#i need this damn season to come out so i can get over these stupid psychic cold war queers and finally get some sleep

[butterflysonnets]

here's the thing. after the van scene being what it was, mike has to find out about will's feelings in s5. that's a given, and it's basically confirmed that he'll find out. he's going to discover eleven didn't commission the painting, and he's going to know will loves him. and with strong, long-held feelings like that involved, let me tell you from real life experience... two people cannot just stay friends. being in love and staying friends is too awkward, too painful. things won't be the same as before. they will be changed irreversibly. they will either go their separate ways because of will's one-sided love being too uncomfortable, or feelings will be reciprocated and the relationship will shift into new territory.

if mike and will going their separate ways and ending their friendship is endgame, why bother to show them drifting apart after the byers' move to california, and then spend a whole season building back up their bond stronger than before…? especially doing it in direct contrast to mike's romantic relationship with eleven being shown as fraught with dishonesty, dysfunction, and insecurity, and on the track to deteriorating in the final moments of that same season? why would you rebuild a relationship between mike and will and highlight its importance, only to drive another huge and unscalable wall between them, estranging them again? that just doesn't make sense narratively and it would be senseless writing. you can't do the same thing twice, leave it unresolved the second time, and end a show like that... unless you're going for a really unhappy and hopeless ending which, i can't believe stranger things could really be the show to do that, especially with two of its main and most beloved characters.

[norrisleclercf1]

Could you do one where Elijah gets food poisoning or something during a race weekend and tries to push through anyway and they comfort him

Everyone gets Sick

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader x Charles Leclerc

Elijah is 18, Cecile is 14. Elijah is in his first season in F2

A/N: Also felt like making this only Lando and Elijah. Just a little insight into their relationship, also I can’t find a face claim I like for Elijah, so if anyone has recommendations for blonde male face claims that’ll help a lot .

"You good kid?" Elijah groans, raising his head slightly from between his legs. "Yeah, I'm good." Elijah looks up at his engineer. "You sure?" He questions, Elijah was pale. Not the pale where it's normal but the kind that he looked ready to pass out.

"Yes, just...ugh." Elijah feels that burn and muscles clamping all over his body as he swallows, trying hard not to vomit. "Elijah, listen if you can't race no one is going to fault you." His engineer Paul whispers. "No, I have to race." Gasping, as he sucks in the humid air of Monza.

"Damn kid." Paul curses, walking off as the boy tries hard to control his stomach. "You look like shit." Glaring at his younger sister she smiles handing him a water bottle.

"Where's Dad?" Elijah whispers, just craving him. "Media Duties. Want me to get him?" He shakes his head no, at 18 Elijah wasn't sure what he really wanted. "You're sick." "Thank you captian obvious." Elijah growls, his stomach curling this time he's not able to stop it.

Moving quick, he grabs the small bucket and coughs loudly as his sister cringes patting his back. "So gross." Cecile groans trying hard to not turn around. Spitting, Elijah grabs his bottle and takes a sip swirling it around before spitting.

"Don't," Elijah gasps pushing his blonde hair back, "Tell anyone." "That's stupid, you're sick. I'm telling." Standing she goes to get either her dads of Mama, but when a large hand slaps down on her arm she stops. "Please, don't. I need these points Cece. I'm so close." She groans, rolling her head as she tries to do the right thing.

"Eli, you could crash! What would you do if you need to vomit? You can't. I'm getting Dad." Elijah groans, hand slipping as Cece takes off.

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

"I couldn't be prouder of my son. His first season in F2 and he's second in the title fight is a wonderful thing, I wish," "Dad! Dad! Daddy!" Lando stops talking, whipping around to see Cecile pushing through the media. "Excuse me." Lando rushes off, meeting her halfway.

"Baby? What's wrong?" Lando worries, looking over his daughter as she gasps for air. "It's," She takes another deep breath, "Woah, that was a run. I didn't know it would be that far," She rambles Lando confused. "Cecile, what's wrong?" He's trying to stay calm, but it's not easy when your 14-year-old daughter comes screaming.

"Oh, it's Eli. He's," Lando doesn't wait as he bolts off heading towards Elijah's garage. "Oh god, more running." Cecile whines running after her Dad.

"Elijah? Elijah? Ducky!" "I'm here Dad." He groans, Lando skidding to a stop as he kneels down before his son. "And don't call me Ducky." He gasps as he turns, throwing up. Lando cringes still hating anything to do with throwing up. But this is his son and he's sick. His childish aversion would have to be put to rest.

"Oh, Ducky." Lando whispers grabbing a cold water and pouring it over a towel before wringing it out, laying it on his neck. "I hate this." Elijah gasps, tears slipping down. "It's food poisoning. We told you not to eat that burger. You said it tasted weird, should've stopped." Lando scolds, but it holds no heat sitting next to his son.

"Dad?" "Yeah Ducky?" Elijah scoots closer, placing his head on Lando's shoulder. "I don't think I can race. I'm sorry." His throat grows tights, except this time it due to the tears. "Why are you sorry? You can't help it." Lando laughs, pulling Elijah in, resting his chin on top of his son's head.

"You're always so proud of me. Pa and you always raced even when you're sick. I should be able to do that too, but I can't." He whispers. Lando sighs, wrapping his arms tighter around his little boy. "Everyone gets sick, Elijah. I rather you not race then race and get in a crash. I'm proud of you no matter what, you're my little Ducky." Lando kisses Elijah's forehead, Elijah closing his eyes as he leans more into Lando.

Even though he's grown, it's moments like these that Lando craves for them to be younger, smaller. They always wanted him when they were sick, but to know that his little boy who's a man now still wanted him, healed a small crack in his heart.

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

taglist: @andydrysdalerogers @kellzsthings @christianpulisic10

@tagteamedbitch @changetyre @minamisulemisa @dancingrox

@idontknowwhyimherelov @ariyancoffe @abcheksl @utdmount

@mysticstudentbagelhairdo @talishein @champomiel @champagnesprays @anya7802 @sebbybucky12

@reality-is-a-con @hollie911 @flowerhowellsworld @myheartgoesvroom

@nora-moon @nowimyurdaisy @linejoergensen92-blog @xeliaaa @mcmuppet @ryiamarie

[samcarpentersgirlfriend]

Angst and Fluff with Sam, Where it’s just sam getting angry at fem!r for going to the frat party, and some guy hitting on fem!r and trying to make r go upstairs with him, and r is too drunk to know what’s going on, but sam saves her at the last minute. and it could have a fluffy ending!

thank you for requesting! finally living up to my username with this one

SO I WANDER THROUGH THESE NIGHTS || SAM CARPENTER X READER 𖤐₊˚.

summary: above <3

word count: 3.8k

warnings: fem!reader, mentions of drinking + eating, mentions/allusions of SA (it doesn’t happen in the story though), violence (probably canon typical)

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

As soon as she walks into the room, the smell of weed, sweat and above all, alcohol, hits Sam all at once. It’s enough to make her want to gag, but she’s not leaving. Not yet.

She pushes through the sea of inebriated students, not even dignifying the way some of them huff or curse in displeasure with an angry response. The only thing she cares about is bringing you and Tara home. And honestly, she’s begrudgingly grown to expect this sort of stupid behaviour from her kid sister, but you? You were better than this. At least, that’s what Sam had hoped, anyway.

She’d asked you to do one thing. To stay away from one place, for one night. And the funny thing is, you’d promised. Sam could count the people she trusted completely on one hand, and you were one of them. So she - what was now proved to be stupidly - believed you when you’d assured her that you and Tara were going to stay in and watch the latest season of whatever show it was that the two of you had bonded over all those months ago. She really should’ve expected this.

Sighing, Sam continues to make her way through the crowd, stopping once a familiar sound reaches her ears.

She’d recognise that laugh anywhere.

Her head whips around, following her line of sight until she sees you with your head thrown back as you down a glass of God- knows what, spurred on by Chad’s cheers and Ethan’s silent smile. There’s an unmistakable glint of triumph in your eyes, and it hits Sam that you don’t even look sorry for lying to her face and going behind her back, and the realisation unmistakably stings. More than she thought it would. But seeing you here, blissfully unaware whilst she was going out of her mind worrying about you, serves only to frustrate her.

“Hey!” Your head snaps up at that, and Sam doesn’t miss the “oh shit” on Chad’s lips. “Having fun here, are we?

“Sam?” You reply, and the woman doesn’t know whether to be insulted or satisfied with your tone of surprise. Like you really didn’t expect her to come after you. Like she would leave you here. “What are you doing here?”

“Could ask you the same thing.” Sam snarks back angrily. “What happened to a cosy night in watching TV with Tara, huh?”

You have the courtesy to look guilty at that. “That was the plan, I swear. But then Tara made a whole deal about needing to be a normal teenager for once and then she gave me those damn eyes and-“

“And you got all dolled up and came with her? You couldn’t say no to a damn teenager?” Sam recognises her steadily raising voice, and she knows that people are starting to stare. But she can’t bring herself to care. “Where even is Tara? You came here with here and you don’t even know where she is? How fucking reckless-“

“She’s with Mindy, Sam!” You cry out, evidently exasperated. I’ve been checking up on her and she’s fine! She’s having fun! She’s allowed to live her own life - she’s allowed to be by herself! We don’t need to watch her every damn second of the day!”

“What, so know you’re telling me how to look after my sister? Is that what this is?”

You run a hand through your hair. “You know that it’s not. And that’s not even why you’re mad at me! You’re mad because I’m doing something you don’t approve of - like I’m not a grown woman who can do as she pleases!”

“Oh, and what you want is to get drunk at frat parties, is that right? Your idea of fun is hanging out with all of these lowlife sleazebags? Yeah, sounds like a real fucking blast! I can’t believe you-“

“Then leave, Sam! If you’re just here to insult me, just leave me alone and go home!” Your outburst stuns Sam into silence, and has her taking a step back once she realises how the close the two of you have become. Leave me alone. Sam doesn’t think you’ve ever said those words to her during your relationship, not seriously. Not like this. It was always the opposite, you ushering her closer like you were starved without her touch.

Neither of you speak for a minute, your pride getting the both of best of you. Sam feels the racing of her heart in her chest, the sound almost deafening even with the blaring music of the party.

“Fine,” she finally bites out, voice not as steady as she’d like it to be. “You stay here. Get fucking wasted. See if I care.” She can’t read the look on your face, and she doesn’t try to discern it now. “I’m getting Tara and then I’ll be out of your hair. Enjoy the rest of your fucking night.”

She doesn’t look back as she storms away.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

Sam was wrong.

You weren’t drunk - not properly, not yet - but you damn well would be by the end of the night.

“Don’t you think that maybe you’ve had enough?” Ethan suggest sheepishly. “I mean-“

The withering glare you send his way is enough to shut him up whilst you drain the cup’s content. You know that he’s only trying to look out for you, but you’re not in the mood for his niceties right now. Sam going off at you that had completely ruined your mood. You could deal with her accusing you of lying to her. You did promise her that you would stay at home tonight. You can understand how she might feel betrayed - feel hurt - by you doing the utter opposite.

What you couldn’t stand by was her acting like you didn’t have any agency of your own. Like getting dressed up and letting loose at a party was the worst sin imaginable. Granted, it was a shitty party full of people who you didn’t even know, but the drinks were free and the atmosphere was decent enough. And you’re not about to let your lover’s spat with Sam ruin your whole night.

So you dance. You laugh. And most importantly, you drink. And suddenly, it becomes a lot easier to forget about the look on Sam’s face when you practically screamed at her to leave you be. It becomes a hell of lot easier to forget about everything, the sway of your hips becoming almost automatic as you feel the music deep in your veins.

You can’t even remember the amount of shots you’d taken by now. All you know is that a very drunken Chad had swore that he could do more than you, and ha - in his face, he was so wrong. And a lightweight, apparently. A lightweight throwing up in the bathroom, from what Ethan had worriedly told you before promising he’d be right back and to stay right there and please don’t drink anymore whilst I’m gone.

Ha. Jokes on Chad. You could handle your drinks. Mostly, anyways. And double ha, jokes on Ethan too, because you weren’t drunk enough that you couldn’t handle one more. And really, the drink was already in your hand, so it’d be a waste not to. It’s a solid idea.

It’s a horrible idea.

It’s like that final drink sends you over the edge, because barely ten minutes after your last sip, your vision starts to blur and you’re

suddenly staggering backwards until you’re up against the wall. Your hand flies out to the side to look for something - anything - to grab onto, and your squeeze your eyes firmly shut as you try to focus. If your head was hazy before, it was spinning now. God, if Sam could see you now. Disappointed would be an understatement.

You can’t think about Sam. About how horrible it was going to be going home with her mad at you. You find yourself sliding down the wall, sitting down being the safer option for your suddenly vertically challenged self. You need to think, think anything other than oh my God I am so fucking wasted right now. But you can’t. Even the music becomes too loud, too difficult to comprehend, its words passing you by in a blur. You’re not sure how long you sit there like that, head hung low as you sit on the bare floor, but with each passing minute you seem to grow more and more out of it.

You barely register the hand on your shoulder. You don’t look up - can’t look up- your gaze only raising when you feel yourself being hoisted up. And the face you’re greeted with isn’t someone you know. You would recognise Chad or Mindy or Ethan or Anika. Even in this sort of state, you would.. But this guy is different. Tall, bearded, dressed as God knows who from God knows what. You open your mouth to object, but even the action seems too tiring. Still, a faint noise of objection escapes your mouth, and the man simply shakes his head.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he purrs, his breath hot against your ear. “I got you. We’re just gonna have some fun, okay?”

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

Sam shouldn’t have left.

She knows it when she’s storming out the front door with an angry Tara in tow, and she knows it when she’s practically halfway home. But you were both angry, and there was no point in even trying to reason with you when all she could think about was how you’d lied to her.

But she didn’t want to hurt you. Not now. Not ever. She hated herself for making you feel like that, so cornered that you’d completely snapped at her. And she’d deserved it. She doesn’t regret worrying about you and your safety, and she’d always be there to protect you. But you were right. You were an adult, and as much as Sam disliked it, that meant you could go to as many sleazy parties as you liked. You weren’t as fragile as Tara, someone who she could mostly justify watching like a hawk - even though she probably did need to work on that too. You were you. Too perfect, too beautiful you. And Sam had gone and shouted at you like that.

Sam was no stranger to self loathing, but knowing she had potentially fucked it all up with you because she couldn’t let go of the past, couldn’t move past the idea that the world was out to get her, that she pushed away one of the most important people in her life. One of the only people in her life. At this point, loosing you would be like loosing a limb, and probably a hell of a lot more painful. You knew her better than anybody, knew here secrets, knew her story. And you’d accepted and loved her in spite of it. Made her feel like the luckiest woman in the world and help her believe that maybe, just maybe, Sam Carpenter was allowed nice things. And she couldn’t leave things like that.

So she stops in her tracks, grabs Tara by the hand, and practically sprints back to the party, desperate to hold you close and tell you that she’s sorry. For everything. She ignores Tara’s confused yells all the way back to the building, barely even able to focus on them.

It’s getting late now, and people are starting to leave when she enters the room. She briefly wonders if you’re one of them, but even if you didn’t want to talk to her, one of your friends would’ve messaged to say that you were crashing at their place for the night. She glances over to where you were situated before, but doesn’t see you. Or Chad or Ethan, for that matter. Maybe that was a good thing, and that it meant that you were all together. Or maybe they had left and you were all alone, a voice in the back of her head warns. Sam knows that you’re allowed to be independent, but she still doesn’t like the sound of that.

She takes to to calling your name instead, and her cries become ever more frantic when there’s no response. She doubts you’d hear her over the music anyway. With a sigh, she pulls out her phone and fires you a message.

Sam: I came back, and I just want to talk to you.

Sam: I’m so sorry baby. I get if you’re mad, but we need to talk. Please.

She stares at the screen like it holds all of the answers. The answer to where you are. The answers to if you’re okay. If the two of you are going to be okay.

“Oh my God.” Tara breathes out, and Sam feels her pull on her arm. “Sam. Look.”

