for this," you said, brushing your fingers along his arm.

He glanced over. "You look like you were made to drive me insane."

You grinned. "I'll take that as a compliment."

He huffed a soft laugh, pulling you closer.

"Next time," he muttered, "we're bringing two coolers. You eat like four people too."

You just smiled and kissed his shoulder, already dreaming about the next beach day with him.

+++

masterlist ⟢

more bakugou ⟢

requests ツ

[captainsophiestark]

Crib Construction

Cassian x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: ACOTAR

Summary: Cassian and his mate have been tasked with putting together Nyx's crib. Unfortunately, it's a harder task than they thought it would be.

Word Count: 1,282

Category: Fluff, Humor

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Cass, come here. Does this look right?"

My boyfriend didn't waste a second before joining me on the floor, kneeling behind me and looking over my shoulder. Neither of us spoke for a minute, then I heard a rustling of paper as Cassian sighed.

"Yeah, it looks right. That hasn't stopped it from being wrong before, though."

"Well, let's just hope for the best."

I could feel through the mating bond just how little Cassian wanted to do that, but he knew as well as I did that we didn't have much other choice. I took a deep breath, then gently pressed the two pieces of wood before me together, trying to get them to link like they were supposed to.

Of course, it didn't work. I added slightly more pressure, but still nothing. I put my entire weight and all of my strength into it, and when the damn thing still didn't budge, I let out a scream and shoved both pieces away from me before I could really lose my temper and accidentally break something.

"This is bullshit!" I shouted, whirling around to face Cassian. He had a look of grim resignation, meeting my eyes with sympathy. Our positions had been exactly reversed about ten minutes ago. "Rhys set this up as a way to get back at you for winning the snowball fight last time, and I'm getting caught in the collateral. This sucks."

"Honestly, maybe he did," Cass said, sighing and leaning back on his hands. "Or maybe Az did something to break this one too before he got kicked off the job."

I groaned, flopping over and into Cassian's side to lay against his chest and stare at the ridiculous contraption that had been defeating us all afternoon. Rhys and Feyre had asked us to assemble Nyx's crib, and at first, we'd been honored and happy to help. But hours later, when nothing was going right and none of the pieces were fitting together the way they were supposed to, I was about ready to throw all of it out the window and into the Sidra below.

We'd been given the task in the first place because Az had shattered the same type of crib to pieces after spending a day being stumped by the puzzle. Cassian and I had inherited the task for our ability to keep each other calm, and because we were generally less destructive when continually frustrated by a puzzle. This crib was about to ruin that reputation.

"Okay, maybe we should just start over from the beginning," I said, sitting up and turning to face Cassian after our brief rest. "Like, take everything apart and lay it all out on the floor again, then start back from step one."

Cassian groaned. "Honestly, I hate that idea. But what we're already doing clearing isn't working, so..."

"So let's try it. Deep breaths, and then a total reset. A fresh start."

"...Alright. Let's do it."

With a lot of heavy sighing, Cassian and I took apart what little progress we'd made, separating the crib back into its individual parts, the way it had come. Once we got it all laid out again, I took the instruction manual from Cass and laid that out in front of us, too. With one last deep breath, we started in again at step one on page one.

I wish I could say this attempt went better. But it didn't. Cassian and I almost destroyed the whole thing Az-style in a fit of frustration three times each, one of us barely managing to pull the other back every time. We were just lucky our destructive streaks never lined up, or the pieces of the crib before us would've already become nothing more than a pile of ash.

"Alright, that's it!" Cass finally shouted, standing up abruptly from where we'd been trying to wrestle together the corners of the crib with no luck, despite using both our strength at once. "I'll be right back."

"What?" I flung my arms out to either side of me as Cassian headed for the door. "You're abandoning me? Seriously?"

"Not abandoning! Changing tactics."

Before I could ask for clarification, Cassian was out the door. I stared after him, waiting for him to reappear or say he was kidding or something, but he didn't. I huffed, then shook my head and turned back to the crib, its pieces still mostly laid out on the floor.

I sat there and stared at the pieces for a few long beats, contemplating my next move. Honestly, I'd just about decided to throw them out the window and tell Rhys the thing'd never been here when the door came swinging open again.

