#fic: driving through tunnels

[astramachina]

man. you ever write a single line that carries so many meanings and each one differs depending on how you perceive these characters' relationship and you have to fight yourself to not over-explain it otherwise it loses the impact like. i gotta trust my readers I GOTTA TRUST MY READERS

[simpforboys]

sweethearts nite

drew starkey x fem!youtuber!reader

summary: drew takes his girlfriend to Disneyland’s ‘Sweethearts Nite’

warnings: swearing, a bunchhhhh of fluff!!

first fic of 2024!! many more to come this wonderful year <3

happy valentine’s day to all of my valentines!!

“hello beautiful friends! welcome back, or welcome, to my channel. my name is y/n and today i’m bringing you along to mine and my boyfriend’s date night!”

as you finished your introduction, you cut the camera off as you relished in the feeling of Drew’s hand placed on your upper thigh. his left hand gripped firmly on the wheel, you were playing music off of your phone.

Drew had gotten used to your filming, knowing that you upload videos every other day. considering he also made a living from filming, he understood the schedule perfectly.

it was one of the reasons your relationship was perfect. the understanding of each other’s schedules and patience when something doesn’t go as planned.

you recently just hit around four million subscribers, and due to so many people witnessing your life weekly, you and drew both valued your privacy deeply.

but since you’ve been doing youtube for three years, you’ve gotten comfortable about the thin line between privacy and reality.

“for some of you new friends, this is my boyfriend, drew.” you stated, turning the camera back on as you panned it over to drew driving.

“hey guys.” he smiled, briefly turning to wave before continuing to focus his attention on the road.

within twenty more minutes drew pulled into the mickey and friends parking lot. you were buzzing with excitement as you stepped out of the car, making sure to grab your purse and accessories.

as you went around the car you saw drew pulling up his black dickies, the waistband of his tommy hilfiger briefs exposed.

you playfully hooked your finger in his waistband, letting the material slap gently against his v line as he smirked down at you.

“really, baby?”

“are these the ones i got you?”

“i think so.”

you slipped your bag on over your shoulder as drew took your hand in his, beginning to walk towards the escalators.

you grabbed the camera, recording your shoes standing next to each other. you panned it up to drew, surprised to see him making a goofy face (which made you snort into the camera).

➽───────────────────❥

“we’re here!” you announced to your camera as the two of you approached the front gate. the february sun was minutes from setting as stars peeked out from the clouds.

you filmed drew scanning your tickets, thanking the lady before walking past the turnstile. a wide smile was on your face as the train station in front of you was covered in pink lights.

“i think we need to grab these lanyards and wristbands.” drew said, placing his large hand firmly on your waist as he guided you over to where workers were passing things out.

luckily, it was a tuesday night so it wasn’t as crowded as it could have been. the time on your watch read 6:18 in the evening.

you thanked the workers as you slipped on your lanyard, turning the camera towards you. drew was used to you vlogging in crowded places, and with the use of his height, he continued to guide you through the tunnel.

your back as firmly placed against his chest, his hands on your waist as you happily talked to the camera. it was a routine every time you vlogged, one that gave you butterflies every time he did it.

because as you’ve never asked him to help keep you protected, he just took it upon himself to hold and guide you so you can do your thing. it was one of the things you loved most about him.

as the crowd started to fizzle out as people ventured further into the park, drew moved to the left side of you as you filmed the courtyard in the middle of the entrance.

“the hearts are so pretty.” you awed, the pink, red, and purple lights brightening the buildings of mainstreet right behind.

you hadn’t realized drew stopped walking with you until you were a few feet ahead and set down the camera. when you turned around, a shy smile twisted its way onto your lips when you saw your boyfriend taking photos of you.

“why are you taking pics of me?” you asked shyly, leaning up to press a kiss to his jaw. he wrapped his arms around you, beginning to walk with your body trapped to his.

“because you’re my girl and i love having photos of my girl.”

you grinned at his words, your pupils dilated as you stared up lovingly at him. anyone who was watching the two of you would’ve noticed the look in your eyes.

drew pulled his phone out again, turning the two of you around so your back was to his chest. he held the camera up as he snapped selfies of the two of you, wanting to save the memory.

“do you want me to take photos of you?” a woman asked, noticing drew’s selfies.

“yes please,” you grinned. you handed the woman your own phone, tucking your camera away as you cuddled next to your man.

happy smiles were plastered on both your faces as you posted, a genuine grin on your face when Drew placed a loving kiss on your temple.

“thank you.” Drew smiled to the lady, taking your phone back and as you and him scrolled through the photos.

“you’re so cute.” you grinned up at him, kissing the bottom of his cheek as he smirked slightly.

➽───────────────────❥

as the night went on, you and Drew went on rides, ate some speciality food, and shopped.

“i’m sooooo full…. holy shit is that the valentine’s day bakery?” you gasped, breaking into a soft jog with Drew playfully rolling his eyes behind you.

his bank account was definitely taking a hit for the night, but he knew he would make the money back, but he couldn’t make memories like this with you after tonight.

so, he sucked down the guilt as he paid for a festive churro for you. you kissed him softly as a thank you, walking over to a table to set up your small tripod.

when the camera was rolling, you gave Drew one half of the churro. “okay, taste test time.”

Drew was staring down at you with an adoring look on his face, ready to take a bite. you both put the cinnamon-y sweet in your mouth, your eyes rolling back slightly from how delicious it was.

“this is the best churro i’ve ever had.” you tell the camera, showing off the decorated churro.

(unbeknownst to you at the time, you hadn’t realized how much love Drew was staring at you with until you saw the comments moments after the video published)

“what do you think, baby?” you ask Drew, turning to him as he nods his head.

“it’s good. little too sweet for me, but it’s good.” he tells you, copying your actions and showing off his half of the churro.

“holy fucking shit- are you Drew Starkey and Y/n L/n?” a teenage girl ran over, her phone out and ready for pictures.

you and Drew smiled at her, the camera still rolling. “hi, yeah we are. it’s so nice to meet you.”

you hugged the girl, feeling her squeeze you tightly as she then turned to Drew and hugged him.

“can i get a photo? you two are like my bi panic couple.” the girl overshares, clearly very excited.

you laugh softly at her words as Drew looks confused, but doesn’t let it effect him too much as he bends down for the photo.

the camera snaps and the girl thanks you both one more time before leaving.

“what the hell is bi panic?” Drew asks, making you giggle at his question.

➽───────────────────❥

as you two walked over to Pirates of the Caribbean and Haunted Mansion, a couple of people stopped and asked you and drew, you or drew, to take photos with them.

it made both of you happy to see your supporters and especially how nice everyone was.

a yawn escaped your mouth as you stood inside the line for Pirates, the smell of the water filling your nostrils.

“we need to get a candle of this scent.” you tell your boyfriend, leaning against the railing to rest your feet.

Drew can’t help but smile and shake his head at your comment. “you want a candle of everything.”

“hey, i love candles! what’s wrong with that?” you tease, feeling as he wraps his strong arm around your waist to pull you into his chest.

he placed a soft kiss on your temple, your cold skin against his warm one.

“you’re so pretty.” he murmurs softly in your hair, continuing to press kisses on your head.

“says you.” you murmur back, kissing his lips in return.

[murdrdocs]

she’s driving me crazy

description. STILES STILINSKI finally gets another chance with you, and he won’t take it for granted

includes. SMUT 18+, riding, car sex, fem!reader, protective p n v, lots of making out, loser!stiles, awkward stiles, bi!stiles, exes getting back together, slightly manipulative reader, reader has easily malleable hair, reader wears makeup, drinking (but no drunk intercourse), bickering, scott guest appearance

wc. 6k+

a/n: long awaited stiles fic. bestie boo this one's for u. title from confidence by ocean alley. art credits unknown.

Stiles knows he fucked up. 

He had you, after almost a full year of tortuous pining, and he let you slip through his hands. All of it, your relationship with Stiles, really didn’t last more than two months. Two months where date nights were rain checked and eventually canceled. Sleepovers were lackluster, and nothing more than a movie playing in the back while Stiles worked over something that wouldn’t rest in his brain, leaving you alone in the center of his unmade bed. Promises were made, and never kept. It was a mess, a horrible, murky mess of Stiles’ own creation. 

He knows this. But he still allows himself to mourn what could have been. He grieves what was. All while nursing a warm beer that doesn’t sit well in his stomach, mostly because of the sight he has been doomed to acknowledge—also his own doing as he could definitely turn his gaze elsewhere. 

You’re tucked under the arm of some guy who looks nothing like Stiles, and he doesn’t know if that makes him feel better or worse. Is that your dream guy? Or are you forcing yourself to branch out and try something that wasn’t him? He tries to resist the spiral that sends him on, and is only able to start crawling out of the self-deprecating and insecurity tunnel through Scott’s voice beside him. 

“What’re you staring at?” 

Scott reeks of alcohol and fruit-flavored syrup. If he wasn’t a werewolf, Stiles knows his best friend would be unable to stand straight by now. But Scott stands like his usual self next to Stiles, a big grin on his face probably from the attention he’s been getting from Kira. (It was sickening for Stiles to watch but he forced himself to be happy for the strong relationship his best friend has.)

Stiles’ immediate instinct is to lie. “Nothing.” He says it a little too fast. He tries to cover his slip up by taking a sip of his beer, but the flavor is unappealing to the point where the face of disgust he presents makes him look more guilty than he really is. 

Scott stares at Stiles, waiting. Stiles knows he won’t lie to Scott, not about something this small anyway, and it is only a matter of a few seconds before Stiles sighs. 

“Look,” he points at you and your suitor. “Don’t you think he’s making her uncomfortable? Look at that. He’s all over her. Probably reeks of Axe body spray.”

It’s then that the guy cracks another joke, your head throwing back in laughter just before you rest your ear against his chest. It’s so affectionate. As if you’ve known this guy for years, and not just mere minutes. 

Stiles flicks his eyes over to Scott, expecting to see his best friend analyzing the situation with at least a small amount of attention that Stiles is. Instead, Scott is looking over at Stiles, wearing what Stiles can only describe as a knowing smirk on his lips. 

Stiles steps back, a little bewildered. “What?” 

Scott, annoyingly, shrugs. He sips his drink, one he has solely for taste as Stiles knows, and only responds once he’s taken a long, slow swallow. 

“She seems fine to me. I thought you guys were broken up anyway.” 

“We are!” 

“Then why do you care so much?” 

Stiles can’t help but petulantly roll his eyes. He turns to face you and your human shaped bag of bricks once again, gesturing for Scott to do the same. His mouth opens, lips parted and tongue ready to spew out the analytics he’d been gathering this entire time in lieu of an excuse. 

Then Scott interrupts. 

“Do you want me to see what’s going on?” Scott throws a finger up towards his ear, one eyebrow lifted as he waits for Stiles to gather the implications and then make a decision. 

It takes Stiles longer to complete the latter than the former. 

He waits, thinks, looks at you and the guy. And then remembers the strict ‘no listening’ rule you all have set in place, the one he most definitely won’t betray in the name of jealousy, even if you aren’t particularly aware of all of the intricacies. 

When he sighs, it’s defeated and with his entire body. He knows he’s pouting, he assumes he resembles his teenage self—mopey and brooding. He doesn’t mean to speak through gritted teeth, but he ends up doing it anyway. 

“No. She’s probably … fine. I guess.” It hurts to admit, deep in Stiles' jealousy-filled gut. Scott’s way of comforting him is by clapping a hand on his shoulder, and telling him that you’re a grown adult who is allowed to make her own decisions, the same as him. 

Scott’s intentions aren’t understood until he points at someone in the opposite direction of you. A guy who, from the looks of it, has been eyeing Stiles for a while. He’s Stiles’ type. Exactly his type, actually, and Scott knows this. 

“Instead of sulking around …” Scott doesn’t need to finish his sentence in order for Stiles to understand. He only lingers for a few seconds, and then is pulled back towards the larger group by Kira’s eyes and grin. 

The guy on the other side of the bar is still watching Stiles. He’s smiling a small but confident smile, like he knows Stiles wants him as much as he wants Stiles. He tilts his head in a beckon, and Stiles is close to letting the guy pull him over there. Until he sees you step away from the man, smile dismissively up to him, and start towards Stiles instead. 

Instantly, it’s like a flip has been switched. 

He starts to feel the effects of the alcohol, even though he’d been nursing the same bottle the entire night. Still, he chooses to attribute the buzz flowing throughout his body to the overpriced beer and not excitement of finally having your attention. 

He watches your path, trying not to feel too disappointed as he takes notice of the way you’re struggling to walk in a straight line. 

You fall into his arms in a fit of giggles. Your head resting on his chest, your hands circling around his back. 

“Stiles,” you sing, long and drawn out and definitely drunk.  

He repeats your name in the same tune, placing his drink onto a tabletop next to him and abandoning it for good. Keeping you away from self destruction is his new main priority. 

You slump against him even more, turning yourself around and leaning back against his body. Your position leaves Stiles with nothing else to do other than stand stiffly. He knows that if you were sober, you wouldn’t be nearly as affectionate as you are now. He ignores the way your ass brushes against his crotch. He ignores the smell of your perfume wafting up to him, a scent he had the privilege of seeing you apply a few times before when you were dating. (The image of you getting ready for the day, lathering yourself in the oils and lotions and scents that worked to create your unique scent will never leave his brain, for better or for worse.)

He does his best to remain unaffected, but then you tilt your head up, the crown of your hair rubbing against Stiles’ shirt as you look at him. As soon as he glances down, he sees you pouting, clearly over exaggerated but it’s a look he, pathetically, will never be able to resist. 

“Why won’t you touch me?” You manage to sound pitiful, as if you had lost every single thing you hold dear to your heart in the last couple of minutes. 

In his response, he tries to remain neutral. Drunk or not, you know the game you’re playing, and Stiles foolishly believes that his knowledge of the ploy makes him insusceptible. 

“Because you’re drunk,” he platonically rests his hands on your shoulders and encourages you off of him. “And we aren’t together anymore.” 

You turn around to face him, grinning up at him like the cat with the canary as you tell him, “it didn’t stop us last time, right?”

That, and the way you almost throw yourself at some guy walking past, is enough reason for Stiles to link his hand in yours and pull you towards the others. Scott stares down at your interlinked palms for only a moment before Stiles explains his plan, which entails getting you back to your apartment before you do something you could regret. 

This isn’t an excuse for Stiles to continue hanging out with you. He makes sure he clarifies that to himself and his best friend before he’s pulling you out of the bar and towards his Jeep.

You’re both less than ten steps away from the entrance to the bar when you suddenly have your lips pressed to Stiles’. 

There is a moment where Stiles fails to resist. Where he reciprocates quicker than his brain can realize, acting on pure instinct and muscle memory instead of logic. He is unable to stop himself from getting comfortable, from linking this kiss to the last one he’d received from you. Hotter and messier than this one. (Lost in his appreciation to finally be kissing you again, Stiles fails to notice how you don’t taste like alcohol at all)

Only a few more seconds pass before Stiles reminds himself that you’re drunk, and that this is wrong. When he pulls away from your lips—regretfully, that is—he’s tempted into staying by the slight stickiness of your lipgloss and the almost-disgusting string of saliva that briefly keeps you two sewn together. 

You try to lean back in, but Stiles stops you with his hands on your shoulders. 

“You’re drunk,” he reminds you. 

You’re fixing him with a look, one that feels strong and weirdly sober. His suspicions have more proof to back them up when you say his name with the same matter-of-fact tone he had just used on you. 

“I’m not drunk.” 

He scrunches his eyebrows together, the muscles in his face mimicking the movement as well. His lips part as he nonverbally exclaims his confusion. He lifts one of his hands from your shoulder to hook his thumb towards the bar entrance. He looks around, for nothing or no one in particular, but as if the night will have an explanation that you would surely be willing to provide if he asks. 

He didn’t even need to ask before you provide an explanation. It’s cut and dry, matter-of-fact, spoken like it is the most casual thing in the world. 

“I faked being drunk so you could take me home.” 

Stiles knows what you mean. He’s not dumb. But he surely does feel it when he says, “If you didn’t feel well you could’ve just told Lydia. She would’ve taken you back to yours.” 

You roll your eyes. “If you don’t wanna sleep with me, that’s fine. Just let me know before I waste my time.” 

Stiles should stand up for himself. He should reprimand your attitude, and exclaim how unnecessary it was. Instead, he flounders and almost falls to your feet with the speed he clarifies himself. 

“No. I do wanna sleep with you. Like, really bad. But … um … well,” you lift your eyebrows and Stiles clears his throat. “How many fingers am I holding up.” 

“Jesus, fuck, Stiles.” He continues holding up his first three fingers on his right hand until you answer. “Three.” 

You lean in but Stiles takes a step back. And then another. And then another, until he’s standing against the wall of the bar and you’re standing at the edge of the sidewalk. 

“Walk in a straight line towards me.” 