Her gaze snaps up, and sure enough, in front of her is you. Being practically dragged across the room because you can’t even walk straight, some guy’s arm draped around you like- like he owns you. And it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he’s planning do with you - to you.

It makes her feel sick. And angrier than she’s ever been before, her ire burning so deep in her chest to where she feels like it’s more a fuel at this point. And she knows, without a doubt, that she’s going to kill this pathetic excuse for a man.

“Hey!” She bellows, causing the sleaze and just about everyone in the room to look up. “What the hell do you think you’re doing with her?”

The thing has the audacity to bark out an ugly laugh at that. “Relax. Just helping her upstairs, aren’t I baby?”

Baby. Like you’re his. Like you’d willingly be anywhere near his filthy touch.

You don’t even answer him. Sam doesn’t think you physically can.

“Tara, grab her.” She says so lowly that her sister probably has to strain to hear her. Tara complies, and Sam steps forward, close enough that she’s practically touching the guy.

“Step the fuck away from her. I’m only gonna warn you once.” The danger in her voice is unmistakable.

“Or what?” What the hell are you-“

Sam doesn’t let him finish. He doesn’t deserve the privilege.

“You piece of shit!” Sam yells as he cries out in pain, her punch connecting swiftly with his jaw with a satisfying crack. “Does it make you feel good?” Kick. You think you can touch my fucking girlfriend like that?” Another punch.

Sam doesn’t stop. Not even when he’s balled up on the floor, his body bloody and bruised. She honestly doesn’t think she ever would stop, not if it wasn’t for Tara crying out.

“Sam!” She yells, her eyes wide. She shakes her head. “You can’t. She needs you.”

She looks over to you, still clinging on to Tara. She’s right. You can’t stay here. She needs to take you home.

Her breathing still heavy, she spares one last look to the sick fuck still on the floor, writhing in pain pathetically.

“You’re fucking lucky.” Sam spits out, standing tall over him. “You deserve to be fucking dead.”

She doesn’t get an answer to that. Doesn’t expect one. Doesn’t care.

The only thing she cares about is you. She drove you to this, she thinks, with all of her shouting and general over-protectiveness. And she doesn’t - can’t - think about what would’ve happened if she hadn’t found you. It makes her feels sick.

Sam makes her way over to your side, blinking back the tears threatening to spill from her eyes. She can’t break. Not now. She needs to be strong - strong for you. You meet her gaze, your eyes widening ever so slightly.

“Sammy?” You slur.

“Yeah baby.” Sam whispers, slinging an arm around your free shoulder. “I’m here. Come on, we’re going home.”

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

The first thing you realise when you open your eyes is that your head feels as if it about to split open. Groaning, you sit up in bed, and try to remember how the hell you even got here and into your pyjamas. It’s all such a blur, especially after your-

Your argument with Sam. Even just the memory leaves a distinct sinking in your stomach, especially paired with the fact that she’s not in bed with you. God, she’s probably still mad. The two of you didn’t argue much, but God, you hated it when you did. It hurt, not being able to tell her how much you loved her or wrap her up in your arms. It was like loosing a part of yourself.

You can hear the TV on in the living room, and you take that as a sign that either Quinn or Tara is awake. Either that or Sam’s in there, evidently too hung up on yesterday to stand the sight of you. Sighing, you rub your eyes, stupidly hoping that when you open them again, everything will have turned out to be some bad dream.

You’re not so lucky.

Laying back down in defeat, you pull up the blanket and go back to feeling sorry for yourself. You really should get something to deal with the headache, but you simply can’t bring yourself to.

You stay like that for a while, buried under sheets and contemplating your life choices until you hear a thunk on your bedside table. Wearily opening your eyes, you see a plate with a sandwich atop of it, and you move up your line of sight until you see who your personal chef is.

“You’re awake.” Sam says simply, placing a glass of water and a tub of painkillers besides the food. “Hope you’re hungry.”

You sit up once more, wincing when you move too quickly, and take the plate from the table. You murmur your thanks before taking a bite, and the two of you sit there in silence for a while. You know you need to say something, but you just can’t think what.

Luckily, Sam speaks first.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she sighs. “I know I acted out of line yesterday, and I shouldn’t have started that argument like that. I don’t ever want to fight with you, I promise. It’s just-“ Sam pauses as she scrubs a hand down her face. “I’m sorry. Are we okay?”

“Course we’re okay.” You smile. “Always. Besides, it wasn’t just you. I said I wasn’t going to go, and then I went and did it anyway. That wasn’t cool.”

“Hey.” Sam says softly. “It’s okay. You’re allowed to do what you like. It’s one thing letting what happened to me define myself, but I can’t let it ruin this. Ruin us. I don’t want to loose you.”

“You’re not going to,” you assure her. “You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not. You got it?”

Sam laughs softly, and you wish you could bottle it and listen to the beautiful sound forever. “Loud and clear.” She stops for a second, and something darker clouds her features.

“Sam?” You question, instinctively reaching for her hand. She’s quiet for a minute, before she meets your worried gaze and speaks.

“Baby, do you remember what happened last night?” She asks softly, as if you’ll break at the mention of the topic. Frowning, you try to cast your mind back to the previous night’s event, but you only draw a blank.

“Not really. We fought, I had some more drinks. After that, it’s kind of a blur.” That’s the extent of your memories for the night, but judging by Sam’s expression, that’s not where it ends. It makes you uneasy. “Sam, “what did I do?” When you speak, your voice is barely above a whisper.

Sam’s expression softens, although she suddenly looks like she’s about to burst into tears. “You didn’t do anything, baby, I promise,” she says, nearly far too quickly. “It’s just… there was this guy.” She spits out that last part as if it were venom on her tongue. “He got a too close, tried to take advantage. And I’m not telling you this to upset you, because that’s the last thing I want. I just think you deserve to know.”

You can’t respond to that. Not yet. Because you have no idea what to with that information.

“I took care of him.” Sam says suddenly, like it’s imperative that you know. “I wouldn’t have let him hurt you. I swear to you, on my life, I-“

“Sam. I know. I know.” You say, reaching to turn her head so that she can look you in the eyes. You may not remember much, but you don’t doubt Sam when she says she took care of it - hell, if you know your girlfriend, then the asshole is probably just lucky to even resemble a human anymore. That thought should be frightening, but it’s oddly comforting, and leaves a welcome warmth in your stomach. “I believe you. Fuck, you know that I trust you. More than I trust anyone. And the fact you even came back- well, that says a hell of a lot.”

“I was always gonna come back.” Sam admits. “Doesn’t matter how mad I was, I didn’t want to leave things like that between us.”

“I know, baby. Thank y-“

“No. Don’t you dare.” Sam warns. “Don’t thank me for doing the bare minimum. If you finish that sentence, I’m gonna-“

She seems taken aback by your sudden movement, her hand moving to your face instinctively. You hope that the kiss portrays everything you need it to, says everything that you need your girlfriend to know. How much she means to you, and how grateful you are to simply have her in your life. Now you have her, it’s damn near impossible to imagine a life without Sam - your Sam. It sure as hell wouldn’t as feel as good as this, you muse to yourself.

“Love you too.” Sam says when she reluctantly pulls away. She doesn’t try to hide the smile on her face. “More than anything.” And for a moment, Sam just stares at you, a look of pure awe and a stupidly adorable grin on her face. It’s one that has you smiling right back despite yourself. “Now, you gonna eat your damn food or what? It was made with intense care, you know.”

You look over towards your forgotten sandwich, and you can’t deny that you’re hungry. Still, that doesn’t stop you from pouting and looking up at your girlfriend with what you hope are pleading doe eyes. “Fine. But if I eat, can we do the whole kissing thing again?”

“After.” She promises, climbing over you and crawling under the blankets beside you. Her body is warm, and you can feel her pressed against your side, practically radiating pure heat. “Now eat. It’s getting cold.”

“It’s a sandwich, Sam.” you remind her with a grin. “It’s supposed to be cold.”

Sam lightly kicks your foot. “Just shut up and eat it. Do you want that kiss or not?”

You shut up and eat the damn sandwich.

[izzywantscheesecake]

leo valdez x female reader!! dating headcanons *blows kiss*

Dating Leo Valdez Headcanons!

Pairing: Leo Valdez x Fem!Reader Fandom: Camp Half-Blood Chronicles/Heroes of Olympus Quick Synopsis: Just some paragraphs headcanons on how you and Leo would meet/what dating him would be like. Tags: Use of Y/N, Fluff, no specific physical description of the reader (other than the fact they're female coded), Comfort

HOW YOU TWO WOULD MEET I imagine Leo to be someone who looks for a person he's able to have a lot of common ground with in a relationship. Of course, he's able to crack jokes (even the not so funny ones) around practically everyone, but there's a difference between small banter and just full on being able to vibe with someone. I think he'd be very attracted to someone interested in the arts, or someone who likes to make their own things as a mean of self expression in general. We all know how Leo is in terms of self confidence - he'd like a person who is unapologetically them, proud of their art and self expression and someone who has enough emotional awareness to give him reassurance in a relationship when they can sense he needs it. You guys would probably first meet at some type of event or workshop, or if you're a camper, probably at the dining pavilion when he sees you and has to do a double take because "who is that cool girl I've never seen before?" he'd muster enough confidence to come up and tell you a corny joke, stumbling on his words, which makes you laugh.

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

You looked up from your feet, now practically face to face with this guy you'd never seen before. His clothes were wrecked with dirt and debris, so were his gloves.

He was standing awkwardly, and his hands, clearly shaking, were clenched into tight fists.

"Sure?"

"So um, riddle me this. Why can't you hear a pterodactyl going to the bathroom?"

"Because pterodactyls went extinct 65 million years ago?"

His eyes widened, and a red tint began to become more visible around his face as he scratched his head, messing up his already tangled locks of hair.

"Oh.. That wasn't what I was going to say," He chuckled.

You smiled, suddenly feeling a warm aura coming from this boy.

"Well, what were you going to say?"

"Because, uh.. The P is.. Damn, whatever. My name's Leo. What's yours?"

ACTUAL RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS He was awkward at the start of the relationship, not really knowing what to say or what exactly "being a boyfriend" entails, but once he starts getting comfortable and more confident around you, that's where the fun begins (yes this is a star wars reference) Expect every Spanish nickname to be pulled out of the book. "Mi amor," "Hermosa," "Bonita," "Mi vida," "Corazón," if it exists in the Spanish language, he's most definitely said it. And he won't skip out on variations of your preferred name, or even silly sounding nicknames in public, like: "pookie" and "sugarplum" or some other stupidness. For dates, I believe he'd very much vary between educational and immersive dates and just straight up goofing off. It honestly depends on the season. Late Fall/Winter is for going to museums, workshops, possibly a joint coding class or hanging together in one of your rooms, and Spring/Summer is for exploring the town and having those cute little boardwalk + beach + ferris wheel dates. (I also imagine him to be somewhat clumsy and he WOULD drop ice cream all over the pavement.) As the son of Hephaestus, he is most definitely a human radiator. Definitely had a lot of fever scares just because of his temperature alone. But don't worry, he's fine. And the heat is an extra bonus if you're cuddling. Speaking of cuddling and physical proximity, Leo's love languages are gift-giving and physical touch. It doesn't matter if you guys have been apart for 2 minutes or 2 days, if he hasn't seen you in a little bit, he will greet you with one of those spin around hugs or a kiss on the hand. And for gift giving, he enjoys giving and receiving gifts. He likes to either make you little trinkets, or make/buy your favorite foods. He is a firm believer of giving his lady princess treatment, even on a dollar store budget. Though he wouldn't consider himself much of a photographer, I think he probably enjoys taking lots of pictures of you, both with and without him. It's to savor the moment, and also because he wishes he could've taken more pictures with his mother when she was still alive. He has a photo album of just you, him, and the adventures you two go on. You're not a stranger to pranking by him, by the way. If anything, he probably pranks you the most, out of love. You'll chase him down for a few hours, and he gets a thrill out of it knowing you won't stay mad at him forever. In conclusion, dating Leo can be rocky, calming, and give you a whirlwind of emotions, similar to how being on a floating trireme would feel.

A/N: I'm going to be real I never really paid much attention to Leo in the books, so I'm hoping this is accurate?? my bad if it isnt gang 🙏🏽🙏🏽

[steviewashere]

For the kiss prompt....Steddie and 40 please because I saw it and had a burning need for it!

❤️❤️

Okay, this one is far less angsty (I'm hoping) than yesterday's, lol. But I appreciate this prompt a lot. <3

Number 40: "Because the world is ending."

Tags: Season 4, Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, First Kiss, Slight Love Confession, Steve Harrington has a Bisexual Awakening, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Eddie Lives, Last Minute Promises, Protective Steve Harrington

💕—————💕 There was a weight in the way Eddie’s vest laid on Steve’s back. Something that nailed him to the floor, kept him under the clouds but above ground, that anchored him to existence. It provided a sense of security that Steve hadn’t felt in…three or more years.

But there was something about Eddie’s gaze, too, that provided that same amount of comfort. Just one glimpse, one stupid little sentence about lost loves, one panicked nervous fit of laughter—it was enough to make something inside Steve squirm. The same thing he kept away in his own Pandora’s box, deep inside the crevice of his chest behind sinew. It’s where Tommy existed at one point, maybe a few other boys from elementary school. He knew what it was, the pull in Eddie’s gaze. Or, really, the magnetism that Eddie’s eyes held.

It made Steve want to stare back. Made him want to stop the world’s rotation. Made him want to find a way to reverse time, prevent all the evils of his life, find Eddie sooner. He wanted Eddie the same way mosquitos yearn for amber light. Icarus to the sun. Something strong, invasive, all consuming.

Love, he realized. He wanted love from Eddie.

Which makes it all worse when they’re going over game plans. Eddie going with Dustin. Dustin going with Eddie. Nancy and Robin going with him to the Creel house. Max and Lucas and Erica being all too far. There was that pull. A protective surge. Flames in his veins.

It was all so stupid. So careless. Everything they chose to do. The way Eddie knew about some gun store. How his body read nonchalance, but the way his hands shook when pointing out what kind of weapons they could find there. Steve wanted to reach down and wrap his own hands around Eddie’s, squeeze them still, bring his knuckles to between his eyebrows. Do something silly. Like kiss them or kiss Eddie or carve a spot behind his ribs and force Eddie inside of there.

That magnetic pull is back full force once they’re right side up in the Upside Down. Dustin’s a whole four inches shorter than Eddie. Covered in scrap and a hood. And he looks childish, dorky, how he should have been the last several years. Yet there’s a matured gleam to his eyes that haunts Steve, even as he stares it down. And when he glances to Eddie, looking reasonably the same—immature and dorky—green vest that isn’t zipped up, DIY’d leather jacket, ammo belt, and a pair of ill-fitting shiny boots. Steve can only wonder what it would be like to see Eddie not here, not in these circumstances, in his usual appearance. How more…beautiful he’d be if he weren’t so damned afraid.

If Eddie weren’t staring at Steve with something like goodbye. He forces himself to turn away, to stop looking, to stop wanting when there’s no sure presence of tomorrow. It’s like he’s being gifted a litter of kittens, being told not to get attached. Except, he’s already come up with names and collar colors and places where he could put beds. He’s got an idea of where Eddie would be soft if Steve could touch his skin. What nicknames would make him flush and what petnames would make him melt. Steve doesn’t want to be attached, but at the same time, he doesn’t think he ever had the choice.

“Hey, Steve?” Eddie calls to him.

A crunching step forward. Steve forces himself frozen to his spot. His back tenses, shoulders hiking, the axe on his back brushes his hair. It’s cold, the metal is solid and real and sharp. His hands are shaking and his eyes are burning and there’s an iron grip around his lungs. Stomach turning and lurching and falling straight to his feet. He doesn’t turn, not yet. Not with the stern and sudden confidence to Eddie’s voice. Don’t get attached, he’s not yours to keep, a voice echoes deep inside him. I want him. I want him, though, that’s not fair, and that’s the petulant part of him. Something he thought he lost when he knocked on Jonathan Byers’s door.

