#so of course the streak gets broken today

[suburbanbonfire]

ON AN ABSOLUTE HEATER prints here!

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Party Animal

Steve hated parties. And who could blame him? The infamous Halloween party of 1984 left more scars on his heart than he carried from all his other misadventures. Alcohol made people say thinks they buried deep inside, but then instead of owning up to them, they'd say "I was drunk", as if that was any excuse. So yes, Steve and parties didn't go together anymore.

And yet he stupidly decided to throw one anyway.

Look, they deserved it. All of them did - Eddie, Nancy, Robin, even Jonathan and Argyle, they all earned acting like actual teenagers for one evening. Steve wanted to see Eddie, now miraculously his boyfriend, just have fun, laugh, be silly. So a party it was.

It all went great - dancing, drinking, nibbling on mountains of Argyle's homemade pizza - but eventually they all got drunk. Not Steve, he just sipped one beer and kept an eye on everyone. Jonathan and Argyle were smoking outside, Nancy and Robin flirted in the most embarrassing way possible and Eddie...

Steve heard sniffling from the bathroom and his heart sank.

He didn't want to go there. He didn't want to be told that this was all a misunderstanding, that he pressured Eddie with his flirting, didn't want to hear he's bullshit again.

But no matter how terrified he was, he could never abandon Eddie. So he went in.

Eddie was leaning over the sink, wiping at his face and trying to control his breathing. "Shit..." he muttered and turned away from Steve. "Sorry, I...uh. I'll be there in a sec."

"Eddie..." It came out as a whisper. "Are...are you okay? Did I do something?"

Eddie just chuckled and pulled hair in front of his face. "Sure did," he mumbled.

And it made horrible sense to Steve. Of course he was the reason Eddie was crying. He couldn't help fucking up, he'd tried so hard to change but apparently it was 1984 all over again. So he took a deep breath and waited for the final blow.

"You're just perfect, Stevie."

Oh.

That wasn't what being broken up with sounded like. In fact, Eddie didn't seem angry at him at all. "...sorry?"

Eddie laughed, wet and high in his throat. "Like, you...you are too good to be true, you know? You throw a party for us and then you even don't drink so we're all cared for if anything happens? You...you give your best friend a green light to date your ex who shredded your heart to pieces? You invite the guy that your ex cheated on you with and his friend? You're just so good about it. And you're funny and so bitchy that I want to kiss you all the time. And I just...I love you so much, you know? And I've never felt that way about anyone and it's fucking scary, man."

Steve's racing thoughts came to a screching halt. Where he was too busy panicking and praying he'd still have time to fix whatever he did, now his brain settled on maybe I'm not getting broken up with? "So, uh..." he muttered as he watched Eddie try fix his eyeliner, "...there's, like, nothing wrong? Or maybe...do you want me to go slower? I know I can be a lot."

His boyfriend gave an incredulous laugh. There was no salvaging the eyeliner now, it was getting caught in Eddie's early crow feet, and Steve had never seen a more beautiful sight. "No, Steve. You're not a lot. In fact, you're just enough in every single way, but knowing that you're it for me, that good things can happen...it makes me terrified. I've never put all my drugs in a single lunchbox, or whatever metaphor you want to use for it, but with you I'm just throwing all the caution into the wind. And for the first time, I..." he stopped, chewing on his lip, "...I don't want to run away when I mess up. I want to stay, face the music and fix it. You're re-writing the Munson doctrine again and again and I just...I don't want you to settle for me, Steve. You are the whole package and I'm still cleaning all my messes. I guess today showed me that and I...yeah. Sorry about all this," he pointed at his tear-streaked face.

Eddie suddenly seemed so small, so insecure, and that wouldn't do. It woke Steve up from his frozen state and he took a step forward, cradling Eddie's face in his palms. "I'm not. Settling for you, that is." He was probably smudging the black even more, but Eddie would have been beautiful to him even fully covered in grime, and there were more important things to focus on. "Eddie, you keep talking about the Munson doctrine and being work in progress, but you don't see how you've thrown all the stuff I used to do out of the window, and I'm better for it. With you, I don't feel rushed, I don't have to perform or pretend. I can just live in the moment."

As he continued his speech, something strange started happening. Seeing people cry normally had a guaranteed effect on Steve - just one tear, quiet sob and he pushed his emotions down to be dealt with later or possibly never, someone needed him, and that was the priority. But now, staring at Eddie's wet eyes and shaky hands? He felt his own face crumbling and what better place to hide it than in Eddie's Metallica t-shirt. It smelled of cigarettes, pizza and the cheap laundry detergent that had come to mean home to Steve. "Sorry," he choked out. "Shit. I was...sorry, I'm supposed to be...you know. Consoling you. But I heard you crying and I thought...I..."

Eddie shook his head and tightened his grip on Steve's waist. "Oh Stevie. Whatever that pretty head of yours thought of, it's not happening. Unless it's kissing me, which duh, that's happening, if you want to of course, and staying with me to the point that you're sick of me."

Steve just whimpered into Eddie's shoulder, something that suspiciously sounded like "Now who's perfect, huh?"

His boyfriend just chuckled. "I guess that in a way, we both are. Maybe for each other?" If he'd aimed for self-deprecating tone, he failed. Instead, it was hopeful.

Steve didn't answer, but his embrace said it all.

They remained wrapped around each other for a long while, until Eddie whispered in Steve's ear: "how about we let the others celebrate on their own, hm? They won't be driving, their stuff is already in the guest bedrooms, and I hear your bed is wonderful this time of the year."

There was a muffled "yes" coming from Eddie's shoulder, and a few adjustments and "Good night!"s later, they found themselves in Steve's bedroom. Eddie managed to remove most of the rogue eyeliner, which was lucky. The time in the bathroom wasn't the last time he shed a tear that day, because as they were falling asleep, Steve said:

"You might be the first person who is dating the real me, and I'd like you to be the last one as well."

Tomorrow, he'd hold a funeral for the Munson doctrine. But today, he was going to wrap himself around Steve like a cuddly octopus and know that even if he doesn't manage to hold on tight the whole night, Steve would be there in the morning.

[skelliko]

Tokyo revengers |°- sudden first kiss

๑-featuring: kazutora, chifuyu, Baji, Inui, rindou

°- kazutora hanemiya

• sometimes you both get playful with each other, playful insults or sarcasm, playful acts that consist of annoying each other in so many ways, or playfully fighting with each other that always result in either one of you tickling the other or falling over each other till one of you is pinned on the ground. though usually that play fighting is done indoors.

• today was supposed to be a day where the both of you simply relax a little due to running from certain people that had to be avoided. but nope, you had a little different plan because how could you resist being a little nuisance to try and feel better about the situation you're both in, and what other way to do that than by having a little play fight?

• sure kazutora has a higher winning streak but it still causes some laughter and energy. though when he had you pinned with your back on the floor, the eye contact that you both had held was new, well no, but the thoughts behind kazutora's mind was new leading to the eye contact feeling odd.

• his hands that held your wrists down, he loosened his grip by a lot in a way that if you wanted to leave you could, easily. he didn't say anything but the silence spoke for itself after when he leaned his face down and carefully connected his lips to yours.

°- Chifuyu matsuno

• he knows about some people that like to put you down and make you feel miserable, he takes consideration into that and always tries to soothe you in hopes of making you feel better whenever some piece of shit likes to mess with you. he hasn't done anything to them because when chifuyu stated multiple of times that he'll beat respect into them you always tried to make him drop the whole idea. despite him wanting to so bad, he still listened to your request and kept his fists hidden in his pockets when walking past the people.

• he was rarely present whenever they would say something to you but when he was he'd throw snarks at them and make them shut up using words, however today was different. he couldn't stand it no more so once a single peep came out of one of the dudes aiming at you it make chifuyu tick.

• throwing a punch right across his face to make sure he bites down on his words but it of course caused a fight between chifuyu and the small group. he won with a few bruises here and there but that was to be expected, what wasn't was what he did after.

• before you can even utter the words 'are you okay?!' or even make sure that Chifuyu is okay or maybe even scold him a little at the end, he takes hold of your face with both hands carefully and presses a kiss onto your lips.

°- Keisuke baji

• sometimes his fights with other gangs get out of hand, and I dont mean just a broken bone or some bloody scabs but i mean it as in his life could be on the line. which is always considered when taking part in a gang fight.

• you're the one who he thinks about whenever he goes off to break people's noses, oddly enough. you're the one that has made him to be more cautious and careful when fighting, making sure he gets out still standing to see your smile.

• though something didn't sit right with him before going to join the group, you were on his mind but it felt like he had to do or say something to you. you knew of the fight but was that really all you had to know? Keisuke being alone, pondered a little standing stuck in the middle of a pathway when he was on his way to meet his group.

• it was like a small adrenaline rush, not just because of the events that will play out soon but because you give him energy without even being there. motivation.

• he ran in the direction of where you live without wasting any more time and knocked on your door, hoping that you answer soon. once he saw the door open and you appear, he took a second or two to think but without wanting to stay silent too long his next decision was to invade your personal space, slide a hand behind your upper back to support you and lean in to connect your lips together. a kiss before battle.

°- seishu Inui

• he'd usually end a day off with some minor teasing after hanging out, either by trying to make you blush and shy away or seeing how bold you can get. though a lot of the time those teasings are him annoying you with little harmless acts.

• he'd try and inconvenience you in the most minor ways like misplacing something or taking your pens and pencils and having you to earn your way in getting them back which could be done by saying 'please' after being told to or be sneaky and catch him off guard. he sometimes likes games like that.

• though in this particular time he decided to take advantage of his height and snatch something off from your hands making you try and reach for it, getting all close to him with both arms in the air but he keeps moving the item from one hand to the other and left to right and down and up making you to lose eyesight on the item for a second but by the time you try to reach for it inui moved his arm back up into the air.

• and then he kissed you. while you were getting so close to him in hopes of reaching for the item he couldn't help but focus on your face and those lips. his mind was completely blank when he suddenly leaned in but his heart knew what he secretly wanted.

°- rindou haitani

• usually he's good at maintaining his jealousy, sure he feels it often but he's able to die it down knowing that there's full trust between you two

• however, this time it was a little different. what would one do if they were on their way to meet their date and at the meeting spot they see the date having, by what appears to be, a lovely conversation with 3 young gentleman?

• okay, for most it may be a big deal, but for some it's a 'sure whatever, let me just go over there and move on'. in rindou's case it's both. he knew he shouldn't worry much, to start off there's three guys, not that many groups are willing to all try and hit on the same girl. and what if his date actually knows the guys as mutuals? nah that one ain't right, cross that point out because one of the guys is getting way too close for his liking.

• so rindou did the first thing that came to his mind. to go right over there, slide his sneaky and quick hands around your waist and kiss you right there and then in front of the guys, lips to lips.

• serves the group to try and think that someone as pretty as you to be single.

 ♡----

[arieslost]

hii! could i request something cute like a little blurb that’s set after carlos wins the singapore grand prix and all the drivers hit up marina bay sands for a pool party in celebration. lando and the reader just mess around and throw each other in the pool while everyone else and their girlfriends are just drinking and swimming peacefully. idk this was just personallyyy one of my favourite races and totally not biased because i was there at the time

i’m totally not jealous that you witnessed that race irl tbh!!!

carlos’ victory in singapore, paired with lando right up there on the podium next to him, is a glaring call for celebration. everyone shows up; hell, even max, who seems entirely chill and happy to be there despite his winning streak being broken. though, you and lando seem to have a different definition of “celebration” than most everyone else.

spirits are high, of course, but you and lando seem to bring out the golden retrievers in each other. at least, that’s what carlos has said even before the two of you started dating. you just feed into each other’s energy, and today is no different.

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” you shout, running as fast as you can around the pool, nearly barreling into carmen in your haste to escape your boyfriend.

it doesn’t help that your bikini isn’t the most supportive thing in the world, which slows you down significantly and gives lando and his swim trunks an advantage as he chases after you.

he catches you after you complete another lap around the pool in its entirety, his hands wrapping securely around your waist to ensure you have no escape from him.

“don’t you dare,” you warn him, knowing it won’t change his mind and that you’ll have to resort to desperate measures.

“better hold your breath, baby,” he giggles, swinging you back a little to get enough momentum to toss you into the deep end.

he doesn’t account for your death grip on his arm as he does so, and as a result he falls in right after you, just missing alex and lily on their shared pool float.

“do you mind?” carlos, singapore race winner, complains when you both resurface, shaking water out of his glorious hair.