I turned to find Cassian striding towards me, the confidence and determination back in his step. I raised an eyebrow at him, but he just grinned.

"I've solved all our problems."

I snorted, but smiled at Cassian all the same as he came to a stop before me. The fact that he'd managed to make me laugh at all in the middle of this nonsense was exactly why we were mates, and it made me love him even more.

"Cass, you know I love you, and you know I trust you, but... I'm having a hard time seeing how that could possibly be true. Unless you convinced Mor to take over for us...?"

"No, but just as good." I raised an eyebrow, and Cassian's grin widened as he dropped down next to me. Slowly, from behind his back, he pulled out a hammer, tape, and a few other supplies.

I just stared at everything for a moment, then snorted and leanded into Cassian. I closed my eyes and shook my head.

"Babe... we can't use that stuff to put this crib together."

"Why not?"

"Because it won't be sturdy enough! We don't want it to give out while the baby's in it. We both know we can't risk that."

Cassian hummed, rocking forward just enough to get a few of the pieces of the crib into his hands. He lined them up like we'd been doing all day, then raised the hammer in his other hand.

"Maybe you're right about the tape," he said. "But all we need to fix this is a little extra power. We can't force it together with our strength alone, so we'll use a hammer."

"Cass-"

Before I could get another word out, Cassian swung the hammer. I could see him putting his full Illyrian strength into it, and sure enough, the pieces whacked together. Unfortunately for us, they also splintered into more pieces than would be fixable, even with tape.

Cassian and I just stared at the wreckage for a moment, neither of us speaking. Cassian was the one to break first.

"Shit."

I laughed, all the stress and ridiculousness of the past few hours disappearing along with our hopes of actually succeeding at our task. I leaned into Cassian, and a moment later, he joined me.

"Well, that didn't go like I was hoping," sighed Cassian. I laughed again.

"Really? That's not what you were going for?"

"Not quite."

We shared a smile, then slumped back together, Cassian's arm around my waist as I leaned into his chest. I sighed, staring at the ruins of the crib before us. Not a single part of me wanted to do something about fixing it.

"So... how about we call Mor and find a way to pass this on to her?"

I laughed, then nodded as I leaned even further into Cassian.

"Baby, I was thinking the same thing. You, me, and Az have had to tear our hair out over this thing already, I think it's her turn."

"And even better, if any of us has to call Amren in, it'll be Mor."

"Exactly."

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen @misshale21

Maasverse Taglist: @lilah-asteria

[daengtokki]

I'm not the last anon! But if you have some time, i'd like to request a ksm tooth aching fluff with the pregnant reader (in the deity universe) like how he deals with the momma at the hardest time of the pregnancy, but like a lil more detailed than the ones in the deity chapters, if u don't mind?

serial killer!Kim Seungmin x afab reader

wc: 1.3k

rating: fluff (contains: pregnancy, vomiting, mentions of murder/blood, psychosis)

comments: thank you anon! sorry this took so long to answer, but I’ve been a bit stuck lately. this little oneshot includes some fun things not yet mentioned in the story! I wrote two of these, so I may post the other as well!

[ ML— DEITY MASTERLIST AND TAGLIST]

TAGS: @kkamismom12/ @r0tt1n/ @heluvschibi / @feckinbecky / @missystay / @seungluvr / @babrieeee / @curiouscocoabean / @feelikecinderella / @carpioassists / @soulsbbg / @san-axa0 / @vixensss / @keiizzx / @xyliskz / @reignessance / @velvetmoonlght / @ghostedgameplays / @pochaccochacco / @lashaemorow / @eastjonowhere / @fackeraccount / @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna / @maddycline

Seungmin turns over and feels for you next to him. His eyes open slowly, and he sees the faintest sign of morning coming in through the space in the curtains. The sun reflects off the new glass vase, and specks of it shimmer against the wall. The light makes it look warm, but it’s still cold for April, and before he starts wondering where you’ve gone, he pulls the blanket up around his neck as a shiver runs down his arms. Sleep almost finds him again, but he hears something. Seungmin checks the time on his phone—6:20. You can’t possibly be up for the day, he thinks, even if you did fall asleep at nine last night.