He expects Eddie to continue, but he doesn’t. The rush of blood is loud in Steve’s ears. There’s no other voices. No other sounds. He’d think that the demo-creatures would’ve sounded off by now, but there’s nothing. The weight of everything, he realizes, is behind him.

Over his shoulder, Eddie’s eyes are fierce. No longer pulling on Steve’s arm, rather squeezing him tight by the shoulders, hauling him into his orbit, pressing their bodies and souls tight. Steve is startled and stirring and flippant. He shouldn’t leave. Doesn’t want to. Not when Eddie is…Eddie is what he wants.

And while his eyes are fierce, they are checking out. Somewhere else. And yet, they’re here. For Steve to fall into. And for him to cradle the sure absence Eddie is preparing to make.

“Make him pay,” Eddie’s voice demands. It’s neutral, neither loud and overbearing nor soft and assuring. His voice is a grenade, ring pulled but hammer still intact. Steve wants to pick it up and place it inside his chest. Wants to obliterate at the impact and sound.

He swallows. Wavers. Nods. And turns away.

But he doesn’t take a first step. He just stands, caught between worlds and passions and full body aches. A shiver crawling up his spine and into the back of his mouth. He swears he tastes it, decay. Something leaving and rotting, just as Eddie’s footsteps begin to retreat. To dissipate. Steve doesn’t want to forget the sound.

Without much on his mind, without any preamble or warning, Steve whirls back around. Stomps inside Eddie’s dusty footprints. Their shoes aligning to one another, the same size. His eyes burn lasers into Eddie’s back, but neither of them stop moving. It’s not until Steve is nearly at the front door to the Munson’s trailer that he’s able to grasp to something. His left hand wraps around Eddie’s right forearm. Gripping with the force of hippopotamus jaws. And he tugs Eddie to him. To face him.

Eddie’s eyes look to him in trepidation. There’s something else, like he’s realizing he’s been caught. An apology forming on the tip of his tongue. Before he can part his lips to say anything, Steve takes his right hand and forces his fingernails to indent into Eddie’s cheeks, squishing his lips to be slightly puckered, and drags him towards his face.

Their noses meet first. Soft and tantalizing. Breathing the same air. Steve, for a moment, can smell Eddie’s breath. And he doesn’t care, that neither of them have brushed their teeth in several days. That they’re tasting each other’s rot and stale words. He doesn’t care.

Slowly, he leans the rest of the way in. Pressing his lips to Eddie’s softly. Just soaking in their warmth. How dry and chapped and splitting they are. Pushes in more firmly, fluttering his eyes shut at the sensation. Breathing in gulps through his nose. Messy and wet on Eddie’s lips, but all the same a: ‘The world is ending, so nothing matters, but you matter and my world will end otherwise.’

And when he pulls his head back, he notices that Eddie wasn’t responsive at all. He wasn’t, but Steve doesn’t feel rejected, for once. Or negated. Or pulled taut and snapped in half. His chest glows with a low-level warmth, radiating between them like a candle’s near-dying flame. He digs his fingernails out of Eddie’s skin and cups his cheeks instead. Like protecting that little bit of light melting away at them. He opens his eyes, met with bewilderment and silence and fear and curiosity and…yearning. But also, there’s something shining back on Eddie’s face like a dream has just come true.

Steve takes a sharp, quick inhale. Whispers, “Don’t be a hero.” He’s already said it, he knows that. But…Eddie was never going to listen and he should’ve known that from the get-go. “Don’t be stupid,” he continues, “and you come back here. Come back to me.”

“Wha—“

“Come back to me,” Steve urges. “I want to know you. And I want to have you. I want to…I want to need you all the time, you understand me? Come back to me, all in one piece, away from danger. Or else I will kill you myself.” He nods once. Swipes his thumb over Eddie’s still jutting bottom lip. “Promise,” he demands lowly, “promise I can see you again.”

Eddie’s gulp is loud between them. His breath puffing hot and cold over Steve’s fingers. But his voice has lost all ferocity. Going soft and controlled and loving. “I promise, Stevie,” he murmurs, “I promise I’ll find you back here.”

Steve nods one more time. Short and affirmative and final. He draws his hands away. Zips up Eddie's vest. And brings them back to being limp at his sides. The very foundation of his being shakes. “Good. And I like that. I like that name, Eds. Call me that again, promise.”

“Promise,” Eddie echoes.

“Not a goodbye,” Steve feels the need to say.

“Just a see you later,” Eddie states. And there’s an honest tone to him that settles all the frayed nerve endings inside of Steve. Before he gets the chance to turn back, Eddie gently cradles his face in turn. He presses a chaste kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth. “Just for luck,” he murmurs, “be safe.”

There’s a weight in those words, too. Steve tethers to them.

And they ring out at the final blow to Vecna, as the flames engulf on all sides of the house. When they return to one another and all that’s wrong is a splash of ugly dark blood on Eddie’s cheek.

They’re safe. The world will always end, but they’re safe.

💕—————💕 Kiss Ask Game <3

[clerc16]

‘tis the season ; f1 boys ⛇･:*౨ৎ

a/n: it’s cold, so have this :) also might do this w other drivers too!

summary: winter with the f1 boys

warnings: pretty much none, just fluff

↳ THIS INCLUDES . . .

charles leclerc, lewis hamilton, max verstappen, lando norris, daniel ricciardo

── ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

⛄ CHARLES LECLERC

“Amour, I am freezing,” you shiver, looking around your garden. It had just recently snowed, so Charles decided to drag you outside to make a bunch of snowmen.

Your garden was full of snowmen everywhere; small ones, big ones, unfinished ones. It was all fun and games until your nose started to go numb and your fingers felt like they were about to fall off, despite having gloves.

Charles makes his way towards you and wraps you in his arms, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Your lips are cold,” you mumble into his chest. He laughs, the kind of laugh that will instantly make you smile and make your body go warm. You smile at that.

“How about we go inside and make some hot chocolate, then decorate for a little while?” He suggests. Your eyes light up at his words and you nod immediately.

“Can we also put a Christmas movie on?” You ask. He nods his head and presses a kiss on your cheek, followed by a kiss to your lips.

“Anything for you, bébé.”

⛄ LEWIS HAMILTON

You woke up to the smell of hot chocolate and pancakes coming from the kitchen, Lewis’ soft hum of a Christmas song echoing in the house. A smile immediately makes its way to your face as you get out of bed and go downstairs.

He’s too focused on cooking to notice you slip into the kitchen, but he finally takes notice when you wrap your arms around his back. He smiles and twists his body so he could see you properly.

“Good morning, love, how’d you sleep?” He asks, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

“I slept really well - it was pretty cold, though,” you mutter, your eyes trailing to the pancakes he was cooking.

“I know, it snowed overnight - at least it’s an excuse to stay inside together, hm?” Lewis smiles. That damn smile of his.

You smile and nod, sitting on the counter beside the oven and taking a mug of hot chocolate.

“True, true. We should probably start decorating for Christmas, too. Oh, oh! I got a new set of baubles, they are absolutely stunning! And also a new set of various ornaments and candy canes,” you ramble, your eyes twinkling with excitement. Lewis smiles at your response and looks at you lovingly.

He wishes every day was a snow day if he got to spend it inside with you, just like this.

⛄ MAX VERSTAPPEN

Max was not a major fan of going all out for Christmas. Well, that was until he met you.

“Max, pass me those ornaments, please!” You ask. The shiny, green Christmas tree was currently sat in the corner of your living room as you both decorated it, Christmas classicals softly playing in the background.

Max hands you the ornaments as he opens his own pack of baubles and starts hanging them around. Funnily enough, he puts aside all the red and yellow ones - when you asked, he claimed that they reminded him of the Ferrari colours, which were not ones he enjoyed.

“But red and yellow are basic Christmas colours!” You protested, giggling. Max shakes his head adamantly.

“Sorry, schatje, but no.”

You roll your eyes playfully as you put down your own set of ornaments and made your way over to him, cradling his face in your hand and peppering it with kisses.

“You’re cute,” you whisper as you laugh lightly at the lipstick marks on his face.

“Says you,” he whispers back, kissing your lips.

“We still need the red and yellow baubles though,” you say, reaching over to grab one of them. However, Max is faster than you, and he reaches for it first.

“Absolutely not!”

⛄ LANDO NORRIS

“You look so stupid,” you laugh as your boyfriend puts on a fake santa beard and hat he saw at the store. You were currently doing Christmas shopping, something the two of you enjoyed.

“Oh, shut up. Take a photo!”

You take your phone out as you shake your head, snapping a few photos of him. These were definitely getting posted on his next birthday.

“These are my favorite things in the world,” he says as he takes them off and placing them back on their shelf.

“Sadly, they are not what we are looking for. C’mon, we need new Christmas napkins,” you say as you pull on his arm and into a different aisle.

“Which napkins should we get?” You ask, holding out two different sets of Christmas-patterned napkins. He doesn’t respond, and you look up, expecting him to still be inspecting them - however, he is not there. Nowhere to be seen whatsoever.

“Lando? Lando!” You run through different aisles, then you find him.

You find him standing in front of the Christmas costumes aisle, looking at a huge snowman costume.

“What are you- Lando, what is this?”

“It’s absolutely amazing, darling. I think this is more important than the napkins,” he smiles as he starts taking it off the shelf. You roll your eyes and smile, unable to contain your laughter.

“You are absolutely insane.”

⛄ DANIEL RICCIARDO

“All I want for Christmas is youuuu,” Daniel sang, prancing around the house like a ballerina. You giggle at his actions as you hung the last candy cane on the tree, going back to inspect your work.

“Looks lovely, darling,” Daniel says, making his way over to you.

“Oh, I know. My most amazing piece of art,” you say jokingly as you make your way to the kitchen, getting out a box of hot cocoa powder.

“It’s perf- is that hot cocoa? Oh, this is great. Absolutely great. Where’s the gingerbread house set?” He asks excitedly, following you to the kitchen and opening multiple cupboards and drawers.

He finally gets ahold of it and smiles, placing it on the counter. Daniel was one of the most enthusiastic and passionate people you’ve ever met, especially when it came to things he loved. In this case, Christmas and sweets.

You prepare two mugs of hot cocoa as he opens the set, placing everything around the counter. You give him his mug as he kisses your forehead in thanks.

He continues to hum various songs and occasionally singing out loud as you both work on your gingerbread houses, the snow outside falling slowly.

Truly, all you both wanted for Christmas was each other. That was just about it.

[anna-the-undertaker]

Southern MC and their cast iron skillet -

MC standing over the kitchen sink with their hands clenching the edge of the counter: BOYS!

The boys come running, recognizing MC's angry voice.

Lucifer: What is it this time, MC?

MC, taking a deep breath through their nose before speaking: Which one a y'all dumber than dirt idiots did this?

The boys are silent, so MC reaches into the dirty water, pulls out their now rusted iron skillet, and turns toward them, pointing it at them with a scowl written on their face.

MC: Now, I ain't stupid. It wasn't me, so dont even try to go that route. I left each and every one a y'all a simple list of instructions on how to care for this here skillet before I left to purgatory hall for the weekend. So I'll ask again... who did it? If I dont get an answer, all y'all are gone deal with the consequences.

Belphie: Is this really such a big deal? It's just a skillet.

MC glares at him: It is a big deal. Do you understand how a cast IRON skillet is maintained? Obviously, none a y'all do. Ya can't treat it like a regular skillet. You can't soak it overnight 'cause it will RUST 'CAUSE ITS MADE OF IRON! It's a tedious task to scrub all the rust off and reseason it, and even then, it takes a while for the damned thing to become seasoned to my liking! Which one of ya did it?! I won't ask again.

They remained silent, as always joining forces at the worst of times.

MC: Fine! Since all y'all wanna stand there like the lights are on but ain't no one home, I reckon I'll have to take this into my own hands. *They activated all of the boys pacts* Sit!

The boys do as they are told, their pact marks burning brightly at the command, as MC pulls out their DDD and calls a certain demon butler.

Barbatos answers, a knowing tone in his voice: MC, what can I do for you?

MC: Barb, darlin', could you be a dear and bring as many cast iron skillets as you can to the House of Lamentation? The boys need a lesson on how to care for 'em, and I intend for them to remember it well. I'll come to the castle and make you and Diavolo a pie for the inconvenience.

Barbatos chuckles: It would be my pleasure.

MC: Thank you, darlin'. See ya soon.

MC ends the call and turns her attention back to the boys: Now, when Bard gets here, y'all are going to wash the skillets, dry them with a dish towel, heat them on the stove, grease them, and set them aside to cool. When I return from Dia's, I am going to check every last one of 'em, and if they ain't done right, you'll do 'em again, ya hear?

They all nodded, some of them wore scowls on their face, while others looked sullen for being scolded.

Barbatos arrived soon after with so many skillets that it was comical, like he was prepared for this to happen. It was obvious he was far too entertained by this turn of events. The look on the brothers' faces at the sheer amount was hilarious.

When MC left with the Butler, bringing their iron skillet with them to clean it in peace, it didn't take long for the boys to turn on each other and an all-out war to take place.

When MC returned some hours later with a couple dozen pies and their renewed skillet, they found the boys scattered about looking worn out along with the damage they had done during their arguing. Mc almost felt bad for them. They had, however, finished all the skillets to perfection.

They all learned a lesson they would never forget.

You don't fuck with a southerners cast iron skillet.

[1427]

When the Levee Breaks (pt. 4)

Daryl Dixon x OFC

The one in which a stripper that used to know Merle and Daryl shows up at the Atlanta camp. Daryl’s feelings are complicated but mostly he hates her, right?

Chapt. Setting: Highway outside of Atlanta. 

Chapt. Warnings: degrading and sexist language, degrading behavior, season 2 Daryl, smut, oral (m receiving)(kind of) weird. Just weirdo perv (out of desperation) Daryl. 

Word Count: 3200

A/N; Daryl’s POV 😩🤷‍♀️ 17+ mdni

masterlist

Been keepin’ Merle’s stuff pretty well hidden. Guess I should probably just get rid of it, right? But I can’t. S’not mine to get rid of. So I just hide it. Separate bag from the rest of his meds, all the way at the bottom of a backpack, stuffed under the seat of my truck. 

Beatle says she’s been sober off spazz shit for three years. Pretty sure three years ago s’when I met her though, so I’unno how she figures that. 

But now we’re ditchin’ the truck and I gotta find a way to carry it without Beatle finding it. Don’t even have time to be upset about my truck. Had it for at least the last ten years. Loved this thing like it was the only thing I had. Basically was for a while. 

Takin’ Merles bike. It’s got some dumbass Nazi shit on it, but ‘m not complainin’. That shit don’t matter anymore. Neither does bein’ upset over a truck that’s not gonna do me any good without gas. 

Pack myself two bags. One goes with Beatle in Dale’s RV, the other is the pack I’d had stuffed under the seat. Spazz gets hidden underneath a few shirts, smokes, the couple sips left of girlwhiskey, and the rest of Merle’s scripts. Stuff I don’t trust Beatle with.  

I think she knows, too. She doesn’t say it but she gives me a look when I tell her ‘m holdin’ onto it. I offer her a whole cigarette. All for herself. And it shuts her up enough not to push it. 

Don’t know if I like when she’s happy or not. Kinda makes me feel sick so I try not to think about it. Dunno. Whatever. Don’t got time to think about that shit anyway. S’always somethin’. 

Don’t really even got the time to think about what a shit show the CDC was. Just gotta keep movin’. Guess the plan is Fort Bennet? Don’t know. Don’t care. ‘m just goin’. 

It’s nice to be back on a bike again. Can’t feel nothin’ but the vibrating underneath me and the air in my face. Can’t hear nothin’ but the engine. By myself. Like all this shit hasn’t happened…

No use in thinkin’ ‘bout it that way, though. Has happened. And I ain’t gonna be one of those sorry sacks that wants to pretend shit ain’t the way it is. That’s one thing I like Beatle for. She don’t pretend shits gonna go back. Don’t miss nothin’, ain’t lookin’ for no one. Far as I see it, she’s happy mostly. Guess it’s easy when someone’s takin’ care of everything for ya. Me. Giving her my smokes and buildin’ fires for my damn self, thinkin’ everything tha’s mine is hers. It ain’t. 