“we’re just having fun, mate,” lando shrugs, splashing water at you when he notices you trying to get out and laughing when you splutter.

“have fun in a way that doesn’t involve those of us trying to stay dry,” charles suggests, though a smirk is playing on his face as he hands a dry towel to his girlfriend.

the two of you listen— for a few minutes. you get your revenge on lando when he’s getting you a drink and you sneak up behind him as he walks along the poolside, giving him a solid shove that sends him flying into the water and earning a cheer from everyone observing your antics.

needless to say, the two of you sleep like babies that night.

[sevikasbeloved]

PART 1 - BOXER AU

It’d been a month since you last saw your girlfriend, and it was killing you.

Of course you knew that dating a boxer would come with consequences like these, her training sending her away for months at a time, abstaining from relaxing Sundays, your world famous cooking and most of all you. The last thing you struggled to handle as much as the others, not knowing her touch for days was already too much for you but a whole month…

You felt your body turning in on itself.

However, today you walked with a pep in your step and a smile on your face, because that long standing streak would be broken, and she was finally coming home.

She knew you’d be at her fight, and you imagined she was just as gripped with anticipation as you were, for more reasons than just seeing you.

You put on your nicest dress, a sparkly gold one that slit itself dangerously high on your thigh, just as she’d like it. You tied your hair up so her favourite part of you was shown in full glory, ready to be stained with her lips.

You walked over to your dresser, pulling out a sleek black box. Inside was the most gorgeously elegant necklace she’d gotten you after her biggest victory. As your hand ran along the diamond encrusted chain, you could feel tears welling up in your face.

You weren’t one for material things, but you knew that was her own way of showing you how much she valued you, and boy, was it a lot.

You took the necklace from its box, taking yourself back in front of the mirror as you put it to your neck, clasping it easily so it hung just below your collarbones.

You smiled at your own reflection, knowing how much she’d appreciate the effort you’d gone to, even though she always said,

‘You’re already enough, without all the extra.’

___

The venue was booming, the line to get in stretching around the corner and across the street. Eyes looked on you like you were a goddess incarnate as you walked coolly past the long stretch of people, all dressed up almost as well as you.

These boxing matches weren’t your typical run of the mill. People would put their life savings on a winner, rich people. A part of you didn’t enjoy the spectacle that Sevika had become, the ‘scary lady’ men wanted to get a peek at and women wanted to court. But you knew at the heart of it, it was what Sevika loved to do, and she was damn good at doing what she loved.

As you reached the front door to the venue a tall yet stocky security guard dressed in all black caught your glistening attire, immediately recognising you. He approached you with a gentle smile, ushering you ahead and into the building.

Cameras flashed on you, almost obstructing your view as you cautiously stepped ahead of your guard, weaving through the press asking you probing questions about your lover.

“Tell us Miss, what does Sevika do on her off days?”

“Is she as good in bed as she is in the ring?”

You rolled your eyes, ducking your head as you hid a smile, sure that everyone could guess the answer to it if they saw the red blush on your cheeks.

You were directed into the main arena, the pure size of it making you feel a little queasy. As you walked down the aisle you spotted a small promotional sign reading;

It’s simple!

No rules, regulations, just pure fighting!

Your heart sank.

You’d seen that sign many times, and even still it made your heart drop like it was the first time you were seeing it. As said earlier, these tournaments were no run of the mill fights, they were uncut and uncensored, pure blood fighting.

A fight to the death, if you were lucky, and if you were unlucky, life long damage that would kill your career faster than you could blink.

You grabbed a seat in one of the front boxes, looking around at the empty stadium moments before it filled. You imagined what Sevika had to have been doing, prepping for her fight, doing her final weigh in, thinking about you.

Her name shone in bright lights on the jumbotron ahead of you, forcing you to take a breath. It was scary, you couldn’t lie. There were times you imagined you’d be sitting front stage as you watched her life be taken, and all for entertainment.

But it hadn’t happened, not yet anyways.

The room burst into music and chatter as the doors opened to the general public, your head swivelled round as you watched people flood into the building, scurrying to find their seats.

“Are you ready to rumble?!” A faceless voice roared as the crowd roared louder.

People across the stadium began banging the back of their seats and stomping their feet, shaking the foundation of the room. A small smile fell on your face despite your previous anxieties. Despite their bloodthirst, the crowd always brought the energy expected at an event this major.

“That’s what I like to hear!” The voice exclaimed, “let’s not waste any more of your precious time and welcome our beloved fighters.”

The cheers grew louder than you imagined they could ever be.

“Y’all know him best, the hornet, the python,” the voice rattled the crowd into an even bigger frenzy. Sevika’s opponent was a surprise and it had been that way for the past three fights, since people could guess who’d win before the fight would start, “the town's meanest sheriff, Marcus!”

Oh fuck.

The smile on your face dropped. Marcus played dirty and no rules meant he was glorified for it. There was rumour that he’d once stabbed his opponent to get his victory, hiding the blade between his teeth. You fucking hated him, and Sevika damn sure didn’t respect him.

She was a fair fighter to a fault, her prowess proving more than enough to win countless fights. You’d both spoken of the possibility that one day she’d have to square off with him, but you never imagined it would actually happen, because you never imagined she’d agree to fight him.

“Alright, alright, simmer down ladies and gentlemen, as I have yet to introduce to you,” he paused dramatically and the crowd fell quiet, but you could feel the buzz of energy arising again as everyone waited with bated breaths, “Our undefeated champ, the one we all wish we could be…”

The crowd, unable to hold its applause erupted again, and this time you joined too, whooping along with everyone else,

“The panther, our very own scary lady, SEVIKAAAA!” He screamed, his voice almost turning singsongy as the music played again, booming violently along with the flashing strobe lights.

You stood from your seat, cupping your hands to your lips as you cheered raucously. Suddenly the strobe lights honed in on two separate parts of the stadium.

Marcus emerged first, wearing a dark blue robe to match with his blue gloves and shorts. He hopped on his toes as he punched the air, winking grossly at the camera, his face supersized on the jumbotron.

He made his way to the ring, backed by his crew who were all matching with his colour palette, trading his gloves for some corny ass sunglasses. You rolled your eyes.

He hopped around the ring energetically, blowing kisses to the audience who cheered him on and raised a closed fist at the ones who booed. He made his way to your side, leaning up against the rope as he looked at you with a cocky grin.

“Hi there Sevika’s girlfriend, sorry in advance, I’ll try not to send her home on a stretcher.” He teased, not bothering to wait by you for a reaction as he returned to the rest of the crowd to receive his premature praise.

The music suddenly changed, the bass of it stopping Marcus right where he stood as he turned to face her corner.

“She’s here…” the voice called out teasingly.

You scoffed as you watched Marcus’ face shine with a sliver of doubt. You turned, leaning anxiously against your seat as you peaked over multiple heads to try to get a good look.

The music had switched to more dark and foundation shaking music. You couldn’t get a good look from where you were as you heard the crowd scream out, pointing to her entrance, so you turned to face the jumbotron, and in all her glory, there she was.

Just feet from where you sat, Sevika wore her hair into a tight bun, donning a rich gold and purple combo on her shorts and sports bra, a royal purple robe shrouded over her muscular body. She walked out alone, her head bowed as her face remained hidden by the large hood over her head.

You bit your lip just at the sight, this the first time you’d seen her in months and you could feel your stomach turn a thousand times as you switched between her walkway and the jumbotron, trying not to miss her in person despite being unable to see her immediately.

Then she rounded the corner, and she was there, finally, in the flesh. You’d almost forgotten how tall she was, at least in comparison to you and over half the attendees, and Marcus.

You gazed over at him for a second, noticing how his jaw tightened at the sheer sight of her, but as you turned back you saw Sevika standing right infront of you.

Your face glowed, and you stood up immediately, hugging her tightly. Her arms came around your waist, pulling you against the divider between you.

“I’ve missed you so much, baby.” She whispered in your ear.

“Missed you more.” You giggled, placing a small kiss on her cheek.

She looked from beneath her hood at you, her sterling eyes looking at you with complete adoration.

“Look at that ladies and gentlemen, isn’t that just something!” The voice called out again, reminding the two of you of the stadium filled with people.

A camera came up beside the two of you, supersizing your intimate scene onto the jumbotron. You waved at the camera with a smile, Sevika’s chuckle rumbling through your body pressed against hers.

You leaned into her side again,

“Win this and come home to me, okay?” You whispered, the crowd cheering not only Sevika but now also you on, scattered wolf whistles filling the arena.

She flashed a toothy smile at you then turned away, letting her gloved arm ghost against your body for a little while before hopping up into the ring, meeting with Marcus head to head.

She stood towering over him for just a second, before shrugging her robe off and tossing it off the side of the ring. A short man came running behind her, picking it up in one hand and in another holding a bottle of water with a towel thrown over his shoulder. Her coach. He’d been by her side for close to a decade and had practically become family, and as long as he was there you trusted she’d be okay.

“Let’s get it started, the fight we’ve all been anticipating!” The voice said, his words ushering Sevika and Marcus into position on each side of the ring.

In a flash it started, the sound of a bell chiming had them hot on their feet, dancing around the ring, circling each other like sharks.

Marcus was fast with the first punch, socking her in her abdomen, but she hardly flinched, taking that second where his defences were down to side hook him, sending his stumbling into the rope.

The crowd went wild and so did you, anxious in your seat, you cheered louder than anyone in there. He gained his footing again, shaking his head straight as he hopped on his toes again, throwing out false punches in hopes to psyche her out, but she didn’t waver, not one bit.

He came in again, connecting a punch to her jaw, then her side. She faltered back a step, the hit to her jaw causing her to lose her bearing a little, but again, as expected, she was back without a second for Marcus to revel in it.

She didn’t hit him back though, the crowd jeering her on to take a hit, but you could see the look on her face. She was learning his moves, studying him as the match progressed.

___

The first couple rounds had passed and both of them had gotten their hits in but Marcus looked tired, wary. Sevika sat on her stool, arms stretched across the rope as her coach dabbed her glistening forehead, flailing his arms about as he spoke tactics and moves.

Once he had finished his rambling she picked up her bottle taking a long sip of water. She folded her body over placing it down again, looking over her shoulder at you with a wink. You could only blush, still feeling as giddy as the first day she pulled you.

She stood up again for the third round, rolling her shoulders back as she stood head to head with Marcus. You watched Marcus say something with a bloody smile, his head cocking over to you. Your brows furrowed but before Sevika could respond and you could process anything, the bell rang again and they were off.

Whatever Marcus had said to Sevika had obviously pissed her off, because she was on him like a bloodhound, throwing wild punches at every weak point on his body, forcing him back into his corner. The crowd went crazy, people standing from their seats, thrusting their fists in the air in an attempt to get in on the action from where they were sat.

She let up, stepping back as Marcus put his weight on the rope behind him. He spat out a spitball of blood, staining the ring's flooring. He looked at her with murderous rage.

You couldn’t help feeling nervous. As much as you didn’t like Marcus you were very well attuned to his fights, and you knew when he was backed into a corner, just as he was now, that’s when he played as dirty as the ground beneath him.

He tucked his hands into his pants, then put said hand into his mouth. Some of the crowd groaned in disgust, but the ones that knew him, sat on the edge of their seats.

Suddenly, he started tweaking, his head seemingly imbalanced on his head, he craned it backwards as he screamed out, and when his head knocked back forward and you saw the purple in his eyes, your mouth stuttered open, and not a breath came from it as you could only stare on in horror.

You saw Sevika falter back, and your heart sank lower than you imagined it could, she was scared. You could see it in the way her arms contracted and her shoulders tensed up.

“Getcha head in the game, Sevika, bloody hell!” Her coach yelled from the sidelines.

Her head swivelled to his voice, shaken by the state of Marcus, the effects of shimmer taking over his smaller frame, his body now built like a beast.

In a moment Marcus was on her, toppling her over as he pummelled her face in. You stood up, your knuckles turning sticking sharply from your hand as you gripped the divider.

“No!” You screamed, tears welling in your eyes.

This was one of those things you hated. Watching her take a beating. But this one was worse than all the other ones, she’d never been toppled like she was, beat like she was.

“Sevika, fucking get up! Get up!” You screamed again, in a hope to get through to what you could imagine was a tunnel vision moment for her.

Her arms wrapped around his bulging body as she struggled with him on the ground.

“C’mon, baby, you got this!” You called out again.

She turned him over so she was now above him, their roles reversed within seconds as she began pounding his head in.

The crowd, as if affected by the shimmer themselves roared, probably never having seen a fight this close before, especially a fight with Sevika.