He reluctantly throws off the blanket and sits up, but he gives himself a moment before moving again. The quality of his sleep is coming through in his swimming head, and his puffy eyes. It’s not your fault that you tend to wake every few hours, though. Your level of discomfort and his are on two completely different levels, and Seungmin wishes he could take some of yours for himself. He closes the gap in the curtain on his way out, because he fully intends to go right back to bed, and he knows you’ll be doing the same. First, he has to find you.

“Are you out here, love?”

The kitchen and living room are both empty and dark, but the bathroom light spills through the crack in the door. He hears the noise again—a stifled cough, this time followed by a louder one, and then what Seungmin thinks is a cry. He quickly fills a glass with water and heads toward the bathroom, knocking softly so he doesn’t startle you.

“Hey, you okay?” The look on your tear-streaked face says no, but you sniffle and nod anyway. “Sip some water.” He kneels down next to you and rubs your back.

“Did I wake you? I’m sorry, I know I’ve been keeping you up…”

“You’re allowed to keep me up. And wake me up if you need me. Does your stomach still hurt?”

You nod as you carefully sip the water, but you have a feeling it’s going to want to come right back up. The morning sickness (and afternoon and evening sickness) should be almost gone by now, but it’s hanging on. “Can I have your sweatshirt?”

He pulls it over his head and helps you into it, and you seem to relax as soon as you fold your covered arms around yourself. It’s still perfectly warm from his sleep, and it sinks right into you.

“Do you wanna try lying down…uhm, and I can get something for by the bed if you feel sick again?” Before you even answer, he tucks an arm around your legs and pulls you close. “I’ll find you some ginger candies, that should help a little. Maybe something fizzy.''

“Yeah…okay. I can stand.”

Seungmin holds tight to you anyway, and as soon as you’re on your feet, you have to close your eyes and find your balance. The room starts to spin, and clutching onto his arm just makes him worry even more. “Put your arms around my neck.” You do as he says this time, and he lifts you easily. “See? Much better.”

“It is”

“Once you’re back under the covers, you’ll feel better”

“And what if I puke all over you?”

He laughs, because he’s not prepared for that question or mental image. “I’ve had worse things splattered all over me.”

How could you forget how gruesome he can get? Probably because he looks at you the way he’s looking at you right now. You’ve witnessed his kills, both clean and messy, but all you really know about the in between is what he’s told you. And you were curious enough to ask not long after the last Uljin trip…

***

“Is it strange for me to ask what your messiest kill was?”

“Strange? Yes, but that is kind of our normal, right?”

Yes, strange is your baseline and part of the foundation of your relationship. If your life had been different, and if you weren’t already enamored with him and the attention he gave, you might have run from him without a second thought. Now you can’t imagine being without him. “It is.”

“Probably my first time. Surprising. First after my stepfather, at least. I was seventeen, and had no idea what I was getting myself into.”

You brace yourself for what has to be a very awkward, clumsy teenage Seungmin. But he smiles as he reflects on it.

“It was some college kid I picked up at a sports bar. I hadn’t figured out what quieted the noise in my head until after him, and it was amazing to discover that. But it took me hours to clean up my aunts basement. Luckily they both liked their sleeping pills and didn’t hear a thing. My knife skills have greatly improved since then.”

“So how did you learn how to dispose of them?”

“That came later. I got lucky with this one. There was an actual serial killer going after college-aged guys around the same time, and it got pinned on him when he was caught.”

“An actual serial killer?”

Seungmin laughs, “I was so stupid. I should have been caught a long time ago.”

“No. I needed to find you."

***

Seungmin sets you gently on the bed, and you watch as he searches the room…then he leaves and comes back, trash can in one hand, and a fistful of your ginger candies in the other.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, you can ask me anything.” He unwraps one of them and sets it against your lips until you open for him.

“I don’t know why I’m thinking about it right now, but when you say that killing quiets your mind…what do you mean? What exactly do you silence?”

It’s far from what he expected, so he has to think about it. He busies himself fluffing his pillow and getting comfortable under the blanket again. His legs find yours as he moves closer.

“Maybe we can talk about it tomorrow.”

“It’s a voice, sort of. Two voices sometimes, at the same time. But it’s hard to make out what they say. Sometimes it’s a hum, or a vibration that won’t stop…like ringing in your ears, but worse. And sometimes it’s a scratching sound, or an itch.” He grabs your hand and sets your palm flat against his ear. “The longer I wait, the louder it gets.”