You don’t seem happy about it, but you place one foot in front of the other over and over again until you’re in front of Stiles. Nothing more has to be said before Stiles places his hands on your hips, pulls you flush to him, and finally allows himself to kiss you. 

It’s been a while since Stiles had the privilege of kissing you. The last time, just a month ago, didn’t count in his mind. Sure, he remembered nearly every detail, but your shared inebriated state at the time overruled any legitimacy the encounter could have held. Now, it only acts as a reminder and motivator for Stiles to enjoy every moment of this that he can. 

Eventually, it would be smart, and preferable, to leave the outside of the bar and actually take you home where you two could be alone. But for now, Stiles presses his hands into the middle of your back as a way to pull you as close to him as possible. He has his legs spread, creating space for your limbs to stagger. Your hands rest on his shoulders, then at the back of his neck, then in his hair. Both of you are attempting to get as close to the other as possible, all while engaging in the sloppiest kiss you’ve ever had. You both kissed cleaner when you were drunk. 

Now, outside this bar with your closest friends inside, and with nothing but the night (and the bouncer) as witness, you submit to the other. There is a level of appreciation in the way your lips slide together. There is a level of gratitude in the presses of your tongues against each other. There is an exorbitant amount of longing that is solved each time you jerk your hips into Stiles and each time he reciprocates. 

You thread your hands through Stiles’ hair the same time that he slides his hands down to your ass and squeezes, pulling you as close to him as possible and rubbing his thigh against the center seam of your jeans. You both groan into each other's mouths—Stiles from the way you tug just right on his hair, and you from the feeling of his leg between yours. 

Sensing—knowing that he did something right, something good, Stiles does it again. And again. And again. The steady slide of his thigh between your legs does the job. You let your head fall, leaning the top of it against Stiles’ chest just right under his sternum. 

The sound of you moaning Stiles’ name goes straight to his dick, with a few remnants traveling to his head, leaving him dizzy and with a steady growing semi. His actions make you grip his hair stronger. His actions indirectly cause pleasure for him, too. 

It all disappears when the sound of spitting—loud and boisterous, almost cartoonish—breaks up the moment. Stiles stops his movements. He lays his hands flat on the back pockets of your jeans as he turns his head to the side. 

The eyes of the bouncer meet Stiles and Stiles’ ears burn. 

While the bouncer doesn’t say anything to him, Stiles knows the message he’s trying to communicate. 

Get the fuck out of here. 

Stiles is forced to push you back by hooking his fingers in your belt loops. He’s still touching you, at least an extension of you, but then your hands drop to your sides and Stiles can feel his body crying out for you. The same way his body calls out for vital needs—food, water, sleep, entertainment. He squashes his emotions for a second, plasters on a—truthfully sympathetic—face, one that comes off more as a tight lipped smile than anything else. 

“Sorry, man. You — uh. You have a goodnight.” He throws a hand up to the bouncer, hoping it is received as friendly. When the bouncer returns the gesture, still with that same look in his eyes, Stiles heads down the street and pulls you with him. 

The walk to the car is tortuous. His boner keeps rubbing against his jeans, leaving him to stop every few paces, face away from the street, and try to adjust himself. After the third time, you were voicing your frustration, claiming that it was taking forever to reach the car because of Stiles’ worry about who could see his erection. He tries things your way, ignoring the way his dick calls for his attention and instead focusing all of his attention on you. 

The way your hips sway in your tight jeans. The way the wind blows your perfume to him and lifts the edge of your shirt in one, giving Stiles a peek of your skin. It’s such a small look, nothing more than a glimpse, and Stiles feels like a Victorian man the way he’s having to bite his fist at the next crosswalk to avoid groaning. The street lights illuminate your face in just the right ways, highlighting your makeup in an unnaturally ethereal way. Everything about you is driving Stiles crazy. There’s no way he’s going to make it to your house. If he doesn’t get to his car soon, he might pull you into the next bar bathroom that he could find just for a semblance of privacy. 

If he could just get to his Jeep. 

It’s then that Stiles realizes he’s been walking for far too long. He stops in the center of the sidewalk. You stop right beside him. 

Stiles doesn’t say anything as he turns around and leads you three blocks down the street, one street over, and then into the parking garage elevator. 

The way you’re grinning at him alerts Stiles of the words soon to come out of your mouth, definitely words that would be at his expense. He stops you while you’re ahead. 

It’s nice to have the position switched. Your back against the wall instead of his. His hands are still on your hips, but he uses them to push you into the metal instead of pulling you into him. You have that part covered, your arms once more thrown over his shoulders, pressed into the back of his neck and head, drawing him in until the pressure of his lips against yours is a little painful. 

In the rush neither of you have pushed the button, leaving the elevator stagnant on the ground floor. Stiles notices at the same time that you scratch his scalp. He moans, he really can’t help it. His mouth opens as you purse your lips again, and he feels a little bad but you aren’t deterred. In fact, you do it again, your nails scratching in just the right spot and Stiles feels like an animal the way he shudders and keens. 

He’s more human when he admits, “Missed this.” He presses his lips to yours again, pulling back with a smack. “Missed you.” 

Your lips slide against his with what Stiles can only describe as desperation. Pure, unadulterated desperation and desire. You’re breathing a little heavy, deep exhales through your nose and inhales in the in between moments, and it doesn’t turn Stiles off at all. He wants more of you. He takes more of you. 

He doesn’t know how long you two are in there, but it is eventually you who pulls back first, your lips visibly swollen and lacking any of the makeup that was previously on it. 

“Has the elevator been moving at all?” You could check for yourself. Just one look over Stiles’ shoulder and you could see that the small screen still displayed a digital ‘1’. Yet, you’re looking up at him instead. Like Stiles is the most important thing in the elevator. Like he’s the most important thing in the world to you. (Maybe it’s Stiles’ delusion talking, but he chooses to believe it either way)

Still, Stiles looks over his shoulder, confirms that he hadn’t hit the button at all, and leans back to correct his mistakes. 

The elevator beeps twice, bringing you both to the third floor, and as much as Stiles’ wants to continue standing there and just admire you, he can hear the door daring to slide close. Again, he pulls you out behind him. 

As soon as he turns the corner, Stiles is immediately made aware of the lack of other cars on the level. It’s a little eerie, and if he wasn’t about to get his dick wet he would possibly be on the lookout for potential threats that could turn one of the best moments of his life into another inconvenience. 

Your hands are on his shoulders, his back, his arms, as you hold onto him. 

“Why did you park all alone? Did you plan this? Were you trying to get in my pants all night?” 

Stiles digs into the front pocket of his jeans and searches for his keys. “No. There were other people parked here earlier. They’re just all gone now.” 

You hum unconvincingly. “Uh-huh. Whatever you say, Stiles.” 

As soon as Stiles has the passenger door unlocked, he holds the door open for you and stares, hoping the annoyance is overpowering every other feeling he’s currently having towards you. 

“In the back,” he tells you. You smile up at him, big and entertained, and then do as he says. 

He climbs in right behind you. At this point in the night, there was no point in attempting to get back to your apartment or his. Stiles couldn’t wait much longer, and you two are no stranger to the back of his Jeep. You’ve been in this situation before. 

It’s all completely effortless. You’re already in the process of slipping your jeans off whenever Stiles has the door closed. He mourns for just a second, pouting to himself over not being the one to take those sinful jeans off of you. But then you climb over his lap, situating yourself to hover just a bit above him. 

Stiles plants his hands on your hips, just like he did before, and pulls you to sit right over him, just like you have before. He knows that the status of your relationship has changed since the last time he had the privilege of being in this space with you like this, but that doesn’t mean the way you do things has to change, too. 

You were never shy before. You would always be quick to attach yourself to Stiles in whatever ways you could, just like you had been doing just a little earlier into the night. But that’s gone now. Now, you’re staring at him, your teeth pressed into your bottom lip. 

Before you were together for a short time, Stiles had spent months pining. Months analyzing whatever he could about you. Months mentally cataloging your tells. And now, he calls on that information to declare that you’re hesitant. You’re nervous. No, not just nervous. You’re worried. Almost regretful. 

He tilts his head. “What’s wrong?” 

You shrug but Stiles knows you’re aware of what has you like this. He just gives you the time to voice it. 

Eventually, you say: “Will this change anything between us?” 

It’s his turn to shrug. “I dunno. Do you want anything to change?” 

You shrug again. 

“Well … do you want to keep going? And we decide that afterwards?” Stiles really wants to fuck you, but deep down he knows that if you stopped and got up off of him in this moment, he would be okay with it. Well, he would be okay with it after a few days. Maybe a week or two. 

A little part in him swells, jumps, and clicks its heels when you nod. 

“Yeah. That sounds good.” You press your lips to his once. 

“You just tell me when you decide, okay? I’m cool with whatever you’re cool with.” And Stiles means that. If he gets just one more time with you, if this is his final time with you, he would cut his losses and be grateful for the time that he was allowed. What else was he supposed to do? He would never dream of doing anything that could jeopardize his spot in your life. 

Stiles can feel the warmth of your center is his hand when he trails his touch down. He cups your mound and his eyes flutter shut. He feels like a pervert for only a second before you start to work your lips down his neck and rock your hips into his hand. The way your mouth suctions around his favorite spot almost has him distracted enough to not notice your hands working on his pants. Almost. 

He can’t really tell in the dark, but he can slightly feel your once confident movements start to falter. You stop on his neck, keeping your lips as nothing but a pucker against his skin before you pull away completely to look down between the two of you. 

“When the fuck did you start wearing a belt?” 

Stiles doesn’t want to tell you the truth, he feels like it would be too embarrassing. Really, he knows it wouldn’t, but something about having to tell you that he decided to wear a belt because you always said he should makes him feel a little meek. So instead of filling the silence with the truth, he fills the silence with the clinks of his belt buckle as he undos it himself. 

“Recently,” is all he tells you when you’re still staring at him for a response. Somehow, it’s enough for you and your hands are back on his waistband. 

In record speed, your hands are down the elastic of his boxers and wrapping around Stiles’ cock. He doesn’t hiss, but he does shudder. He tries to hide it by pretending that the car is cold, which it was beforehand, but now it’s warm. It becomes warmer when you spit in your hand, wrap it around Stiles’ cock and pump him a few times, and then push your underwear to the side and hover above him. 

It really pains Stiles to stop you, but he does. He asks if you have a condom, then he asks if you want to use a condom, and the entire time he’s kicking himself. Because he can feel the warmth radiating. He has his tip already nudged between your folds, and just this small touch is already making him lose it. His nails are digging into your hips, he’s breathing harder than he was before, and he has to blink a few times to really focus on you. 

It feels like Stiles blinks and suddenly you’re tearing the foil packet open and slipping the condom over him. He watches it go down as best as he can, and the light doesn’t reveal much. Just the bottom of you and the tip of him is visible, the rest Stiles is forced to make out through squints and memorization. 

He’s just briefly dejected about the lack of visuals, but then your hands rest on his shoulders and he hears you take a breath and he knows it’s time. 

Stiles rests his hands on your side and looks up at you. 

You go down slowly. Softly. It allows Stiles to feel each delicious inch as they go by, revealing more and more of the inside of you as time passes. He battles between watching your face and simply basking in it. Eventually, he settles on the former. 

Your eyebrows are tightened just enough to show your discomfort. You have your lips parted, long breaths leaving them every so often, usually right before you sink down again. And Stiles has seen you take him before. He knows that you have been able to take him faster than this before. And then he wonders: is this your first time doing this, with anyone, in a while? Have you been as lost without him as he has been without you? Have you even attempted to fill that hole, and was your stunt earlier tonight just that: a stunt?

There isn’t time for him to ponder over his questions like he would have wanted to whenever you bottom out. It’s with a sigh, the back of your thighs meeting the top of his just briefly. 

You rest your forehead against his, and you both breathe together. Or, it’s more so you breathing and Stiles matching the pattern. 

You lean up, you move your hair out of your face, and you tell him, “Don’t remember it being this hard.” 

Slightly cocky, Stiles tilts his head.  At first he doesn’t say anything. He smiles, his eyes are heavy when they look you up and down, and then he rubs your back. “Take your time.” 

You take the time you need and then you start moving. Up and down. Up and down. Agonizingly slowly at first, and then faster when you get more comfortable. 

This is what Stiles has needed. This is what he has been missing in his life. You’re like a drug for him, and one hit seems like enough at the time, but by the time this is all over he knows he’s going to be searching for more. He’ll do anything he has to, so long as it gets him in a spot similar to this again. 

He searches for your hand, refusing to look away from the way your body moves atop of him for even a second. You help him out, bringing your hand to his, pressing the fingertips together, leaving Stiles to interlock them. He lifts your hands, looking at them in the white light that enters the foggy window. Somehow, this image is even more captivating. There is a more pornographic way the two of you are connected, one that demands Stiles’ attention. There is something about the innocence of this. He’s doing nothing but holding your hand, and Stiles feels like he might either lose his mind, or cum too quickly. 

He might do both. One after the other. 

You sink down on him again, a little awkwardly this time, but it does it for you. You hit a spot that makes your mouth widen and your eyes flutter shut. You search for it, and find it miraculously. Your head throws back as you hit that spot over and over again, pleasing yourself on Stiles’ dick. The image is heavenly for him. It’s euphoric. 

He lets his eyes wander down your neck, along your clavicle, and your shirt reveals just a bit of your bust but it’s not enough. With his free hand, he pulls the rest of the fabric down, and when he sees that you’re not wearing a bra, he almost cums into the condom then and there. He doesn’t wonder how he hadn’t noticed, he doesn't consider how he hadn’t taken into account the natural shape of your breasts pushing through the fabric, almost reaching out to him. Instead, he leans forward, presses his hand into the curve of your back, and attaches his mouth to the untouched skin. 

Your free hand sinks into Stiles’ hair. Your fingers weave through the back of his hair first, and then you make your way up to the front, pushing back his bangs blindly. 

Stiles peers up at you from his spot around your nipples. You’re still in ecstasy—your head now level once more, but your mouth still open and your eyes still closed. 

He detaches from your nipple to tell you: “Look at me.” 

It fuels Stiles’ ego when you do as told quickly. 

You’re looking at him on his command yet Stiles feels like he’s the one entranced. Because of your eyes. Fuck, your eyes. Watery, lazy, but your pupils are dilated. Your mascara has transferred to under your eyes by now, and it’s smudged a bit, making you look completely fucked out. Stiles thinks some of your makeup along your face has disappeared too, but it allows for a fresh skinned appearance instead. 

Really, there is nothing else for him to do except kiss you. It’s so messy but so good. You flatter in your movements on his cock, but Stiles feels absolutely no remorse when he takes over. 

He unlocks your hands and plants them both on your hips again. This time, he uses the leverage to pull you down on him again and again. He lets you lead the kiss, while he leads this. 

Your hands land on the leather of the seat behind Stiles' back and the foggy glass pane of the window. He hears your fingertips glide down the surface as he starts to fuck you harder, and then the sound is combined with your moans when your lips separate from Stiles’. 

You call his name, low and breathy. 

He hums. 

“‘m so close. Keep going. Just like that.” He nods. Then you add, “Little faster.” And he does as told. 

Your forehead pressed against his, the sweat on both of your skin making your heads glide more than anticipated. It doesn’t deter either of you. When your nose bumps against Stiles’, he kisses you again. When your head becomes too heavy for you to hold it up, he presses his thumb under your jaw, rests his fingers on the side of your neck, and holds the weight for you. 

“You’re so pretty,” he tells you, adding your name at the end to seal the deal. “Baby,” he says, and his heart swells when you hum in response. So he says it again. “Baby, you feel so good. Feel so good, babe.” 

He doesn’t know what more he says. He can vaguely recognize his lips forming the words and his own voice in his ears calling you the prettiest girl ever, telling you that he could never get this anywhere else, telling you he never wanted to get this from anywhere else. 

“Needed this so bad. I needed you so bad. I’ve missed you.” And just as his words finish, yours begin. 

“Stiles, Stiles. Right there. ‘m … I’m…!” 

He singles two fingers out, slips them between your thighs, and rubs along your clit until you’re shaking above him and holding onto his wrist between your bodies. He doesn’t know if you’re trying to pull him closer or push him away, but watching you cum is too gorgeous for him to ever dream of making it stop. 

So he doesn’t. 

Not even when your eyes start to leak and your lips start to plead and you contract around him. 

“One more,” he asks. “I just need to see it one more time. Please.” 

The sound of him moving in and out of you is loud. He drifts his eyes down to watch it happen, groaning when he just barely sees a broken ring of white glinting in the fluorescents from the parking garage. 

It feels a little romantic when you cum and then Stiles follows right after. 

The Jeep is warm, the windows are foggy, and there’s an ache in Stiles’ thighs. He knows for every one of his aches, you have three. The condom has been removed, tied, and disposed of in an old paper bag Stiles had sitting on the floor of his car. His pants are pulled back up, but his belt is still undone. His shirt sticks to his skin and he really needs greasy food and a shower. 