Marcus seemed almost unaffected by the hits, and Sevika was looking down at him, her eyes wild as she kept hitting and hitting and hitting and…

The bell went again, signalling the end of the round.

She stood up from him, hurrying back to her side. He got up a moment after, limping over to his. You didn’t even give Marcus a second look as you searched for Sevika’s eyes, but she was standing talking to her coach, her leg bouncing on the lowest rope that lined the ring.

Her coach reached into his pocket, pulling out a vial with purple liquid inside. Her face scrunched at the sight as murmurs filled the arena. As everyone knew, Sevika was a pure blood fighter. She’d never taken anything to enhance her performance, but you could see now in her face that she was really considering it.

She looked over at you, a conflicting expression plain on her face. You knew what she was saying without a word shared between you.

You nodded.

She picked up her bottle, practically snatching the vial from her coach's hand, mixing the shimmer into the last bit of her water.

“What’s this? Sevika is taking shimmer?! People of the night, this is raring to be one for the books!” The voice narrated the scene in front of you.

She shook the bottle, the shade turning a soft purple colour. She looked at the liquid sloshing around, like she was still debating for a moment on whether she’d make that choice. She looked back at Marcus who’s eyes were still vibrant and jaw was still trembling despite how spent his body looked. She turned back, flaring her nostrils as she worked up the courage to drink it.

And she did, she drank it all.

She closed her eyes, leaning her hands against the top rope as she let the shimmer run through her system.

Marcus was already standing, his fists up by his face as he waited impatiently for the bell to go, not bothering to wait for Sevika to meet him in the middle again.

Then that thrice chiming and foreboding sound rang throughout the arena.

Marcus charged at her, pulling his right arm back, ready to sneak her from behind. Like the shimmer had perfected her quick timings, her hand shot out behind her, grabbing him by his face, an unbelievable scene, her hand easily covering the entirety of it.

His hands flailed wildly as he tried to reach her at arm's length. Her eyes peeled open, and lit up with a vibrancy you’d never seen before. She grinned easily, cockily almost.

Her body turned impossibly as she held Marcus in his place. She pulled her other arm back, then thrust it forward slamming it into his stomach, knocking him to the ground without trouble.

She walked over to him coolly, bending down as he struggled to catch a breath, evidently winded by her blow. She watched him as he spluttered and coughed up blood, the fighting pressures finally breaking him.

Through the roars of the crowd you could hear her chuckle as she peered down at him. He lurched up trying to hit her but she dodged it easily, returning his weak attempt with a swift blow to his face.

The crowd went silent as they waited for his next move. But it was in vain, as Sevika and the rest of the stadium watched him call in defeat, completely unconscious by her final blow.

It was so quiet. You never imagined a crowd like this could hold a silence this long.

“She’s done it again…” the voice said, almost emotional at the display, “SHE’S GONE AND DONE IT AGAIN!” He said even louder, moving the crowd into a belting applause.

She stood up, her eyes still glowing purple as she raised her fists in the air, circling his limp figure as she welcomed the adulations of the crowd.

You stood up, rounding the divider as you jumped onto the stage with ease, Sevika noticing you in an instant as she grabbed you, spinning you around in her arms.

You both shared in laughter, squeezing each other impossibly tight.

[whatsnewalycat]

Passenger / Chapter 6

Pairing: Trucker!Din Djarin AU x OFC Charlie Wanderlust

Wyoming (Part Three)

[ Previous Chapter ][ Series Masterlist ]

Chapter Summary: Charlie strikes a deal with the mechanic.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 7.3k+

Content / Warnings: yearning, slow burn, horny thoughts, food mention, eating, handcuffs, one bed, shower, dog grogu, guns

Notes: None really. Hope you like it, thank you for reading!

A bell chimes when Din pushes open the door to Giddyup Auto, and again when he lets it swing shut behind you. 

It’s just as cluttered inside the shop as it is outside. Pornographic magazines have been stacked alongside NAPA catalogs and tattered notepads on top of tool boxes. Promotional branding from popular auto parts manufacturers patch the steel walls, occasionally broken up by snarky signs that read things like KWITCHERBITCHIN AVE and I CAN FIX ANYTHING EXCEPT STUPID. 

Country music crackles from blown speakers at the back of the shop, echoing off the tall ceiling. The rough, strained sound blends horribly with a high-pitched whir coming from beneath a 1989 Dodge Ram 250. 

Din inhales the scent of motor oil and metal shavings. Adolescent nostalgia wells up in his chest like pride, some vague understanding of what it means to be a man. The responsibility of maintenance. Caretaking and custodianship. 

He catches a glimpse of his adoptive father wringing his hands with an oil-soaked rag while rattling off the basic components of an internal combustion engine. Then he blinks it away.

Out of the corner of his eye, you adjust your grip on the wriggling dog, slipping one hand beneath his bottom and the other across his chest. Grogu huffs at the intrusion, but once he’s steadied to a higher vantage point, he seems pleased. His ears stand at attention, jowls sealed shut, the tip of his snout twitching with curiosity. 

Both you and the dog look around the garage with the same kind of wide-eyed wonder. Two explorers ready to investigate this whole new world. Din leads the way deeper into the automotive bay, following the shrill grinding sound to the old rusted-out truck. 

When he comes to a halt, so does the noise, then Paul slides out from under the truck on a creeper. 

“Hey there! Sorry, I didn’t hear y’all come in,” he gestures to the impact wrench in his hand as he sets it down. 

“Hi, Paul,” you greet him with a cheerful smile.

Rising to his feet, he beams, “Miss Charlie, how’re you today?” 

The twinkle in his bright eyes makes Din feel uneasy. Strands of gray streak his dark beard and pepper his slicked-back hair. Hard-earned wrinkles crease his face. He’s twice your age at least, and Din can’t quite determine whether his intentions are cordial or flirtatious. 

Either way, you hardly seem to mind. You perk up at the attention, taking a step towards him as you reply, “Can’t complain. Yourself?” 

“Oh, just fine. Annie get y’all set up at the motel?” 

“She sure did. It was nice to sleep in a bed for once, y’know, after being on the road for so long. Thank you for recommending it to us.” 

“‘Course. Yellow Seed’s been treatin’ you alright?” 

“Yeah! We got to poke around a little yesterday. Went and got supper at the Outlaw Saloon, which was good,” you glance at Din and chuckle a little, “The locals didn’t seem too keen on us. Got a few dirty looks, but that’s not surprising.” 

Paul laughs at this, crossing his arms as he leans back against the truck, “Well, you know, we small town folks don’t always like outsiders.” 

“I’m used to it,” you shrug dismissively, then your face lights up, “But, hey, I talked to the owner and they’re gonna let me play a couple sets tomorrow night if you wanna swing by.”

“No shit?” Paul grins and catches himself, “Pardon my language—”

“It’s fine,” you wave it off. 

“Playin’ a few sets at the Outlaw Saloon,” Paul repeats, shaking his head with amusement, “What kinda music you play?” 

“I know a little bit of everything. These kinds of gigs, I try to feel out the crowd. I catch a country music kinda vibe around here, so probably some Hank Williams Jr, Alan Jackson, Johnny Cash. Stuff like that,” you tilt your head at him, “Got any requests?”

“Know any Waylon Jennings?” 

“Sure, I have a few of his tunes up my sleeve. Any particular song?”

“Surprise me,” he winks. 

Din tries to retain his stoic demeanor despite the discomfort writhing beneath his skin. The dog must pick up on this, because he whines at his owner and starts to squirm in your grip. 

Struggling with Grogu’s protest, you ask Paul, “Is it ok if I set him down?”

“Go on ahead, darlin’,” Paul tells you, then turns to Din, “How about you? Settling in ok?” 

“How much will it cost to fix?” 

Paul raises his eyebrows and pushes off the truck, “Right down to brass tacks, huh?” 

“He’s not much of a talker,” you smirk as you set the dog on the cement floor and start roaming around the shop, leash in hand. 

“I can respect that.” His gaze lingers on your wandering form for a moment longer before he looks at Din and sighs, “Well, I had some luck calling around to a few junkyards lookin’ for salvaged or used parts. Found a good price for what I need. With that ‘n’ labor, it’ll run you twenty-five hundred, long as everything goes smoothly.” 

Din weighs the cost against his bank account, factoring in the motel room, gas to get to the next job, and food for a few days. It would run him dry. His stomach tightens and twists. Before he can formulate a response, you chime in. 

“Is there any way we can knock that price down?” 

Paul crosses his arms across his chest and gives you a sympathetic shrug, “Way it stands, ‘fraid I can’t.” 

You nod as you consider this, furrowing your brow at the floor, then look up at him, “What if we make a trade?” 

“A trade?” Paul frowns. 

“Yeah, or, you know. Some kind of a deal. We scratch your back, you scratch ours.” 

Paul’s blue eyes flick between you and Din, “Wha’d you have in mind, sweetheart?”

Din’s first instinct is to shut down the conversation. But when you glance at him as if searching for approval, he doesn’t protest. You turn back to Paul and nod over your shoulder, “I noticed your sign out front is pretty faded. I could paint it if you knock a couple hundred off?” 

Paul shifts his weight to one leg and wrinkles his nose. Not sold. You don’t let it deter you. 

“I’ve done murals before, so this would be a piece of cake. It looks pretty shabby now, but I can make it,” you smack your lips, “pop. Maybe it’d bring in some more business for you.” 

Shaking his head, he smirks at Din, “She’s persistent, ain’t she?”

“She is.” 

“I am,” you confirm with a wide, toothy grin, “Whaddaya say? I do the sign, take off $500?“

Paul works his jaw from side to side, then slackens and sticks out his hand, “Five hundred.” 

“Plus the cost of supplies,” you add. 

“Plus the—” he cuts himself off with an amused chuckle, “You’re somethin’ else. Fine. Five hundred plus costs.” 

When you shake his hand, a victorious, blinding smile spreads across your face. The corner of Din’s mouth turns up at the sight. He fails to correct his expression as you take a step back and glance at him. His heart skips in that brief moment where his eyes meet yours, before you drop your gaze to your feet and tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. Blush rises to your cheeks and neck, rosy splotches that bloom soft and full in his chest. 

“Whaddaya think, should $100 do it?” Paul asks. 

“I think we can make that work,” you nod, “Do you have paint brushes or rollers? Sandpaper?” 

“Reckon I do. Hang tight, I’ll get y’all some cash, ok?” 

Once he’s out of earshot, Din studies you, wondering out loud, “Why are you helping me?” 

“Rule number ten: Be a stand up tramp,” you shrug, crouching down to scratch Grogu between his ears, “Plus, I don’t know, it just seems like… the right thing to do.” 

Your answer perplexes him. He can’t come up with a response other than, “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” you grin up at him, then rise to your feet and change the subject, “I’m hungry. We should get lunch. And maybe get some groceries, too, so we—er, you don’t have to spend as much on eating out.” 

The authority with which you suggest this causes him to chafe. He wants to push back for no reason other than to reclaim the upper hand. Your reasoning is sound, though. It’s not a bad idea. 

“We can do that.” 

“Yeah?” 

He nods. 

Your gaze lingers on him for a moment, lips curving into a delicate smile. Something flutters in his stomach, frantic and timid, urging him to put up a wall between you. But he keeps his eyes anchored to yours despite his internal warning bells. 

The tight wire of tension slackens as Paul returns, counting a stack of wrinkled bills, “Here you go.” 

You step forward to accept the cash, “Perfect. Thank you, Paul.” 

“Are y’all gonna be able to carry everything back here, or do you wanna borrow my truck? Might be a little easier that way.” 

“Really?” you grin and knit your brows together into a gracious expression, “We were thinking of grabbing lunch and getting some groceries, too. Would that be ok?” 

“Fine by me, just bring it back in one piece,” Paul answers, fishing a set of keys from his jumpsuit pocket and handing them to you, “Ford F-150 out front.”

“Thank you, Paul. I—we really appreciate it,” you tell him, then look at Din and raise your eyebrows expectantly. 

“Yes, thank you,” Din nods in agreement. 

“Don’t mention it,” Paul says, then ambles back to the old rusted-out Dodge, whistling along to some old country song. 

Keeping pace at his side as he starts towards the exit, you jangle the keys and ask, “Do you want me to drive?”

“Dream on, kid,” he scoffs, holding his hand out. 

“Worth a shot,” you grin and place them in his palm. 