“Do you hear it right now?”

“No. All quiet. Just us.”

“Will you tell me when it happens again?”

“When it starts?” He asks, closing the rest of the space between you.

“Yes, the minute it starts. So we can stop it.” Your body feels like it’s on autopilot as it sits up and turns away from him, but all you do over the edge of the bed is dry heave. His hands grab and steady you, and when you relax, they pull until you’re tucked against his chest.

“Don’t worry about me.” He whispers against your ear, kisses your neck. Your skin feels cold against his lips.

“Of course I will. You’re mine to worry about. I get to take care of you, too.”

Seungmin is quiet as he thinks. He is yours, and he’s a handful. “I’ll tell you.” He’s a lot to worry about.

“Good. And since you’re already back there…”

“Yeah?”

“Can you rub my back?”

[forsinnersandsaintsalike]

Hey! I didnt see any info about interacting so pls ignore!

If youre ever open up to it, how would the boys react to a sassy baddie flirty gf?

This is my first request I’m excited!! I hope this is good enough! And of course I’m open to requests MAKE MORE!!

With a sassy baddie flirty gf

Billy Loomis

Billy would be drawn to your confidence and sass, finding it both intriguing and a little challenging. He'd smirk when you flirt, but he'd also try to stay one step ahead of you. "You think you can out-flirt me? Cute."

Your playful attitude would keep Billy on his toes. He'd enjoy the back-and-forth, especially when you throw in witty comebacks.

"You've got a sharp tongue, don't you? Careful-you might just cut yourself."

If you flirt with others, even harmlessly, Billy's possessive streak would flare up. He'd be cold and calculating, making sure you remember who you belong to. "You enjoy making me jealous, don't you? Let's see how far you take it before I remind you who's in charge."

Deep down, Billy wouldn't admit how much your sass and boldness captivate him. He'd secretly love when you call him out or make him blush with your flirty comments.

"I'm not blushing. It's just warm in here."

Stu Macher

Stu would absolutely adore your sassy, baddie attitude. He'd hype you up constantly, playing along with your flirting and throwing it right back at you.

"Damn, babe, you're gonna make me faint with that look. Keep going!"

Stu would flirt back tenfold, turning every interaction into a playful battle of charm. He'd love when you tease him and wouldn't hesitate to up the ante.

"You're bold, but let's see if you can handle this level of irresistible."

He'd egg you on, laughing when you sass him or someone else. Stu would take pride in having such a confident, fiery girlfriend.

"That's my girl! Don't hold back— let 'em have it!"

If you flirt with others, he'd put on a dramatic, exaggerated display of jealousy to make you laugh, but there'd still be a hint of seriousness behind it.

"Whoa, babe, I thought I was the only one who got to hear those sweet lines! I'm wounded!"

Together:

Billy and Stu would love teaming up to match your energy. Your sass would push Billy to be sharper and more intense, while Stu would match your playfulness and keep things lighthearted.

Billy: "You're bold. Let's see if you can handle both of us."

Stu: "Oh, she totally can. But can we handle her?"

They'd adore how your confidence complements their own personalities. You'd become their partner-in-crime, figuratively and literally.

Billy: "You're dangerous. That's why I like you."

Stu: "We're unstoppable, babe. The world better watch out!"

Billy would admire your boldness but try to keep you grounded, while Stu would be your biggest cheerleader, hyping you up at every turn. Together, they'd be in awe of your fiery personality, finding it irresistible.

[angelsndragons]

what's happening, veilguard peeps? so i'm seeing more 'rook destroyed the statues and set the gods loose' discourse again. hey, it happens super quick in game, we miss stuff, things happen. in the interest of fairness (and having all the info in one place), i'm going to post my screenshots from multiple prologue runs under the cut so that we can track what's going on with the ritual when, okay?

tl;dr: no matter which way you slice it, solas comes out of the situation looking reckless, at best. let's get into it.

okay, so this first shot is right after rook and co get to the ritual site, when varric is walking towards solas. (and yes, all of these are raw screenshots)

i want y'all to keep track of that globe shape, that's the ritual array that solas built up before rook and co arrive. that globe seems to be a representation of the veil itself.