Other people makin’ plans. Other people findin’ shelter. Other peoples food. 

Too many people in this group ain’t pullin’ their own weight. It’s gonna catch up sooner or later. Beatle’s a weak player. Can’t decide if I should help her out or not. Can’t decide if I should protect her or not. Cuz she don’t want it, she don’t think she needs it. But she’s gonna need it. Sooner or later. 

Cuz I know I hate her and all that. Dumb fuckin’ bitch for sure. But after what happened at the CDC? Thought we were gonna die. Thought she was gonna die. Fuck. I’unno. Guess I felt somethin’. 

I’m in between knowin’ it and hatin’ it. It can be both right? Cuz it’s definitely both. One more thing I gotta care about. Real fuckin’ stupid. 

We’re only on the road a few hours before shit blows. Literally. Dales radiator. Good ‘n done. Then more bullshit happens but ain’t that the way shit is now?

A whole herd of ‘em come through and everyone’s fine. Andrea’s havin’ a panic attack ‘bout the geek that almost ate ‘er, Carol’s kid run off into the woods, and T-Dog’s all but bled out. But to me? Basically fine. No one’s dead or nothin’. 

Don’t know where Beatle was when the herd came. But she’s fine too, and any worryin’ I’d been doin was a waste of fuckin’ time. Not gonna waste any more of it bein’ mad I was worried in the first place. That I couldn’t think ‘bout anything else. Just images of her stupid happy face gettin’ ripped apart. Guess I care now. At least ‘bout her not bein’ dead. ‘Bout her bein’ here.

She’s standin’ outside the RV with me, sharing a cigarette cuz I don’t know how else to tell her I’m glad she’s alive. Can’t stop lookin’ at her. She’s either ignoring my staring or pretendin’ I ain’t doin’ it, and ‘m grateful. Don’t wanna talk ‘bout that shit. Just wanna look at her, and fix all those images in my head. Her face still happy and perfect and smilin’ at me like it wasn’t bein’ eaten by monsters a few minutes ago. 

I feel sick. Somethin’… different. 

“Can I just hug you, please?” She asks like she’s been waitin’ to say it. 

“Why?” I squint at her, dragging the smoke. Kinda want to - kinda mad she asked instead of just doin’ it, “Since when do you ask permi-“ I’m cut off by her body wrapped around mine. All four limbs holdin’ on like I’m keepin’ her anchored to the world. 

I hug her back, arms pulled tight around her. Why am I doing this? What the fuck is this? Goin’ fuckin’ soft for some dumb little girl. I can hear Merle laughin’ at me from inside my head, and I drop Beatle back down to the pavement. 

“I’m glad you’re alive.” She says, and I look down at her. Now she’s all covered in the gross shit I’m covered in. She doesn’t seem to care. Doesn’t even seem to notice. 

“Yeah?” I say at her, cuz I don’t know what else to say. Can’t tell her Im glad she’s alive. Can’t give her that. I hugged her back, that’s enough. She should know. 

She nods, smiling that stupid fuckin’ smile that I’m startin’ to like. ‘Fore her face starts wrinklin’ up somethin’ nasty. There it is. She looks at me, then down at herself. “What the fuck, Daryl?” 

Me?! “‘Pleeeease can I hug you, Daryl?’” I mock her. 

“I was worried!! And then you’re alive and okay and I  didn’t have time to look at you covered in guts and shit!” She squeals. I swear she knows it irritates me. I can see her goin’ to punch me in the arm so I let her, then pull her into another hug. 

Grabbin’ at her head to bring it close to my chest, covered in week old decaying monster meat, “C’mon, Beatle. Gimme a hug!” She’s tryin’ to fight it but ‘m stronger. 

She bends her knees and slips down and out of my arms. The blood on my hands making her too slippery to hold onto. She starts runnin’. I run after her til we get to the side of the road and she tries to hide underneath the trunk of a car crashed into the rail. 

Maybe this ain’t the time for fuckin’ around, but it don’t matter. Not when I finally got her cornered. The look of fear in her eyes does somethin’ to me. Not real fear.  Naw, cuz she’s smilin’. Cuz she’s laughin’. Just excited that we’re both still breathing. Still, smile on her face and laugh in her throat, she’s cowering beneath a cars trunk, beggin’ me to stop. The beggin’s doin’ somethin’ to me too. Fuck. 

I pick her up, slingin’ her over my shoulder, she yelps. Don’t she know how this shit works yet? “Fuckin’ quiet, Beatle. Dumb bitch.” I slap her ass once and she fuckin’ yelps again. “Wha’ did I just say?” And I slap her ass again. This time she’s quiet. 

Shit, that worked? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. My dicks hard. 

I’unno if it’s cuz I never carried a girl over my shoulder like this, cuz I spanked her couple times, or cuz she listened. My dick gets even harder and I realize it’s definitely fuckin’ all of it. But mostly that she listened when I told her what to do. Maybe I should tell her what to do more often. Fuck. ‘m not helpin’ myself, or my problem, at all. 

I dip my head down to smell the sick I’m covered in to make it go away. It works. Even with her ass next to my face. So close I could bite it. For fucks sake. I put her down but she doesn’t run away this time. We walk slowly back to the group. Not sayin’ nothin’. Me, cuz I’m trying to focus on the smell of rotten flesh and definitely not Beatle beggin’ me to stop. Definitely not about what her face looked like when she felt my hand on her ass.  

Wonder if she’s quiet cuz she’s thinkin’ about it too.

 Wondering what she’s thinkin’ about and tryin’ to will away a stiffy. Fuck this fuckin’ high school bullshit. Like she reads my mind, I feel her needy little fingers snake into my hand. For a second I think maybe I’m smokin’ a cigarette I don’t remember havin’ but ‘m not. She’s just tryin’ to hold my hand. 

At first it feels nice, and then I feel sick again. Too many questions unanswered. Too much shit that’s already happened. Can’t trust her. So I shake her hand off, “Stop.” 

“Fine. Fuck you.” She stomps away and back into the RV. I’unno what the fuck’s wrong with me that it makes me smile. Do I like when she’s happy? Shit, I dunno. If I did, wouldn’t I not like it when she’s upset? So why does her being mad at me do it for me too? 

✨🏹

Whatever. 

She comes with me to go look for Sophia. Andrea stood up like she was gonna come too, but once Beatle and I are standin’ next to the RV Andrea doesn’t follow us out.

 We don’t stray too far from the road. It’s dark, and mostly just came out here to help ease Carol’s mind. ‘m definitely goin’ soft. But I’unno. Hurts to watch people lose stuff. Their families. Hurts to watch people hurt. 

Gonna hurt Beatle in a fuckin’ second if she doesn’t shut the fuck up. We’re walkin’ through the woods. At night. She’s gotta know this shit by now. “Beatle, keep your fuckin’ voice down. Please.” Did I just say please? Fuck me. 

“Did you just say ‘please’?” Fuck. Me. 

“Shut up.” 

“Don’t think I know how.” 

“Yeah, no shit.” She laughs, and it makes me smile. And that makes me feel sick to my stomach. Again. 

Her voice cuts through while I’m makin’ myself even sicker thinkin’ about it, “You wanna play another game?”

My eyebrows raise in her direction, “Yeah, that went real well for ya last time.” 

“Nevermind.” Her face falters and she crosses her arms across her chest. 

“What, you don’t wanna get half naked and cry again?” And for fuckin’ once I wish Beatle had somethin’ to say back. Some smartass shit that isn’t even funny but she definitely means it to be. But she doesn’t. She doesn’t say anything. She just lets my question hang in the fuckin’ air and suffocate me. Cuz now I’m thinkin’ about her half naked and crying and my fuckin dicks hard again. What is this shit? Rock hard cock every time I pick on her now? ‘m not gonna be able to do this. She’s gonna notice. Where the fuck is a guy supposed to jerk off and relieve some of this shit? 

On her fuckin’ face.

Shit.

She’s been quiet for too long and my brain won’t stop. It’s just getting worse. Images of her now, her face covered in my cum, her lips humming together making little bubbles with it, smiling. Shit. 

Beatle, say something. Anything.

“How big’s your dick?” Not. Fucking. That. 

She listens… right? She wants it, right? Why else would she ask that? Now, when it’s just the two of us out in the woods in the dark. She wants me to show her. 

So show her.

“Beatle.” My voice is low, barely there. Just a rasp of a word. 

She turns around, ready to explain herself before she even looks at me, “I-“ 

“C’mere.” If I don’t cut her off she’s gonna say she was just jokin’ but we both know she ain’t jokin’. She wants ta know. So she’s gonna know. 

Feel like I can see her blushin’ in the moonlight as she walks toward me, even though I can’t. Just know she is. Smile on her face like I ain’t about to wipe it off with my cock. Shit, hard as a fuckin’ rock right now. I rub my palm over the length of it, and I watch her eyes follow my arm down. Watch ‘em get bigger, wide and nervous, and it makes my dick twitch against my jeans. I pull out a smoke and light one, for a second I see a disappointment in her face, thinkin’ maybe I’d just called her over to share a smoke. Naw. “Down on your knees.” 

And Jesus Christ, does she kneel so fuckin’ fast. She stares straight ahead, and somethin’ comes over me. Can’t wait. Don’t want to. Don’t need to. Beatle does what I ask, at least when it comes to this. Like a good little slut would. That is what she’s good at, ain’t it? 

So maybe it’s a little fucked up that I grab her head and force her against the rough fabric of my jeans. Pushing my cock into her cheek as hard as I fuckin’ can. Holding her by the hair and rubbing her face on me. 

But this little bitch moans. At first I wasn’t sure, but she keeps fuckin’ moaning. She likes this. Somethin’ close to a laugh escapes my throat, past the cigarette between my lips. I take it with my fingers, letting one hand go from her head, the other hand pulls her back to look up at me. Her expression absolutely blown. She just looks at me for a second, before putting her face back on my cock on her own. It’s not the same amount of pressure but it still feels fuckin’ good. And somethin’ about her doin’ it on her own. Like she can’t fuckin’ help it. Like she needs it. 

She’s starts to lick at the fabric right where my head is and my dick spasms again at the sight of it. This time she can feel it underneath her mouth. She smiles up at me, smirkin’ down at her. Putting the cigarette in my mouth, I drag it, before bringing it down to her lips. A little reward for listening. 

She drags it once and I drop it on the ground. Beatle says “Thank you.” In the smallest voice I ever heard come out of her mouth. Fuck. I could fall in love with this Beatle. It’s just your dick talkin’ Dar, don’t get crazy. 

I grunt a laugh and start to unbuckle my belt. Unbutton my pants. Barely have my cock in my hand ‘fore her mouths around it. I pull her back by her hair, sharply. She winces in pain and reaches up to her head where I’m holdin’ on. Her eyes shoot up to look at me. 

God, fuck, what I wouldn’t give to have that image burned in my brain for the rest of my life. Her face, all discomfort and contempt because I won’t let her touch me. Like she’s fuckin’ dying for it. “Nah, keep your mouth shut Beatle. Gotta learn ta do what yer told.” 

She nods, and closes her lips. Looking from my eyes back down my body again. I lean back, takin’ myself in my hand and pressing my cock into her face. 

For a while I just rub myself all over, letting her feel the weight of it. Letting her know just how big it really fuckin’ is. Lifting it off her face and smackin’ her cheeks. Makin’ her flinch, her eyes squish closed but I press my hard cock against her eye and push up forcing her eyelid open. Fuck. I do the same thing with her lips. Smushing and rubbing the head of it into her lips to open them, I fuck against her mouth for a second. Beatles groaning and moaning but she doesn’t open her mouth. Somethin’ about it makes me need to cum. Now. No more fuckin’ around. “Open up.” 

She does. I spit into her open mouth, and she moans again, without swallowing it. Like a good slut. “Fuck, Beatle. Shit. Now stick your tongue out.” 

She does. I can see my spit falling off her tongue and I quickly catch it with my cock, before smearing as much of the slick spit from her mouth onto me. Taking myself from the base, holding hard to cut off the circulation. Always feels better when I do that. Rubbin her tongue with my cock til I can’t fuckin take it anymore. I’m about to fuckin’  cum. I pull away for only a second, my breathings all fucked and I can barely speak, “Close yer mouth.” She looks confused for a second but closes her mouth. Good. Was about to smack her. 

My left hand finds a place on the back of her head again, gripping into her hair to hold her in place. I push my hips forward and put the whole length across her face. My other hand pressing myself down into her from above her. And I fuck myself on her face. Grunting and sloppy and desperate to cum. Never done this before, shit, does anyone do this? But fuck, it’s so fuckin’ hot. Her lips and her cheeks and her eyelids and her nose all squished and being fuckin’ ruined by my cock. Shit.  Fuck. 

Right as I’m about to cum I put both hands around her head and hump her face like… I don’t even know. I feel fuckin’ insane, but she’s still moaning at the feeling of being used. Not even in a way that should be enjoyable to her. 

I don’t think I’ve ever cum that much in my whole fuckin’ life. Most of it ends up in Beatle’s hair, but there’s still a whole lot of it on her face. I mess with it for a second. Swirling my puffy post-nut dick in it before I get oversensitive. 

I put myself away, and sit down on the ground next to Beatle. Still in the exact same position. I let her kneel there, don’t tell her she can move or nothin’. Guess that’s why she doesn’t. Don’t think she can open her eyes either. S’funny. 

Relighting the short I’d dropped to the ground, I pull a bandana from my pocket. “Is it big, Beatle?” I ask her while I wipe only her mouth off, and put the cigarette between her lips. 

She sucks on the filter, and smiles. “Yep.”

Eventually I wipe off her eyes too. Can’t do anything about her hair though, so I promise to find her a hat from one of the cars on the walk back. 

And I don’t let myself think about what this might mean. Who cares? I don’t. Don’t think Beatle does neither. We’re just goin’. 

pt 5

A/N: Yeah okay,  I know. Daryl’s all back and forth. Does he not give a shit about Merle and Beatle? Does he know deep down they never did anything together? Or maybe he just wasn’t thinking about it at the time? He’s confused, guys. He also really doesn’t have all the information (Eventually he’s gonna ask but first we have to deal with Sophia. Sorry. I don’t want to either.)

[steddieasitgoes]

written for @eddiemonth Day 16 Prompt: Library & Curious a/n: This one might be my favorite one I've written yet! It's set at the start of season 2! read on ao3 | link to my ao3 Edde Month series

Eddie’s well aware there are a lot of stupid classes that Hawkins High requires its student body to take. Algebra (there’s no reason for the alphabet and numbers to mix, except in very rare cases, like D20 type cases), Physics (what more do they need to know beyond what goes up, must come down), French (as if anyone from Bumfuck, Indiana could afford to go to France — okay maybe some can, but Eddie’s certainly not one of them that’s for damn sure), goddamn Physical Education (only way he’s running is if someone is chasing him, thank you very much). But the stupidest class of all has to be Study Hall.

An entire class dedicated to doing work for other classes? What kind of idiot dreamed this one up? Instead of letting them out an hour early, some guy, probably in a suit because all bad ideas come from guys in suits, decided to hold them hostage to do more work. It’s ridiculous. Not to mention, it’s one of the few times, outside of lunch, that the grades get to mingle with each other. Sure, lots of studying goes on in between freshmen drooling over seniors and sophomores paying juniors for last year’s test answers.

The only time Eddie actually liked study hall was during his sophomore year when he had it first period and could do all the homework he neglected to do the night before. It’s the only time it actually made sense. And the only time, thus far in his high school career, that Eddie actually turned in more assignments than not.

But now, he’s a senior stuck with study hall as his last class of the day, and he wants to die. Okay, maybe not die die. But die in the sense that he’d rather risk bodily harm escaping the hellscape that is the Hawkins library during 6th-period study hall than sit here. His freedom is so close — nothing but a few windows and a brick wall separating him from the brisk late-October air. Eddie can’t risk it, though. He’s already reached his detention quote for the semester, and if he wants to keep using the drama room for Hellfire meetings, he has to sit in this damn library seat and at least pretend to get some work done.