“Would it be too predictable to put a horse on the sign?” you ask, frowning at your rough outline, “I feel like there are a lot of places out here that lean into the western motif, so it might be overdone. But the place is literally called Giddyup Auto, so…” 

When Din doesn’t respond, you glance up and can’t quite tell if he’s looking at you or something in your general direction. 

Stupid goddamn aviators. 

“You know, it’s considered polite to take off your hat and sunglasses when you go indoors.” 

Again, nothing. 

‘Off in lala-land’ if you’ve ever seen it. 

You blink at him a few times to no reaction, then raise your voice, “Did you hear me?” 

This seems to do the trick. 

It’s difficult to explain how you know his eyes are on you when they are. Maybe the microscopic tilt of his head or the twitch of his eyebrows. Mostly though, you would say that his attention carries a force. One minute you’re sitting there wondering if he’s looking at you and then—bam! It hits you. Absolute certainty.  

Anyway, he looks at you and asks, “What?” 

“Why do you insist on wearing your Unabomber costume all the time?” 

He frowns and shakes his head like he doesn’t understand. 

“You know, because—Oh for cripes’ sake, nevermind,” you scoff and sit up in your seat, turning your notebook to face him, “Here. Tell me what you think.” 

He looks down at your notebook and pulls it closer. As he quietly studies the sketches, discomfort twists your skin raw. Imagining all the criticisms lingering at the tip of his tongue, you can’t stop yourself from speaking preemptively. 

“The first one is pretty boring, but I think the font adds a little flair. I’d blend shades of orange for the background to make it stand out and white for the text.” You prop your chin up on the heel of your palm and lean forward, pointing to the second option, “I like the covered wagon as a concept, but it would take me a long time and I’m not sure if it fits the vibe since wagons are kinda slow. The horse is fast, obviously,” you tap the third sketch and shrug, “But, like I said when you so rudely ignored me, the western motif is sort of tired in this neck of the woods.” 

Nodding, he comments, “They look… nice.” 

Such a way with words. 

You stare at him for a moment, waiting for additional input to no avail. Raising your eyebrows, you release a big sigh and fold your legs up into the booth, “‘Nice.’ Ok, sure. Well, let me ask you this: Which one is your favorite?” 

After a few seconds of contemplation, he taps the bucking bronco silhouetted over a mountain range, then pushes the notebook back across the table. 

“Why that one?” 

He shrugs, “It’s called Giddyup Auto.” 

Instead of pointing out that you said the same thing earlier, you mutter, “Sure is, big guy,” and flip your notebook to a blank page, then start jotting down a shopping list, “We should get something for the pup while we’re out. I feel bad for leaving him behind.” 

You wrinkle your nose at his silence, looking up to confirm that once again, he has drifted away. 

Curiosity gets the best of you. You follow his line of sight, craning your neck over your shoulder to see the waitress approaching with a serving tray. Din straightens when she sets a plate in front of him. 

“Ok, we have a breakfast platter number two,” she sets another plate in front of you, “And french toast with fruit.” Tucking the tray under her arm, she smiles between you and him, “Anything else I can get for you guys?” 

“We’re fine, thank you,” Din tells her, a small smile gracing his lips. 

She nods before turning to go, dragging his attention along with her. You watch him watch her, studying his wandering gaze. A grin spreads across your face. When he notices you staring, he immediately becomes defensive.

“What?” 

Dead giveaway. 

Suppressing a smile, you grab a butter knife and shake your head at your plate, “Nothing.” 

“What?” he asks again, this time more pointed.  

“I didn’t say anything!” 

He scoffs and hunches over the plate to shovel scrambled eggs into his mouth. 

After smearing whipped butter on your french toast, you pour syrup over your plate, glancing up at him when you ask, “Do you have a crush on the waitress?” 

“No.” 

Denial sours the word in the most obvious way. 

Raising an eyebrow, you cut your food into bite-sized pieces as you tease, “I didn’t take you for a liar, Din. But I also didn’t take you for the kind of guy who has a soft spot for pretty service workers, so what do I know?” 

Of course, he doesn’t say anything. And of course, you decide to push the conversation further. 

“I just mean… If you do—you know, like her or whatever—you should ask her for her number. Take her on a date. See if you can’t live a little while you’re holed up in this town.” 

“And what am I supposed to do with you in that scenario?” 

Twirling a chunk of french toast around on your fork, you shrug, “Maybe she wouldn’t mind your prisoner third wheeling. That’s probably not a red flag, right?” 

“Not at all.” 

You snort at him and he lets a small smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. It seems to soften the atmosphere, both of you relaxing back in your seats. While chipping away at your food, you ponder a little to yourself, then out loud. 

“Suppose your line of work, you don’t go on many dates, do you?” 

Frowning at the strip of bacon pinched between his fingers, he tells you, “Not in the traditional sense.” 

“What does that mean?” 

Instead of answering the question, he pops the bacon into his mouth. When he swallows and you’re still staring at him, he shakes his head, “Forget I said anything.” 

“Come on, Din,” you meet his flattened expression with a grin, “You so know I won’t let this go. Might as well just spill the beans.” 

He crosses his arms in front of his chest and stares at you like a challenge. You narrow your eyes at him, tilting your head with equal determination. 

“‘Not in the traditional sense.’ So you do have romantic or sexual experiences, but society wouldn’t typically deem those experiences ‘dates,’ right?” 

He says nothing. 

“Hmmm… interesting,” you lean your elbows on the table, studying him, “You seem reluctant to talk about it, which indicates… Maybe you’re ashamed of it? Although, you’re pretty reluctant to talk about everything, so I don’t know how much weight to place on that. But you’re a trucker. Transient. Don’t seem like much of a ‘family man’ to me. So, what… you’ve gotta be a hookup guy or a sex worker guy, right?” 

The way he squirms at the question makes your chest tingle. 

“It could be both, too. I feel like you would be more of an opportunist than a strategist when it comes to fucking. Am I right?” 

His jaw shifts from side-to-side. He glances around before leaning in, “And you’re much different?” 

“No, not really.”

Most people would ask follow-up questions or awkwardly segue into a different subject, but not Din. He seems as content with your answer as you are with his. But where he goes back to eating, you feel a loose end rattling at the tip of your tongue and speak it into existence. 

“I think… I think people like us don’t lay down roots for anything less than the spectacular,” you search his face, “Right?” 

With his fork lifted halfway to his mouth, he pauses to look at you and nod, “This is the way.”

Din brings the shopping cart to halt in the middle of the aisle when you stop to examine jars of preserved nut and fruit spreads lining the shelves. 

You pull a big plastic container of generic peanut butter from the lineup and toss it into the cart, “Four dollars, twenty-nine cents.”

He jots down the price in your notebook and adds it to the running total while you wrinkle your nose at the ingredient list of strawberry preserves, then set it next to the peanut butter, “Three sixty-nine. Gotta love that food desert markup. What’re we at?” 

“Twenty seven, give or take,” he answers, crossing two items off the list. 

“What else we got here?” Sidling up to him, you peek at the paper, “Snacks. Wow, ok past me, very specific.” 

When you start walking again, he does too, and he wonders how you can possibly smell so good without the aid of perfumes. While not a definitive scent, it inspires a sensation much like when he’s parched and sets his sights on a glass of ice water. It’s enticing, like your very foundation radiates temptation. 

He cannot have this. This thing in his chest, gnawing at his bones, trying to escape. It snaps at the walls when you’re nearby, which is always. 

Maybe if he could relieve some of the pressure buckling under his skin it would quiet. But he can’t, so it doesn’t. 

It begs and pleads and promises to absolve him of consequence as long as he promises to move a little bit closer, hold his hand to your back a little bit longer—just one more second and I’ll be content. Maybe another. What if you slid your hand around her waist and pulled her body to yours? How would she react? I bet she would like it. I bet if you kissed her she would finally be speechless. Just a taste, please? 

He comes to a stop beside you and follows your gaze to the wall of chips. Hundreds of bags in all different sizes and colors, all of them glossy in the fluorescent light. 

“Well, big guy. What’s your chip of choice?” you ask without looking at him. 

Grinding his teeth together, he shakes his head. 

“Yeah, I don’t know, either. Too many of the same goddamn choices,” you step forward to narrow your eyes at a price tag, “Am I crazy or does that say five dollars?” 

“It says five dollars.” 

“What the fuck, that is obscene. Do we really need chips?” 

“Does anyone?” 

“I guess not technically,” you sigh and start wandering further down the aisle, so he follows you. “But we don’t have to be so utilitarian about it. Junk food is for the soul, not sustenance. And sometimes the soul needs something salty and crunchy, you know?”

Nodding, he comes to a stop and points to the display of microwave popcorn, “We could get this instead.”

“Six bags for four dollars,” you raise your eyebrows, “Salty, crunchy, and cost efficient. Hell yeah, I’m sold.”

He grabs the box of generic popcorn in question and walks it back to the cart while you meander towards the sweets. When he meets you in front of the cookies, you glance at him, “Original or chewy?” 

“Original.” 

“Ten four, good buddy.” You grab the blue package of chocolate chip cookies and toss it in the basket, “Do you ever get to say that on your radio? Have a real trucker moment?” 

“Yes.”

“Adorable,” you chuckle, catching his gaze for a moment before you look down and tuck your hair behind your ear, “Are you gonna help me with the sign today, or do you have other plans?” 

“What do you need help with?” 

You exhale through slack lips, then shrug, “Well, today is just prep. I have to scrape off the old paint, sand it down, and prime. It has to dry overnight, but I think I’ll be able to finish the rest tomorrow or the next day if we get up early…” Pausing to chuckle, you shake your head, “Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. What I mean is, you could help me with scraping and sanding. It’s a real bitch and would be easier with your muscle. If—well, you know, only if you want to. You don’t have to or anything…”

“I can do that.” 

Your eyebrows draw together as you search his face, “Yeah?” 

He nods, “It’s the least I can do.” 

As the two of you near the checkout line, a frail woman with closely-cropped white curls shuffles from a back office to the one and only cash register.

“How are we doing this? Splitting it?” you swing the backpack off your shoulder and start rummaging through it, “I should have some money in my wallet. It’s not much, but it should—”

He holds up a hand, “I’ve got it.” 

“You sure?” 

“I’m sure.” 

That thing in his chest whimpers when you smile at him, big and bright and gap-toothed, sparing him a polite, “Thank you,” before you start unloading the groceries onto the conveyor belt. 

Balancing the tips of your toes on the highest ladder rung, you stretch your roller towards the unprimed stripe of sign, but can’t quite reach it. 

“Goddamnit,” you mutter, returning all fours to the ladder with a huff, then look back at Din, “Hey, can I borrow your tall?”

Your question bounces off him with no reaction. 

Between the visor of his cap and the tablet glued to his face, you can’t quite tell if he’s ignoring you or if he just plain old can’t hear you. All that’s visible is his furrowed brow. So you shimmy down the ladder and set the paint roller in the tray, brushing your hands on your jeans as you approach his lawn chair, waiting for him to notice you. 

When the brisk October air nips at your dirt-caked, sweat-soaked skin, you skip closer, tapping your foot against his calf, “Hey.” 

He jumps as if broken out of a trance, then raises his eyebrows at you, “What?” 

“Can you help me with something?”

His mouth flattens into a straight line. He looks down at the tablet, then turns off the screen and sets it aside to look up at you. 

“See the top of the sign, how it’s all shitty still?” you point at the evidence, “Can you get it for me? I can’t reach.” 

“Use the big ladder.” 

“I didn’t think to grab it before Paul locked up for the night.” 

He releases a big dramatic sigh, glancing down at the tablet before rising to his feet. As he passes you the handle of the dog leash, you grin and plop down in the warmed-up lawn chair, “My hero!” 

“Uh-huh,” he shakes his head and starts towards the drop cloth. 

Beneath the lawn chair, the dog wakes from his nap and tries to follow Din, huffing and puffing when the leash goes taut, then walks back to your feet and sits on your shoelaces. His big satellite ears stand at attention while his person shimmies up the ladder with a roller brush in hand. 

The two of you sit there and watch Din with the same level of ardent attention, both perched on the edge of your respective seats, unable to tear your eyes away for a second. 

At first you try to tell yourself that you’re not even looking at him, just mapping out the illustration you’ll start tomorrow. But the truth is, it’s hard not to be drawn in by the view. By his panoramic shoulders and muscle-bound arms stretching out the fabric of his flannel as he rolls the brush up and down, back and forth, spreading thick white primer across the freshly smoothed wood… 

Despite the waning sunlight and icy gusts spilling off the mountains, heat bubbles up to the surface of your skin. 