But if that means leaving this moment, and never returning to it, he could put off his needs and wants for an eternity. 

You’re sitting next to him, redressed with the button of your jeans still undone. You’re staring straight ahead, trying to catch your breath as you rub the muscles in your thighs. 

Stiles doesn’t know what to say, so he licks his lips and he says, “Uh … do you … um. Would you like some … ice or something? For your legs?” 

You smile ahead, turn to face him, and shake your head. “It’ll be fine. Nothing a shower and good sleep won’t fix.” You pause. “And maybe some food.” 

Which is how Stiles ends up sitting in your bed, sipping the remnants of his Dr. Pepper as he watches you lather lotion on your legs with your towel still hanging off of your body. 

“Your food’s cold,” he tells you. He doesn’t tell you about the handful of fries he stole earlier, but he knows you’ll notice it and hold the grudge for later. 

Later. Will there be a ‘later’? 

“Be there in a second.” You start to walk back to the bathroom. “Should we go to that place in the morning? Or …” you look at your clock and wince at the time. “Later. The one with the really good pancakes?” 

Stiles is quick to agree. He would love to do something with you later. 

[jflemings]

— red stars

pairing: caroline harvey x woso!reader

synopsis: you send yourself to the olympics with a perfect game under your belt, and caroline is there to witness it.

warnings: none!

a/n: yall….. i have been sucked in 🌝 i also realised after i finished writing that nwsl players don’t give away their jerseys, so just pretend they do for the sake of the fic.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🎰 ⋅ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

caroline keeps her hands tucked in her pockets as she walks into the stadium. she’s careful not to bump into anybody as she makes her way to the friends and family section, keeping her hat securely on her head. she shares polite smiles with the other families and is quick to find her seat, double checking the number before sitting down and checking her phone.

she attempts to work the dead feeling out of her legs by massaging her thighs through her jeans. the almost three hour drive from madison to bridgeview really took it out of her, and the coffee that she’d skulled before coming into the stadium hadn’t kicked in yet.

she opens up her conversation with you to send you a text letting you know that she’s sat in her seat, and that she couldn’t wait to see you play. knowing that you weren’t going to respond anytime soon, she switched apps and scrolled through instagram instead.

part of her felt a little out of place. she’d decided to come alone to support you before you jetted off to france for the olympics, but now she kind of wished she had taken laila up on her offer to come. it wasn’t often that she actually got to come to your games, especially now that she had gained a bit of a fanbase, so she hadn’t had the opportunity to meet any of your teammates families or friends. it was weird being surrounded by people who saw eachother semi-regularly and she felt kind of awkward once she realised that she was the only one not caught up in a conversation.

she’s in her own little world until both teams walk out of the tunnel. the crowd cheers at the sight and she stands to clap along with them.

spotting you is relatively easy, the number fourteen on your back and your last name in bold block letter’s immediately drawing her attention. she catches your eye as you line up, grinning and waving to you when she sees you watching her with a twinkle.

after the anthem she winks and sits back down, watching you and your teammates intently as you also get to your positions. her eyes stay trained on you on the wing, the determined look on your face only making her more excited.

the first half escalates quickly with a player from the opposition earning a yellow fifteen minutes in. it sets the tone for the game: fast paced and a little aggressive.

it’s a perfect pass and mallory’s even more perfect timing that bags you an assist at the twenty minute mark. your teammate enthusiastically high-fives you and wraps an arm around you before the two of you move back into position, and kk can tell that a fire has been lit inside of you.

the half continues in chicago’s favour. the other team have opportunities but due to alyssa’s safe hands, none of them get past her. a corner kick in their favour almost breaks the deadlock and for a moment you think they’re going to score, but a red stars defender clears it and keeps the goal safe, allowing you to run back up your half of the pitch.

your first goal happens right before half time. you’re running parallel to mallory, keeping up with her pace and keeping an eye on where she’s going to pass, before she chips it to you. you slot it in past the goal keeper’s finger’s and immediately jump in celebration, pointing to the crowd of fans as your teammates train you joyfully.

the second half is when the other team decide to try to slow you down. you go down due to a mistimed tackle in the penalty box, clutching your ankle as you get on your knees; you stand slowly and shake the adrenaline out just as the ref awards a penalty kick to the red stars.

from the stands, kk holds her breath. she knows how much this penalty is going to mean to you after missing a crucial one in the world cup last year. you had called her after the game crying, saying how you should’ve made the shot and how it was stupid that you missed it when you spent hours upon hours practicing.

you were a perfectionist at heart, and knowing that you hadn’t perfectly executed the one thing you’d been trying so hard to get right absolutely broke her heart.

she bites her nails as she sees you take the ball off the ref.

you place the ball on the ground, before taking a deep breath and stepping back to take the kick. you’ve done this a million times before. you’ve trained yourself for this, on this very pitch, a million times before.

you know you want to go to the olympics with the perfect penalty under your belt.

you know that you’re not going to miss this shot.

one, two deep breaths. you pick your position, you lock in, and you pull back. you swing your leg with precision and release the breath you were holding as the ball gets off the ground.

the keeper goes right.

you’ve aimed left.

it’s the perfect shot, and the perfect finish.

the stands erupt. a sea of red and blue overtakes your vision as you take off running again, your yelling teammates not far behind. as you pass the section caroline’s in you turn your back and point to the fourteen, putting it proudly on display.

the game ends with a clean sheet, a brace and assist, and a perfect send off to your first olympics.

the adrenaline is still pumping through you as you make your rounds, clapping and waving to fans, signing posters and jerseys and taking as many photos as you can.

mallory throws an arm around your shoulders “look at you, little superstar” she praises as she punches your cheeks playfully “a brace and an assist! that giddy energy from this week did you a bit of good, i see”

you nod “i guess” you shrug, fighting the urge to smile as you subtly look towards the stands. mallory stops the both of you and faces you so that her back is to the crowd.

“you’re coming out with us, right? we were going to anyway but now we’ve really got something to celebrate” she says with a smile on her face.

you play with the hem of your jersey and shrug again, looking over her shoulder. trying to suppress the smile beginning to grow on your face turns out to be useless when you see kk waiting for you. her hands are tucked into the pockets of her soft shorts as she makes sure she’s out of the way for other friends and family members making their way out of the stands; she smiles when you catch her eye.

“i’ve actually already got plans” you say to your teammate whilst keeping your eyes on your girlfriend. you look to mallory “next time though, i promise”

she cocks a brow and looks in the direction your eyes have been glued to, smiling when she sees caroline. she nods her head and waves before turning back to you “i see” she draws out, a smirk playing on her lips.

a blush starts to bloom across your cheeks “yeah” you bite the inside of your lip. before you can say anything else, or even begin to walk away, a hand is giving you a firm slap on your shoulder. you holt forward out of surprise just as alyssa comes to stand next to you.

“are you coming out?” she asks

mallory jumps in before you can say anything “she’s got plans” she says teasingly, nodding her head back in the direction of your ever so patient girlfriend “caroline’s come to visit”

alyssa half smiles “right” she says whilst nodding “well, tell her we say hi”

“yes, i will” you half groan before shaking their hands off “as much as i love you guys, i’m not going to leave her standing there by herself any longer”

alyssa and mallory wave you off with sly smiles and teasing grins before they meet up with their own friends and family, you and caroline quickly becoming a second thought.

you make your way over to kk, cautious of the eyes that you know are trailing your figure. it’s remarkable, really, that no one has recognised her or questioned why she’s here. the two of you have managed to keep your year and a half relationship a secret from the mass of detective level fans and the media and you were hoping that it was going to stay that way after this weekend.

it’s certainly not the first time she’s made the drive from her college to your club’s home stadium, but it is the first time since she gained rapid popularity from tiktok.

she untucks her hands from her pockets and folds them behind her back, smiling shyly as you approach.

“hey” you say shyly under her gaze. you have to resist the urge to fling your arms around her neck in a bear hug “was the game everything you hoped it would be?”

“and more” she says as she leans down slightly “my olympian”

you roll your eyes “says you, silver medalist”

caroline blushes and scratches her nose to hide the blush creeping up her cheeks. “yeah, well, now it’s your turn”

“gold, baby. i’m bringing home gold”

she’s about to respond when a young girl shyly approaches the two of you. she’s dressed in this season’s home jersey with her hair in pigtails, a sign saying ‘I WANT TO BE LIKE Y/N WHEN I GROW UP’ in blue and red letters. her mum stands behind her, slowly pushing the girl towards you.

“go on” the mother whispers in her daughter’s ear.

the young girl’s brunette pony tail sways as she looks between her mother and you, her lip between her teeth. “excuse me y/n?” she says quietly, her eyes quickly darting between you and your girlfriend “can i please get a photo?”

you smile wide “of course you can!” you crouch down to her level “what’s your name?”

“faye” she says shyly.

“i like your sign faye. did your mum help you make it?”

she nods “she helped me put the glitter on, but i wrote it all by myself!”

kk steps aside and makes sure she’s fully out of the frame as the mother pulls out her phone. you make sure to have the biggest, most genuine smile plastered on your face as you pose with the young girl. in your peripheral vision you can see kk smiling just as big at the two of you, making your heart flutter.

after the photos are taken you let her shoulder go but stay at her level, making sure to look her in the eye “can i give you my jersey?” you ask with a smile.

a sunshine smile overtakes her face as she nods quickly. taking the hem of your shirt in your hands, you quickly pull it over your head and turn it the right way out before flattening it on your knee.

“do you have a pen?” you ask her mum.

“here” she says as she pulls one out of her back pocket “thought we’d bring one today, just incase”

“good thinking” kk says with a smile.

you sign the jersey and the poster easily, handing them both back to her “thank you both for coming! i hope you enjoyed the game”

“we did!” faye says excitedly “mum says we can come to more games next season!”

“well then, i’ll see you back here soon!”

faye and her mum bid you and caroline goodbye. you can’t take your eyes off of the young girl and the way she excitedly raves about her interaction with you, her pigtails swishing about as she hands the sign to her mother. you see her clutch your jersey to her chest and smile.

“i can’t believe i have that kind of an impact on young girls” you say breezily “i didn’t have many female athletes to latch onto growing up so to be that for young people is just amazing”

caroline places a hand on your bare shoulder, pulling you into her “i think you underestimate how good of a player and role model you actually are” she says lowly to you “i’m so lucky to know you”

you can’t help but roll your eyes as you begin to lead her towards the tunnel and back to the changerooms to get your stuff “i’m so lucky to know you” you pointedly say. you wrap an arm around kk’s waist once the two of you are far enough in the tunnel “your unwavering support is something i don’t take for granted. i hope you know that”

“we support eachother, babe. it’s just how this works” she mumbles against your temple as she places her lips onto your warm skin “plus y’know, seeing you with my birthdate on your back isn’t too bad either”

you still slightly and blush at being caught out. you didn’t think she’d really taken any notice of the number fourteen you wear, much less connect that it was because of her.

“oh yeah. don’t think that got past me” she says cockily, pulling you out of your rooted place “i knew as soon as you moved to the red stars that you did it for me, and i was just waiting for you to admit it”

“i didn’t think you clocked that” you mumble

“yeah, and i’m proud of it everyday”

[donniesgirlie]

First TMNT fic, let's goooooo!

Say Something: Donatello x F! Reader

.

"Please-" You can hear Donnie clamoring after you as you make your way to the Lair's exit.

Your heart is roaring in your ears, your face is hot, and embarrassment floods your veins. Why do you always have to make a fool of yourself? Why did you think it was a good idea to confide in the one brother who over-shares when excited - especially about something so delicate?

You can't blame Mikey, though. You know he only had good intentions, but the knowledge doesn't quell the humiliation that's wrapping around you and squeezing.

Donnie finally catches up to you, hand shooting out to capture your wrist.

"Please..." he repeats. "Say something..."

"What do you want me to say, Donnie? I think it's been laid out pretty clear..." You say, voice void of emotion and eyes hollow in a last ditch attempt to keep yourself from crying - until you're back in the privacy of your own home, at least.

"So, it's true? Mikey was right?"

A self depreciating chuckle rips it's way from your chest, echoing through the damp tunnel system. "For once? Yeah. He's right."

Donatello's tongue darts out to wet his lips before swallowing. "Y/-"

"- what do you want me to say?" You repeat. "That I'm completely in love with my best friend? That every time I'm near you, my heart feel like it's going to beat out of my chest? Or how about that every time you smile, I just want to grab you by your face and kiss you stupid!?"

Your voice gains volume the more you talk, and, by the end, you feel a bit hysterical, but you soldier on.

"Donnie, I didn't want this to be how you found out - hell, I was kind of hoping you never found out bc I didn't want to ruin this," you gesture between you as the tears start to fall.

"You're my best friend... How was I supposed to deal with the possibility of this pushing you away? Of losing you because I can't get my damn feelings in chec-"

It's your turn to get cut off as Donnie surges forward and crashes his lips against yours. His hands gently hold your jaw as he kisses you.

Slowly, you fall into the kiss; eyes slipping shut and your hands coming up to grip his arms. He uses his hold to tilt your head, deepening the kiss and drawing out a small whimper from you. When you finally break apart, Donnie rest his forehead against yours as he searches your eyes for something.

Once he finds whatever it is, he let's out a small laugh, thumb gently brushing your cheek as he speaks. "I'm completely in love with you, too...

"Your laugh, the way you always make me smile - everything about you drives me insane. I don't know how you've never noticed. God- every brush of your skin on mine makes me feel like I'm on fire..." He nuzzles his snout against you. "You could never push me away, love."

[lovings4turn]

୭ 🗝️ ✧ ˚. 🪩 you’re my painkiller . . . (j.s.)

— your boyfriend apparently has zero regard for his own wellbeing. you, on the other hand, seem to have enough concern for you both (1.6k words)

+ aka the classic ‘patching up your injured s/o’ trope. brief mentions of injury and blood but nothing serious

+ also my first time writing any sort of nhl work so pls don’t be too too harsh ! a special shoutout to my lovely @wintfleur for all of the support and for listening to my various ramblings n complaints about this fic😭

juraj regrets nothing.

even now, sitting in the penalty box with a bust lip, he couldn’t care less. not about the player that he was swinging at two seconds ago, nor about how well the small cut on his face is going to heal. shit happens, after all.

though, no.

maybe there’s one small thought gnawing away at him, sitting persistent at the front of his brain and demanding his attention. it’s the knowledge that you’re sitting at home and have definitely just watched the whole ordeal unfold.

fuck, he thinks, taking a drink and pushing his hair back. cold water brushes against his split lip and he winces slightly, breathing still laboured from the exertion of both his play and his onslaught of hits onto the opposing team. you’re a worrier by nature, and juraj’s sure that whatever close up of his face that they’ve displayed on the broadcast has done nothing to quell your concern.

scraps happen all the time in hockey. it’s a fact that you were well aware of long before you’d even started dating juraj, and it would be ridiculous to expect him to never get caught up in a bit of a scuffle. if anything, it should be assumed. but this doesn’t mean you have to like the thought of it, either. 

no one likes to see their partner roughed up and bleeding, no matter how good they may or may not have looked whilst getting into said fight. especially not when you have to wait another two hours or so to see them again.

two minds intertwined, both you and juraj desperately wish you could have attended the game tonight so the distance between you could be a little smaller. he would find a way, some method of conveying to you that he was completely okay, and worrying was the last thing you needed to do. the dickhead deserved it, after all.

sadly, things can’t always work out the way that juraj wishes, and now he has to deal with the consequences. it’s a painful rest of the game, and his drive home is even more laborious. how he will find a way to quell your worry, to assure you he was fine, and that if anything, this method of getting out a little extra aggression was pretty healthy depending on who you asked, is beyond him. luck and charm is all he has on his side. 

turns out, all of his planning and preparation isn’t needed.

he doesn’t even have the chance to get a word out before you’re rushing over to him, a surprise yet fond oof escaping his bitten lips as you bury your face into his sturdy chest. large calloused hands find their way to sit at your waist, the fabric of your hoodie hiking up slightly to grant juraj’s fingertips access to your skin.

he’s granted a tight hug before you’re pulling back far too soon for his liking, your warmth lingering against his chest and tunnelling through his skin to reach his heart. juraj’s thumbs stroke at the exposed strip of your waist as he awaits your next move.

in an effort to reach his face, you push up onto your toes and juraj automatically stabilises you by tightening his grip on your waist. cautious to not hurt him, you cup his jaw with a gentle hand, the dusting of faint hair familiar against your skin. your thumb barely ghosts over the dried crack of blood sitting on his bottom lip, a place you’d pressed countless kisses in the past now marred by a mark of frustration.

with your furrowed brows and pouty lips, you look downright adorable to juraj as you survey his scrapes, which are arguably nothing in his eyes. he’d be lying if he were to say he wasn’t enjoying the way you were fussing over him, and he was a little amused at just how concerned you were over a few little cuts.

finally, your observation comes to an end.