Which, honestly, isn’t the worst thing in the world. At least it gives him time to work on his latest Hellfire campaign without the prying eyes of Jeff and Gareth or the unnecessary questions from Freak. Sure, he’s supposed to be working on an essay for English Lit, but he doesn’t think Ms. Washington is going to appreciate his take on Frankenstein, so he’ll worry about coming up with a dumbed-down idea another day.

Besides, even focusing on his new campaign is hard enough with the idle chatter going on that the librarian is either pretending not to hear or is too tired of shushing them for.

It’s the usual sort of study hall gossip. Who’s screwing who. What teacher is going to pull a pop quiz tomorrow and become the biggest asshole at Hawkins High. The occasional nervous whispers of the geeks actually studying.

It’s all mindless chatter that drifts into the background when the topic of Tina’s Halloween Bash comes up. That’s the real gossip of the night. Who got the keg, and what other alcohol is being provided? Who is going to be the best dressed? What couple is going to get caught screwing in Tina’s parent’s bed? Are there going to be any good fights or breakups?

Eddie rolls his eyes. Jesus H. Christ, can’t anybody be original around here?

Unfortunately for Eddie, there’s no escaping Tina’s Halloween Bash since he’s been summoned to provide some extra party favors, as the “cool” kids like to call them. Eddie, never one to back down from being a thorn in a “cool” kid’s side, always responds with the same spiel: “Drugs. What you want is drugs, right? Or should I go raid Melvald’s for you?”

Whatever. Money is money, and Eddie can take all the money he can get his grubby hands on if he wants to get out of this shit-hole town when he graduates in June.

Glancing at his watch, he tips his head back in a silent groan of annoyance. Only ten minutes have passed since he slunk into the uncomfortable library seat. Christ, why does time move so slow, sometimes? Eddie tries to focus on his Hellfire notes in front of him, and he’s successful for all of thirty seconds before something catches his attention in the corner of his eye.

Nancy Wheeler and the former Hawkins High King, Steve Harrington, are whispering to each other by the pencil sharpener. He rolls his eyes. Of course, no one else in the library is paying them any mind. And why would they? Harrington fell from grace last year, and Wheeler isn’t exactly the “look at me” type. Still, Eddie finds them morbidly interesting in a way he finds all the tragic heterosexual couples in this stupid small town interesting.

Before Eddie has a chance to fall deeper into his cynical outlook on this stupid Hawkins High couple, Wheeler starts tugging Harrington toward the private study room in the back of the library. It’s a move that shocks Eddie to his core. Don’t get him wrong, he’s heard all bout Harrington’s little trysts in that very room over the years (thank you gossip mill for the very cheap porn), but he never would have assumed Wheeler would be the one tugging him toward it.

It’s that detour from who she’s supposed to be that has Eddie peeling himself off his chair.  At least, that’s what he tells himself as he saunters toward the stack of books in the back of the library closest to the private room. If he hears moaning or anything remotely sounding like they’re hooking up, he promises himself he’ll leave. He’s a freak in many ways, but a creep, he is not.

Glancing over his shoulder, Eddie can see the two of them in the small room. They’re close but not close enough to be doing anything beyond talking. From the look on her face, doing anything of that sort isn’t even on her mind.

Interesting.

Eddie creeps closer.

“Barbara. It’s like nobody cares. Except her parents. And now they’re selling their house.”

“Nance—“

Wheeler rants about something, but he misses most of it. Only catching the very end.

“It’s destroying them.”

No shit, Eddie thinks with another dramatic eye roll. Of course, losing their only daughter is destroying them. The Hollands are one of the few families around here that actually have a heart. At least they did before Barbara tore it from them by running away. Or so the story goes. Eddie’s always been a bit suspicious of Holland’s disappearance. He knows the runaway type, and a straight-A girl, with a well-off family who loves them like Holland had doesn’t fit the bill.

“I know. Okay? I get it,” Harrington says, glancing away from Wheeler to peer out the window. Eddie grabs the first book on the shelf and buries his face in it. It must fool Steve because he starts talking again. “But listen, there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Yeah, we could tell them the truth.”

“This isn’t some game, Nance. If they found out that we told any…” He trails off again, and Eddie reaches for another book.

Eyes peering over the pages, Eddie watches as he shuts the blinds before presumably returning to Wheeler. With the blinds shut and their voices even lower, he can no longer hear what they’re talking about. Which is a damn shame because Eddie’s never been more curious about what the disgraced King was about to say than right now. 

+ + +

“M’telling you guys. It was weird,” Eddie says through a mouthful of Doritos.

They’re hanging out in Gareth’s garage. Jeff sits in the old recliner while Gareth stays perched behind his drum kit. Freak is running late, as usual, though Eddie’s not too pressed about it today. Too distracted filling the boys in on what he overheard in the library.

“I don’t know man; it sounds like she was just concerned about her best friend,” Gareth says, lightly tapping his drumsticks on his snare.

“Yeah, those two were inseparable, remember.”

“All the more reason why it’s weird she’s been mopping around lately. Obviously, she knows where Holland is. Or what happened to her.”

“Not this again,” Jeff groans, sinking further into the recliner.

“Yes, this again,” Eddie retorts, throwing Jeff an intense glare. “This town is weird as shit. If the Byers kid can come back from the dead—“

“I thought they proved it wasn’t actually Byers they found in the quarry,” The Freak says, finally joining them in the garage. 

“They did, but Eddie still thinks—“

“Shut up!” Eddie shouts, taking a moment to throw a Dorito at all of their heads. “Let me level with you for a second, okay? Yeah, sure, they said that kid wasn’t Byers, but they never said whose kid it was, which is weird. And then right after that, they “find” Holland’s car? It’s too coincidental, man. You know a story isn’t right when it’s too easy.”

“This isn’t one of our campaigns,” Gareth sighs. “Sometimes things really are just accidental coincidences.”

Eddie shakes his head, running his Dorito-stained fingers over his face. “Nah, man, m’not buying it this time. Harrington and Wheeler know what really happened to Holland. And I think they’re responsible for it.”

“So, what?” Jeff asks, leaning forward so his elbows rest on his knees. “You think they made her disappear or something.”

“Maybe Harrington got Holland knocked up, and his family gave her money to leave.”

“See!” Eddie shouts, slapping his hands together as he jumps on the balls of his feet. “Freak gets it! That’s the kind of thing I’m talking about.”

“Okay, but if Harrington knocked Wheeler’s best friend up, why would she still be dating him?” Jeff asks.

“And why would they both be hiding her from her parents?” Gareth adds.

Okay, so maybe these are valid questions, but Eddie doesn’t appreciate the doubts they’re throwing at him. “I don’t appreciate you doubting me,” he says plainly. “You’ll see. M’gonna figure this out.”

“Right, just like you figured out that Ms. O’Donnell was actually failing you for a reason and not because she had some vendetta against Wayne for not dating her.”

“Hey. That was a good theory, okay. One I still think is true, by the way.” Turning his back on the boys, Eddie crosses the room and tosses the empty bag of Doritos into the trash bin before heading towards his badly parked van.

“I thought we were practicing!” Gareth shouts after him.

“Just let him go,” Jeff sighs. “He’s impossible to work with when he’s in conspiracy theory mode.”

Eddie flips Jeff off, climbing into the van. “I’ll see you boys tomorrow.”

+ + +

Eddie’s been at Tina’s party for an entire hour and a half, and there’s still no sign of Harrington or Wheeler. Not that he’s actively searching them out, of course. He’s just had some downtime in between upselling Hagan for the world’s shittiest pot he could get his hands on, and explaining to some cheerleader how Special K hits differently if you snort it. Plus, his supply ran out about ten minutes ago, so he’s just buying time before someone notices him lingering and kicks his ass to the curb.

He’s about to save himself and whatever jock gets thrown his way the trouble, when he spots Harrington and Wheeler arguing by the punch bowl. He’s too far away to hear what they’re saying, but he has a sneaking suspicion it has less to do with the conversation he heard in the library and more to do with Wheeler’s drunken state. Case in point: the red liquid she just spilled all over her blouse.

Chasing after her, Harrington cuts through the crowd and makes his way toward one of the bathrooms. Eddie waits a minute before following them down the crowded hallway. Thankfully, no one is in line for this bathroom — still too early in the night for the alcohol to have hit their bladders — so he’s first in the unofficial bathroom line. Leaning casually against the wall, Eddie angles his ear closer to the door so he can hear inside.

It takes a minute for his ears to tune out the music and nonsense chatter, but when they do, he can clearly hear Wheeler slurring her words.

“You’re pretending like everything’s okay. You know, like we didn’t… like we didn’t kill Barb.”

Eddie’s never experienced shock before, at least, he doesn’t think he has; the early days of his life are a little hazy around the edges, but that’s the only word he thinks fits what he’s experiencing right now. Part of him wants to shove his ear closer to the door to continue listing, while the other part of him wants to run for the hills, screaming in victory. And if he’s straight with himself, maybe screaming in fear a little, too. Harrington and Wheeler murderers? Who knew?

He knew, that’s who!

He knew there was something shady going on between those two.

Pressing his ear closer, he can hear Wheeler slurring more words, though he’s not exactly sure what she’s saying. Honestly, he doesn’t really care what she’s saying. He’s listening for Harrington’s response right now. What does the mighty King have to say about the bomb she’s just dropped?

“This is bullshit,” she slurs.

“Like we’re in love?” Steve asks.

Huh, clearly, Eddie missed a step or two in his shocked state.  He’s not exactly sure how the conversation strayed from them killing Holland to their, clearly, toxic relationship, but the fact it did is all the proof Eddie needs. If they didn’t kill her, Harrington would have been vehemently denying her claim. And yet, he sounds like a kicked puppy dog right now because she doesn’t love him.

Join the club, Harrington.

The doorknob starts to jiggle, and Eddie bolts. It’s not that he’s afraid about coming face-to-face with the two who apparently killed Holland. It’s just that, well, he needs a minute to think about the information he’s just learned.

+ + +

With Gareth and Freak both busy supervising their siblings around Hawkins and Jeff on candy duty for his family’s house, Eddie has no one to share the good bad news with. RIP Holland and all that, but he’s sitting on some serious dirt right now.

The good part of Eddie’s brain knows he should head straight for the police station. Pull good ole’ Chief Hopper aside and gloat about how he did his job for him. But Eddie’s spent enough time at the stuffy station to know no one is going to believe him especially not against Harrington and Wheeler. He’d have better luck marching in there and turning himself in for her murder. Not that he’s going to do that.

He supposes he could tell Wayne about it, but he doesn’t need to be dragging his uncle into any more of his messes. And since Eddie has no proof beyond overhearing a drunken confession, a mess it’ll surely turn into.

So, he opts for the third option and heads out to Skull Rock to do some thinking.

Maybe Freak is right, and it was some sort of jealous rage brought on by a Holland-Harrington pregnancy. Or maybe Holland saw something she shouldn’t have; the possibilities are endless, and Eddie’s imagination is limitless.

Eventually, he circles back to what he’s supposed to do with this information. Should he turn them in? Maybe not Wheeler; she seems like she’s experienced enough guilt as it and the girl has a bright future or whatever it is the teachers are always talking about. Harrington, though? Harrington, he should turn in, right? I mean, he didn’t even seem phased when Wheeler brought up the murder. Eddie’s watched enough horror movies to know that’s psychopath behavior right there. Besides, it would be nice to see the King behind bars. But then again, he hasn’t been the King in a while. And Harrington’s never really done anything to Eddie beyond standing idle while Hagan threw slurs at him. But he’s not hanging out with Hagan anymore, so maybe he should cut him some slack.

Though they did murder someone.

Jesus H. Christ.

Maybe this is why they say curiosity killed the cat — Eddie’s head is throbbing. He’s about to take another hit from his joint when he hears leaves crunching in the distance.

Shit.

Someone’s coming.

Snubbing out his joint against the rock, Eddie tries his best to make it seem like he’s just here, escaping the busy Halloween night. Which, like, he definitely is, but he can’t be too safe. Especially not when there are two teenage murderers on the loose.

“She thinks m’bullshit? She’s bullshit! Bullshit.”

The voice is unmistakable.

Jesus H. Christ could tonight get any weirder.

Eddie’s only escape is to run deeper into the forest, and he’s not about to do that so he makes himself comfortable on top of Skull Rock like a fucking sitting duck. Searching the pockets of his vest, he yanks out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. Neither of which he was looking for. Of course, he left his pocket knife in his van. Stupid. So stupid!

There’s a moment of silence before Harrington emerges from the clearing. The moon is bright above them, making Steve’s tear-stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes glow in the otherwise dark forest.

Maybe he is feeling guilty after all.

“Ah, fuck,” Harrington groans, stumbling to the ground.

Eddie watches as he rolls around for a moment, struggling to find his footing. If Eddie were a mean person, he might let Harrington suffer. But something about his behavior reminds him of a wounded animal, and Eddie’s always had a soft spot for bruised and broken things.

“Shit, Harrington, you okay?” Eddie asks, jumping down.

Eddie’s boots crunch against the leaves, startling Harrington. He manages to pull himself into a seated position and brandishes a near empty beer bottle in Eddie’s direction. “Stay back!”

“Woah, man,” Eddie yelps, hands raised in surrender in front of him. “Don’t kill me.”

“Oh, s’you,” Steve says, slumping against the tree behind him. He tosses the beer bottle aside and runs both his hands over his face. “Jesus. Why does everyone think I would kill s-someone?”

“Uh,” Eddie stutters, glancing around. Now’s his chance to make a break for it. Put those hours of physical education to good use and sprint to the van before Harrington has a chance to make him his next victim. But there’s something in Steve’s sad eyes and dejected voice that makes Eddie stay. “‘Cause you have killed someone before?”

“Man, what the hell are you talking about?” Harrington snaps, fumbling to get out of his jacket. “I’ve n-never killed anyone.”

“So, you didn’t kill Barbara Holland, then?”

“No! Jesus, ‘course not. Barb was… Barb was nice. She was good. Like Nance. Better than Nance, maybe. I don’t know,” Harrington whines, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Barb she’s… yeah, man, she’s dead. But I didn’t have anything to do with that. N-not in the way you think I did, at least.”

Harrington’s not making a lot of sense, which only spurs Eddie’s curiosity on more. Closing the distance between them, Eddie hops to a squat in front of him. “But you did have something to do with what happened to her?”

“Shit, man,” Harrington groans, words slurring more more. “S’complicated, okay. I can’t talk about it with you or her parents or anyone. Or else they’ll come for me or Nance or our families and then we’ll all be toast like Barb. And that… that thing that came out of the Byers’ wall.”

Complicated? Jesus H. Christ, Eddie’s never heard anything more complicated than the jumble of words that just left Harrington’s mouth. He can feel his heart racing in his chest, the realization that they’re alone in the woods talking about something someone doesn’t want Harrington talking about.

“What?” Eddie says more to himself than to Steve. “Harrington, what thing in the Byers wall? You’re not making any sense!”

“The thing. You know, the… the,” Steve hiccups. “The thing we can’t talk ‘bout, else they’ll come for us next.”

Someone will come for him and his family if he reveals what happened to Barb? And the thing in the Byers wall? He wants to ask who would come. What would happen? Is he being blackmailed? There are so many questions dancing on the tip of his tongue, but none of them win the war.

“Harrington, man,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “Are you in trouble? Do you, like, need help or something?”

Finally, freeing himself from his jacket, Harrington lifts his head and looks up. There’s a moment where Eddie’s life flashes before his eyes, but then the sad replay of his life is interrupted by Harrington’s hand on his cheek. A dopey-looking grin on his face as he squints up at Eddie.

“You have pretty eyes, M-m-munson. Anyone ever tell you that?” Steve slurs before promptly passing out against the tree.

What the hell has Eddie gotten himself into?

[buckychristwrites]

Could This Be | Chap. 10 | j.t.