i also want you to notice that solas has not started cutting yet. this is important. solas does not begin the most delicate part of these proceedings until after varric confronts him, as demonstrated here (screenshot number 1 here is from rook's regret prison memory of the moment but it does in one screenie what the prologue takes two or three to do and as tumblr has an image limit, i'm using it):

okay, so by this point, solas has started cutting but the hole isn't wide enough to be spotted from rook's angle yet.

solas stops cutting and destroys bianca

then immediately goes back to cutting (well, he starts with a stab but it's the same thing in the end)

above is a good shot at the cut he's already made.

so he's making a second one after destroying bianca and connects them together.

over at rook's new angle, we can see the cut and the still intact globe.

anywho, when the player regains control of rook, solas has stopped cutting again (for the moment) in favor of arguing with varric. you can zoom in on the models in photo mode and see that solas is facing varric while rook's eye line isn't blocked by the environment.

at some point while rook and their companion are trying their damnedest to not die from raw magic and crumbling architecture, we see that solas has gone back to cutting:

now, solas has no way of knowing that rook is scurrying about, though he honestly should expect it given he later says he tracked down rook's information when they joined up with varric (unless he's lying and he pulled that info from rook's mind after this incident but hey, no evidence in either direction, really, you make the call). the only person he can account for right now is varric, when varric is right now known for traveling with harding and rook. that's two missing people, minimum. varric alone stands before him, is notably pleading with him to stop as solas continues to go back and cut deeper into the globe.

okay, here come the blink and you'll miss 'em parts. the statue starts falling:

solas clocks it a second too late:

and is, well, not doing great when that statue knocks over its neighbor:

before we go further, i just want it noted that while things are moving fast, the globe is still intact. one focus has been down/off kilter for several seconds, another is being knocked down, and a third will soon join it, but the globe ritual remains intact thus far.

edgar's statue comes falling down:

solas stops what he's doing and catches it, globe still intact (it's the gold streak on the left):

rook's angle here isn't helpful in the slightest but i thought i would show it anyway:

solas throws and releases the statue (honestly, dude has decent aim, he almost takes out rook inadvertently):

and then what does solas do? he goes right back to cutting. this is probably the most important set of shots here. solas, either through recklessness, overconfidence, desperation, whatever, feels like he can (or has to) keep going:

again, once the statues are destroyed, solas keeps going. it sure doesn't look like he's trying to stop a metaphorical runaway train here.

and that's when varric intervenes:

so, okay, real quick, i wanna point out the light blue particle effect. this effect has been active since solas started that second cut however it notably vanished when he was catching the statues. that effect looks similar to the effect we see when ghilly dies. not exact but close. and we know that her death weakened the veil significantly and could have brought it down completely if rook hadn't removed the dagger from her body. solas is 100% working on the veil here.

below, i want to draw your attention to the upper right corner (this is the best angle rook gets on the globe here, since their focus is now on varric and solas):

the globe is still here.

and then solas stabs varric and we get these shots immediately after:

the globe is out of focus so it's hard to tell whether it is dissipating at this angle but again, it's still there a few minutes after rook knocks the statues over. also the particle effect has transferred to varric and has become bigger and wilder. also note how much bigger the hole is getting and how quickly.

now, rook, understandably, loses track of the globe and the ritual after this. thus, so do we the audience. our focus is on varric:

yeah, tell me that ain't a similar effect to ghilly dying, right down to the wind that's shoving rook back.

things move quickly again. what stops the effect is varric pulling the dagger out of his body but the devs were clever with their cuts so we don't get a clear shot of varric after rook's seen the dagger in him. instead, the game makes you the player to start losing track of what happened because they give us this:

globe's all but dissipated, the hole has grown enormous, and, oh yeah, there's ghilly stepping out.

rook gets tossed into the wall just to make triply sure you're paying attention to that and not the fact that varric just got stabbed and there's a bit of missing time.

anyway, that's the end of my powerpoint presentation. in conclusion, rook dislodging ghilly's statue and edgar's falling on solas does not appear to be the catalyst for the ritual going wild, though it certainly doesn't help the later situation when varric is stabbed. i do believe solas when he says he wanted to move the gods to another prison but make no mistake, he was cutting into the veil and bringing it down to do it. like a lot of solas' mistakes, he seems to have had opportunities to back off or stop but he didn't take them. the man seems to have rushed the cutting because he knows that varric might actually be able to talk him out of it. he didn't account for the other two people he knows varric travels with and all of it came together to bite him (and rook, and varric, and the world) in the ass.