“you’re an idiot,” you surmise, clicking your tongue softly as you fail to hold back a smile.

the blunt nature of your words takes him aback, and he barks out a laugh.

“it’s not bad.”

his voice is thick, accent heavy, and it takes a lot of effort for you not to swoon.

“there’s blood.”

he holds his hand up, pinching his pointer finger and thumb close together. “little bit.”

“still blood.”

his eyes are locked onto yours, and though you want to do nothing more than kiss him silly, the thought of causing him any more pain or discomfort is out of the question. all you can do is stare at one another, hoping your expression can convey far more than touch or words.

eventually, your hand leaves his jaw, and juraj finds himself having to stop his face tilting, wanting to follow the caress of your palm, to chase the warmth it gives him. the longing doesn’t last long as your hand finds his own, squeezing it in a show of love.

he doesn’t think twice as you lead him into the bathroom. your hands are on your hips as you huff out a breath, squinting slightly in a laboured effort to remember where exactly you stored the haphazard medical kit that was invented for moments exactly like this.

luck is on your side, as your guess of rooting through the cabinet underneath the sink proves to be successful. your fingers swipe through various medical products, and you pluck out some plasters and antiseptic, hoping that they would do the job.

juraj stands behind you like a lost puppy, half amused and half concerned at the speed at which you’re moving. he truly doesn’t think his injuries are anything to dwell on, but the way that you’re acting prompts him to think twice.

oblivious to his hovering, you plant your palms firmly onto the cold marble of the bathroom counter before you push yourself up, your new height bonus granting you easier access to the scrapes on juraj’s face. you pat your thighs and give him a smile.

“come here then, let’s get you patched up.”

juraj doesn’t need to be told twice. in two long strides he’s standing between your split legs, hands finding purchase on your thighs as you take a minute to properly assess the damage done to your boy’s face. truly, it could be far worse - you’ve seen players lose teeth in the past, after all - but you think you’ve earned the right to be a little dramatic.

“this might sting,” you warn, beginning to pour some of the antiseptic liquid onto a cotton ball. the strong scent causes your nose to scrunch and juraj can’t help but to press a kiss to the wrinkled skin, a silent communication of consent.

it hurts like a bitch. you murmur apologies throughout, cursing and wincing with him as you dab at the area around the wounds in an attempt to clean up as much of the blood as possible. it’s impressive, how efficiently you work, considering you’re not exactly well versed in cleaning up wounds. 

“what even happened?” you ask. “whole thing happened out of nowhere, from what i saw.”

juraj drums his fingers against your thighs, jaw clenched slightly as he distracts himself from the harsh sting of the antiseptic liquid. your question gives him something to think about, to focus on.

“eh, nothing really. was frustrated, he chirped me. next thing i know, we are fighting.”

you can’t help but laugh at his nonchalance, and your smile reflects onto his own face, the sun lending light to the moon. the motion stretches the gash on his bottom lip and he hisses a little, letting out an indignant sound as you swat at his curious hand.

the plasters you purchased are far too big for the small cuts along his lip and cheek, so you’re forced to slim them down slightly with a pair of rapidly acquired nail scissors, tongue poking from the corner of your lips. you delicately press the bandages to his injuries, smoothing over the fabric with a level of caution reserved for fine china or glass. 

evaluating your half-assed medical job, you move to cup juraj’s face once more and relish in the way that he steps closer to you. a hand swipes at his cheekbone, and you tsk slightly as your knuckles graze the mottled skin in an act of sympathy. “that’s definitely gonna bruise love.”

“eh, it will make me look tough,” he jokes, puffing out his already large frame even further. it’s impressive, you have to admit.

“don’t want you looking tough,” you huff. “want you looking okay. no matter how good you look when y’roughing someone up.”

though you’re joking, juraj senses the underlying worry in your tone, your mind wandering to the threat of him stumbling through your doorway in a far worse condition. 

“i’ll be more careful.” a promise.

“what am i gonna do with you, hm?” you tease.

your hands come to rest around his broad shoulders, and juraj slides you off of the counter, hands coming to support your thighs as you wrap your legs around his waist. he carries you towards your bed like it’s nothing, laying you down gently before crawling next to you. he wastes no time in pulling you into his chest, your ear against his chest as the steady thrum of his heartbeat lulls you into a calmer state.

“for now? cuddle me. all i need.”

“i’d love nothing more.”

[oneforthemunny]

blood soaked tears |mafia!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: eddie gets hurt, and continues to hurt himself. you're not staying around to watch.

bad description holy shit, but if you remember from the old blog (rip) this is the angst you wanted lol. also my first fic (not repost) since starting this blog!!! a long angsty one so buckle up!!!

contains: 18+ minors dni, mafia!eddie au, blood, guns, eddie is shot and hospitalized, language, fighting, mentions of eddie's dad (derogatory), angst, angst, ANGST

You knew.

You knew from the first shrill of the black landline on your desk. You knew from the quivering sigh on the other line. You knew from the rasp in Hopper's voice, the urgent tone that he desperately tried to mask as calm when he told you, "It's Eddie. He-He's... You need to get down here. He's in the hospital."

The twisting gut punched sensation that sent a shock through your nervous systems, senses tightened with fear and shaking with every fear-filled step of your strappy heels clacking fiercely against the pavement. You could barely grasp your key to turn the ignition, all quivering hands that fumbled, a white knuckled grip on the wheel of the Porsche, the car zipping and gliding through the streets of Hawkins with ease.

Eddie had bought it for you for the speed. Told you how pretty you looked in your little sports car, how much he loved watching you drive and go fast. Your stomach twisted uncomfortably, bile rising thick in your throat at the thought. You didn't want to see the state Eddie was in. You weren't sure you could bear it.

The drive to the hospital was filled with racing thoughts, consuming anxieties that whirred and raced through your mind. What happened? Are the other boys ok? Oh God, who's going to take care of the dogs? They're still at the house and need to be let out. Did anyone tell Wayne? Should I tell Wayne? I need to call him, maybe the hospital will let me use their phone.

What if he's dead?

That sickening, ringing question that only got louder and louder, deafening you with the cruelty of the words. The harsh reality that you very well could be facing your worst fears. You didn't want to think about life without Eddie. You couldn't.

You couldn't imagine not waking up next to him every day. Not feeling his sweet kisses in the morning. Never hearing him hum lowly in his chest, swaying with you in the kitchen. Being without that beautiful laugh that bubbled out of his chest, shook through his body and always left him with a dimpled smile that radiated over to you filling you with warmth. Never hearing him tell you he loved you, or holding him, or watching him throw toys in the backyard with the dogs.

You couldn't do it. You wouldn't.

The fluorescent lighting of the hospital did nothing to help the eery feeling that settled deep in the pit of your tummy.

Hopper's gruff voice stopped you, calling your name before you could get on the elevator, tunnel visioned and determined though you didn't know where you were going.

"Hop," You hated the way your voice shook, frail and wobbly; afraid. "What's going on? Where is he? I-Is he ok?"

Hopper sighed slow, heavy, a horrifying sign to you. "They've got the west wing on the second floor cleared for him." He said lowly, eyes scanning around. "We can talk up there."

"W-What happened?" You asked. The lights were getting brighter by the second, you were sure of it.

"He got hurt." Hopper said slowly, vaguely, nodding towards another officer while his eyes still scanned around. He was looking for a threat.

You passed two other men in the waiting room, inconspicuous waiting patients- but you'd seen them before. They worked for Eddie. They were here for backup, you knew enough to know that. The realization made you sick.

Hopper pushed back the restricted area, past the bustling nurses and doctors all scurrying with medical equipment, to the back elevator. The emergency elevator for staff only.

The elevator creaked, stopping with a low thud in front of you, craning open with an ominous groan. You could barely move, barely will your brain to tell your legs to get on, much too consumed with the terrorizing what-ifs.

Hopper looked ahead, spine straightening as the numbers climbed. The other officer moved his hand to his holster, gripping his gun as nonchalantly as he could, but you didn't miss it.

"Is he dead?" You asked, your own voice surprising yourself.

The other officer turned to Hopper, eyes cutting carefully to monitor his reaction. Hopper didn't turn, kept his head pointed forward, eyes trained on the doors. "No."

You could feel your shoulders fall in some sort of relief, muscles quaking at the release in pressure. The chime of the elevator accompanied the low groan of the doors parting for the three of you to step off.

The hallway ahead looked like something out of your worst nightmares. Dim and dark, flickering with lights and all together abandoned. There were men by the elevator, men by the doors, posted down the secluded halls. They all looked at you solemnly when you passed, eyes falling down in sorrow.

Gareth's mess of curls passed by the small, narrowed window of the closed door, once then twice, pacing furiously.

"Gareth?" His eyes flickered towards yours when you entered, wide and red-rimmed.

Jeff lifted his head, hands folded and placed between spread legs, head hung low with defeat. Max looked angry, furious, those steel eyes cutting and calculated; she was planning her revenge already. She was always so good at considering every step, carefully considering the best outcomes with optimal damages. It's why she was one of Eddie's closest 'goons'. He always laughed when he called her that.

Your chest ached at the thought, knowing you wouldn't hear his laugh today.

"What happened?" You asked, eyes darting from him to Jeff to Max. "I-Is he alright?"

"He got shot." Max snapped bitterly. You knew she didn't mean to be so biting, that she was angry and hurt; maybe even scared. "They got him in surgery right now."

You paled at the thought, lifeless and hopeless feeling leaving your frame and slithering down your body chillingly. The ringing in your ears returned, a dull screech that made your head spin.

Jeff called your name lightly, brown eyes drooped with pain. These were Eddie's closest friends. His most trusted friends that watched their friend get shot. He wasn't a boss to them, wasn't the mean scary mafia man who put a chilling fear into anyone with a look. To them, that was their friend; and they watched him get shot.

"He got shot in the chest." Jeff said slowly, a shaky exhale that he tried to hide, ducking his head back down.

You swallowed thickly, looking from Hopper back to Gareth, eyes begging for someone to say it wasn't true. To tell you he'd be ok. For Gareth to cackle and tell you, "Munson's had way worse, don't even sweat it," like he did when Eddie had to have stitches from a stabbing.

They didn't this time.

Instead, they all held the same solemn look in their eyes, scared and unknowing.

"They said they won't know if it hit his heart or-or a spinal chord until they open him up." Gareth swallowed, hands clenching to hide the shake in them. "He, uh, he lost a lot of blood."

You exhaled slowly, a shaky breath you didn't know you were holding, ribs feeling like they might cave in entirely, crushing your lungs- your heart.

"D-Do you think he'll be," You willed your voice out of your throat, shuddering breaths that threatened to escape with the tears you held back. "Is he going to be ok?"

No one answered you.

Downcast eyes that refused to meet yours, a thick, uncomfortable tension that lingered in the air, deafeningly loud over the buzz of the air conditioning in the small area.

***

The doctor came shortly after Wayne had arrived. Eddie's uncle sunk into the waiting room chair, knee bouncing furiously, those familiar brown eyes hard and trained on the wall.

No one spoke. No one knew what to say, what to do. That was the worst part, the waiting. Gareth paced, Jeff barely looked up, Max plotted, and Hopper tried to multitask- calling Rick and checking reports, huddled by the phone.

The anxious man still in powder blue scrubs stood before you, voice wavering while he told you Eddie's condition, throwing around the word critical and coma, two phrases that rung in your ears, piercing and loud.

Eddie laid lifelessly before you, a million beeping machines monitoring his condition, a wide tube shoved down his throat, ribcage expanding and falling sharply. Thick lashes that rested neatly on his cheeks. You were always so jealous of how long his lashes were, so beautiful framing those puddle eyes you adored. The dried blood around his mouth and nose, caked on crimson that made your stomach twist.

You'd never seen him so still. So flaccid and rigid, covered in a hospital gown, too colorful for anything Eddie would normally wear. He was never this idle, not even in his deepest sleep. His body twitched, lugged arms that weighed heavy on your body. He'd snore, drool, settle in his sleep; show some signs of life and movement. You used to whine and shove him off you, snap at him the next morning for hogging the blankets.

You wish you could take that back now. You'd let him have all the blankets, you'd let him drool in your hair, drop a heavy arm on you, snore in your ear all night; you'd do anything to have him be ok. Anything to be home in bed with him.

Wayne's shuddering breath startled you lightly, pulling you out of your fixated trance. "Boy," He grumbled, jaw clenched tightly. "What have you gone and done now?"

The doctor told you to be patient, that it would take time. It would be a slow recovery.

The silence crept back into the room, now filled with a background symphony of beeps and crinkling machines to lull out the sound of your dread and pain.

You and Wayne sat side by side, chairs huddled up by Eddie's bed watching him, the rise and fall of his chest, slow and calculated. Both of you scared to look away. Afraid if you did, it might stop.

***

"Missy, didn't I tell you to go home and get some sleep?" Wayne's gruff voice poured through the room, warm and grizzly, a nice contrast to the sharpness of the machines you'd grown used to.

You huffed playfully, folding up the blanket and tucking it in the chair next to your makeshift cot. "I wouldn't be able to sleep at home anyways." You muttered, rubbing at your eyes.

It had been a little over a week since you'd arrived, scared and skittish with that sinking feeling of impending doom. It still hadn't left, consumed your insides and left you queazy, but Eddie had started to improve. The doctors came in with positive reports daily, praises of his condition on the incline. The day before, you and Wayne watched Eddie start to twitch, eyelashes fluttering and moving a tiny bit in his induced sleep.

It made you grin. A little sliver of hope that was returning back to you. Wayne had laughed with you, pulling you close into his side in a comforting hug. "Y'know I always worry 'bout that boy not gettin' enough sleep. Guess on the bright side he'll be pretty well rested now."

You could make jokes now.

Now that Eddie was getting better. Now that they were taking the tube out and pulling him off the heavy sedatives. Now that his beautiful brown eyes were groggily staring into yours, letting you give him water on a sponge to wet his tongue.

"Hi, sweetheart," Eddie's slurred finally, voice cracking and rasping from the tube. The doctor told you he'd be sore from it for a while, a little foggy while the drugs wore off too, but even in his haze his eyes held that same warming light of adoration when they looked at you.

Lips trembling and chest tightening, you flung yourself carefully into his shoulder, heaving sobs that wracked through your whole body, muffled into the scratchy material of the gown. Eddie held you still, even in his loopy state, he comforted you lightly, calloused hands rubbing up and down your spine slowly.

"Don't ever scare me like that again, Eddie," You sniffled, watery and choking on your own sobs. "Thought I lost you forever."

"Can't get rid of me that easily, baby." Eddie droned, a lopsided dimpled grin and heavy lidded eyes that made you swoon. "I'm tougher than that."

And he was. He really was. You knew that he was, his friends did, Wayne did, Hopper did, the guys who did this to him certainly did; but you also knew the doctor's orders.

Dr. Montgomery had let Eddie go under one condition: rest.

Bed rest, sleep, antibiotics, and nothing extreme at least until the stitches healed.

You'd been absolutely buzzing with excitement when you brought him home, carefully commanding the dogs when you walked in, willing them down but letting them greet Eddie with excited wags. You'd set him up in the guest bedroom on the first floor, the stairs too strenuous for him now.

"Baby, I'm fine." Eddie moaned lightly, arm wrapped around you for support. "I wanna sleep in my own bed, please."

"The doctor said-"

"I'll be fine." Eddie sighed lightly. "Please? Just help me up the stairs. I'll go really slow and careful, ok? Just please, sweetheart, I wanna sleep in my own bed with you." Those brown eyes rounded, melting into you so sweetly, you couldn't possibly say no.

So you helped him up the stairs, Gareth and Jeff aiding you to make it as painless as possible. Eddie sunk into the silk sheets, freshly washed and scented with that detergent you loved so much. You hadn't let the housemaid clean the sheets until he was better, too scared to lose the scent of him that lingered on his pillows.

You slept better than you had in days, Eddie's hand grazing your hip, your waist, your cheek. Tearful whispers and shushed kisses shared under red bedsheets, promises of better days ahead, and you believed there would be.

Until the next day.

Heavy lids, still bleary with sleep, watched Eddie through blurry vision as he grunted softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. "W-What are you doing, honey?" You muttered, rubbing the palm of your hand over your eyes. "Tell me what you need. I'll get it. Y'don't need to be moving a lot. You'll tear your stitches."

Eddie smiled softly back at you, dressed in his black button down, black tailored Armani slacks, chains and rings; his work attire.

"Go back to bed, sweetheart. I'll be back in a little bit." Eddie whispered, a normally soothing tone that left you rigid instead.

Spine straightening, eyes blinking you looked at him carefully. "Eddie," Your eyes scanned over his frame. "You-What do you think you're doing?"

Eddie paused, slowly looking over his shoulder at you. "Baby," He started, that same tone he used when he was trying to soothe you; when he was about to tell you something you wouldn't like. "I gotta go to work."