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x F!Reader

Summary: One minute, you're single and working for AFC Richmond as the team's medic. The next minute, you're in a fake relationship with the team's handsome striker who you know next to nothing about.

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Discussions of Previous Emotional & Physical Domestic Violence. Cussing. Fake Dating

A/N: This is such a baby update, i didn't think it would be fair to give it it's own day soooo double post!

Masterlist | Could This Be Masterlist | Main Blog

“And what is my number one rule for not getting injured?” 

“Don’t be fuckin’ stupid.”

“There we go,” You praised the team, who were sitting in the conference room as you gave your annual presentation about concussions. Usually, you gave it towards the end of the season, when people tended to get sloppy. However, Coach Beard and Roy had approached you to ask if you’d give it early, due to the incident at the Tottenham match.

“Alright..any-“ 

The door creaked open, everyone turning to see Jamie attempting to sneak in. He froze the second he realised that all eyes were on him. Cheering, your presentation was completely forgotten about by everyone, including yourself, as the players all jumped from their seats and went to greet him. You felt like a deer in headlights just at the sight of him. The joy in his face radiated, even to you from across the room. As everyone settled down, his eyes met yours, softening.

Raising a hand up, he took a seat as he said, “Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt ya.”

You blinked as if you just came out of a trance.

“No worries,” You said simply. Throwing a glance back at your powerpoint, you remembered where you were and what you had been doing. “Okay. Any questions?”

Isaac raised a hand. “What if we aren’t being stupid and we get a concussion anyway?” You considered this. 

“That would suggest you weren’t not being stupid enough.” 

He nodded his head in understanding, as if you had just given him a real explanation and not just a sarcastic remark. 

“How do you suggest we not be stupid?” Colin asked. You shrugged. 

“That part is up to you!” You said as nicely as you could. It was hard doing these presentations when you knew damn well that no one paid attention during them. “But you can start by following literally all of the things I said in the powerpoint presentation.”

“What if we missed the powerpoint?” Jamie asked, hand in the air. It took everything in you to not laugh, although a few people in the room did so for you.

“You should request a private session then, since you of all people need to see it.” 

“Oooooooo, a private session!” Dani called out, followed by his teammates all shouting and laughing. 

“What could that entail?” Colin followed up.

“Don’t be fucking cheeky!” You scolded them, shaking your head with a smile on your face. Jamie was looking down at the ground, scratching the back of his neck as he laughed. “Presentation over. Get the hell outta here.” It sounded like a high school classroom, as everyone began talking excitedly as they rose from their seats and filed out of the room. Turning with a sigh, you began to unplug your laptop from the projector. It wasn’t until you were slipping it back in its case when you realised you weren’t alone.

“I was just joking, you know,” You said without looking up. “I won’t make you watch the presentation.”

“Wouldn’t be doin’ much watchin’ anyway,” He admitted from his spot towards the back. “I’d just be listenin’ to ya.”

Trying and failing to not smile, you turned to look at him, hands folded in front of you. He had a devilish grin on his face, as if he knew what he had just said would make you blush, which it did. 

“So you’re back,” You said. He nodded, looking around the conference room.

“In a sense,” He said before his eyes found you again. “I’m working with physio. They have to clear me before I can practise again.”

“You didn’t tell me you were coming back today.”

He shrugged. “I wanted to surprise ya.” A beat passed. “Maybe I was givin’ ya space too.” Something about this made you anxious, your fingers instinctively going to pick at your cuticles.

“You don’t need to do that,” You said softly. He stood up, slowly making his way down the steps towards you. You took him in. It had been days since you had seen him, and you didn’t realise how much you missed him until this moment. A magnetic force fell over your body as your legs yearned to pull you closer, but you resisted, staying in the same spot. 

Something had changed. You could see it in his body language. The way his arms were crossed over his chest like a protective jacket. Or the way he kept his distance. Whatever it was, the feeling made your chest hurt.

“I’m tryin’ not to… pressure ya, is all,” He explained.

You tried not to scoff. “Do you think you’re pressuring me anytime you talk to me?”

But there was pressure anytime you talked to him, although it certainly was not from him. It was from yourself. Your heart screaming to just let him in. 

Why is it so hard?

“No,” He said simply. “I just… worry, I guess.” 

You shifted from one foot to the other. 

“I just don’t want things between us to change,” You said, trying not to sound like your throat was closing up. 

He stared at you, before looking at the floor, shaking his head.

“But they already have, haven’t they?”

He was right. They absolutely had. And you took that sentiment to heart, it not leaving your mind for the duration of the day.

And the night.

And the next day.

And the next.

Until this moment, as you sat on the train on your way to Scotland, your suitcase and dress bag resting on the bench across from you. The phone in your lap vibrated, pulling you from your thoughts.

KJ: U on ur way? x

You: Train just took off, got about 5 hrs to go. xx

KJ: R and I just got here can’t wait for the wedding 2morrow!!!

Dropping the phone back onto your thigh, you turned to stare out the window. The city disappeared, and you were surrounded by trees and greenery. Headphones in, you shuffled your music, allowing yourself to get lost in the melodies and sceneries.

And for the whole duration of that train ride, the only thing you thought of was Jamie.

~

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[lizard-queen-izzy]

I'm actually not done thinking about it so here you guys get more thoughts.

Tma season 2 finale spoilers ahead.

Tim knew something was wrong when Jon apologized for everything. He knew Jon was going to do something stupid. He knew because he knew Jon meant that apology. And that meant he didn't think he was surviving whatever he was about to do. Because as desperately as Tim wanted and apology from him, he didn't want it to be the last words he heard from Jon.

He was willing to march back in to the Institute, with or without Martin to find out what Jon was going to do. He had no way of knowing what would happen when he did, and he still did it. And he brought a fucking the recorder to get it on tape. To make sure there was a record.

I've said it before, the beginning of season 2 from Tim's perspective is devastating, but having finished it now? It really only does get worse. Because Jon doesn't get better, but neither does Tim.

Their fight at the end of MAG 65 is such a parallel to their first conversation in the beginning of MAG 33! They're talking over eachother, they're muttering, they're cutting eachother off, they're yelling. They're yelling at eachother! Their calm back and forth is gone. Their patience with eachother is gone. It's all replaced with anger. At the situation, at the Institute, at eachother.

What starts as Tim coming in to ask Jon where he put something so quickly dissolves into bitterness. Tim being fed up with Jon's suspicious behavior, and Jon being tired of Tim's attitude. Jon tries to brush it off, tries to shove it back under the rug but Tim's exhausted. So he blows up. He's pissed, rightfully so, because Jon is still trying to find a way to blame someone in the Archives for Gertrude. To blame him.

He's grasping at straws, trying so desperately to twist the narrative to make it someone's fault. To pin the blame on someone so he can then get justice? He's rambling, he's spiraling, and Tim can't take it so he tells him to shut up. He stops him, cuts his explanation short. And tells him, point blank, to stop talking. He's sick of it, he's sick of Jon. Sick of his former friend blaming everyone around him for things they didn't do. Sick of him blaming him for it.

And Jon tries to start again, and Tim tells him to stop, to listen for once. He tells him he was happy in the Research department, and ever since Jon brought him to the Archives with him everything has been falling apart. And no one has his back.

"Elias doesn't care, Martin just wants a tea party, and Sahsa - ugh - and you! - you're treating me like I'm somehow to blame for it all, like I didn't suffer the worst right alongside you!"

Tim suffered. He suffered what Jon did, they were the most affected by the worms together. They are both irreparably damaged by the Jane Prentiss attack, mentally and physically. And Tim knows no one but Jon will get it the way he needs to be understood. He can't talk to anyone else. And Jon has made it impossible to talk to him either. Because instead of talking about it, instead of healing and working to move past it, Jon let it consume him all over. Let it swallow him whole and make him into a paranoid mess. And he's facing zero real consequences for his actions.

Jon was stalking Tim. Spying on and taking pictures of his flat. He was going through 'Sasha's desk. He was watching Martin. And all Elias did was stage one intervention style talk and then nothing. He just got to spiral even further, keep spying, keep replaying that damn CCTV video footage on a loop. Keep staring at Tim like he's the enemy.

And then they have a moment of common ground. A moment where they're both on the same page. When they realize they can't leave. And just when Tim thinks they're making progress, Jon tells him he can't trust him. Not just that, he won't trust Tim. And all they can do is, what? Keep working? In a building that won't let them go? Where everyday there's another disaster lurking around the corner? Where any of them could all be next? That's the only option?

And it is. And so he leaves. He goes back to work. Because he has to do something, and this is the only option.

And that's why he goes back in after Jon. Because if he can't leave, he's going to do something. He's going to find answers, even if it goes horribly. Because everything is already horrible.

And no matter what. No matter how mad he is at Jon. No matter how betrayed he feels. He still cares so deeply for him, and he needs to know what he's doing. Because he can't lose anyone else.

[norrisleclercf1]

Green Suits You

Pairing: Lance Stroll x Engineer!Reader

Rating: PG

Words: 2.2K

Requested: Yes/No

Request: Hi! I was wondering if you could possibly write a fic for Lance where there are rumours that he’s dating a fem engineer intern from Aston? She’s younger than him (i’m 19 so that would be the perfect age lol:)) and everyone just obsessed over them when they saw the two walk hand in hand for the first time in the paddock 💓 and everybody notices that Lance is really smitten with her (plus Lawrence approves of her cuz she s smart and nice) and then they learn that she was also the one to help design the car for the season and yeah just overload of cuteness and Lance being a proud bf

Warnings: None, pure fluff, age gap, Lawerence is a supportive dad, Proud bf Lance, Simp Lance

Being the youngest engineer at Aston Martin came with much work and no sleep. It was easy to do the work since you loved the cars and Formula One, but what made work hard was a specific driver there.

You tried your best to ignore him, but he was always there when you working on the car or talking with someone. Whenever you looked over at him, he was staring at you, not in a creepy way but more so in awe of you.

Praising you came easy for him. Lance would try to converse generally with you but made a fool of himself when he wanted to extend it. You either made an excuse or scurried off before he could get another word out. What made it easy to talk to you was when he crashed the car, and you had to figure out what exactly went wrong and how to make it better for Lance.

After the first time, you didn't question how he'd stay by your side while working on the car and talking to you. He learned that when you worked on it, you became easier to talk to and bonded. Lance asked you out once, but you refused; it wasn't because of who he was or because you worked for his father. It was the age difference. Lance wanted to laugh when you finally told him why and pulled you close by your grease-stained hand.

"Who cares? You're only 5 years younger than me. If anyone has a problem with it, they can deal with my dad." Lance just smiles while you just gap at him. He never played the dad card, but he seemed to wield a damn shield for you.

Six months of you sneaking around and stealing kisses behind the wheels. Lance wanted the relationship to be public, but you tended to keep to yourself and didn't want to lose your job over dating Lance. Of course, the rich boy said he would pull strings to keep you there and defend your honor. He was your white knight in green.

Lawerence was no fool, and the fact his son was hiding his girlfriend from him just drove him crazy. He wanted to know what motivated his boy so much that he was in the top 10 in almost every race and praised the engineers like crazy. In the past, Lance thanked the team, but it seems excessive as of late. Finding out your relationship was purely by chance. He was coming to see how you were doing, especially with all your responsibilities. When Lawerence hired you, you weren't a regular engineer. You designed and built the car yourself. Picking the best aspects of the Red Bull, Mercedes, and everyone else.

People liked to call the new car a 3rd Redbull, and while slightly right, they didn't know you turned the backmarker team into a silent killer. You studied each car and did internships with Red Bull and Mercedes. Hiding whenever the teams would walk by because they would recognize you with ease, you were a favorite on both teams, and they loved your innovative thinking and using each team's strengths against them when it came to building the car. You turned each team away due to them already winning constantly and needing a shake-up, and Aston Martin would give that.

Lance had no idea you were the one who built the car till the night Lawerence caught you both. It was stupid, and Lance distracted you with his dazzling smile when he swooped in and kissed you.

"Lance?" Lawerence's baritone voice has you shoving Lance away and dropping to the floor. It was a flight or fight reaction that Lance had only seen twice, but it still made him smile like an idiot.

"Hey, Dad." The bastard has the balls to smile at his father, glad to not hide this anymore.

"What are you doing?" He asks, wanting to play stupid just to mess with you. Lawerence knew you hated being certain of attention, so he liked messing with you when the opportunity presented itself.

"Kissing my girlfriend. What are you doing?" Lance groans when you kick him in the shin, making Lawerence laugh, shaking his head at your antics.

"Y/n, come out from under there before someone else assumes you're doing more than..kissing my boy." You groan, climb out from under the car, and face Lawerence with a nervous smile while he just smiles at you.

"Hi, sir." You dust off your pants stuck between the two Strolls and really hating it.

"Lance, stop distracting our secret weapon. They need to work and don't need your annoying ass distracting her." Lawerence pats Lance's shoulder and walks out of the garage, leaving you confused while Lance goes back to looking over the damage from a nick into the wall.

"Why did Dad call you a secret weapon?" It had been quiet for 2 hours before Lance broke the silence wanting to understand what he meant.

"Oh, I'm the one who built and designed the car, so the big guys call me a secret weapon." You didn't mean to reveal that information, but you were still thrown off from being caught.

"Every engineer works on the car somehow, babe." Lance watches you as you turn your head, giving him a side-eye.

"Yeah, but this was my design and parts; everything on this car was my idea." You shrug, too busy working on the brake lines and fixing the kink.

"Wait....you..when you've said in the past you've literally built the car, you're being completely serious?" He sits down a piece of the car, staring at you in wonder.

"Yeah, what did you think I meant?" Not hearing a reply, you slide out from under the car and sit up but come face to face with Lance.

"I love you." It was a soft confession and the first one from him or you.

Blinking up at him, that dazzling smile comes back in full force. His fingers work around your neck and angle you so you both can quickly kiss. It was a soft kiss that made your stomach flutter and caused you to blush in embarrassment from the feeling.

"You're amazing. God, how'd I get so damn lucky?" You don't answer him as he pulls away from you and hops back onto the counter as you return to work.

The more your relationship grows, the less you hide it from everyone. Lawerence told the team to not talk about it at all, but they all waited for the day Lance slipped up and kissed you in front of everyone. They had bets on who would crack first, and the money was on Lance. He was utterly smitten with you, having difficulty to not stare when you entered his field of vision.

Lance was a sucker for you. He hung on every word and ensured you got the respect you deserved after all the races. When he got P2, he said they wouldn't have won without you, and the car was great due to all your hard work and genius brain. Everyone melted after hearing the way Lance praised you to no end.

Fernando was the only one brave enough to poke fun at you, only doing it when Lance wasn't around. It wasn't mean picking on you, but more so in the annoying brother way.

"Nando, you keep asking me who is the big spoon, and I swear, I'll fuck up your telemetry system." You snip as Fernando follows you down the paddock.

"Oh, come on, tell me. I know it's you; Lance is a big baby when it comes to you." He huffs, but you stop, Fernando crashing into your back.

"Wait, why are you even asking me something like this? We aren't dating." He flinches, seeing your harsh stare.

"Nothing. Bye!" He yells, rushing away from you, but you can't help the silly smile on your lips now thinking about Lance.

"What are you smiling about?" Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

"You." Lance's eyes sparkle, bringing a new life to him. Looking around, he pecks your lips and reaches for your hand but stops.

Rolling your eyes, you grab his hand, pulling him into you. You swear Lance acts like a teenage girl falling in love for the first time when he's with you. Unknown to you that Lawerence and some of the other principals were nearby and saw the whole thing.

"Shocked you approve, Lawerence." Otmar scuffs at how you two acted like children making your way to Aston Martin garage.

"Why? They're brilliant, kindhearted, and give my boy a run for his money. They're perfect for each other." He watches his son, knowing he is going to marry you.

"The age difference isn't an issue?" Gunther asks, looking up from his phone.

"She's far more mature than him, so no, it's not an issue." A soft smile fills his face at the way you light up when Lance buys you some food without you even asking.