You know that once he’s finished, you’ll go back to the motel for the rest of the night. Given the thick layer of grime you each accumulated throughout the day, showers will likely be in order. Which, of course, means stripping down to nothing while he’s in the bathroom with you. And vice versa, probably. 

Your imagination wanders to his naked body and how it would feel against yours. What if you argued in favor of water conservation, asking him to join you in the shower? What if he agreed? How would he look at you without those sunglasses covering his eyes? How would he touch you if morals weren’t involved? 

Din climbs down off the ladder and walks over, taking off his cap to wipe the sweat from his forehead, “Is that it for today?”

He replaces the hat and takes off his aviators, cleaning the lenses with his shirt as he meets your gaze. The full force of his big brown eyes turns your saliva tacky and makes your heart stutter. He raises his eyebrows at you expectantly. 

Fuck, did he ask you something? 

“Is that—? Oh, um,” you clear your throat, then nod, “Yep, that should do it. Thank you, I appreciate it.” 

Flicking his eyes around your face, he nods, then turns back to the drop cloth, where he starts consolidating all the painting supplies. 

With his legs stretched out across the perimeter of the bathroom’s tile flooring, back resting against the tub, Din types ‘Tom Boucheron’ into the search bar of a Portland-based web forum. 

The search yields 83 matches. He starts sifting through the results, scrolling past subject lines that indicate general complaints about property management like rising rent and evictions and gentrification. Every once and a while he comes across subject lines that take on a more conspiratorial tone, though, mentioning the weight of his influence or his ties to police presence throughout the city. When he finds these posts, he clicks on the thread, copying and pasting the urls into a separate document. 

He can delve deeper into these later, once he’s able to better focus. But right now, with the roaring cascade of the shower behind him and your enthusiastic rendition of Tiny Dancer by Elton John, this mechanical sorting is the maximum concentration he can muster. 

Squinting at the screen, he wipes away the fog forming on his tablet. Moisture reclaims the area just as soon as it clears. He sighs and turns off the device when your vocals start ramping up to a volume he can’t ignore. 

“—But oh how it feels so real, lying here with no one near. Only you, and you can hear meeee, when I say softlyyyy, slooowly—”

“Are you almost done?” 

“You ruined the best part.” 

“We’re going to get a noise complaint.” 

You scoff, then he hears the thunk of you turning off the water. In his peripheries, your arm stretches out from behind the shower curtain to snatch the folded white towel off the toilet lid. 

A few seconds later, the curtain pulls back and you announce, “I’m decent.” 

He climbs to his feet while you step out of the tub, one hand securing the bath towel around your body, the other grabbing his arm for balance. Once sure-footed on the pink tiles, you let go and murmur, "Sorry,” before opening the door and padding off into the motel room. 

Grogu runs into the bathroom to investigate as Din slips out and takes a seat at the foot of the bed. He tries to anchor his vision to the floor, but finds his gaze drifting towards your movements out the corner of his eye. Humming to yourself, you comb your fingers through dripping wet hair and pull a few articles of clothing from your backpack. 

“Are you gonna hop in too?” 

His eyes tick to yours as you turn around, clutching a pile of clothing to your chest. 

“Because, you know… if you need me to be in there with you or whatever, that’s fine,” you cast your gaze to the floor with a shrug.

He studies your bashful demeanor for a moment before responding, “I’ll have you sit in there with me once you get dressed.” 

Without looking up, you give him a nod and walk over to the bathroom. As you put on clothing, Din uses all his will power to stare at the ground. 

“What do you wanna do after that? We could watch a movie.” 

His eyes cheat to the mirror on the wall, where he watches your reflection wrestle with a t-shirt. He catches a glimpse of your bare back before returning to the floor and clearing his throat. 

“I thought you weren’t much of a movie person.” 

“Well,” your footsteps soften onto the carpet, then your voice is closer, “If you have a better idea of how to pass the time in a seedy roadside motel, I’m open to suggestions.” 

He meets your heated gaze long enough for something to spark deep within his belly. The air between your body and his thickens with a palpable magnetism. His lips part to respond, but only one suggestion plays over and over again in his head. The mad yapping of that thing in his chest. 

Before he can say or do something stupid, though, you look away and start fidgeting, “So, I’m dressed. Are you ready?” 

Swallowing his tight throat, he pushes himself to his feet and locks eyes with you, “Go sit where I just was and put your head between your knees.” 

“Wow, you’re taking this very seriously.”  

“Let’s just get it over with, ok?”

You roll your eyes a little, but acquiesce. 

Din trails behind you into the bathroom, shooing the dog from the room before closing the door. When he turns around, he finds you curled up on the floor, back pressed to the tub basin with your face buried in your knees. 

“Like this?” 

“Perfect. Stay like that, I won’t take long.” 

For some reason he expected you would stay quiet while he disrobed, but you just continue talking as if you were accompanying him on any other menial task. 

“I think it’s funny how you have me do this whole thing so I don’t see your dick, but when I need privacy, the most you give me is a turned back.” 

Din glances at the top of your head while unbuckling his utility belt, then turns to spread it out across the bathroom counter, “That’s not the only reason I’m having you do this.” 

“Then why?”

“Are you familiar with the concept of involuntary captivity?” 

While you scoff and most likely try to come up with a rebuttal, he shucks off his flannel overshirt, then unfastens his shoulder holster and lines it up on the counter below the outspread belt. His hands work without much thought as he systematically unloads all three of his pistols. Eject the magazine, count the rounds, check the chamber.

“What the fuck are you doing?” 

Ignoring the question, he moves the unloaded guns and utility belt to a high shelf over the toilet, then pulls off his undershirt. 

“Can you at least confirm you’re not gearing up to murder me right now?” 

If he wanted to tear your frayed edges, he could mention that you were begging him to do exactly that less than 48 hours ago. But since you’re somehow more irritating when in a foul mood, he doesn’t. 

“If I was going to kill you I would have already.” He turns on the shower and takes a step back to make sure you’re still covering your eyes, then takes off his pants. 

“Would you do it if you had to?” 

The question gives him pause as he pulls back the shower curtain. 

“Why would I have to?” 

“I don’t know, because they asked you to do it.” 

He frowns, “I wouldn’t do it just because someone asked me to.” 

“You wouldn’t?” 

The hopeful air in your voice eats at his stomach lining. Instead of answering or clarifying what he meant, he steps into the shower. 

“Ok, but let’s say they gave you a good reason, and you were going to do it… kill me, I mean. How would you do it?” 

“I’m not going to tell you that.” 

“Why not?” 

He shakes his head and grabs a bar of soap off the shower ledge and starts to lather it against his skin. 

“Are you ignoring me or thinking?” 

“Ignoring you.” 

“You know, I appreciate the honesty.“ Then, after a few seconds: “I promise not to leak your trade secrets, big guy. Come on, how would you do it?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” 

With this, you go quiet. 

Silence fills the bathroom for the remainder of his time in the shower, but Din’s thoughts are as loud and intrusive as your questions. 

His mind becomes populated with scenarios in which you would end up in the sights of his pistol. Under what circumstances would he pull the trigger? 

He imagines you stealing from him. He imagines trying to escape. He imagines it coming down to you or the money. He even goes so far as to imagine it coming down to you or him. 

But each time the imaginary him goes to take aim, he falters. 

While Din tosses a bag of popcorn in the microwave, you survey the Room 10’s VHS collection. 

“Ok let’s see,” you tilt your head sideways and read the titles, “Aladdin, Batman Returns, Twister—”

“You choose.” 

Beeps sound from the microwave, then it hums to life. 

You pull Aladdin from the shelf and admire the familiar cover art. Little flakes of deteriorated plastic break off the exterior and stick to your fingertips when you trace the title. You wince and mumble an apology to the inanimate object before prying it open to pull out the tape. 

After feeding it to the VCR, you press rewind and hold up the cover to Din, “Ever seen this?”

When he takes a step closer to examine it, you note the details you’re not normally privy to. His damp curls and the heat of his pulse. Mostly, though, you become fixated on his eyes. Those devastatingly dark and warm eyes. His heavy brow and hooded lids, all the lines of age creeping out from the corners. 

He meets your gaze and you swear you hear the snap of his full attention locking onto you when he frowns, “Can’t say I have.” 

Somewhere far away, the popcorn starts popping. You feel yourself succumbing to his gravitational pull, subconsciously drifting towards him, and can’t really remember if you had a point in mind when you asked. 

“It’s-it’s good,” you nod, letting your eyes drift to his mouth for a moment before you shrug, “I mean, from what I remember at least. I was obsessed with it when I was a kid. It drove my grandma crazy cuz I’d make her watch it on repeat…” 

It doesn’t really register how much information you’re disclosing until his eyes get all wide and doughy, at which point you take a step away from him and tuck your hair behind your ear, “Sorry, um, anyway. I liked it.” 

He chuckles, causing you to grin, “What?”

“Nothing.” 

His face tells you it’s definitely not nothing. It’s something if you’ve ever seen it. Something so gooey and hot it makes you ache. Dangerous, that’s what it is. 

The VCR clicks and shifts gears, then the TV lights up with disclaimers. Taking it as a sign from above, you start back towards the bed and tease, “I totally get why you wear the sunglasses, by the way. Your eyes give everything away.” 

Rather than admit you’re right, Din raises an eyebrow at you, then turns around to pull the microwave open before the timer reaches zero. While you slide under the covers and prop the flimsy pillows up behind your back, he pries open the steaming hot bag of popcorn and brings it to you. 

“Thanks.”

He grunts in response and disappears into the bathroom for a few seconds, returning with the shiny metal handcuffs, “Lights on or off?”

“Off.”

When the lights go out, the dog jumps onto the bed, spinning around a few times before curling up into an adorable white ball. Din tosses the cuffs to your side as he crawls into bed beside you. Once you think he’s settled in, you offer him some popcorn, which he accepts. 

“Do I have to put them on right now?” you ask, in reference to the cuffs. 

He frowns and shakes his head, “I can wait until you’re ready.” 

Nodding, you study his profile in the dim illumination from the TV. You don’t even realize you’re staring at him like a full-on creep until he says, “Stop giving me goo-goo eyes and watch the movie.” 

Embarrassment flares up your neck and cheeks. You scoff, “I am not giving you goo-goo eyes,” and wriggle deeper under the covers, diverting your gaze to the TV. 

I will not look at him for the rest of the night, you vow. Even if he asks me to, or talks to me, I won’t look at his stupid face until the sun comes up tomorrow. 

You almost fulfill the vow, too. 

Well… almost might be an exaggeration, but you make it to the end credits and that’s further than you really believed you could make it. 

With the motel room all dark save for the faintest glow from the credits rolling onscreen, he asks, “Are you awake?”

You remind yourself of your promise and try to ignore him. If you say something, you’ll look at him. And if you look at him, you lose. 

“Charlie?” he nudges you. 

Fuck. 

“Yeah,” you glance over, and of course you catch his eyes, “Is it handcuff time now?” 

He nods, almost apologetically. 

“Can I use the bathroom first?”

“Go ahead.” 

When you exit the bathroom and turn off the light, you find the room cloaked in darkness. The only reference point you have is the red glow of 9:12 on the alarm clock. You stretch your arms in front of you and start taking cautious steps towards it.  

“Oh my god, I can’t see shit.” 

“Want me to turn the lamp on?” 

“No, I’ve got it.” 

Your fingertips brush up against the bedspread, then you follow the alarm clock beacon to the side table. 

“Here.” 

His hand finds yours in the darkness. You grab ahold of it, trying your very hardest not to dwell on the warmth of his palm against yours as he gently guides you. When you finally settle between the sheets, he releases your hand. You almost wish he didn’t. 

“Ready?” 

“Sure.” 

He closes the cold heavy steel around your wrist, then his. For a while, neither of you move. Anxious energy buzzes beneath your skin. You close your eyes in an attempt to trick yourself into being tired, but it only makes you notice how fucking quiet it is. 

Resigning from your motionless state, you start wriggling around in an attempt to get comfortable. Din is accommodating while you do this, letting his wrist ragdoll wherever you drag it. You lie facing the wall for a while, fondling the knife you have tucked under the pillow. It doesn’t feel right. You flip onto your back and stare at the ceiling. Same problem. 

Then, when you can’t stand it anymore—the dark, the quiet, the nerves—you roll on your side facing him. 

“Din.” 

“What?” 

“I can’t fall asleep.” 

He doesn’t say anything. 

“Din.” 

“What?”

“I said I can’t fall asleep.” 

“I heard you the first time. What do you expect me to do about it?” 