Your heart stilled in your chest, a fluttering stop that left you breathless. "Are you-Are you being serious?" You blinked. "Eddie, you just got fucking shot-"

"It's nothing strenuous, baby, I promise." Eddie's quick reply came with a heavy sigh. "Jeff and Gare will be with me, and Rick made sure I was doubled up with his guys-"

"-You just got out of a coma!" You screeched, sitting on your knees, fully awake and furious. "A coma! You're supposed to be resting!"

"I will be." Eddie replied, calm and smooth, like you were arguing about something minuscule. "It's just meetings. Just planning-"

"-Eddie, you almost died." You choked on the word, that constricting around tears and fury.

There was a chilling silence, thick and ominous that settled between the two of you. Eddie's jaw flexed, eyes piercing into yours with a familiar look of fear. It always came across like a challenge, but you knew better; knew him better.

"I'll take it easy, I promise." Eddie's response was nonchalant, brushing off any of your fear and discarding it meanly away. "I'll be back soon."

Your heart raced uncomfortably, that familiar rising panic that you felt days before running through the hospital. "If you leave, I won't be here when you get back." Your heart thumped in your ears, chills shaking down your body. Eddie's hand lingered on the knob, stilling but not turning towards you.

"I swear to God, Eddie, if you walk out that door, I won't be here anymore. I'm not letting you kill yourself. You can't go back now, it's too soon. You-You'll get hurt." Your voice cracked, lip wobbling. "You're hurting me."

Eddie whispered your name, defeated and tired, eyes pleading with you like you were in the wrong. "I'll be back soon." He whispered, those thick lashed framing his eyes.

You swallowed back a sob when he shut the door, the click of the lock far too loud and heavy in the silent room. Tears rimmed your eyes, blinding your vision and spilling down your cheeks. Your heart ached, even as you waited, determined he'd come back. Sure he'd come through the door and apologize, smother you in kisses and apologies, rest like you'd begged him to do- like he'd promised he would do.

But he didn't.

The room stayed silent and still, the dogs watching you carefully from their beds, your eyes unmoving from the frozen doorway.

Unlike Eddie, you were true on your word.

He'd only been gone an hour and a half, rushing through the meetings at the warehouse, securing plans and leads before barking orders and coming back home. His chest ached, stitches healing and stretching uncomfortably, and he was tired, head still foggy from the medication.

All Eddie wanted was to go back home, pop a pain pill, and curl back into bed with you. The guilt of leaving you was eating him alive, but he had to go. Sure, Jeff or Gareth or Max could have covered the plans, he knew they were more than capable, but Eddie needed to do it; had to, for himself. The fear of getting swapped out and replaced for another was festering and stirring in the pit of his stomach.

Eddie called your name, a little surprised that the dogs didn't greet him. Instead, they were seated outside the bedroom door, whinging and whimpering pathetically to get in.

"Baby?" Eddie's brow furrowed, lips pressing together. "Don't tell me you're still mad at me, kitten. I told you I'd be back soon, I just had to finish a few-"

He didn't find you in the sea of red sheets like he imagined. He didn't find you in the bathroom, or the closet, or the living room, or anywhere. He didn't find your car gone, clothes missing, nothing out of the ordinary, but yet, he didn't find you.

Instead, he found a letter, neatly tucked in an envelope by your bedside table, scribbled words in your handwriting on a tear soaked card that tore his heart out, filled him with dread and fear and anger- not at you, at himself.

"Gareth!" Eddie thundered, sending the dogs into a frantic frenzy, barking and growling viciously.

Gareth pounded up the stairs, eyes wide in fear and alert. Eddie's tear-filled eyes met his, jaw clenched in anger. "Find her." He muttered. "Find her right fucking now. That's everyone's top priority."

"Ed, what-what hap-"

"-I told you to find her!" Eddie roared, the vein in his neck thrumming and protruding out fiercely. "Right now! Fuck!" He hobbled towards the stairs, gripping the steel banister for support.

"Ed, wait, seriously, you can't be acting like this, alright? I'll find her, but if you tear your stitches she's gonna be so mad." Gareth said calmly. He was used to this kind of attitude, exploding and chaotic, but he hadn't seen this side of Eddie in years. Hadn't seen him this scared in years, not even days ago when he was bleeding out in his arms.

"You better fuckin' find her, Emerson, you fuckin' hear me?" Eddie growled, chest heaving and ringed finger jabbing towards Gareth.

"I will, Ed, I will." Gareth held his hands up, backing away from Eddie carefully. "I'll find her just-just relax, ok? I'll find her."

***

Two days.

It had been two days of Gareth, Jeff, Max, and everyone else on Eddie's payroll searching tirelessly to find you. It wasn't until a traced call by Hopper that Eddie had his answer.

The gravel of the Forest Hills Trailer Park flew out under the tires of the Bugatti, speeding towards the familiar back lot. Eddie gripped the wheel tight, barely throwing the gear into park before he was stepping out, bounding towards the steps.

Wayne was already at the doorway, holding the screen door open with a hard glare. "Thought that doctor told you to rest?"

"Where is she?" Eddie ignored him, eyes mirroring his uncle's in a rivaling gaze. "Huh? Where's she at, Wayne?"

You stood, hidden from your place in the kitchen, peeking around the corner carefully. You could barely see Eddie's curls, wild and frizzy, clearly mussed from his hands tugging and pulling at the locks- something he always did when he was stressed.

"Thought that doctor told you to rest." Wayne repeated, stepping out on the front step. "Thought your girl told you that too."

Eddie swallowed hard, desperate to keep his emotions contained. He'd worked so hard for so many years to train himself to maintain his composure, keep his cool. "Wayne, please, ok? Please let me see her-"

"-Ya know, I hoped she was lyin' to me, boy." Wayne continues, heavy work boots clacking against the creaking step, shifting his weight with a low groan. "Thought for sure you'd be followin' your doctor's orders. Thought you'd actually want to be gettin' better after all that, might be different from your Daddy."

Eddie stilled at the mention of his father, a cold chill running down his spine at the comparison. Wayne never spoke of his brother, especially never to relate his son to him.

"You know, that girl in there called me in hysterics twice." Wayne held up two fingers, eyes slotting towards his nephew. "Once to tell me I needed to come see you, that you'd been hurt. No one else thought to do that, only her." Eddie swallowed, guilt bubbling higher and higher into his chest.

"Then she calls me to tell me you're already back out. Won't listen to the doctor, won't listen to her, too stubborn to let yourself heal after you promised her you would." Wayne could see Eddie's eyes blinking, watery and red-rimmed yet wide and watching his every move.

"I can put up with you doin' a lot of shit. Pretend not to know what them skulls on your arm mean, not talk about the obvious; fine. But I didn't raise you to be a liar." Wayne bit, jaw grinding in fury. "'Specially not to the ones you love. The ones who dropped everything to be with you. That girl in there loves you. Didn't leave your side once in that damn hospital." His finger pointed back towards the trailer where you stood, gripping the counter, hidden from their view.

"I-I know." Eddie stuttered out, a deep breath releasing from his nostrils slowly. "I love her too-"

"-Do you?" Wayne snapped.

There was a chilling silence that hung between the two men, thick and heavy, you could feel it all the way inside the trailer. Your heart twisted at the question, squeezing even harder at the potential answer.

"Don't you dare," Eddie's voice was low and gravely in his chest, catching in his throat. "You know I love her, don't you dare-"

"Don't you." Wayne sneered. "I ain't the one who's hurt her, that's you, Ed." You could see Eddie flinch through your tear soaked vision, recoiling at the harshness of his uncle's words.

"I-I didn't mean to-" Eddie stuttered, labored breathing and trembling words falling from his lips. You'd never seen him so frazzled, so emotional this way. So scared.

"Don't give me that shit." Wayne snapped, shaking his head. "You walked out that day, and you knew she didn't want you to go. You know who that sounds a lot like?"

Eddie didn't answer, neither did Wayne, the answer clear on both their faces. Eddie's father was reckless, too, so careless it ended up with his mother dead. Eddie swore he'd never be that stupid, the selfish, yet here he was. Acting exactly like Clint.

Eddie could feel his chest constrict, heaving heavily at the thought. The familiar aching burn of tears squeezing his airway, filling his lungs and throat and nose in the most uncomfortable way. Tears filling his eyes that he tried to will back, knowing once they started they wouldn't stop.

"Please," Eddie rasped, voice too unsteady for his own liking. "Please let me see her."

You could feel your own breath hitched, catching in your throat with a strangled gasp. You moved closer, trying to see Eddie through your own watery vision.

Eddie's eyes caught onto the figure moving slowly towards the doorway, lips pressing together at the sight of you; red rimmed eyes and cheeks that shined wetly even in the cloudy, sunless skies. He did this to you, fuck, he was just like his dad.

"Fuck, 'm so sorry, baby, 'm sorry." Eddie's voice wavered, heels of his hands pressing into his eyes, desperate to keep his leaking tears hidden.

Wayne turned back to look at you, lips pressed together lightly. You wiped your own eyes with the back of your hand, looking at him gently. "Can you... just give us a moment?" You asked softly. Eddie had turned, shoulder stuttering, hands running down his face.

Wayne nodded, eyes cutting back towards his nephew. "I'll be inside if ya need me." He patted your shoulder lightly, comforting, the same squeal of the hinges on the tracks before the door fell with a heavy latch.

You padded carefully towards Eddie, watching him intently with his back still turned. "Ed," You cooed lightly, stopping behind him. "Eddie?"

"I'm so fucking sorry." Eddie breathed, still not turning towards you. "I-I was scared that Rick would have me replaced or-or that the guys might see me as weak, and I-I shouldn't have..." A strangled cry tore through the air, his shoulders dropping low and shaking, chocolate curls cascading to block his covered face.

"Eddie, calm down, honey." You said softly, hands running over the silk material of his shirt. He was still dressed from before when he left for work, a little crumpled.

"I-I'm sorry." His eyes flashed to yours, fat tears rolling down his cheeks, streaming down to his chin. "I'm so sorry."

You reached for him instinctively, holding him close to you, mindful of his stitches though he didn't seem to care. Eddie clung to you, head dropping into your neck, shuddering breaths and shaky sobs mixing with soft apologies and watery promises.

You found yourself huddled in Eddie's old bedroom, pressed into the poster covered wall so the two of you could fit comfortably on the twin bed. His mess of curls, wild and tickling your cheek and chin, his cheek rested on your chest while you ran your nails soothingly through his hair, scratching at his scalp. The two of you stayed there for the week, Wayne and you swapping off on cooking, cleaning Eddie's wounds, making sure he could heal properly.

Eddie promised you, tucked under the quilt in his old bedroom, that he'd do better, he'd take care of himself for you; he wouldn't be like his dad. You whispered back your own vows to not leave him again, silent apologies passed to each other in between loving kisses and longing stares.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Cancelled

Jake Lockley x GN!Reader • Rating: T •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist• ko-fi •

Summary: Your plans change.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: Sat on a few of these fics for ages because I'm overthinking them, but thought 'ahhh, I need to post them now in time for the event!' Having a deadline is very helpful.

Warnings: Reader experiencing some sensory issues, Jake reading smutty books, overuse of italics, typos, not beta read, rail-road sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 801

Your phone buzzes on the bed. The drone is muffled slightly by the pillow it’s under. You finish fixing your outfit in the mirror and sigh. 

The material was ever so slightly wrong today. Normally it was fine, but now the feel of it just irritated you. But this was the seventh outfit you’d tried on and honestly if you were going to make it to the restaurant by 8pm, even with Jake’s ingenious driving, you had to leave now. 

You pick up your phone, glancing at the screen as you unlock it. 

One message. 

From one of your friends you were meeting up with. Probably something along the lines of ‘see everyone soon’. Usually you were excited to see them. They were some of your oldest and dearest friends, and you loved their company. But today it just felt off. Getting dressed up and going out. Eating at a semi expensive (for your budget anyway) restaurant that you didn’t even like that much. Putting on your ‘social interaction face’. It all just seems far too exhausting. 

Your eyes widened as you read the messages on the group chat. 

‘Can’t make it, stupid traffic at the tunnel! Been stuck for 50 mins and haven’t moved!’

‘I can’t either, babysitter fell through!’

‘So sorry everyone, maybe it’s for the best, I’ve got a horrible headache and was gonna power through, but maybe it’s best if we reschedule?’

The last message had you at-ted. 

‘It’s that okay with you? Sorry you let you down! <3’

Relief floods your veins and you hastily type a, ‘no worries, let’s reschedule’, adding several happy face emojis out of paranoia that your message could be misread, before you wish everyone well and to have a good evening. 

Jake hears you throw your bedroom door open, but doesn’t glance up from where he’s slouched over your armchair reading. It’s one of those bodice-ripping paperbacks from the 80s with the fabulously illustrated covers. Jake’s guilty pleasure. While he knows that Marc and Steven wouldn’t care, and most likely wouldn’t be bothered at all by his reading choices, he also very much does not want them to know. A feeling he’s sure he should try to unpack at some point. 

But that was a future Jake task. 

Which is why he’d taken to either hiding them behind the cistern in Steven’s flat or keeping them at yours, tucked neatly on your bookshelf (with your permission) behind a row of your books. 

“You ready to go amor?” He asked as he turned the page. 

You bounded over to him, ripping your stupid, itchy top off in the process. “Excellent news!” You stopped in front of him, smacking your hands onto the armchair for emphasis. 

Jake didn’t even flinch, half absorbed in his book and half used to your dramatic flare.

“Oh?” He glanced up at you and paused, a small frown of interest crossing his face. “You don’t have a top on.” 

“Exceptional observation skills Lockey.” 

He smirks. 

“Guess what?” 

“You’re embracing a new life as a nudist?” 

“The meal’s cancelled.” 

“What?” 

“The meal’s cancelled. You know cancelled, as in not happening.” You grin.

He gives you a playful look and swats your upper arm softly with his book. (His middle finger pressed inside to keep his page.) “I know what cancelled means, why?”

“Traffic, no babysitter, and headache.” You list the reasons as you count them on your hand excitedly. 

He smiles. “Really weren’t feeling it today were you?”

“How could you tell?” You say playfully. 

“Well, you kicking the door open to tell me was a good give away.”

You laugh.

“Plus, you really were leaving it pretty fine to get there on time.” He slips his bookmark between the pages and puts the book down on the floor before inching forward, he wraps his arms around your waist and gently pulls you into his lap, giving you plenty of time to step back if you wanted to. “I know how much being late makes you anxious.” 

You snuggle up to him, wrapping your own arms around his shoulders and kissing his cheek. His day old stubble rubs against your skin. But this sensation is comforting. Like home. 

“So you letting it get to this time without us going, or without you telling me off for reading instead of putting my shoes on.” 

“I don’t tell you off.” You grumble, your words muffled by how your mouth is pressed against his neck. 

Jake laughs. “Playfully.”

You tut affectionately. “Alright, playfully.” You adjust your position on his lap, getting comfortable. 

“So, what do you want to do tonight?” He presses a light kiss to your temple.

“Hmm, how about… pizza and you can read some of your smutty book to me?” 

He laughs again and kisses your lips. “Sounds good.” 

____________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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[mindisrotting]

𝐈𝐓’𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐈 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎 | simon "ghost" riley

tags | wife!reader, parenthood, a little angst, fluff, mentions of murder, not proofread (sorry for any mistakes)

special thanks to @athanasialove for inspiring this little fic <3

Imagine Simon Riley, who sometimes before going to bed thinks about the things he went through. He found friends, and he found love, unconditional love, but he will never forget what Roba put him through, all that torture and grief of having to see his lifeless family on the floor of his home.

He's become a tough guy, a ghost, but he still has feelings and emotions. Sometimes he feels paranoid, the thought that in some corner of this cruel world there's someone who wants to cause him pain by hurting those he loved, his wife and precious kids, won't leave his mind. They're his reason to live, to survive, to give the best of himself. His little family will always be the light at the end of this dark tunnel. So no matter how much he wants to brag about them—to tell his squad about the perfect goal his son scored on his last football match or how his daughter recently learned how to read, and now she will read every word she sees aloud—he's terrified. Until Task Force 141 is coming back from a mission that ended with him getting shot twice. The surgeon had told him that he got lucky, if the second bullet had perforated a few centimeters more up, he would be in a body bag instead of laying on a hospital bed.

When you picked up a phone call from an unknown number, the last thing you expected to hear was your husband shaky’s voice. With tears in your eyes, you listened as he told you everything. Even though that wasn't the first time he's got hurt on the job, it was the first time he did since growing his own family, and it unlocked a new fear he never experienced before. He never wanted to leave you, not like this. When he asked you to do something, he wasn't thinking about the enemies he's made in all his years of service, he wasn't thinking about everyone seeing them in broad daylight.