It was a rush of emotions and green as you stood in shock at Lance winning the Miami GP. You just stood there, wanting to cry, scream, and shoot off to the damn moon with all the emotions that rushed through you. Watching the race later would be a must since you can barely keep what has happened in the last 2 hours in your head.

"Go to the podium, Y/n!" Some yelled as they dragged you to receive the constructor's trophy.

The green, blue, and red rush moved past your eyes as you stood behind the main stage and walked out before the drivers. Charles was 2nd, and Checo was 3rd before Lance rushed out of the crowd, going crazy. A fresh set of tears stung your eyes at how happy and alive he was.

Lance turns and freezes; seeing you on the PodiumPodium with him gives this new adrenaline rush. Wanting nothing more than to kiss you, he has to wait until after the ceremony.

When your name is announced, and the trophy is in your hands, everyone goes crazy, Charles patting you on the back and saying of proud he was and how much you deserved this. Checo whistled, and Lance stood there smiling like a fool, wanting to kiss you silly.

"he's gonna kiss her!" Lawerence yelled over the crowd's roar to his wife, making her laugh at him.

It was heavy in your hand, but you couldn't admire the beauty of the trophy as the tears just started to fall, having finally achieved your dream. You are knocked back to reality with the cold, sticky spray of champagne. You scream in shock, grab your own, and spray whoever got you. Blinding by the tears, champagne, and confetti, you reach out, touching a soaking wet chest.

Wiping your eyes, you face a smiling Lance; you don't even think when you ball up his driver's suit in your hand and pull him in, kissing him. The crowd freezes for a second before going crazy.

"You owe me money!" Lawerence screams loudly enough for you and Lance to hear, bursting into laughter as he pulls you closer, deepening the kiss.

"Alright, love birds off the stage!" Charles yells, pulling you apart from each other and leaving the PodiumPodium to go downstairs, the fans being forced to leave.

"You kissed me first?" Lance asks in a daze, not caring you both are sopping wet and sticky.

"Oh, shut up." You laugh, filled with adrenaline and happiness.

Lawerence and the team fill your view, and before you can protest, they swamp you both with a sea of green and more champagne. You somehow escape the chaos and step back, needing to catch your breath. Lance looks for you, sees the top of your head outside the crowd, and walks toward you.

"Baby? You okay?" He knew this was probably a lot for you, knowing you hated being the center of attention.

"Just.....I love you." You gasp, breathless from the wave of emotions moving through you.

Lance starts to laugh, glad to hear those words from you, and wraps his arm around your waist and kisses you like he did that night when he told you those 3 words.

"Sorry to interrupt, but Lance, who has media obligations." His media person says hating to break up at this moment.

"I'll take the fine," Lance replies, but you slap his chest.

"The hell you will go do your job." You chastize, making Lance groan, but he nods his head and kisses you quickly before jogging down the hallway.

"Lance, congrats on a great win. Is there anyone, in particular, you want to thank for your win today?" The reporter asks with a knowing look, and Lance blushes before laughing.

"Yeah, yeah. I want to thank our engineer, Y/n L/n, who wouldn't have the car we do today without her. But also, as her very proud boyfriend, she deserved this win more than me. Sleepless nights, working endlessly, she worked her ass off day in and day out. This team wouldn't be winning- sorry." Lance breaks off, wiping his eyes, thinking about how hard you've worked to get here and see Aston Martin winning.

"As her boyfriend, Y/n, is amazing and deserves the same amount of praise as all the male head engineers, what she has done is amazing, and I couldn't be more proud and in love with her. Love you, Y/n." Lance smiles into the camera before walking away and can't wait to share more podiums with you.

[blouisparadise]

Today we have the third part of our angst rec list for you to check out! You can find part one here and part two here. The fics on this list are all amazing, so please be sure to read them, give them kudos, and leave a comment for the author. If you enjoy our rec lists, please like this post and reblog it to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Please, Don’t Say You Want Me | Explicit | 9,320 words

Prompt 496: ABO/royalty AU. Where Omega Prince Louis is forced to marry alpha King Harry by his father for the benefit of their kingdom. After the wedding, Harry lets Louis know that he didn’t want a mate and to not expect a relationship from him. Since they are already mated, Harry has to officially reject Louis’s omega to break ties. This practice is so taboo that he doesn’t know the omega has a maximum of a year left to live after rejection. As time goes on, the omega gets weaker and weaker.

2) All This Delusion In Our Heads | Explicit | 15,088 words

After Harry and Louis break up, they cope with it in very different ways. What will happen when Harry keeps calling his ex over when things go wrong in his life, but Louis just can't take it anymore?

3) Dandelion Heart | Explicit | 17,563 words

After his sister’s death, Louis is granted full custody of his 4-year-old nephew, TJ. It isn’t easy, but with the help of TJ’s other uncle, Harry, they learn to make it work.

4) Death Wish | Explicit | 22,067 words

Louis hates vampires, he lives his life trying to kill as many as he can, night after night, year after year. He hates them. Then why the fuck is he kissing one? Again. “I mean it, Harry.” Louis says, into his mouth this time. “You need to get the fuck away from me.”

5) The Games We Play | Explicit | 23,448 words

Louis is a political lobbyist who chose his career over his personal life a long time ago and has never regretted it. Then he met Harry.

6) Bloom | Explicit | 24,887 words

When they first meet at Harry’s flower truck, Harry falls hard but Louis’ unavailable. Only before long, Harry reignites a spark that Louis thought long forgotten.

7) Somebody's Got Your Trainers On (It's You) | Explicit | 28,000 words

Louis hasn't thought about Harry since half an hour after the shift started, when Krystle told him that she was binging Gogglebox last night and therefore didn't get enough sleep - a sure reminder of Harry’s temporary Gogglebox obsession. Five hours isn't much without thinking about someone, but that's as long as it gets. Louis came to terms with that two years ago. When Harry walked out the door with his stupid New Balance trainers and never looked back.

8) The Road Not Taken | Explicit | 30,393 words

The one where Harry returns back home for the holidays after a successful debut album, leaving Louis to unwrap gifts as well as old complicated feelings. Cue: hometown holiday hookups, overbearing siblings, and a disastrous New Year’s Eve party. A 'Tis’ the Damn Season' inspired AU.

9) Compass To The Soul | Teen & Up | 31,439 words

Harry Styles, alpha, is 1/4 of the perfect pack, and 1/5 of world famous boy band One Direction. He spends his time touring the world with his best friends and family. Louis Tomlinson, omega, is 1/5 of world famous boy band One Direction. He spends his time hoping his bandmates don’t notice him.

10) Like The Stars Above | Explicit | 33,759 words

Louis has a witchy little secret that is slowly ruining his relationship. When that secret comes out, it turns out that he has a lot more to worry about than just losing the love of his life. He might lose everything.

11) Close To Nowhere | Explicit | 34,589 words

Louis and Harry are psychics who kind of hate each other. They go to Tennessee to investigate a haunting.

12) Just A Pretty Boy | Explicit | 35,614 words

The alpha in front of him wasn’t only tall, but used every inch of his body to look even more threatening. He looked as shocked as Joseph felt, in his eyes he could clearly see horror and anger mixed into an odd and painful mix. It was as if he just watched a ghost or a monster from a nightmare come to life.  “Louis…” he said with a low voice. It wasn’t a question, he was calling Joseph by that name.  The crease between Joseph’s brows deepened. “Who?” Louis and Harry were married until, one day, Louis passed away in a tragic accident. Years later, he is found alive and with a thousand questions plaguing his mind. The most important ones; was his husband involved in his disappearance? And, how long did it take Harry and his best friend to fall in love after his supposed dead?

13) Best Colours For Your Portrait | Explicit | 37,717 words

Louis bites his lip in, his eyes leaving Harry's face, they are cast low as he takes a deep breath before sighing, "In solitude, I felt the liberty you spoke of." "But," The omega glances up, his eyebrows twitching as he brings his face closer to Harry's neck to overpower the alpha's scent with his scent, "I mostly felt your absence."

14) Give Me Love | Explicit | 41,041 words

Despite being an omega, Louis’ always had a blatant dislike of alphas.

15) Letters To June | Explicit | 41,150 words

It's 1915, Europe is in the middle of the Great War. Omega Louis decides to join the Letter Home Project to become someone’s penfriend. Through this he meets a lovely soldier who hasn't got anyone else to send a letter to. Along with his letter, comes a picture of the most handsome alpha Louis has ever seen.

16) Strangers In Love | Explicit | 42,207 words

Louis wakes up to find himself in a marriage with the last man he thought he'd ever end up with.

17) This Glass House | Mature | 43,072 words

While deployed, Alpha Harry gets injured by an IED explosion, leaving him to deal with severe injuries in its devastating aftermath. During his road to acceptance and recovery he learns with the help of Louis and their children just how important family can be for the mind, body, and soul.

18) Oubaitori | Explicit | 48,822 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

After a year away, Harry comes back to his hometown ready to shoulder the responsibilities that come with being a Styles. However, an unforeseen return will greatly setback his plans as he finds himself confronting ghosts of the past, his prejudice, and a torrent of feelings he thought were long-buried. In the midst of a battle between protection and progress, trust that was once broken will try and pierce through walls of convictions he built around himself, leaving him grasping for power he is unsure he even wants. Meanwhile, Louis merely tries to save his family and make the next day better than the last. As he faces his past wrongdoings and the scars they left, chances will be granted to him - either to repair what was once broken or finally find closure. Torn between the desire to defend himself and the fear of the truth being rejected, he will learn peace comes from honesty - and that sometimes, what appears to be the easiest solution simply was the most coveted one.

19) Untamed Hearts Align | Explicit | 55,795 words

For as long as Louis has known her, Lady Margaret Tomlinson has had two aspirations for the remaining years of her life. The first was to out-dress the Duchess of Kent at every soirée and gathering. The second was to marry off her omega nephew to the most honorable – and highly ranked – alpha suitor she could find. He does not expect for her to arrange a marriage between him and the crown prince, and he certainly does not expect to fall for him. Everything changes when Harry disappears.

20) If You’re Out There (I’ll Find You Somehow) | Explicit | 55,916 words

Harry looks so intensely into Louis’ eyes it’s as though he’s reaching in and touching his very soul. “I never thought… I never… I’ve been searching for so long, Louis, but I never gave up. I couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop trying,” Harry says, bottom lip trembling as he strokes the backs of Louis’ knuckles. “I just knew that if you were out there, I’d find you somehow.”

21) Of Lost Things | Explicit | 57,980 words

Louis comes with a familiarity Harry has never felt with anyone else before. After their fateful meeting, their chemistry became undeniable, and soon after, Harry had felt like he hit the jackpot when it came to finding the person he would spend the rest of his life with. But all relationships come with their own unique problems, and Harry soon realizes that their relationship is no different. When their problems go from unordinary to nearly bizarre in nature, he takes it upon himself to find an answer to their troubles. What he stumbles upon are terrifying coincidences between his and Louis’ story, and the ill-fated mythological couple, Orpheus and Eury. But it’s all they are; just coincidences, ones that feel as frighteningly familiar as Louis. Except… what if none of this is a coincidence? What if everything Harry has always seen as fiction is true, and myth—or rather, history, is about to repeat itself?

22) But We Have Promises To Keep | Mature | 62,608 words

Note: This fic is the fourth part in a series. We'd recommend reading the other fics first, though none of them have smut.

Maybe, Louis thought, from the beginning to the end, he had always known exactly what he wanted. He had always heard it, a quiet song in his head never giving up, because it had never been a thing apart from who he was. Someone who wouldn’t stop. Someone who could walk out into the dark, seeing nothing, having little, and still looking. The undeniable, terrifying, gorgeous truth was always going to be this: that he had a heart, and that that heart wanted to live.

23) Sink Into Your Sunlight | Explicit | 79,601 words

Louis hadn’t forgotten about Harry as much as he tried. It wasn’t due to the strange nature of their meeting, more so the magnetic pull he somehow had on Louis. He couldn’t fathom why this complete stranger stayed in his mind as much as he tried to stop it. Any time his phone sounded his heart skipped a beat at the thought of it possibly being Harry. In all honesty, it made him feel sort of pathetic. Gay guy falls for straight guy, what a cliche he had become.

24) The Rose Of Whitechapel | Mature | 100,180 words

Jack the Ripper AU. Detective Constable Harry Styles and his partner, DC Liam Payne, lead the case on the Whitechapel murders. Louis Tomlinson, the Rose of Whitechapel, is harbouring secrets of his own, along with a dark and sordid past. When their paths cross, truths are revealed, and perhaps hearts are mended... A darkness is brewing, and it's finally come to collect on the promise it was made.

25) Our Endless Numbered Days | Explicit | 120,815 words

“Harry?” whispered Louis, his mouth dry, his nose pressing against the other’s warm skin. “Mh?” Harry’s humming was gentle, his fingers lightly caressing the younger boy’s arm, his chest steadily rising and falling beneath Louis’ cheek. A couple of seconds passed, and Louis looked up at him in the darkness of the cave, barely able to make out the expression on his face. When he tried to inhale deeply, his breath hitched. He struggled to find the words to tell Harry what he was thinking about. Another couple of seconds passed, and Louis listened to the reassuring beating of the prince’s heart beneath his cheek. He couldn’t. “Nothing,” he whispered, his voice weak. I think you’re half of my soul.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[kissingrhi]

what are your nsfw jimmy headcanons? (i really see him as a subby service top, eager to please, to do anything you want.) idk i just love ur headcanons id love to hear!!

oh yes. absolutely. do u see this man. i know what you are jimmy!

early jimmy (seasons 1-3) is on a completely different realm than late jimmy and saul (seasons 4-6).

by that i mean, early jimmy is the most fragile, shattered-shell of an individual, and that 100% seeps into the bedroom.

a crier. he's sensitive, what can he say? (his words)

sheepishly weeps when you tease him too much, whining when you only push him further for a fresh set of pretty tears.

stuttery, bated breaths escape his throat. "i- i don't understand why you're being so mean?" he asks, his voice cracking right on the highest octave he can reach.

he only groans and wails the more you push him. he definitely gets harder no matter what.

gets nervous every single time you two interact sexually!

a whore for semi-public acts.

if you two are in the car in a (mostly) empty parking lot, he'll almost cum in his pants the moment you press a mischievous hand against his tender thigh.

100000% a service top (you are so real anon!!)

will literally cry against your neck while he's inside of you, continuing even when he's came "God-knows how many times."

all because he "wants you to feel good"

such a sweetheart, huh?

NO!

a tease......big time.

he is still the infamous jimmy mcgill.

will pull faux innocence till it's near snapping like a band of outstretched elastic.

"i was literally just resting my hand. you're being over-fucking-dramatic." knowing damn well his hand under the dining table was far too close for comfort.

the moment 'fucking' drops from his mouth, he's mentally preparing himself for the steady hand against his throat, airing out his windpipes.

you can bet your sweet ass that even when he is fucked stupid, a sheer layer of sweat against his forehead, a deep maroon spreading all over his skin, he will still have a smart remark!

it's only when he's hissing and cursing through his teeth at the stimulation of his very sensitive head, or begging to breathe from between your thighs, that he actually keeps his (very beautiful) mouth shut.

LOVES bondage. like LOVES. BONDAGE.

adores when you've got pent up anger at work, so much that you call him and let him know he needs to have on of his colorful ties ready for you after work. makes him feel so special :>

cracks SO many corny ass jokes during the act.

loses his mind if you play with his nipples. if you even run a hand over his dress shirt after giving him a hug and his knees will literally buckle underneath him.

his praise kink.

as we know from the show, jimmy early-on was pretty insecure, and often seeking validation from chuck.

so if he ever needs an escape, away from any sort of attention, you refuse.

instead, you'll hold longer, more intense eye contact when you run your fingers along his sides. you'll make him look. praise him for "how well he handles you." how "good of a boy he is."

it makes him want to melt into the floor, but he loves every minute of it.

he swears a part of himself is healed when you praise him.

.....whimpers "thank you" over and over again every time he cums. if you want to make him blush, mock him after.

in conclusion, early jimmy is an insanely praise-deprived, emotionally needy sub

thank you for coming to my ted talk!