You open your mouth to ask him to fuck you, but nerves rob your tongue. 

“Just talk to me for a while.” 

“About what?”

“I dunno, whatever you want.” You tuck your cuffed hand beneath your cheek and scoot a little closer.

His silence holds the weight of contemplation, so you prompt him, “What would your genie wishes be?” 

“Hang on, let me think.” 

A few quiet seconds go by before he clears his throat and rolls on his side to face you. The back of his cuffed hand rests against yours, which brings you a shred of comfort. 

“Financial security. Property rights to some land and a house, something out in the country.” 

“Like a farm?” 

“Something like that. Self-sustainable and off the grid. Maybe get a few animals and so I could live off the land.” 

“That’s the dream, right? Fuck off to the middle of nowhere and not have to rely on anyone?” 

“Yeah, that’s the dream.” 

You hum, then ask, “What’s wish number three?” 

“I… I’d rather not say.” 

Your gut instinct is to push back, but you resist the urge and instead tell him, “That’s fine.” 

“Thank you.” 

There’s enough sincerity in his voice that a tinge of guilt twists in your belly, and you feel obligated to bring up an earlier conversation. 

“I’m sorry, by the way. For pushing you to answer me when you were in the shower. Sometimes I don’t know when it’s time to shut the fuck up and let it be.” 

“Don’t worry about it, kid.” 

“Ok,” you wiggle around a bit and manage to find the perfect position, then close your eyes and release a content sigh. 

“What are yours?” he asks. 

“Mmmm… you know, I’ve thought a lot about this question—” A yawn swells in your chest, cutting you off. When it passes, your limbs feel heavy and warm. You continue, “I’d wish for the genie to be free.”

He lets out a disbelieving chuckle, “And what else, world peace? An end to climate change?” 

“I hear your snark, sir, and I don’t appreciate it. No, I wouldn’t wish for world peace or the end of climate change. I wouldn’t wish for anything. Tricky bastard can keep his wishes, I make my own luck.” 

“Tricky bastard, huh?” 

Another yawn takes over. Lethargy seeps through your body, making your worlds come out slow and murmured. 

“Yeah, y’know… all the, umm… the fine print. Too many strings attached, I don’t trust ‘em.” 

“You sound tired.” 

You hum, snuggling deeper into your pillow, “You sound tired.” 

“Get some sleep, kid. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.” 

“Mmmkay,” you mumble, “Sweet dreams, Din.” 

[aziraphales-library]

hey yall! i appreciate everything u do :] i wanted to know if you know of any bottom/sub crowley fics that heavily feature begging/desperation? if this is okay to request that is

tysm!! -haywire anon

Of course it's okay! Here are some begging bottom Crowley fics for you...

In Good Hands by tikli (E)

Thirsty Redhead Gets Railed By Blond Masseur

Reason Comes on the Common Tongue of Your Loving Me by Anonymous (E)

"Oh, yes, so very good, Crowley — oh, you were made for me, my darling," the angel continued in a low purr, tonguing along the length of Crowley's neck, sucking bruises along the line of his Adam's apple and making him tip his head back with a keening sound as he sank back down on Aziraphale's length. They both moaned, and as Aziraphale spoke again, his voice was low and filled with heat, filled with a possessiveness that made Crowley feel like he had caught fire that was consuming him from the inside out. (PWP with a focus on body worship and praise; lots of tender moments and sweet aftercare! Don't like, don't read, please!)

two mistakes make a… quickie? by revelations_chapter_six (E)

Aziraphale really hadn't meant to send Crowley that dick pic. But, fucking him up against the wall of the men's restroom, he's certainly not sorry he did it.

The Beauty of Indulgence by Ineffably_Yours (E)

Crowley and Aziraphale dine at the Ritz. (With a spicy twist.)

To Have and To Hold (forever and ever, amen.) by Theres_a_whore_loose_in_the_archives (E)

“Well you know I can have a terrible possessive streak, Crowley. I’m not proud of it.” “Can you Angel?” “Yes!! I mean look at this place. I can count on one hand the books I’ve let leave the shop in decades, maybe centuries. I’m greedy Crowley, I get awfully jealous at the thought... I can’t bear to let anyone else have them. I need to have them all to myself.” He was waving his hands around wildly. Crowley watched idly. “Alright.” Aziraphale was getting more and more flustered admitting this… whatever it was. “I need to have you all to myself.” He said, emphatically. Crowley chuckled. “Oh Angel, you’ve got me! I’m all yours.” “I need to show you, though. I feel that terrible… vice of mine come to the surface when I’m around you. And I keep having all these horrible thoughts, Crowley.” He took a step towards the demon.” I need to make you feel that you’re mine. Only mine.” Crowley put down his book slowly, paying full attention. “Ok.” The angel blinked. “What?” “Show me then.” --------------------------------- Aziraphale confesses an unexplored sin of his. Crowley wants to see it. 10 pages of possessive Aziraphale.

So Much More by ashaydamn (E)

After the onslaught of the Armageddon That Wasn’t, it seemed the only beings - organic or occult - left to occupy the space were the plants. The plants which adorned the bedroom, for instance, had found themselves in complete solitude for nearly the whole summer, by the looks of the slowly yellowing leaves on the trees outside their window. Wherever their master was, the silence and solitude was a nice change of pace from the typical leaf-shaking fear which accompanied the regular presence of the snarling beast that tended them. Today though, the silence was broken. A voice not unlike their long-lost master’s echoed through the wall, colored by affects of passion and exertion. Seems not only had someone brought home a guest, but if the muffled whimpers and frantic begging were any indication, it wasn’t their master that the plants should quake in fear of today. -- In which Crowley learns the consequences of cumming without permission.

- Mod D

[drmaddict]

Kitten and Grizzly

Summary: Sy finds out what his kitten really wants

Word count: 941

Warnings: mentions of primal play, mentions of masturbation

What Sy held in his hands was not what he had expected. Not quite. He thought his kitten would read tearjerkers.

She rarely allowed this form of girly hobby in front of other people. Hid them outright. He remembered once coming home from a binge earlier than he thought because one of his friends had broken his leg and finding her on the sofa watching Bridgerton. Her cheeks flushed abruptly, but she just said, "Shut up." and turned back to the TV.

He had sat silently watching along with her. Actually, he shouldn't say something like that, but he liked the show. So when the second season came out, he just turned it on for their weekly movie night and pressed (y/n) against him. "I want to see what happens to Eloise," he shrugged.

They were both treating it like their little secret.

So he would have expected that this secrecy around her Kindle was simply related to the fact that she just preferred to keep this girly preference to herself. Without comment from the outside.

But when the little device was switched on and lying forgotten on the bed and he read the first sentence of the page, he realized that he had been mistaken.

He wasn't stupid. He had heard of Fifty Shades and had also seen the movie, but it had amused her rather than being a serious read.

But after what he had now read, he realized why. Fifty Shades was probably rather laughable against this. Before he knew it, he was lying on the bed, immersed in this new world. Got to know a whole different side of his kitten. Neither of them were prudes, but she had never been so explicit about what interested her. Was she actually interested, or was this just a more outlandish outing for once? He hesitated, but then looked at the considerable library on the device.

He read through the summaries and some reviews. One theme seemed to run through. Primal Play.

He memorized a few titles and put the Kindle back in its place as he had found it, only this time turned off.

He said nothing about it for now. The next few days, when his kitten was at work, he spent reading more and more of the books he had found. Not only once did he have to interrupt himself to get relief. If she liked that sort of thing, he was definitely into it.

Little fantasies crept into his head. How he caught her. Burying her underneath him. How she would live up to her nickname and scratch his back until red streaks decorated the skin. How he would growl when she bit him as hard as she could. Animalistic lust.

He wanted it. He wanted her. He wanted her that way.

He needed to talk to her. Today.

He waited until they were lying on the sofa together, watching a horror movie.

He cleared his throat hesitantly. "Kitten we need to talk," he began. She broke away from his embrace and looked at him uncertainly.

He looked back uncertainly. "First... It's important to me that you know I didn't WANT to snoop," he began, holding his index finger up to her nose. "But your Kindle was on the bed, turned on, and I picked up a phrase and then I just couldn't stop." He looked at her searchingly. She let no emotion flit across her face. Her walls completely intact and set on a defensive course.

He sighed. "Why didn't you ever say you liked that kind of thing?" He stroked her calf gently with his thumb. She shrugged her shoulders. "Kitten. Come on. If there's one thing I can say, it's that these ideas don't leave me cold, and I really, really want to hunt you." He grinned at her, but that grin fell from his face as she got up and left.

"Kitten!" he called after her, following immediately.

"Sy. This isn't going to work." she sighed still walking.

He grabbed her wrist and held it tightly. "Why?"

She slumped her shoulders. "Because my head won't cooperate," she sighed.

Sy was confused. She let her back fall against his chest. He held her tightly. "It's not about the hunting," she began. "It's... In the books... It's just feelings and actions. It's no thoughts. It's not overthinking. It... Damn you know me Sy. I always think about everything way too long until my thoughts are no longer thoughts. It... I want someone to rip this burden out off my mind. I don't want to have to think. I want to be able to just be, if only for a short time, but I can't. And I never will be able to. All I have left are the books." She literally fell against him. "If you want to chase me through the forest like Little Red Riding Hood, we can do that. But that's not really what this is about for me."

He turned her around and she dropped against his chest in surrender. He just held her close and stroked the back of her head.

"I just want you to feel good," he mumbled softly.

"I want to. But I'm afraid that if I do, I'll just be disappointed.", she murmured humbly into his chest. "After all, you're made for this.", she said and a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

Sy grinned. "I'll be your grizzly if you stay my kitten."

She sighed. "We'll try."

He smiled and continued stroking her hair. "You just wait kitten. I've managed to handle a few other missions."

She smacked his chest.

They laughed.

[thepaperpanda]

𝓓𝓪𝔂 5 - An Aggressive Gentleness || Jake “Hangman” Seresin x fem!reader

Masterlist

Summary: Everyone knows Hangman is good, but you'll have a chance to discover that he simultaneously has a bit of a persuasive streak as well.

Warnings: smut (unprotected p in v, spanking)

Word count: 2325

Author: Rouge

A/N: the the prompt for today is: Spanking

Jake "Hangman" Seresin was one of the world's greatest and most successful pilots. He was a known womanizer, and he had as many downed planes as broken hearts among all the women he dated.

Yet, ever since you joined his team, he couldn't take his gaze away from you; you were not only a beautiful, young woman, but you also had a strong personality.

"I know there's a big age gap between you and me, Y/N," he said as the two of you finished the bottle of red wine that night, sitting together on the pier over the ocean. "But I really want to take you out. Would you be interested in having dinner with me one evening?" 

As a result, you both agreed to meet for dinner a few days later.

Despite your expectations, the dinner ended up being much more enjoyable than you expected. It sounded too good to be true. You teased, playing with your glass, "Maybe Hangman isn't such an asshole as everyone thinks."

You could feel his knee against yours under the table as you sat there staring and smiling at each other, your hand in his.

Of course, it could have been an accident at first, but when it returned, went away, and then returned again, all doubt was removed. It was done on purpose as a signal, a kind of request, to emphasize the request for a date. Again, perhaps a little old-fashioned, but extremely intimate and alluring.

Jake let out a little sigh, observing your face carefully as he said, "Don't judge a book by its cover."

"If I didn't interact with you on a daily basis and while on duty, I'd say you're an asshole," you concluded, scrunching your face. "You are charming, but you are a total asshole. However, I don't regret our dinner together."

Jake was certain he knew the game because he'd played it before; he was obviously used to dealing with stroppy little bitches like you. He was well aware of what you were doing and what you were up to. He seemed to be able to read you, understand what you were thinking.

He kept gently rubbing your palm and pressing his knee firmly against yours as he looked you in the eyes. "You have the most enticing eyes, Y/N," he murmured as he gazed deep into them.

A cocky smile spread across your face as you made a small yhym sound and rested your chin on your palm. "Just like the last girl, I'm sure." 

Since it wasn't the first time you heard those sweet words, you already knew what they meant. This was a popular saying among guys as if it were a kind of spell.

"I can see through your eyes that you are a passionate, intense woman. A woman who knows exactly what she wants and how to get it. I notice a lot about you." As he accelerated, his foot landed on yours and ran up the side of your calf. You were his type, there was no doubt. This became especially apparent when his knee pressed firmly against your closed knees at first, then even more so after a moment or two.

You sighed heavily and decided to stop him. "I have to be honest with you - sweet nothings don't appeal to me at all. I've heard these things too many times to believe them."