When the military plane landed, and everyone got out to reunite with whoever was waiting for them to come home, everyone assumed Ghost would just say goodbye to Johnny and be on his way alone. But he went down the aircraft steps rapidly, because in the distance, he saw two little people running towards him with an older person walking behind them. He got down in one knee and opened his arms, waiting to feel the impact. When it did, he cried—the last time he shed any tears was when his daughter was born at only 28 weeks, she was so fragile and small, but she was a survivor—feeling the warm hug of his seven and four-year-old, it was the best feeling in the universe having two tiny humans yell “Daddy!” at the tops of their lungs and saying how much they missed him. Johnny was bewildered, because he never knew those people existed. He looked at Price but he was just as shocked, he looked away knowing it wasn't his business. Then came you, his beautiful wife of nine years, the mother of his children, his bridge, his strength, his everything. You, too, cried as you hugged him, knowing that he’s home safe and well. You stayed like that for longer than normal because Simon refused to let go of you.

When he was laying in the bed of his cold hospital room, he knew he needed to see you as soon as possible. He couldn't wait for the aircraft to land at base and then take another flight and drive an hour to his home in the countryside of England. He begged you to go with the kids to the base, and without hesitation you agreed, knowing this is what he needed.

He unwrapped his arms from you and took your face in his hands, wiping away your tears with his thumbs while his kids stood patiently. Then, your gaze directed from his brown eyes to the man standing looking at the scene, you motioned to Simon to turn around. He told you who the man was and crouched down to meet his kids’ eyes.

“wanna meet uncle Johnny?”

[astramachina]

A teenager witnesses the gruesome death of his little brother in 1987. All he remembers are the frenzied screams for help and the looming shadow of a rabbit that stalked him in the men's bathroom. ⏩ A young man walks out of career counseling in 1996, his choice made. The one thing that gives him pause is the presence of a magenta Chevrolet parked outside of Steve Raglan's office. The same magenta Chevrolet he saw the night of Jeremy's murder. ⏸️ Unfortunately for Ricky, he's got what "Mr. Raglan" needs, and there is no extreme he is unwilling to pursue for the chance to bring a loved one back to life. ▶️

Driving Through Tunnels (With No Light at the End) is a Five Nights at Freddy's fanfiction set five years before the events of the movie and asks "what if we sew the events of the games/books into a single, somewhat coherent narrative".

The fic follows Ricky Kronbach, the older brother of one of William Afton's alleged victims, as he tries to uncover the secrets of why Jeremy had to die, why Afton needs his expertise in program engineering, and whose bones are inside the box stashed in the back of the 1975 Chevy. All the while trying to play and win at the psychological game Afton's trapped him in since childhood.

Driving Through Tunnels is rated M for graphic depictions of violence, sexual content, psychological and supernatural horror, and gratuitous amounts of tech jargon. (Check AO3 for full list of tags.)

AO3 🔪 Fic Tag 🔪 Who is Ricky Kronbach? 🔪 Playlist Masterlist

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Hi I love your blog 💙💙💙 I was wondering if you know any fics where the hale family loves Stiles, preferably sterek but any pairing is fine.

I think so.

If I Were 'A Were' by syriala

(1/1 I 2,642 I General I Sterek)

Stiles knew that he wasn’t the most subtle person to ever grace this earth. But compared to the Hale’s he was a fucking ninja. He couldn’t believe that no one had figured out yet that they were actually werewolves. Real, actual, honest to god werewolves.

That no one knew about.

Stiles really started to question this town’s intelligence.

But Stiles was determined to find out how many dog/wolf related puns he could make before someone caught on to the fact that he actually knew.

Home is where the heart is by Delilah2040

(5/5 I 10,781 I Teen I Sterek)

Stiles runs away after the death of his best friend and some how ends up being taken in by the Hale family who help him to find his place in the world again.

here in the heart (of my sanctuary) by crazyassmurdererwall (smartalli)

(1/1 I 13,467 I Teen I Sterek)

Talia accelerates through the tunnel, and Derek looks up, watches the light that makes it through the bramble dance and shift over the hood of the car as they drive, fingers gripping the sides of the tank. It’s beautiful, like a gateway to another world. He’s lived in the preserve his whole life, and he didn’t know this was here.

She eyes him. “You should know this man is very important to me. I take the responsibility of his care and counsel very seriously. Handing him over to you…it’s not a small thing. Please keep that in mind.”

No pressure, then.

[slowd1ving]

Hi! I love your lookism fics, I would love to see your take on Seongji Yuk x gn reader. Something sweet and simple would be great!

I see that you like using science metaphors and im curious to how many can you use in one fic. I’m a complete chemistry nerd 🤓 😂

THE MUNDANE . 　⁺ ✦ SEONGJI YUK

In which an amateur stargazer finds that no, they do not teach biology in Cheonliang, and yes, gravity does in fact affect everything with mass. woah... gravitational fields.... woah inverse square law... woah, G.... ik you probably wanted more chemistry but I couldn't resist the physics gnawing away/// arghhh pairing: seongji yuk + gn reader warnings: prejudice (quite literally lookism) wc: 1.3k

LOOKISM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

There’s a monster living in the Cheonliang mountains. 

A flutter of cloying kindness greets you when you first pull up to the rural village: tires burning on summer asphalt, senseless droning of cicadas, and warm rain seeping through your thin clothes. No rhyme or reason as to why you decided on this particular village to stop by; though, the rhyme might just be the hiccuping couplet of your pulse. Specifically, this pair of beats as your motorcycle drives past the tunnel; heavy, like two black holes encountering each other for the first time. Spinning, spinning. As the wheels on your bike do, naturally. 

Six fingers and toes, he’s cursed by the gods! Hark, my children—

Newton’s theory of gravitation dictates any particle with matter attracts any other with a force inversely proportional to the square of the distance between them. This is the inverse square law. It’s used for practical and theoretical applications, but it’s pretty useful when considering why people are drawn to something when they are close to it. Emotionally, physically, empathetically. Psychologically. See, once one begins to increase the proximity of two souls, there is a certain degree of attraction that occurs consequently. 

Pray should you ever encounter this one, for he is but a merciless, mad beast.

It’s a stagnated hum that twines through the fields. Little kids begin the verse, and their elders finish it while you leisurely drive past. Over and over. They play hopscotch to the rhythm in their secluded playgrounds, clap their small hands to the beat, and seem to have no eerie feelings behind their bright smiles. A distorted tale, wound through with the modest price of one person’s dignity. There’s a basis for every tale, after all—bitterly warped to suit the storyteller’s perspective. 

Do not pity the one abandoned by all. 

Thus, when you begin the winding slopes through the fields and up around the mountains, it reduces the distance between you and the epicentre. You trust your gut. You believe (mostly) that what compels you to park your motorcycle on this particular trail is no madness, but rather a tangible, logical reason. A scientific one, if you will. You’re a mass, the monster of Cheonliang certainly is a mass—thus gravity objectively binds you both. 

It’s not entirely implausible to suggest the rumours entice you as much as anything, but the heavy telescope bound to your vehicle is as good a reason as any to stop by this eve. And that: the buzz in your very cells, that seem to divide simply to tug you in the direction of the sprawled forest. Stargazing in Cheonliang it is, then. 

Despite your idle curiosity, you don’t go looking: quietly setting up your equipment in a clearing where the breeze flows cleanly, like fragile forgiveness in a peaceful room. It’s a saccharine solitude—as sweet as tanghulu when you close your eyes. 

“It’s dangerous.” Those are the first words you hear in this village that aren’t blighted by eerie insinuation. Here, where the mountain is solitary and sepulchral, that is the only time you find someone who isn’t the real monster in this mired town. Human, flesh and blood and warm. 

“Isn’t everything?” You peer through the eyepiece experimentally, focusing on the calm tide in his voice—

“No need t’be a smartass.” His cadence becomes slightly rougher as you hear a dull thump; by the movement of syllables, you’d judge he just leaned against a tree. “Was a piece of friendly advice.”

Hmm. You look away from the sky that’s somehow cleared up—miserable grey giving way to faint periwinkle, then atrament smattered with incandescent freckles—then at the stranger peering right back at you. 

“What should I be wary of, then?” There’s a relaxed sort of ease in your body, one you’re unfamiliar with. 

He stares at you askance, as though you’re an idiot. 

“Strangers,” he answers brusquely, pointing at himself. “Haven’t you heard the rumours about this place?”

“Oh.” You turn back to the equipment, leaning down to bring the height of the scope up comfortably. Stars, you think dreamily. “That stupid song? Here I thought you’d say boars or something.”

“Stupid song?” he echoes. “And you still went up?”

Six digits on his left hand as it sways downwards, six on the right hand nestled in his pocket. He’s tall, so much so that anyone would feel intimidated staring up at the guy. Close—he’s close by, which is perhaps why you gravitate towards him. Two masses, feeling greater force with greater proximity. This was the epicentre that drew you here. 

“Is biology class illegal here or something?” you counter incredulously. “Do I need to pay attention to fear mongering?”

“No,” he murmurs thoughtfully. “I guess you don’t.”

It’s strange. Your first encounter with Seongji Yuk can only be classified as abnormal. Gazing at the massive bodies scattered across the heavens, it’s perhaps common sense that the man next to you interests you as much as those heavenly giants. He’s closer, after all—kneeling down beside you so he can peek up at stars just as large as him. 

Maybe it’s fate. Maybe it’s simply science that ties the two of you together. He gives you his name, you offer yours in return. Seongji Yuk. Lying in the grass with damp seeping into your shirt, you ramble about astrophysics, while he carefully coats fruits in molten sugar. Shards as sharp as the words at the base of the mountain, though far sweeter. 

He’s cautious—you can feel his eyes on you as you sit on his wooden steps. In fact, his eyes trail after you when dawn breaks and it’s time to move on to your original destination. 

“I’ll come visit,” you vow, for the cycle of orbit has already begun. Two masses have drawn closer to each other, and naturally begin the spin round their counterpart. 

“No one told you about stranger danger?” You’re too damn trusting: haloed in ditzy stars, the type in cartoons when characters hit their heads. Except it’s permanent, and you don’t look stupid, but rather awash in their glow. 

“Everything’s dangerous,” you evade sheepishly, and that’s that. 

Summer comes and goes, but it’s fine not bringing your telescope in the chill of autumn. After all, you’ve found something equally as captivating to stare at. Inky eyes, dotted with such a shine that it looks like a star’s emerged rather than a pupil. 

It’s as if the year is put into distillation—monthly visits condensing into fortnightly ones, then weekly ones, before you’re driving the hour down to this place every few days. He’s made you a little space in his house: one where you can snooze on a spare futon with little worry for safety. For there’s no place more secure in a ‘monster’ lair than by the side of a so-called ‘monster’. 

“Quit staring,” he warns, matter-of-factly while the axe collides with the wood on the stump—cleaved neatly in two, almost too cleanly. 

“You’re pretty, I just can’t help it,” you sigh, leaning back on the creaky porch. There’s a book by your side: a thick text filled with particles and numbing quanta. 

You’re strange. He’s had this thought for a while, but especially today. In fact, you may be more supernatural than he, for each time you say such things, his heart skips one or two beats. Like clockwork, the mechanical nature of your spell is guaranteed: mouth going somewhat dry, ears seeping with a faint crimson, eyebrows creasing minutely. 

Why? 

“Have you seen yourself?” you counter incredulously, and that is when he realises he did not keep his thoughts silent. “You’ve literally got stars in your eyes, man. You….”

Ah. It’s moments like these where he feels so utterly ordinary; listening to you ramble on about things he doesn’t particularly understand, just like anyone else his age. 

It’s nice being bound to someone like this: close to another, experiencing the gravity that draws two people together for himself. 

Science is a perfectly plausible thing to believe in, after all. 

[sunflower-lilac42]

𝗻𝗲𝗴𝗮𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ; 𝘯𝘩13 ୨୧

➪ summary: after another loss, nico begins to think the captain spot just isn't for him

➪ warnings: nico thinks he's a shitty captain, nico has negative thoughts, the 23-24 devils (real)

➪ word count: 1.7k

➪ file type: fic - reupload

➪ sunny's notes: this was so hard to go back and read, i felt so bad for him after this game. anyway, justice for nico next year fr

© sunflower-lilac42 ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

nh13 masterlist || nhl masterlist || new taglist || navigation

One after the other the Lightning scored. Devils bounced back once, twice, three times but it wasn’t good enough. Would anything he did be good enough? Was he doing enough as captain? Was he pushing them as hard as he should be pushing them? Was he contributing to their loss? Was he the reason?

All those thoughts plagued Nico’s mind as he walked back through the tunnel both upset and embarrassed with his team’s performance. He wasn’t sure if he was mad enough to break something, most likely his stick, or if he was embarrassed enough to hide from the crowds and the fans on the internet.

He felt disgusting, beads of sweat were dripping down his forehead, and his hair greasy and sweaty as well. He could feel how he smelled as he took off his gear and threw it into the cubby. He attempted to calm himself, taking a deep breath just as she taught him but it wasn’t working. 

He felt annoyed, frustrated, and angry as he did post-game, all these feelings were sitting up front in his mind, ready to flow out of his mouth as he answered questions. 

“Disappointing, I’m embarrassed a bit, to be honest. We got outworked, outplayed in such a big game. The way we performed is embarrassing.”

“I wish I could answer that, just not good enough. I have to calm down here and think about it. I don’t have an answer right now.”

“I hope everybody thinks about what team they want to be a part of coming down the stretch. If we want to be a playoff team, we have to figure something out.”

He finished getting change, gears reeling in his mind as he put his suit jacket back on. He was the last one out of the locker room and with it being All-Star break, he was glad he didn’t have to look at anything even remotely hockey-related for a while. 

He saw her in the distance, pacing back and forth. It was an unusual look for her, usually, she was the calm one in the relationship. In reality, she was nervous about how to calm Nico down. From the moment the Lightning scored those two goals she knew how much Nico would be blaming himself. 

She locked eyes with him after two minutes of him just standing there staring at her, “You ready?”

He just nodded, running his hand through his hair again. She sighed and held out her arm for him which he took immediately, his hand intertwining with hers. She gave his hand a squeeze and he retaliated with one of his one, walking in silence to her car. Nico was in no state to drive so she opened the passenger door for him, allowing him to climb in. 

She took a deep breath after shutting the door and making her way to the driver's side. As she rounded the front of her car she looked at him through the front windshield, he looked disheveled. He looked sad, dejected. She hadn’t seen him look like this in a while, maybe even ever. She opened the driver's side door and climbed in herself, turning on the radio and adjusting her mirrors as if she hadn’t been the one driving before.

She played lo-fi music on their back to her hotel, Nico already had planned to stay the night with her. The car ride was silent besides the soft beats coming from the speakers and the raindrops hitting the car. She had the air conditioning on low, it was 70 degrees in Flordia. She had taken her jacket off, handing it to Nico who held it close to his chest. 

Halfway through the drive, she glanced over at her boyfriend to see that he had now taken his suit jacket off and wrapped himself in hers. Nico’s eyes were looking everywhere but at her, not even daring to risk the chance of their eyes locking again. He knew the second they did, he would blow a fuse or start bawling his eyes out.

When they got to the hotel, y/n pulled into the closest spot possible. They sat there for a few minutes, both of them debating on what they wanted to do. She looked at her boyfriend, eyes saddened by how he looked, “You ready to go up?”

He hadn’t spoken a word since he finished post-game, not wanting to say anything he would regret later, so he just nodded. They both exited the car and walked into the hotel and to the elevators. Nico reached for her hand when they got into the elevator and it started to move up. She gave him a soft smile, tightening her hold on his hand.

They walked to her room, y/n swiping her card and opening the door wide for him. They stood in the entranceway of the room, both silent and looking around. She looked at him as she threw her keys on the counter and went to take his suit jacket out of his hands, her jacket still lying around his shoulders.

“You gonna go take a shower, baby?”

He nodded slightly, giving her all the strength he could muster right now. She sighed again and nodded, kissing him on his shoulder before rubbing his back. Before he could get far, y/n handed him the clothes that she had brought down for him. He smiled a very small, but grateful, smile at her before turning around and walking into the bathroom. 

She let him be for a few minutes, changing into her clothes before knocking on the door realizing that the shower wasn’t running yet, “Neeks?”

He let out a very soft and deep ‘hmm’ as he stopped whatever he was doing, “Is there anywhere specific you want to eat.”

He sighed, “I’m not really hungry.”

She frowned at his words, worry seeping deep into her brows, “I know, honey, but you got to eat something.”

He didn’t sound frustrated when he spoke, he knew she was right but he just wanted to go to bed, “I’m not hungry, y/n.”

She was slightly taken aback by the use of her name, he never called her that. She looked up at the ceiling, tears welling in her eyes, “Okay. I’m going to order some food just in case you want to eat later.”

He didn’t say anything after that, turning on the shower. When she heard the water running she walked away from the door and sat on the bed, toying with the edge of her pajama pants. She turned on the TV, scrolling to find anything remotely interesting to watch. 