[swampstew]

Captain_CumShot - Chapter 2

Welcome to Raven's Reading Nook - a small corner of this blog dedicated to cozy story times. Take a seat on the chaise lounge, plug your electronic device in so you can enjoy this multi-chapter, full blown smut story. The Captain is the snack and sadly, I have nothing to offer to soothe the yearning. As always, links to Wattpad and AO3 at the bottom. Enjoy, from your favorite loyal, cabin hoe♥

Summary: You treated yourself to a tier upgrade😘

Minors DNI you will be blocked - for adult audiences only.

Admin: Thanks for upgrading your subscription to Tier III! The Captain will want to thank you personally ~ drop your next available hour slot and we’ll set it up.

You: 10 PM

Admin: Talk to you soon ~

10:00 PM

Captain: Hey doll. I’ve seen your likes and comments around here for a while and I’m chuffed that you finally upgraded. What changed?

You: Truthfully, I challenged myself to save up so I can really treat myself when I felt I needed it. Especially after the last year and four months at work.

Captain:…

Captain: You waited ONE YEAR and FOUR MONTHS before you felt like you needed a break?

Captain: I’m flattered you’ve chosen me as your reward but gat damn girl. You need to treat yourself more often.

Captain: What the hell do you do for a job??

You: I’m an accountant at a small but valued firm, so we’re kind of just always busy! Especially at tax time which is ALMOST over. So I spoiled myself a few days early.

Captain: Congratulations ~ Do you work in a stuffy office with a buncha dorks?

You: Well I wouldn’t say dorks and it’s not a closet! I work in an office building with maybe less than 50 other people. I have a corner office so yay for small wins!

Captain: Aye that’s the least they can do fer’ya!

Captain: Do they make you dress business professional like you’re gonna meet the president every day or is it a normal place that lets you dress like a human being?

You: Haha, nothing so refined. Business casual for the most part, Fridays we can wear jeans, and sometimes during the seasons they’ll do a morale boosting themed clothes week thing.

Captain: 🤔

Captain: Does anyone enjoy that?

You: Some do, some don’t. The bosses buy a big lunch spread though so it’s not all bad.

Captain: Tell me, are the morale boosting bits mandatory?

You: You’re not required to dress up. They don’t technically say you have to be at the luncheon but they do have someone sweep the desks to make sure no one is still working. I think they legitimately think they’re providing a “break” for us but like, a paid lunch hour would be a thousand times better.

Captain: Bet.

Captain: You ever skipped it all together? Just said fuck it and hid on the roof to scroll on your phone and eat lunch?

You: Sometimes my car! We have a secure parking garage and its air conditioned so it’s quiet and not boiling hot.

Captain: Hooray for small victories.

Captain: Have you ever gotten uncomfortably turned on enough that you’ve escaped to your car to get relief?

You: 😳

You: Maybe once or twice. I’m always afraid of getting caught.

Captain: I’d make sure we wouldn’t.

Captain: See I personally fucking hate it when instead of just paying people more, employers make their people do a whole dog and pony show. Leave people alone!

Captain: This is literally a crime.

Captain: If you’d let me, I’d come and save you from those stupid lunches.

You: 🤔

You: I wouldn’t hate that!

You: Not sure you could pull it off though, you would garner a lot of attention just from standing, you’re just that attractive 👉👈🥺

Captain: Relax, I’m nothing if not professional. Want to hear my grand scheme that I cooked up, just now?

You: Oh go right ahead!

Captain: I’d start by doing research into your company and get the lunch reservation details of these luncheons. I would then pose as an employee dropping off the food order/doing set up and while everyone is gathering, I would linger a little, totally incognito, and slip out to find your office if you haven’t already entered the room.

Captain: Should I continue? I’m really proud of this scheme actually.                           

You: Please, I wonder how you plan to get away scot-free and not get me fired!

Captain: You’d not only get fired – you’d get off, repeatedly and it would be a seasonal thing cause I’d never get caught. I think it would be a professional bonus because then you’ll be so satisfied at work, you might even get a promotion or pay raise or some shit😏

You: This I gotta hear

Captain: Where was I?

Captain: Just kidding

Captain: I would then smuggle you to the parking garage under the guise that you’re my ‘job equipment’ or whatever, and then, I’d take you to your car. Ideally, I can convince you to get in the van I rented as part of my infiltration disguise so I can actually sit and stand without breaking my neck. The windows are blacked out, I keep anchors and blocks on the wheels to keep it stable, and then I rock your fucking world.

Captain: Still with me?

You: I am

Captain: You’re probably thinking, ‘but if you’re as beastly as I think you are, won’t I be screaming my brains out?’

You: I was!

Captain: As a professional content creator – amongst other trades – I know a thing or two about sound proofing. There’s always a gag if you’re into that.

You: I could be persuaded…

Captain: I have a lot of things I’d like to persuade you to do in there.

Captain: Do you normally participate in the themed clothes or do you keep it professional?

You: I don’t usually, not really my thing.

Captain: I see.

Captain: Back to my scheme ~

Captain: After I’ve successfully fooled everyone and have you in my clutches, I’d take you to my van where you can have a lunch break actually worth attending.

Captain: I would first take off my disguise and reveal that it was me all along! After you get over your initial surprise, I’d ask you what you’re hungry for.

You: Oh I get options?

Captain: Hell yeah doll. Your choices can range anywhere from a quick snack to a mega meal.

You: Do the options change too?

Captain: I don’t believe in constraints. Unless they’re kink-related.

Captain: I think since you’re the kind of doll that doesn’t splurge too much on ‘erself, I’d start you off with a ‘left no crumbs.’

Captain: What that entails is me, sitting you all pretty like on a seat cushion, starting ngwith something soft and sweet. Kisses up the arm, on the neck, slow, building up anticipation. I’d tease you over your clothes, petting your kitten until I feel your wetness through the fabric.

Captain: Pepper your body with kisses and bites to keep you on edge. When I have you down to just your undergarments, I’d sit you in my lap. Spread your thighs open. Start rubbing your pussy until you’re leaking all over my hand. I’ll let you have a quick orgasm, a small and sweet one. But don’t think we’re done.

Captain: I might take my pants off to feel you a bit better. Push you down on my hard-on as I wrap an arm around your waist to keep you still. I’ll use my free hand to play with your pussy again. Rubbing you, flicking you, lightly smacking you, rubbing your clit, finger fucking you. Rub my big dick against your trembling body to make you even more sensitive.

Captain: Since you only have an hour, I’ll make sure you look presentable before you go back to the office. Where you can spend the rest of the day sitting in the mess I’m going to leave. How does that make you feel?

You: I’m…speechless, in a good way…Shit that’s really hot. It makes me feel devious, a bit dirty, like I really want to do it.

Captain: Damn and I haven’t even finished telling you what’s included in your lunch?

You: 🤐

You: Please forgive me

Captain: I could never stay mad at you doll.

Captain: As I was saying ~

Captain: I can’t let you leave your break without feeling fully satisfied.

Captain: Before you go, I’d spend some time with you against the van wall. If you’re into it, I can use rope to help keep you standing. I encourage it, you’re gonna need it.

You: I’m into it, I’m into it 🤤

Captain: Heh. Freak.

Captain: I’d keep you still and propped up, putting your blouse on, keeping my lipstick stains and bites hidden underneath. I’d pull your panties and bottoms over your ankles, slide your soaked underwear up your thighs…

Captain: And give you dessert.

You: What am I having??!

Captain: Me.

Captain: I’d pull your panties up your thighs but not put them on entirely. Leaving them maybe a few inches from your twitching pussy. Then I’d finally let you see my cock.

Captain: Do you want to touch it?

You: Yesss🥺please let me touch.

Captain: Don’t worry you’ll be feeling it.

Captain: I’ll prod my cock against your clit, slide it up and down your puffy lips, maybe push in a little bit.

Captain: After I get it nice and wet with you, I’d stand in front of you and fuck your body. I won’t go in in, I’ll slide in between your desperate lips, make you clench over my cock with your needy pussy, I’ll hit your delicious ass cheeks, pull back out and rub against your clit until you’re crying.

You: Oh my fucking god.

Captain: I’m not done.

Captain: While I do this, I’ll rub my thumb down on your clit, and I won’t stop until you’ve cum over my cock, frustrated yet relieved.

Captain: But don’t be disappointed just yet because the next part is my favorite part.

Captain: As you’re coming down from your orgasm, I’ll finish myself off. Jerking myself in front of you and finishing right on your cunt.

You: 🥵

Captain: Yeah.

Captain: I’d milk my length to cover you, watching it drip from your vulva and trembling lips down to your underwear and thighs. Whatever falls further down I’d wipe with my thumb and make you lick it off.

Captain: Then I’ll pull your panties up nice and high, make sure they sit on your hips just right, don’t want any of me to spill out. For good measure, I might even rub your underwear against you some just to smear it in you some more.

Captain: I love cum play.

Captain: I’ll pull up your bottoms, wipe your tears, and send you away with a kiss on the cheek and a slap on the ass.

Captain: How does that sound doll?

You: I would fucking die!!! I want this so bad fuck why would you DO THAT TO ME?!?🥵🤤 FUCK! You’re so hot, all I want is to touch you and be touched by you😩

Captain: Are you touching yourself?

You: If I said yes?🥺

Captain: I’d say me too. Check out the photo gallery later, you’ll see the load I blew for ya😘

Captain: Glad to add you to my harem of Cabin Hoes. I’m not supposed to have favorites, but I think I’m gonna grow fond of you.

Captain: G’night doll. Thanks for subscribing😘

<end chat>

Leave a vote/kudos/like to tip OR hit bookmark/add to reading list/reblog to subscribe.

[sterekmylove]

Red Fabric {Young Sterek}

Your prompt: Person B lends their sweater to Person A. When Person A is home, they realize they still have Person B's sweater and find Person B's iPod. Out of curiosity, Person A looks through Person B's music and finds a playlist titled with Person A's name.

P: Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski

Age: 18 & 19

A/N: I forgot to post it here.

—

“Dude… just take the damn sweater! Stop being stubborn” Stiles groans as he tried to shove his sweater into Derek's hands, the sick omega

Refusing his friend's request. They've been repeating this little argument since Derek first walked into History, taking a seat next to Stiles and dropping his head onto the table ignoring Mr. Harris words to pick up his head, and that it wasn't nap time. Derek hadn't picked up his head, instead, he made a sound that nearly sounded like a growl. The sound even caught Scott's attention, looking away from Allison to look toward the Omega who sat one row ahead. Stiles kept his eyes down on his notations scribbling away— adding in extra for Derek later. He kept his voice low so Mr. Harris didn't try to give him detention for the simple fact that he spoke.

“Are you okay?” the lanky teenager asked in a low voice. Derek had hummed in response. Not good enough.

“Der” Stiles tried again.

Derek let out a raspy breath shifting his head against the desk to peak towards Stiles, the brunette doing the same— side-eyeing the werewolf. The omega looked like hell, his tan skin was paler— Stiles couldn't even blame that on the season— the cool air in the room being a reminder of the freezing cold outside that is known as winter.

“ ‘mm fine” he mumbles in response.

Stiles snorts, keeping his eyes on the paper. Bullshit.

“Something funny Mr. Stilinski?” Mr. Harris questions

Stiles glanced up at the teacher with a pen in his mouth— when did he get it there? Stiles glances around the room to see everyone looking at him— facing his attention back on the teacher.

“Uh—” the pen drops from his mouth, making a sound against the table— he looks down then back up real quick to do a one-over when his brain comes to a halt.

“Um… no?”

“Then why did you snort?”

“Cause I farted— what else?” He asked his expression mocking a duh look mixed with ‘are you stupid?’ Look.

Derek made a low strangled sound. Scott covered his mouth while ducking his head. Stiles twisted in his seat to turn and look at Allison who was sitting with Scott and behind Stiles.

“Forgive me Ms. Argent for passing gas, is that nose okay?” Stiles asks dramatically.

Allison pressed her lips together trying her best to hide her smile as she just nodded at Stiles. Stiles smiles brightly, turning back to the teacher. Mr. Harris stares at Stiles then sighs— deciding not to argue with the lanky boy today.

For once.

Now, back to what’s wrong with the sourwolf.

Stiles found out in second period Art what was wrong with his friend.

“Sick? you’re sick. How the—.”

“Breathe Bambi,” Derek declared as his hand moved in strokes on the canvas.

Stiles takes a second or two to breathe and then speak.

“I thought werewolves couldn't get sick?”

“Bitten one can't, born can. We're still Humans Stiles, just grow extra hair on a full moon” Derek spoke in a low tone.

Was— did he— did Derek unintentionally make a joke to Stiles on the last part? nevermind that he'll go back to that later.

“But how— dude are you—”

“Stiles what are you—” The back of Stiles's hand touches the omega's cheek, Derek's droopy eyes widening a bit at the contact of Stiles's cool skin against his face. Before the sick wolf can even consider leaning into the touch of Stiles' warmth— which he will blame on his sickness— Stiles pulls away.

“Dude— you're cold, you, Derek Hale who is usually built like a real-life heater are cold!” Stiles stresses out, Derek didn't need to look at the lanky teen to see what type of face he was making.

“Take my—”

“No.”

“But—”

“No.”

“Derek—”

“Stiles.”

“My sweater is better!”

“No, I'm already wearing my leather jacket” Derek declines, pushing down the feeling of accepting the human request— the excuse of Derek wearing his close friend's sweater and smelling his scent for the rest of the day was tempting– but he wasn't going to. He was sick, those little ticks were all a part of his cold.

The want to lean into the cool touch, the want to accept the sweater, the want to be even closer to Stiles and bury his face deep into his friend's neck and take in his scent till his mind is dizzy with the smell of Stiles.

Roasted hazelnuts with the lingering smell of black coffee and medication—Adderall.

“And clearly it's not keeping you warm enough if you caught a cold Derek”

—

Which leads to now— they were in third-period gym playing dodgeball, Derek weak on his feet— stubborn and very human Stiles still arguing with the Hale boy over his sweater as balls were being thrown at them.

“Come on—“

“Duck!”

Stiles dodges barely fast enough from the flying ball that hit the wall hard, Derek glares at the culprit that threw the ball— Tyler Johnson.

“Johnson!” He barks picking up one of the red balls that landed by his feet throwing it towards the brunette hitting him in the stomach making the other teen wheeze sinking to his feet, Stiles winches at the site.

“Derek—.” Derek grabs Stiles by the front of his shirt yanking him towards himself— making the lanky human not get hit by a ball.

“Stiles focus—.”

“Take my sweater and I will!”

“Stiles it’s cold outside-.”

“I’ll wear your leather jacket— just take the damn sweater you stubborn—.”

Bonk!

A ball gently hits Stiles in the head, the pale teen blinks a couple of times. Staring— staring at Derek who had pulled him close to him with a ball in his hand and with enough force hit him in the forehead with it. Stiles looked at the omega as if he committed a crime, his mouth opening and closing— Derek catching a ball before it hit him in the face.

“Did you—“

Derek gives him the famous Hale smirk.

“Got to sit down Stilinski”

Stiles gasp, then looked over to Scott who just shrugged his shoulders.

“You little…”

“Go.”

Was that even allowed!?.

—

“I look stupid” Derek mumbled as he tugged at the red fabric that hugged his body, Stiles' sweater was loose but also fitted tight around the werewolf’s sick frame. He wore the cuffs of the sleeves over his palms looking down as the two walked down the hall— Stiles fixing Derek’s leather jacket around his body, patting the pockets filling his curiosity that can sometimes be dangerous.

“You look nice in red sourwolf I don’t see the reason to complain” Stiles says in a tone that can let anyone know he’s not paying attention to his words.

“That’s not— not that pocket Stiles”

Stiles stops his hand barely above the chest pocket looking at Derek while they walked down the hallway as the last bell rang.

“What’s in it?”

“Just don’t touch it”

Stiles nods moving his hand away shoving them in the pockets walking in silence.

—

Tags: @cowandcalf