Jake drew your hand to his lips. "Come to my flat, Y/N, and let me love you there," he said as he licked the back of your hand and looked you in the eyes.

“If you stop acting so weirdly sweet, I'll go with you."

Jake gave you a brief nod in response.

You took a cab to his apartment. It was a second-floor walk-up flat in a fairly large town house, nicely furnished in that fading elegant style that appeals to the well-to-do and aristocracy.

Hangman turned on one lamp but not the others. The street lights cast a nice, dim, romantic glow on the large lounge. He made no pretense that this was anything other than a sexual encounter. He didn't make small talk, offer you a drink, or request that you sit. None of that was necessary; he and you both knew it. You were there for one and only one reason - to have sex.

As Jake kissed you passionately, he took you in his arms. There was no preamble or asking permission; it was a wonderful kiss. As he held you tight, he moulded your bodies together and his lips found yours. While your lips touched, your mouths were closed, but as you pressed them together they slowly opened. As he licked your lips, he ran his tongue along your gums, over your teeth and into your mouth. Unlike the Hangman everyone used to know, he was patient, slow, methodical, and amazingly erotic. You could feel Hangman's hands running up and down your back.His hands fiddled with your bra strap, the waistband of your short denim skirt, which was just a whisker below your pubis line and the top of your bum crease, and the hem of the white, loose, short-sleeved top. 

Jake took your hand and led you to his bedroom.

The room was quite small, but it had a double bed. Although it was dim, you could still see each other. Standing beside the bed, Jake held your hand as you faced each other. Bringing your palm up to his mouth, he kissed its top; he took one of your fingers and softly sucked it, earning a moan from you.

You didn't speak, you'd gone beyond words, they simply weren't needed.

It wasn't long before Jake let go of your hand and stepped back a few feet. With his eyes glistening in the dim light flowing in the room from a streetlamp, he began undoing the button of his heavy, cotton, khaki shirt. Having fully undone his shirt, his fingers were now undoing his leather pleated belt. He was so confident and so assured, which you found very sexy and enchanting. Still, he didn't take his eyes off of you. “You’re so fucking pretty, Y/N.”

Reaching downwards, you grasped the hem of your top. You saw approval in his eyes as his belt came undone and he slowly pushed his zip down. Between the opened edges of his shirt, you could see that his chest was toned and muscular.

You both dropped your tops as if on cue. Jake's eyes wandered over your chest, focusing more and more on your round breasts, almost making you squirm with desire. Through Jake's masterful gaze, you became more receptive to his unspoken persuasions.

The silence was broken by Jake. His erection was evident and clear and gave him absolutely no embarrassment whatsoever. As you dropped your bra, he sighed, "You're so fucking hot, Y/N. What are you waiting for? Go on."

Undoing the brass button on the skirt, you slid the short zip down. The skirt slid down your legs as you wriggled it over your bum and hips. A surge of high-octane arousal surged through you when you looked into Hangman's hungry eyes. You soon pushed your panties down your legs as well.

As Jake took off his boxer shorts, his hardened erection rested proudly against his well-built abdomen.

Seresin reached for your hand, the one holding your panties, as you stood completely naked in front of him. He gently pulled them away from you. His eyes bore deep into yours as he rubbed his nose on the gusset, taking deep breaths as he did so, making animalistic noises at the same time. After that, he used your panties in a rather extravagant manner, rubbing them around his balls and up and down his erection without any embarrassment at all. As if to say don't you dare complain, he stared intently into your eyes before cupping his balls in your panties and rolling them around before pushing the silky underwear back across his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you to him, pressing himself against you, moulding your bodies into one. As he cupped your round bum in his strong hands, his cock squirmed against you. Jake squeezed and kneaded your buttocks all the while kissing you hungrily; he stroked your bum, pinched it, rubbed it, and caressed it.

As you got your hand between your bodies, your fingers tingled with desire as they ran up and down his erection. It was everything an erection should be; hard, warm, smooth and slightly throbbing. 

You then went to bed.

Jake carefully positioned you on your front and laid beside you. The hand that wasn't tugging your hair had slipped down your back and reached your bum. He stroked it and squeezed it. Jake whispered, "You have the most glorious arse I've ever seen," as he stroked it softly. All he had done when you were standing beside the bed was repeated, but he now focused more on your cheeks. After easing your legs apart, he parted your bottom's cheeks. He spent ages running his fingers up and down that sensual groove, on, over and past your extra sensitive entrance to your anus, on the base of your spine in one direction and into your fully soaked pussy in the other.

All hell broke loose within your body and mind. You could not help but notice as your body shook with the various sensations that you were cumming without any form of penetration, without your sensitive clit being rubbed or your pussy's lips being stroked. “Jake!” You managed to whimper loudly, nuzzling your face into one of his pillows.

Jake smacked your bottom several times. Not that hard and not that much, but enough to make your bum sting and for you to recognise what he was doing. Nevertheless, the combination of the pain from him pulling your hair, the stinging from where he'd spanked your bottom and the pleasure he was giving you with his fingers made you cum, very heavily indeed.

You hadn't even finished your orgasm fully when Hangman turned you over. After what he'd just done to you, your pussy was still tender, and your breasts and nipples were still pulsating. As he moved up and held his cock against your lips, you willingly opened your arms and wrapped them around his hips. 

The moment he bucked his hips, forcing his dick completely into your mouth, you wrapped your lips around his rock-hard erection, gagging yourself.

Jake's hand hit your bottom quite hard, so much so that it jerked your head from his cock as Hangman turned you to your side a little, to gain better access to your bum. In a matter of seconds, he hit you twice. 

Putting his cock back in your mouth, you grunted. Each thwack and smack was probably harder than the last. He spread them over both cheeks. Pumping his girth in and out of your mouth, you gagged, reaching out to massage his balls.

Jake grunted lowly as he hardened. Seresin hit you several more times after he realized you weren't opposed to what he had been doing. Now he was doing it harder, and it was stinging, but not too painful. It was amazing to see that each time he smacked your ass, and since he'd found a sort of rhythm, his cock began to jerk inside your mouth. His hardening and growth increased with each smack. “Fuck, look what you’re doing to me,” he grunted, taking a fistful of Y/H/C hair, tugging on it a little. He was now spanking you with a steady series of blows that covered every inch of each cheek and occasionally drifted down to your thighs. Between each blow, his hand gently fondled your asscheek. 

With that gentleness combined with the aggression of the spanking, you experienced sensations you hadn't felt before. While Hangman grunted and groaned and mumbled how wonderful you were and what a magnificent bottom you had, you sighed and moaned at the pleasure you were receiving, taking his cock out of your mouth with a loud pop sound.

Jake then fucked you. Straightforward, you on your back, him on top, your legs wide open and wrapped around him. Jake’s thrusts were fast and strong; his bed was swinging with each of them. It was quite quick and hard. Like the expert he was turning out to be, he didn't offer or ask for more foreplay. After what Jake had gone on so far there was no need for more and he seemed to be acutely aware of that. He didn't need to get you wet and you didn't need to get him hard, what you'd been doing for the past half hour or so had done both of those necessities. 

“Fuck!” You screamed, digging your nails into his back, rolling your head back on his pillow. “Fuck you, Hangman! You’re so fucking good!”

“I’m good, Y/N,” Jake grunted into your ear, instantly turning his head to suck hardly on your exposed neck. “I’m very fucking good.” You were obviously soaked and your lips were bloated from the blood that rushed to them during the previous orgasms. No complaints, just a straightforward hard and fast fuck and that, to be honest, was what you truly wanted. 

After cumming together, Jake laid on top of you, pinning you to the mattress with his weight, then rubbed your cheeks and neck with his kisses. “Do you want to stay for the night?” He asked simply, rubbing his nose against yours.

Nodding to him, you slipped your hands into his hair and massaged his scalp. "Yes."

Despite his nakedness, Jake kissed you one last time before getting up from the bed. "I'll bring a pillow and towel for you."

As his thick, sticky cum ran down your inner thighs, you rubbed them together and bit your lower lip. You definitely had the best fuck of your life.

[slashersidewhore]

I am begging for Vincent Sinclair fluff. I just want to be held by him ahhh

Vincent Sinclair! HC Comforting his S/O

Vincent Sinclair x gn!reader

Warnings: fluff, established relationship, hurt/comfort, soft Vincent, no y/n usage

It had been a long day, and quite frankly you were ready to just get into bed and let your mind be at peace. The day had started as it normally did, waking up beside Vincent, his soft snoring filling your ears. He didn’t sleep with his mask on, although he made it a habit of laying on his side so the scarred part of his face was obscured by one of the pillows. You’d softly curled your arms around his torso, pressing soft kisses to the back of his neck, ushering him gently awake.

Vincent normally wasn’t one for breakfast, he normally just went down to the basement after waking and waited until you would bring him lunch later. That’s of course when the first incident of the day happened. You had left the man to work in peace with a kiss on the cheek, allowing his space as you went off to the kitchen. Bo was there, sitting alone nursing a furrowed brow and cup of coffee. The two of you exchanged greetings, as you beelined for the fridge. Reaching for the eggs to start your breakfast off, your grip faltered, jumping back slightly when the whole carton hit the floor. Unfortunately Bo wasn’t exactly in the best mood, although he usually wasn’t. His mug hit the table, head eyes narrowing as you crouched to examine the eggs that in fact, had all been cracked and spilled all over the tile.

“Are you kidding right now? Produce ain’t cheap around these parts, and there you go wasting it.”

Now you and Bo weren’t unfriendly, in fact if it wasn’t for the man you’d never of met Vincent. But he did have a rough side, and a temper to match that often broke when even the slightest didn’t go his way. That was just the beginning of your day of mishaps though, it was as if the universe was against you. You had gone on to step on a rusty nail barefoot, the small, metal object embedded in your skin that was a pain to remove. Deciding to get some fresh air you’d gone to see Lester, who was more than happy to oblige your help with the road kill pit. That was until you’d accidentally fallen into the pile of fetted, rotten bodies of torn, bloated animal parts, your skin and clothing smelling of shit. Maybe you didn’t need any sun today.

After your run in with the pit, you thought a shower could do. Peeling off your dirty clothing, you were met with the unpleasant realization all the hot water had been used, leading you to shower beneath the pelting cold that gave you the chills. Washing up as fast as you could get clean, you went to remove yourself when your foot caught on something, falling back and slapping your nose against the wet, shower wall. The sting was dull, red streaks entering the drain as your face scrunched in pain.

That’s how you ended up here, hands shaking with self disappointment as you stare at the ground. All you’d wanted was to get Vincent, and curl up in bed, relax and get your mind off of the god awful day you had. But now you were forming a cold sweat, legs trembling and your cheeks grew red, eyes filling with unshed tears. The small, wax shards were scattered on the ground before you, the once in perfect little sculpture broken beyond repair. All you wanted to do was go to bed, and now you’d ruined a piece of Vincent’s art. As if anything couldn’t get any worse.

Warm drops met your cheek bones, tears rolling down one after another, constant and quiet against your silent sniffles. A gentle palm planted planted on your shoulder, swiftly turning your body around. Vincent stood before you now, hand still firmly on your shoulder as the one eye he had left was widened behind the hole in his mask. Your bleary gaze left his, ashamed and hating yourself as you looked to his wax covered, heavy black boots.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break it, honest.” Your voice was wavering and quiet, trying to contain sobs as you continued to avoid his gaze. You could see from the corner of your eye as he shifted to look over your shoulder, eyeing the sculpture in question you had apparently ruined. Rough in texture yet gentle in nature fingers lifted your chin, angling your face so you could see his sure to be angered reaction. Although he didn’t appear angered, in fact he seemed worried, his own arms trembling as you continued to sob.

Vincent was quick to pull you into his embrace, one hand on the small of your back, while the other cradled your head to his chest. You could feel the cool plate of his mask’s lips pressing into the crown of your head. You were confused as to why he wasn’t upset, although it wasn’t catching you that off guard considering Vincent had never been anything but kind to you. Circling your arms around his middle, you tugged the man as close as possible, ignoring the way your snot was surely getting on his sweater collar.

“Aren’t you mad at me?” Vincent could care less about the now shattered art, if it was anyone else he would’ve lost his temper, but it wasn’t just anyone. Your sweet voice filled his ears, the soft sniffles you released every few seconds was slowly breaking his heart, now consumed by the need to make things right. Hell, you could knock over the most precious, time consuming sculpture he’s ever made, and he’d forgive you. At your words, the man shook his head, trying to convey without words how he truly felt.