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

I fucking called it, like I know it's not a hard thing to guess that it's quuin, but I fucking called it. And his fuck ass pick up truck.

Glad sam is mote or less ok, the fact that he walked away from a crash like that is fucking crazy and is so unnerving. Like glad he's ok but him being from what I've seen the least injured is odd.

Speaking of injuries, what's up with FL they didn't make an appearance in this chapter, I assume they are alive and just sleeping the crash off somewhere, preferably in gavins arms arms and calums in theirs. Like bestie, you went and saved the day pretty much and then hit the ground.

Idk why I'm stressen about kody being at the hospital. Bc of course while all this shit is happening his creepy ass would show up.

The Possibility that Vincent could come out of this not being able to do a job he seems to care about is so disheartening. And idk about you but if I was lovely in this situation, while I would try my hardest, I would most definitely have at least a tiny bit of blame at darlin. Bc fuck man if your phycotic ex is the reason my boyfriend can't talk anymore I'd be pretty upset.

Tank knowing themselves well enough to know that they will do something stupid if they leave feels like such character growth even from just the first few chapters and it's so nice to see written on paper so to speak. But but they are walking to SHs room do they find out about thier name being carvered into them(that shit still pisses me off(not at you but quuin) bc what the fuck do you mean that went through your mind)

Anyways,

Love your writing as always,

-River

You did indeed!! Yeah it was a pretty quick mystery but maybe I caught Somebody out there off guard!!

It is crazy! He's continuing his streak of being kind of lucky when it comes to serious car accidents. He for sure should have died in his first one and should have been way more injured in this one. Everybody got really lucky in this crash.

FL has a pretty serious concussion. It was mentioned early in the chapter, a throw away line from Darlin's narrative. They're very focused on Quinn in this chapter, so the details of everybody's condition that isn't noted by other characters are pretty sparse. They are for sure curled up and surrounded by the DAMN Crew! We will hear more from them later on!!

Kody is for sure not in this hospital! He got pretty heavily penalized from the medical school he and Freelancer were attending after they disclosed, and he moved to McKinley to escape his reputation. He's in his second year of medical school.

It would be absolutely devastating to him if he couldn't be a paramedic anymore. His recovery from his first TBI was absolutely soul crushing and terrible. I truly didn't think he'd get better. The prospect of having to do it again is terrifying. And Lovely is for sure freaking out a little bit, but they haven't been made aware of the entire Quinn situation. The crew is keeping it pretty close to the chest, and Darlin hadn't let anybody know it was Quinn until they were in the waiting room. They are for sure pissed off at whoever hit the ambulance, they just don't know where to direct that.

Yes!!! It's a huge amount of growth. The Darlin' from several chapters ago who met Quinn in Max's is gone. This Darlin' isn't interested in going out fighting anymore. And who knows what they'll discover or discuss in the next chapter!! Could be crazy!!

And actually, I had originally planned for Quinn to carve a series of Q's into them just like with Ben, but I thought this was more evil! I do love to torture everybody involved!!

Thank you for reading!! Can't wait to post more!!

[nearer-than-the-eye]

LITTLE SAINT

listen Ahi giustizia di Dio! tante chi stipa nove travaglie e pene quant’ io viddi? e perché nostra colpa sì ne scipa?

"Ah, Justice of God, who heaps up such strange punishment and pain as I saw there? and why do our sins so waste us?" For Santino D'Antonio: John Wick's bitter ex, my most beloved villain, and whose name means sacred or little saint.

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John Wick 2 may have come out nearly a decade ago, but being a Santino girl is a chronic condition. Cover and track list images are details from Caravaggio's Bacchus, and the epigraph is from Canto VIII of Inferno, translated by Robert and Jean Hollander.

Some extended thoughts about my process and choice of epigraph and cover under the read more!