She ordered pizza, one of the simpler things to get delivered, and one that was open this late at night. She played along with the Game Show Network, Family Feud was on right now. She looked up when she heard the bathroom door click open. Nico stepped out, his gray sweatpants hung low on his hips and his t-shirt was clutched in his hands. He walked over to the bed, looking at the TV to see what was on.

He crawled onto the bed, wrapping his arms around his girlfriend’s hips, and laying his head in her lap. Y/n ran her hand through his now freshly washed hair. She almost cried herself when she felt her pant leg dampening from tears, “Honey…”

“It’s my fault, y/n. I can’t lead this team to the victory we need. I can’t do anything. I can’t fucking shoot. I can’t score. I can’t- I can’t-” His breathing picked up and y/n lifted his head from her lap, making him sit up so she could look at him face to face.

She cupped his cheeks and brought his face closer to hers, “Breathe, honey. It’s okay, just focus on me okay? It’s gonna pass, I promise.”

A few breaths later, his breathing regulated into its usual pattern, “I’m gonna need you to listen to me, Nico.”

He nodded his head but didn’t look into her eyes, “Look at me Neeks.”

He did, his eyes gazing into hers causing him to tear up again, “It is not your fault, you hear me? I cannot tell you how amazing you have been doing for this team. This team would not be the same without you. Remember when you got hurt back in October? They were not at their best.”

“That’s because-”

“No. It had nothing to do with Jack. Even when Jack came back they still weren’t playing well but as soon as you came back you went what? 8 and 2 in 10 games. You have done nothing but keep this team and their good spirits up. You are the core of this team, Nico. They cannot do it without you. So what people say differently. Screw what they say, hell even screw what Lindy says.

“You cannot bring yourself down because of what the team couldn’t do. Sure you can go on and on about how you could’ve helped them practice or given them advice but at the end of the day, they are in charge of their own performance. Do not let people bring you down because you are better than that.”

Nico held tears in his eyes, starting to slowly believe her. Those negative feelings that had hit him at the end of the game left his mind and he just buried his head into her chest, letting her run her hands through his hair and rub slow circles on his back. 

“I love you, and I am so so so proud of you.”

He sniffled, “Thank you. I love you too.”

She kissed his head and moved him to lie down under the covers of the bed. Nico let himself be fully encompassed in her arms with the soft noise of the TV still playing in the background.

𝗡𝗘𝗪 𝗝𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗘𝗬 𝗗𝗘𝗩𝗜𝗟𝗦 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ୨୧

@blakesbearsblog @toasttt11 @chiblackhawks @prettyjoseph @nicole01-23 @auriesphantom @pucks-goals-penalties @dancerbailey3 @quinnylouhughesx43 @petite-potato4 @thehuggybearslover @absolutelyhugh3s @kei943 @dyslecticdutchman

© sunflower-lilac42 ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

[mack-devereaux]

King Sized Bed

Sebastian Aho

Authors note! This is a work of fiction and of my imagination. This is in no way based on true events or how I think these people would act in real life. If you don’t like the fic please scroll on, if you do like it please reblog or give a ❤️! Much love to all of you!

Pictures are from Pinterest so credit to who ever took them.

Triggers: Cursing, drinking. Suggested adult activities but no actual smut. I think that’s it.

Enjoy!

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

You’d always enjoyed sports. Hockey especially, so when you and your best friend moved to Raleigh North Carolina for school it was just a perk that you could attend the occasional hockey game. That was until your best friend had caught the eye of a certain Finnish player. Teuvo Teräväinen. They’d met at a bar after a big playoff win, she looked so happy, and you loved that. A few months into them dating it was almost required for her to be at every game during the new season, not that you were complaining. You loved spending time with her and of course seeing hot nhl players was a huge perk to your shenanigans, but as always the world had a funny way of bringing certain people together and wherever one Finn went, there was another close by. Which was how your little crush on Sebastian Aho developed.

When your best friend got her ticket for the game from Teuvo, yours came shortly after. Always seated together. Always close to the home bench. Always close to the ice. You thought it was just Teuvo telling Sebastian he didn’t want his girlfriend being alone at the games and that your ticket was being forced from the forward, but truthfully Sebastian was actually extremely excited that he could give his ticket to someone. Especially you. He thought it was perfect. Teuvo being his best friend and dating your best friend. It all made sense, but he was a man who didn’t express his emotions very often, so he left it alone. Just dropping hints with the free tickets and invites to all the parties as his ‘plus one’ or more so Teuvos ‘extra plus one’. He found your obliviousness endearing. No matter how obvious he was with his flirting or comments about how happy he was to see you, you never caught on to the genuine feelings and truth behind his actions. Or if you did you just brushed it off, although he saw right through your nerves and shyness.

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

Waiting down in the tunnels by the locker rooms at the end of the games were always your least favorite. You didn’t belong there, no matter how hard your best friend tried to get you to feel comfortable you just weren’t. All the girlfriends and wives were gorgeous and dressed to the nines. Most of the time you just wore jeans or leggings and an oversized sweatshirt. Then of course there were the puck bunnies, leaving very little to the imagination. Not that you were one to judge, you always said ‘if you’ve got it, flaunt it’. You knew you had a nice body, you just preferred not to show it off around the wags and at games. You tried to ignore the stares from the wags and groupies, but soon all you could hear was the girls trying to get the attention of some of the players. Teuvo came over grabbing your best friend and whisking her away, you laughed because you knew he hated the extra attention after they left the locker room. You soon felt a hand on your back, turning to see the most beautiful brown eyes you had ever seen, of course belonging to the man who had your feelings all over the place.

“Hey Sebastian, good game out there. You guys played great” and you meant it. He was on fire, and everyone knew it.

“Thank you for coming to watch, means a lot” he said without breaking eye contact.

He looked up at his friends and noticed they had all headed towards the parking lot.

“Did you drive here? I can take you home if not” Sebastian said “I think your ride is leaving.”

“We grabbed an Uber, I didn’t really think of having a plan to drive home” you laughed, slightly embarrassed by the lack of planning on your end.

“No worries, I’m glad to drive you” he grabbed your hand and led you towards the parking lot.

The ride to your apartment was too short. His hand immediately finding a spot on your thigh, and your hand immediately finding the top of his. You guys found your hands constantly touching each other when no one else was around. He had asked about your schooling and how everything was going with your last year. You asked him about the upcoming games. It was all very domestic and you couldn’t help but think what everyday life would be like with him. As he pulled up to your apartment neither of you moved. How comfortable you were around him spoke volumes. You had never really felt this comfortable around anyone besides your best friend. Looking down at your hands you started playing with his fingers . “Thank you for driving me home Sebastian” you smiled at him.

He smiled back as you opened the door and walked towards your apartment building. As you buzzed yourself in you turned to find him still sitting there watching you. Making sure you made it safe.

Ten minutes later a text came through to your phone.

From Fishy 🐠:

How were your seats for the game this time? Were they ok?

To Fishy 🐠:

They were perfect. Thank you ❤️

From Fishy🐠:

Some of the guys and their girlfriends are coming over tomorrow night. You should come.

To Fishy 🐠:

I’d love to. Goodnight Sebastian 💕

Throwing his phone to the side. He stared at his ceiling. This was his chance. He had spent months trying to find a way to make his move on you. He knew how you felt about him. He’s seen multiple text conversations between Teuvo and his girlfriend and heard multiple phone calls between the two girls, unknowingly to the girl in question of course. She would die of embarrassment had she known what he knew. He had tried to make his feelings clear but somehow you hadn’t caught on to any of his hints. He was just going to have to be more forward the next time he saw you.

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

You and your best friend were getting ready for the party at Sebastian’s house. They had a great month as far as games went and the guys wanted to celebrate. It wasn’t uncommon for you and your best friend to get ready together on FaceTime. Normally she would come over to get ready with you but she had stayed with Teuvo the previous night. You technically still lived together but you couldn’t blame her for wanting to stay with her hot nhl boyfriend overnight. In fact you were positive you’d do the same thing if you had a hot nhl boyfriend. Suddenly a teasing voice came over the phone breaking you out of your thoughts.

“So you do realize you actually have to talk to Fishy tonight right? Especially since he’s the one that invited you” Teuvo teased you.

“Oh my God Teuvo stop. She’s already nervous” your best friend said.

“I talk to him! And you really shouldn’t be going through our text conversations, there’s classified information in there” You said rolling your eyes and glaring at your phone. Teuvo just rolling his eyes back at you. This was a common conversation between the three of you. “What are you wearing tonight?” You added, deciding to ignore her boyfriend.

“A short tight dress! Maybe you do the same!” Teuvo shouted.

“Ok you’re done, out!” Your best friend said as she was pushing Teuvo out of the bathroom she was getting ready in. “Anyway, I am wearing that cute little navy dress I bought two weeks ago” she said as she went back to curling her hair.

“So a short tight dress” you said laughing.

“Oh wear that cute black strappy one! The one you wore for New Years last year! Oh my gosh Sebastian is gonna die when he sees you in that again” your best friend said.

“Ugh, I remember waking up on his couch the next morning” you groaned.

“Nooooo, you remember the both of you waking up on that couch, and he damn near ripped Seth’s head off when Seth commented how good you looked” your best friend said grinning at you “anyway I think we are gonna leave soon, text me when you head out. Love you!!”

“Love you bye” you threw yourself on your bed and sighed as she hung up the phone. Thinking back to New Years, that happened to be the first night you had spent with him, all innocent of course. You had too much to drink and Sebastian was kind enough to let you crash on his couch, in his arms. Looking at the clock you decided you had wasted enough time. It was now or never, and you were dying to see a certain Finn tonight.

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

You wore the dress. Because of course you did. You put your car in park as you looked up at the house, there were a few cars out front but not many. Assuming only a few players with their significant others and all the single guys came over. You checked your makeup in the mirror one last time. Letting out a long breath you grabbed your keys and got out of the car. As you made your way to the front door, slowing your strides, your delusions began to kick in. Wondering what it would be like to come home to this house every night. To have one of the star players come home to you every night. To have him love you in ways no other man ever could. Was this a crush? No, it was much more. It was just now that you realized you were in love with Sebastian.

You walked in to the house and were immediately greeted with the sounds of laughter and chatter from all the people you had grown close to in the last year. You saw him as soon as you walked in, his eyes catching yours and for a moment time stood still. He looked good. His brown eyes softening and a small smile crept on his face. Before you could even take a moment to breathe your best friend and a few of the other girlfriend’s immediately greeted you and you soon felt at ease. What you didn’t see is how Sebastian’s gaze dragged down your body, inappropriate thoughts flooding his mind as he saw what you happened to be wearing, and then smirking at the memory of New Years when you fell asleep in his arms wearing that particular dress. He took a drink as he jumped back in to the conversation between Seth and KK.

As the night went on you slowly drank your glass of wine. Not wanting to drink too much or too fast so you could drive home later. The party had slowly moved to the back yard around the fire pit. As you finished your wine you got up and walked back into the house to put your glass away and to get a drink of water. Sebastian watching you. Teuvo nudged him and Sebastian downed his beer and followed you into the house, it was now or never. Oblivious to what was happening behind you, you noticed some empty food containers and wine bottles on the counter, setting your glass down you decided to tidy up a bit.

“You don’t need to clean y/n” Sebastian said as he opened the fridge to grab another bottle of wine “have another glass of wine and come back outside, let’s just relax and enjoy time with our friends.”

“Umm, I think I’ll just have water, I need to drive home tonight” you said quietly, grabbing a bottle of water out of the fridge.

Sebastian looked behind him making sure no one was eavesdropping. He stepped closer to you.

“You are always welcome to stay here” he said as he grabbed your glass from in front of you. “I’ll move your car into the driveway.” He held his hand out for your keys.

“I don’t want to impose Sebastian, you’ve got a lot going on tonight” you smiled shyly.

“Y/n” the way he said your name was so sensual, eyes staring so intensely at you “at what point are we going to acknowledge what’s happening between us.”

“I don’t know what you mean” you tried avoiding his piercing stare, as he cornered you in the kitchen.

“I’ve got a spare bedroom, and I’ve got a very comfortable couch, as you already know.” Your heart almost stops as he steps closer to you, he puts a hand on your waist as he pours more wine in your glass. Your favorite wine, of course he had that in his fridge, you thought. He knows everything about you.

“Or… I’ve got half of a very comfortable king sized bed that isn’t being used” he sets the wine bottle down, “unless you find yourself on my half of the bed” he smirked, he then sets the water bottle next to the glass of wine he just poured. You realizing he’s making you choose. This decision was more than just water or wine. Water meaning staying friends, and wine meaning more.

“You are more than welcome to any of those three options, but..” he grabs your chin and drags his thump down your bottom lip, tilting your head up to look at him. “The king sized bed is definitely the more..” he paused, “enticing option.” His eyes flicker from your lips to your eyes “your choice love.” He walks away and back outside.

You felt hot, the room was all of a sudden so small. Did that actually happen? Did he actually just invite you to his bed? You stared at the bottle of water and then moved your gaze to the wine glass. A million thoughts were running through your head. Looking outside you saw all your friends, how they were with their significant others. You deserved to be happy too. And Sebastian could give you that, you knew you’d be happy with him, and he’d be happy with you. All you’ve ever wanted just right in front of you. Taking a deep breath you grabbed the glass of wine and made your way back outside to your friends. Catching Sebastian’s eye over the fire he smirked, noticing the wine glass in your hand. A silent confirmation as to what was going to happen later that night. You turned into your best friends side and told her about the encounter that happened just a few minutes ago in the kitchen. Her eyes shooting to the Finnish players. A silent conversation happening between her and Teuvo as they made eye contact.

“It’s about time, I’ve been waiting for this to happen for months. You better call me as soon as possible tomorrow morning” she smiled at you.

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

You were slightly more relaxed after the second glass of wine, very much coherent and in control of your actions, you had just enough alcohol to take the edge off. The party started to dwindle. Teuvo and your best friend currently saying their goodbyes. As soon as the front door lock clicked into place you immediately felt his gaze on you. His eyes taking every part of your body in, and you doing the same to him. His broad shoulders, his muscular chest. Everything about him was just beautiful. He truly was one of the most attractive men you’ve seen. And he wanted you. He made that very clear earlier.

“Should I set up the spare room for you or are you joining me tonight” he spoke so calm and confident. His gaze so intense.

“I think I’d like to stay with you tonight, if that’s okay” you said quietly but with just as much confidence.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for you to say that” he said as he walked towards you. You could practically feel his heart beating just as fast as yours as he pulled you into a kiss, your lips moving together so perfectly. Electricity shooting down your spine. As he pulled away you could only think of what he was like in bed, what you two would feel like together in such intimate moments in his bedroom. What caught you off guard was how relaxed you became as soon as his lips met yours the second time. No more nerves, no more anxiety, you felt at home. Your mind reluctantly went to a moment last year when your best friend had met Teuvo.

*flashback*

Hearing the front door shut you said “so.. how was your night?” You turned to smirk at your best friend.

“He is absolutely incredible y/n. It was the perfect date and the perfect night and he’s just so…” your best friend gushed on and on about her date with a guy she met a few days ago.

“Let me guess, perfect?” You laughed.

“Y/n I wasn’t even nervous around him. That’s how you know you’ve met the right person. There’s no nerves, there’s no anxiousness. Just calm. He’s the one I know it.” Your best friend laid on the couch next to you.

“I’m happy for you, you deserve to be happy” you said genuinely.

“Who would have thought my person was THE Teuvo Teräväinen of the Carolina Hurricanes.”

*present*

Soon it was a flash of teeth clashing and hands grabbing. Clothes disappearing as he lead you to his bedroom. You soon felt your back hit his mattress and good lord he was right. The king bed was definitely the best option of the night. As the rest of your clothes came off the praises began. You had never felt more beautiful than in that moment. In such intimate moments where men often become selfish, Sebastian was the opposite. He spent all night worshiping every single inch of your body, making you feel like the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. Putting your pleasure before his, and he definitely satisfied you more than once. As you both came down from your highs your breathing started to slow. Cuddled into his chest and drawing shapes on his stomach with your fingers. In that moment you both realized you were it for each other. He shifted a bit and you looked up towards his face, grabbing your chin and kissing you softly one more time that night.

“In case I wasn’t clear enough, I really want to see where this relationship can go” Sebastian spoke softly.

“I think I’d like that” you whispered.

“Goodnight y/n”.

“Goodnight Sebastian”.

[pokedash55]

Racing against Death

1,786 words, Pre-movie, Oneshot,Turbo escaping the Roadblasters crash, Headcannons about his time homeless, Near Death, Glitching, Minor Canonical character death, TurboTwins (mentioned), Finish Line (the other racing game at Litwack's)

Click for the A03 link but the whole fic is under the cut :) (I usually don't post my fics to tumblr but it's where the Turbo fans are I think. Ya'll are Turbotastic)

-------------- \ō͡≡o˞̶ ---------------

All he could think in that moment was drive... Drive as fast as his racecar could as the pixels around him started to disperse into the black void. This wasn’t where he would end. Dying forgotten in the bowels of some second rate racing game would not be his lasting legacy. His code rushed with adrenaline, mind racing with only one goal: Survival. He gripped the wheel tight with desperation, pushing the engine as far as it could go and looked straight ahead to the exit to Game Central Station. The tires churned roughly on the grassy terrain as he neared the exit, the ground beneath him glitching and separating behind him. He was racing against death, but Turbo never loses. 