This playlist mostly started because I was listening to "Young Caesar 2000," said to myself, wow, this would be a great Santino song, and put it alone on a new playlist. From there, for about a year, I'd throw on anything that particularly reminded me of Santino, songs that felt, not like they described him, but that they might narrate part of his inner monologue and feeling. Some John/Santino vibes starting slipping in there (almost inevitably), but I knew I wanted to keep things really closely tied to how Santino understands himself. I narrowed things down, did some ordering for the overall arc and (hopefully) smooth transitions, and here we are!

Essential to my understanding of Santino (and thus this playlist's formation) is NeverwinterThistle's Unholy Union and asuralucier's The Man You Want to Be, both of which you should absolutely run, not walk, to read.

I'll let the tracklist mostly speak for itself, but I hopefully captured Santino's arrogance and the fundamental emptiness and deep insecurity that arrogance covers. I really do think John is something real and true for Santino, in a world full of posturing, but he eventually cannot resist instrumentalizing John, just like everyone else. JW 2 is one of the JW movies most pessimistic about masculinity (if not THE most pessimistic), and the arc of this playlist would certainly be very different without Mitksi's "I'm Your Man." Which is Mitski's most pessimistic song about masculinity! So it all works out.

The title -- The fact that Santino's name means "little saint" has fascinated me since my first cursory google search that delivered this factoid, and I've always kept it in my back pocket when thinking about Santino as a character. He's always the little brother. His petulance and pettiness is so essential to his character, and it's, of course, what makes him such a great foil to John (who imagines himself as a rational actor, but has his matching streak of the petulance). Santino inherits all this splendor, and all he can do is try and claw out more and more. A petty saint, and certainly never a god.

Why Bacchus? -- Well, I was trying to get a good film still for the cover and eventually gave up, so then I went to go find something appropriately aesthetic for a playlist cover. I was going to do a Dutch Golden Age still life bc that's what I'm writing about rn and lushness (and rot) is so essential to Santino, but then I was like. this guy is Italian. SUPER Italian. Who's an Italian with dramatic shadows and lush still lifes? And thus Caravaggio. Bacchus because revelry, excess, beauty, ect....also the invitation of the painting--he's holding out the goblet to you, asking you to join him. But mostly because it's beautiful.

Why Dante? -- I KNEW this bitch had to have an epigraph from Inferno once I realized this was going to be a real playlist. I mean, speaking of pessimism! The Divine Comedy feels so crazy to read as a modern reader bc it's like. yeah all this suffering is God's perfect justice. That guy eating his own shit is part of the divine plan. Which, to me, lines up really well with my read on masculinity in the JW movies--perfect, unchangeable, and committing you to endless suffering.

Alright, let's really get into it. This tercet ("Ah, Justice of God, who heaps up / such strange punishment and pain as I saw there? / and why do our sins so waste us?") come early in Canto 7, as Virgil and Dante (our POV character and protagonist) leave the third circle of Hell, Gluttony, and enter the fourth circle, Avarice and Prodigality ("Why do you squander...Why do you hoard" is probably the most famous quote from this circle). If Santino was to end up anywhere, it would be in one of those two circles, so I enjoy that this is the point in the text Dante asks these two questions!

Speaking of: despite God's perfection, Dante sure loves to question what he sees in hell and then...not resolve those questions in any way. It's interesting to see that "who heaps up / such strange punishment and pain as I saw there?" is a question addressed to the "Justice of God" when. well. the Justice of God is the thing heaping up these strange punishments and pain!

Dante seems unaware of the paradox, here, which has a real resonance for me in the way Santino is just like, well, I HAVE to blow up your house, John! I HAVE to put out a hit on you after you fulfill the marker, John! But to point to the times he acted out of compassion (not calling in John's marker during his retirement) would completely undermine that logic. It says "there are some things more important than power," but if Santino acknowledged that, then he wouldn't be able kill his sister.

Dante can't walk through hell and say with his whole chest, "I don't think it should be like this, actually" and still trust and love God, so he doesn't. Santino can't believe "more power will make me more happy, our culture says so," and also consciously acknowledge that it's the culture under the Table (and his father!!! his god!!!) that has pitted him against his sister his whole life, that has instilled in him values that ultimately leave him empty. So he doesn't! And he dies trapped in that paradox.