His code burned inside and he could feel his pixels glitch all over, the program still recovering from the collision with the more advanced data. It was a strange feeling having the game crash as it did. It was an unexpected, but rather pleasant outcome. With a glitch like that he expected  Roadblasters would be gone for good, but he did not anticipate just how quickly they would pull the plug. It was a fitting end to the worst game ever created. With Roadblasters out of the picture he could go back to being loved by all in the comfort of his machine. A determined grin crossed his face as the tires latched onto the metal of the copper wire, quickly gaining speed on the smooth surface as the last of the pixels dispersed. The car rushed through the cord, ignoring the railroad as he did when he first drove here, driving up and down the tunnel to gain bits of extra speed. 

He pushed out of the gateway, spinning and hitting the brakes as soon as he escaped the outlet, tightly maneuvering the wheel so as to not take damage or spin out into another game. The car spun a donut before he gained control and stopped in the middle of the empty power strip. He lifted the yellow visor from his helmet, breaths still quick and heavy. As he looked up at the game, the red text displaying “RoadBlasters” disappeared from the name screen and Turbo’s panicked breaths morphed into chuckles. He did it! He continued his airy laugh, shakingly getting out of his car, trailing his hands on the door before letting go to stand at its side, one hand reaching up to his face, fingers twitching with glee. His plan worked perfectly! Sure he couldn’t become part of the game, which was unfortunate (he will have to research how to implement outdated -er- retro sprites into a more technologically modern program later), but he was alive and Roadblah-sters was NOT!

Turbo grinned spitefully at the empty plug. Time to go back to his perfect life! He dusted his track suit off, though his arm still had small pixels of white and grey that were displaced from his sprite. That was surely nothing, It was fine he just needed to return to TurboTime and things would be back to the good old days. After a successful mission, he could use a cooldown race with his blue rivals. He didn’t usually enjoy their company, always bragging about the ridiculously small number of times they actually managed to beat him (it was always the players fault), but a celebration was in order after all. The three of them could hit up tappers after closing time and crash Felix’s nightly party’s to cap off the night. 

With glee, he hoped back into his ride. It needed repairs after such a crash but just like his sprite all would be repaired once he got back to TurboTime. He revved up the red and white car and slow rolled casually back to his game with a smirk, although his face started to drop as he got closer and closer to his port. 

“Wh… Where is MY GAME” He babbled in disbelief under his breath. He and Roadblasters were right across from each other but looking at the gateway Turbo saw nothing but pitch blackness. The same darkness he had just narrowly avoided. He laughed nervously, standing up on the seat, leaning his body over the windshield. He analyzed the doorway, anxiety slowly creeping into his mind. Why would they unplug his game too! No one had touched the console for a week there was no way anyone had played the game! Which snot nosed kid decided to come crawling back after that time of betrayal? With the children enamored with the disgusting new game, TurboTime was rendered unplayable far before his absence so why now was it ripped from him? He was stuck with the bitter surprise and his arms dropped sulkingley to his side looking at his empty port. That grief was short lived as the glitches on his body grew more sporadic and rushed through his system, a scowl forming on his face. 

Roadblasters took everything from him. He was his game’s hero, the greatest racer of all time! Everyone loved him and rightfully so! He refused for it to end this way. He deserved more than to be rendered some homeless forgotten wretch. A pitiful nobody who destroyed his own game. What praise and adoration would come from that? Thinking through his situation he realized what would happen if the other games found him here. They would either scorn and lecture him or (worse of all) take pity on him. Losing was bad enough, but having lesser beings pity you for it was worse. He couldn’t be found, that much was clear. He was not going to live a life of mockery, scorn and false sympathy. He deserved more. 

Turbo’s gaze lowered down to his car. It was the only thing that survived… but he couldn’t escape the scene of the incident with it. The car was damaged and without his game’s power source there was nothing to repair it. He usually enjoyed standing out, but at the moment his bright red cart would only slow him down. With a resolved expression he jumped out from the vehicle. Turbo won his very first professional race in this car. It was everything to him. He hated to lose the only thing he cared for but it had to go if he was going to regain the respect and admiration of the gamers. He marched behind it, placing his hands on the rear of the car and pushed it towards the abyss. Once the front wheels touched the darkness it was easy to push in the rest. The car exploded into a cloud of red and white pixels, leaving Turbo the soul survivor of the now defunct machine. 

He stood alone and the station was eerily quiet, with everyone still on the job in their respective games. The silence disturbed him and left him frustrated, scowl growing again on his skeletal face. Turbo had become accustomed to the loud cheering of fans. The loud sound of engines and stands cheering his name. It was all his and rightfully so. He craved those sounds and the desire caused his eyes to flicker. As his determination rose, his glitches creeped around his body, growing harsher and harsher. Just like his car he was damaged and without an energy source his code could be corrupted. He needed to wire himself into another game or he could die in this torturing silence. 

Turbo hated to admit it, but he needed to upgrade. He failed his conquest of Roadblasters because his code was incompatible. Accessing the code was one thing but he needed to know how to control it. If he could edit himself into a game, he could become whole again. But he’d need cover and a plan for that to happen without someone finding him and was getting nowhere standing outside an empty husk of a game. He gave Turbotime one last glance before heading off into hiding.

 He did not have to wait long, as Litwack soon added the game called Finish Line. He watched the game get plugged in, the crowds of characters awaiting the new friends who would join the arcade. When nobody exited the port, the sprites eventually dispersed and the racer made his move into the new racing game. He expected it to be harder to blend in, but Turbo learned quickly that the reason nobody had come through to Game Central Station was because there was nobody living inside the arcade cabinet. All the programmed assets were the vehicles and they were all inside the programming sans drivers, making it an easy hiding place.Turbo got to work quickly, finding the code room and playing around the most he could. He was able to delete the automated program of one of the cars just enough to allow a driver and worked on that code block for weeks. He despised being nothing more than an enemy NPC, just like those blue wannabes back home (whom he just realized they most likely are deleted. The least of his worries however), but the racers' identities here were never shown. He could not regain his rightful recognition in a game like this. Instead of a home it became more of a perfect toy for Turbo. He could code and recode all he wanted while the game automated the other cars and tracks. It was the perfect practice for when something much better came along.  

The glitches never went away and every time they ran through his system he shuttered. It stopped being painful but it still wasn’t sustainable. He tried for years to code into the game, but without a base code block he couldn’t map his digital DNA to anything. Finish Line simply didn’t allow for a character sprite as complex as his since it had no frame of reference; The game had no human renders and nothing resembling in game personalities. He couldn’t even comfortably race anymore, as it became obvious that without a proper connection one crash could lead him dead on the tracks (as the blue hedgehog so kindly reminds everyone every 5 minutes). Despite the limitations, Turbo stayed hidden in Finish Line. It was disgraceful resorting to this but it gave him ample time to test his abilities inside the code room. It was nothing but a waiting game now. He saw every bit and piece of the game’s inner workings. It was replaceable. All he had to do was wait….

1997

Finally…. He grinned as the newest game arrived just across from Finish Line. Racing Avatars with colourful and cheerful expressions lined the box. It was the perfect place to regain his glory. 

Sugar Rush… a game fit for a king.

[ladyloveandjustice]

Salivating (Dunmeshi Farcille Fic)

A new Marcille x Falin fic, snuck in just before this season's last episode. This one should be accessible to anime-onlies as it's an AU what if rather than being rooted in any part of the story. It's actually based off this fan animation, which makes ME salivate every time I see it. So this one gets a little horny, which is unusual for me, but this level of horny is probably nothing for anyone else on the planet.

cw for some violent deaths and ideas. I have an additional note on the bottom. Enjoy!

---

Marcille ran through the tunnel, gasping with every step. Falin’s—the chimera’s—footsteps thundered behind her, shaking loose soil off the walls.

Marcille had never been a fast runner. Rivers of sweat were pouring down her face, her heavy breathing turning to a desperate wheeze. But she kept going, pure adrenaline driving her on.

She wanted to curse her own stupidity, but she knew if it happened again, she would make the exact same choice.

They hadn’t expected to meet Falin so soon. They’d been eating a meal when she’d found them. Laios had been the quickest to react and the first to go down. He landed a few hits before Falin tore at his face and slammed him to the floor with her clawed foot. Marcille would never forget Laios trying to talk, to yell whatever his plan was this time, even as his bones snapped and blood bubbled out of his mouth

Marcille rushed forward. She had to get to Laios, she had to heal him. Not just because his spasms of agony were tearing through her like the pain was her own, but because of Falin. If Falin killed her brother and remembered that after they saved her, the guilt would crush her.

 But Chilchuck yanked her back behind some fallen rubble. “Don’t go charging in! You’re the only one who can heal and resurrect us! We need you, idiot!”  He hissed it at her, even as his hands shook, even as Falin smashed Senshi into a wall with a sweep of her tail. Izutsumi was nowhere to be found—maybe she’d run off.

“I can’t just—” Marcille snarled.

“You will!” Chilchuck snapped. “Look, I’m going to distract her, I’ll buy you time to do a big spell. If she kills me, get out of here and come back later to save us. That’s our only shot at surviving!”

“No!” she cried, but Chilchuck was already running. Falin snarled, trying to stomp on him, but he was too small and fast. He darted this way and that, and ran past where Senshi was lying prone.

“Senshi! Are you okay? Wake up!” he called. He only slowed down a fraction, but that fraction was enough.

Falin’s mouth twisted in rage. She started to mutter a spell.

No. No!

Marcille didn’t care what Chilchuck wanted or what the best plan was. How dare he ask her stand there and watch him suffer. He couldn’t force her to sacrifice her friends, to watch the woman she loved tear them to pieces. He couldn’t make her murder Falin and be left alone, surrounded by everyone’s dead bodies. She wouldn’t do it!

Chilchuck looked up at Falin looming above him, his face pale.

Marcille swung her staff, setting off an explosion right next to Falin. Falin turned, her eyes wide. “Come and get me!” Marcille screamed, setting off another one. And then she turned and ran. She could hear Chilchuck cursing her out distantly, but it didn’t matter. She knew Falin would come after her. She was the biggest threat right now.

 She ran for her life, even as her legs shook with exhaustion. Sometimes when she took sharp turns, she banged into walls, stone scraping her skin. But she never slowed down. She knew the only reason Falin hadn’t caught up to her was because it was hard for her to move in these narrow tunnels. But Marcille would have to face her at some point.  I need to come up with a plan, I need a plan, I need a plan!

Then she found the thing she’d been dreading all along. A huge cavern. A brick wall. A dead end.

She couldn’t double back, so she ran for the wall, pressing her hands against it, trying to find an opening, a patch of dungeon cleaners, anything. But there was no time. A roar exploded behind her. Marcille whipped around. Falin was squeezing herself out of the tunnel. She landed on the cavern floor with a thud and the whole place shuddered.

Marcille’s staff shook as she tightened her grip on it. She had to do something…something…another explosion, maybe…

Falin towered above her now. She cocked her head, studying Marcille curiously. The rage and snarling from earlier was gone. She didn’t seem to care that Marcille was pointing a weapon at her, as if she knew the threat was empty. Marcille opened her mouth, searching for a spell, but nothing came.

Falin bent down, down, down until her face was level with Marcille’s.

And that was what undid her.

This was the face of the woman she loved. Her golden eyes alight with curiosity, her wheat colored hair that fell in soft wisps around her chin, her apple red cheeks…it was all just as Marcille remembered. Even with blood dripping from her mouth, Falin was so stunningly, achingly beautiful.

And in Falin’s searching eyes, Marcille saw an echo of the exquisite, inquisitive woman who gazed wonderingly at bugs, who explored new places, who discovered strange magic…who gently coaxed out every feeling Marcille tried to bury.

“Falin,” Marcille’s voice cracked. “I know you’re in there. Please, come back to me.”

 Falin leaned forward. Marcille jerked in fear as Falin's hand shot out, but it wasn't the blow she expected. Instead, Falin's fingertips trailed down Marcille's face, soft as whisper. It was the touch she'd been craving for so long. She could even feel Falin's calluses, the ones she'd studied like a map. Marcille wanted to lean into it, let Falin cup her chin like she used to. Her hand felt so right, so perfect, even covered in red.

Her scent enveloped Marcille, that smell of new soil and raspberries …now mixed with the sharp tang of blood. Falin’s hot breath tickled Marcille’s face. Goosebumps raised on her arms. Falin was so close, Marcille could count the faint freckles on her nose. Her lips were pink, soft, parted…

Could she be…?

She’s dangerous, she’s dangerous, it’s really Falin, don’t be an idiot, now’s not the time…!

But even as she thought this, even as she pressed her back against the wall, Marcille’s lips parted too.

Falin grabbed Marcille hard around the chin and jerked her forward. Marcille cried out, but Falin ignored her. She dragged her tongue slowly up Marcille’s cheek, lapping up the blood leaking from the cuts on her face.

A strange shiver raced through Marcille, hot and electric. Her chest heaved.

Seriously?  Some distant part of her mind scolded. What are you doing right now? She’s a MONSTER. She's going to kill you! Where are your priorities?

But then Falin licked her again, and she melted. Falin’s warm tongue traveled up curve of her face, smearing blood everywhere, leaving her skin tingling. Marcille let out a strangled squeak. A flush crawled up her neck.

But even as her knees got weaker with each stroke of Falin’s tongue, even as the blush spread through her entire body, even as ecstasy bloomed, the fear grew in Marcille. With numb horror, she realized that it was Laios’ blood that Falin was dribbling onto her face. She was next. Falin had gotten her taste now. She wasn’t going to stop. Her hand was clamping tighter and tighter around Marcille’s chin.

She had to act. At this range, if she used explosion magic, she’d blow Falin’s head off. The thought made her sick. She could imagine Falin’s scream, being drenched in her blood and brains. She could never hurt Falin like that. But blinding her temporarily with a flash spell…that could work. It would at least give Marcille a chance to run.

Hoarsely, she started to mutter the spell.

The second she did, Falin reared back, lifting her into the air by her throat. Marcille screamed, choked, writhed, and her staff fell to the floor with a clatter. Falin grabbed her around the waist to keep her still, letting go of her neck.

Marcille coughed, eyes streaming. She was pressed against Falin now, with silky feathers brushing her arms.

Falin licked her lips, tongue gliding along her teeth, wetting the blood around her mouth. She was salivating.

Marcille went limp, weighed down by exhaustion. It was over. If Falin wanted to kill her, rip out her throat, even eat her…didn’t she have the right? Marcille was the one who turned her into this, after all. It was what she deserved.

There was something almost freeing about the thought of Falin devouring her, tearing at her flesh, swallowing her bit by bit, finding pleasure in the meal. At least this way, she could do something for Falin. She’d could fill her up, become part of her, if only for a moment.

Marcille closed her eyes. It was better this way. At least now she wouldn’t have to live in a world without Falin…she wouldn’t have to outlive Falin or any of her friends…

Her friends.

Laios lying broken on the floor. Senshi covered in rubble.

Chilchuck’s desperate voice. “You’re the only one who can heal and resurrect us! We need you, idiot!”

Would she abandon them? Would she leave them there to die?

Would she give up on getting Falin back? On hearing her laugh again, on being by her side?

Would she give up on her dream, after all her endless work and struggle?

No. Never.

She opened her eyes. Falin was already nearly at her throat, fangs bared. Marcille struggled, yanking desperately at Falin's hair, pulling out her feathers. Falin simply smiled, as if she was enjoying Marcille's feeble attempts. Her sharp teeth closed around Marcille’s neck, slowly sinking in...

A feral yell tore through the air. Izutsumi leaped out of the tunnel, slashing at Falin’s leg with her claws. It didn’t do much damage, but it was enough to distract Falin. She swiped at Izutsumi, holding Marcille aloft. The catgirl dodged easily.

“Izutsumi!” Marcille shouted, wanting to cry with happiness. She hadn’t abandoned them after all.

Izutsumi grabbed the staff from the floor and tossed it up at Marcille. “You better not blow this!”

Marcille caught it.

Falin’s head turned. Marcille took in her lovely face one last time. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I promise I’ll save you.”

She pressed her staff against Falin’s ribs. And this time, she didn’t hesitate.

---

(Notes: I know Chimera Falin can't digest raw meat and blood, but Marcille doesn't. She does really like the taste of Marcille's blood (romantic), but she's just planning to kill her so she can slurp it up in small amounts at her leisure, without too much tummy trouble. If you need to know.)