And then that second question. "And why do our sins so waste us?" UGH. ugh. Dante. You fucking hit me hard with this one. This is the line that made me choose this tercet. There's so much to Santino, so much beauty, so much divinity--but our sins waste us. All that power is used only in pursuit of more power, and, in the end, he's destroyed by that pursuit. The first two lines of the tercet key into culture and the way we contort our selves to fit into culture, but this last line is just an exclamation of the tragedy. Why? we ask, and nobody answers.

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

D&D

Pairing: Dalton Kincaid x Rockstar!Readet, Dawson Knox x Rockstar!Reader

Summary: Being Tom Brady’s daughter has always put her in the spotlight, but now, she’s at the center of the NFL’s biggest off-field rivalry. After a viral video of her, Dalton Kincaid, and Dawson Knox filming a Super Bowl promo sparks dating rumors, things escalate when she’s spotted on a romantic night out with Dalton. The internet goes wild, and the Bills locker room isn’t far behind—players roast Dalton while Dawson Knox refuses to back down, playfully declaring he’s still in the race.

A week after he appearance on Dudes on Dudes, the internet explodes again—this time over a video that goes viral of her, Dalton Kincaid, and Dawson Knox filming promo for her Super Bowl Halftime performance. In the clip, she’s effortlessly charismatic, laughing and playfully nudging both tight ends, and the chemistry is impossible to ignore. The way she interacts with both of them has people buzzing—flirty glances, inside jokes, lingering touches.

At one point, Dawson jokingly throws his arm around her shoulder, calling her "the real MVP," while Dalton smirks and quips, "Careful, Knox, she might have higher standards than that." She laughs, pushing them both playfully before shooting the camera a knowing look. The moment sends the internet into a frenzy.

It doesn’t take long for fans to start speculating: Is she dating one of them? Both?

The rumors hit a fever pitch when she’s seen out on a date with Dalton Kincaid a week later. Paparazzi snap pictures of them leaving a high-end steakhouse, her laughing at something he says as he opens the car door for her. Inside sources leak details—he had flowers waiting at the table, they shared a bottle of wine, and lingered long after dessert, lost in conversation.

During the date, Dalton leans back in his chair, swirling the last sip of wine in his glass. "You know, I've been getting texts all week from guys around the league asking how I pulled this off."

She smirks, resting her chin on her hand. "And what do you tell them?"

"I just say, 'She likes winners,'" he teases, grinning.

She rolls her eyes but laughs. "Oh, so that’s the game plan? Win, and I’m automatically interested?"

Dalton leans in slightly, voice lower. "Well, it certainly doesn’t hurt."

She raises her eyebrow, playing along. "Good to know. Guess we’ll see if you can keep up that win streak."

Meanwhile, in the Bills locker room, the moment the pictures hit the internet, the roasting begins. Josh Allen holds up his phone, showing one of the paparazzi shots. "Kincaid, you smooth bastard. Flowers, wine? Man went all in."

"I respect the effort, but the real question is—does he have the stamina to keep up?" another player jokes, causing the whole locker room to erupt in laughter.

Dalton groans, shaking his head as he ties his cleats. "You guys act like I proposed or something. It was one date."

Dawson Knox smirks from across the room, tossing a towel over his shoulder. "Yeah, yeah. Just know, I’m still in the race."

"Oh, you think so?" Dalton fires back.

"Oh, I know so," Dawson grins. "She hasn’t shut the door on me yet."

The entire locker room breaks out into cheers, turning the love triangle into a full-on NFL-wide spectacle. And the internet? It's eating up every second of it. 

Meanwhile, in a post-game interview, Dawson is asked about the viral pictures. He grins, shaking his head. "I mean, I thought we had something special, but I guess Dalton had the better game plan. No hard feelings—yet."

Dalton, on the other hand, is caught off guard when he's asked about the viral moment in his own press conference. He chuckles, running a hand through his hair. "Look, we had a great time. She's an incredible person, and, uh... yeah, I'm just trying to play it cool before I get absolutely roasted by my teammates. But hey, may the best man win, right?"

The internet goes wild. Memes flood in. Fans pick sides. Suddenly, #TeamDalton vs. #TeamDawson becomes an ongoing NFL side plot.

And she’s just sitting back, watching it all unfold, perfectly aware that she holds all the power.