He was a few inches from your face, eye shining with something as he gazed upon your face. With a free hand, he pointed to himself, then you, and shook his head. Your brows furrowed momentarily, head tilting ever so slightly.

“You and I?” He shook his head a firm no, pointing once again but this time at the shattered object on the floor as well, “You’re not mad at me.” You sighed as he nodded in agreement to what you said. You fell forehead first into his chest, nudging his jaw with the bridge of your nose. The silence was broken by a raspy, unpracticed, southern drawl of a voice, quiet yet at the same time all consuming in a way that tightened your chest.

“Could never be mad at you.”

Hope who requested this liked it!

As always requests are open to smut, angst and fluff

[wannab-urs]

Carry Me

This is a request fill for @atinylittlepain <3

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x student therapist!reader

Summary: You’re overwhelmed. Being a student at a very rigorous university and interning as a therapist for the local DV clinic is all getting to be too much. You’re on the verge of a nervous breakdown for real, but Dieter is there to lighten some of the burden.

Warnings/Content: hurt/comfort, a rare non smut fic, general anxiety and frustration about being a student therapist, Dieter being kind of an idiot, brief mention of SA and DV (literally just the acronyms, no description whatsoever), Dieter is able to pick you up, Dieter calls you Shrink and baby, you and Dieter are roughly the same age, brief mention of oral f!receiving, no use of Y/N, WC: ~1200

Notes: Thank you so much to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin and @theywhowriteandknowthings for the beta read <3 Love y'all bunches. I was so excited to write this fic AHHH

Dieter Bravo Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

But you can carry me / I’m not heavy / I’ll grow extra arms / To hold onto your body Dig my fingernails / Into your shoulder / And you’re so steady /And you don’t tip over - Carry Me by Crooks and Nannies

You get home and look up at the stairs which have quite possibly never felt so daunting as they do right now. You had class from 8 this morning until noon, a 30 minute break in which you scarfed down some trail mix you found in your car and drove to the clinic, and then an extremely emotionally draining 4 hours of leading group SA and DV survivor therapy sessions followed by another 2 hours of paperwork. 

So now, roughly 12 hours after you left your apartment, you’re standing at the bottom of your stairs, feeling weighed down by your bag and by your life in general and dreading what you might find at the top. 

When you finally do make it upstairs, slip the key into the lock, push the door open, you’re desperately (delusionally) hoping to find a clean apartment. Maybe he cooked you dinner? Maybe he cleaned the living room and lit a candle? Maybe the bed is made and the laundry is put away? 

Of fucking course not. 

Dieter is sitting upside down on the couch, feet in the air and his head dangling off the cushion. He’s got a paintbrush in his teeth and a canvas propped against the coffee table. There’s a pile of laundry in the corner by the bed, dishes stacked precariously in the sink… 

“Dieter. What the fuck are you doing?” He drops the paintbrush from his teeth and you watch it clatter across the hardwood. Add paint on the floor to the pile of bullshit being heaped onto you today. 

“Painting!” He looks positively gleeful for a moment, but then he takes in your sagging shoulders, your wobbling lip, the way your eyes glint with tears. “Shrink? Baby, you okay?” Dieter does a surprisingly agile maneuver, rolling off the couch and onto his feet just as your chest starts heaving and the tears start to spill over. 

He crosses the room quickly, takes your bag and sets it on the floor of the entryway, wraps his big arms around you and pulls you into his chest. You crumple into him, letting him finally take your weight. He buries his nose in your hair, cradles your head to his chest and supports you with an arm wrapped tightly around your waist. Broken sobs and gasps for air are all you can manage, but he doesn’t ask you questions. He just whispers that everything is going to be okay, that he loves you, that you’re so strong. 

After a few minutes, you’re more sniffling than sobbing, and he grabs your face in his big hands. He swipes away a few tears, presses a kiss to your lips. You squirm away “Dieter I’m all snotty!”

“I don’t care, Shrink,” he kisses your tear streaked cheeks, your now fluttering eyelids, your forehead, then he sweeps you off your feet, picking you up bridal style. You shriek and stifle a giggle. 

“Oh my god, Dee, put me down,” you yell, trying to contain your giggles. 

“Sure thing, baby!” He dumps you on the couch, grabs his fluffy brown coat off the table and wraps it around your shoulders, sinks to his knees and pulls your sneakers off for you. He goes to the bed and pulls your favorite blanket from the tangled pile and tosses that over you too. “Here’s what’s gonna happen.”

“Di-”

“Nope, you’re listening to me, for once.” You roll your eyes and throw your head back into the soft velvet cushion of the couch. “I’m gonna make you a cup of tea, okay? You’re gonna drink the tea and you’re gonna make a list.” 

“A list?” You arch your eyebrow at him, a skeptical look in your eye.

“A list. You’re gonna write down everything you need to do for school AND everything you want to do this week. When you finish that, you’re gonna make a list of ways you can cut your workload. Can you do that for me, shrink?” You start to nod, but then you catch a glimpse of the laundry. 

“Dee the house–”

“Nope! That’s my problem, okay? Focus on your list. Tell me when you’re done.” He drops another kiss on top of your head and gets your bag for you, laying it on the table before running off to the kitchen. 

You pull out your journal and start making his stupid list and a few minutes in, he brings you tea, just the way you like it and in your favorite mug. He puts on a record at low volume and you can hear the water running in the sink. Dieter Bravo is doing the dishes. You never thought you’d see the day. 

You finish the first list of all the things you need to do for school and add Write and Watch a movie to the bottom for the things you would do if you ever had the fucking time. Dieter appears in front of you, reading your list upside down. 

“Knew you could do it, shrinky dink.” 

“Please stop calling me that.” 

“No. Now what can you do to reduce your workload?” He heads over to the bed and starts making it while you talk. 

“I could take this class as pass/fail instead of for a grade…” Your face pulls into a grimace at the thought.

“And why do you sound like that makes you want to die a little?” He says as he wrangles the sheet back onto the bed. 

“Because it feels like failing. Or cheating? I don’t know, D! Gina will hate me for it.” You toss your journal onto the coffee table and burrow into Dieter’s coat a little more. 

“Ok first of all, that woman adores you, but also,” he trails off as he focuses on stuffing a pillow back into its case. He sleeps like a tornado. “Also! There has to be something else you can do. Is your internship mandatory?” 

“I need to do it!” you drag your hands down your face and bang your head repeatedly into the soft cushion behind you. 

“Can you reduce your hours?” He’s next to you now, plopping down on the couch and pulling you over to sit across his lap. 

“Technically?” You bury your face in the crook of his neck, drape yourself over him and soak in his warmth, his steadiness. 

“Then that’s what you’re gonna do. And tonight, we’re gonna watch a movie. And then I’m gonna toss you onto our freshly made bed and I’m gonna eat you out til you’re so delirious you couldn’t think about your ‘workload’ if you tried.”

“What about the laundry?” 

“It can wait.” He kisses you softly again. You make an exasperated noise, but you let him grab the remote, pull up Netflix, put on a movie. You let him cradle you and kiss you.

Dieter isn’t perfect. He’s messy and forgetful and can’t hold down a job to save his fucking life. But he’s steady, soft, comforting. He’s understanding and kind and silly and a little bit brilliant.

You know that when everything gets too much for you to carry, he can carry you. 

[bropunzeling]

jess bropunzelling i would die if i got a director's cut/alternate pov of leon's response to matthew accidentally popping the question post coutal. how is she chewing on this!!! are her flight or fight instincts kicking in!!! what makes her suddenly decide actually today works best but tomorrow is also fine!

Just think about it.

Leon stares down the exercise bike, then grimly hops on and starts pedaling. Despite how hard she's pushing herself, she can't not remember what Matthew said last weekend, the way he had broken the comfortable silence that had settled between them.

Just think about it.

Over the past few years, Leon has prided herself on not getting too mad at Matthew. Okay, on the ice is one thing. He practically expects it. And of course they fight -- but it's mostly teasing. Who has the better hometown. Where to go during their limited time together. Winning and losing at video games, or horse, or the stupid challenges they set for themselves throughout the season around points streaks. It's not about big stuff. When it comes to big stuff, they've been good. Talking through things. Noticing shit before it can grow into something poisonous, that brings out the worst in them both.

Right now, though, she's pretty mad.

She can't believe he fucking sprung that on her. Talking about -- and it was ten in the goddamn morning, and she was naked and her thighs were still damp and she was getting cold, the way she always does after sex, and all of the sudden he's talking about -- about marrying her.

Leon pedals harder, until the lactic acid starts burning in her quads. Then she ups the resistance.

Things have been good, is the thing. Or at least, she thought they were. Her parents like Matthew, and her sister does too. His parents like her, or at least his mom does -- she can never quite get a read on whether Big Walt actually likes her, and his advice is incredibly annoying, but Matthew doesn't seem worried, so she won't worry either. Taryn thinks she's cool, which is both flattering and kind of a trip. Even Brady's warmed up to her, and Brady nearly concussed her the year before last.

Everything has felt steady. Like Leon's finally found her sea legs. Like she's finally figured out how to manage playing as hard as she can, finding her place among her boys, and also having Matthew, too. Calling him when she's tired on the road. Spending her days off at his place when they did their swing through Florida. Planning out their bye weeks. She's navigated Christmas shopping, and more than one actual, proper date, in a restaurant with cloth napkins and everything, and she even told her grandmother -- or at least, after her mother told her grandmother first.

This summer especially she's felt like they've found a rhythm, gotten in sync. It's been comfortable. It's been easy.

And now Matthew wants to change it.

Now that Leon's legs are screaming at her, she hops off the bike and grabs a towel to wipe off the sweat. Only once she's taken care of the worst of it does she stagger off to the women's locker room and into the showers.

She wasn't lying to Matthew when she said she never thought about marriage. At sixteen, she figured she'd play until she was 35 -- 40, if she was healthy and lucky -- and then after that -- well. After that, everything else could happen. A partner. Children. Maybe moving back to Germany; maybe staying around in Canada. It was always hazy. Nothing was as clear as the scrape of skates, the noise of the crowd, the way the Cup would feel in her hands.

Now, though, she has to think about it. If nothing else, because she basically told Matthew she would.

What would it even look like, though?

As she scrubs off the sweat and grabs some shampoo from the dispenser, Leon tries to think it through. Immediately, memories from Brady's wedding last summer come to mind: the seemingly endless number of aunts and uncles and cousins who kept sucking her into conversation; all the noise that seemed to start at noon and end at midnight; the matching dresses and the speeches and the enormous cake and the dance party and the way she didn't even see Matthew until he snuck out to make out with her for ten minutes in the middle of dinner. When she tries to picture herself in Emma's place, smiling in a white dress as hundreds of people she barely knows come up to congratulate her, she wants to peel herself out of her own skin.

So. Definitely not that.

As she towels off and roots around for her street clothes in her locker, Leon tries to be logical. She knows that's not necessarily what Matthew meant. Marriage isn't a wedding, even if the thought of another enormous Tkachuk bash with her at the center of it makes her want to walk out into the wilderness and not come back. When he'd talked about it, he'd talked about permanency. About knowing she'd be there for the rest of his life.

It's more than a little frightening.

If she's honest with herself, that's the real reason she's so angry: she's fucking scared. Scared to want to tie themselves together, when it feels like they've only just figured out what being together means. Scared to choose someone -- choose Matthew -- and know that she can't take that choice back.

Scared that maybe now Matthew will realize who he thinks he wants to be with forever actually is. Someone who can't always control their temper. Who will always think about pushing him away. Even though she's trying, even though she doesn't want to be that person anymore, she knows that version of herself is still there, that it won't ever leave.

What if this time, Matthew figures out that she's too difficult to want?

Now that she's changed, Leon heads back out to the rink. Matthew and Brady are still there, horsing around. And Leon's still pretty mad -- she might always be mad; there might always be that small kernel of rage and frustration burning in the pit of her stomach for so many reasons, impossible to stamp out -- but when Matthew notices she's there and starts making his way towards her, face cracking into a wide open grin, she can feel that mix of affection and annoyance and the overwhelming desire to drag Matthew closer, to not let him out of her sight. Like a magnetic pull, impossible to ignore.

Leon may never be sure when what she felt for Matthew changed from irritation and attraction into this, this sense of love that's simultaneously comfortable and totally overwhelming. It doesn't matter. The point is that she feels it. That she wants to feel it. That she wants to care this much about somebody else, and know that they care the same amount in return.

Once Matthew's close enough, Leon grabs his jacket and drags him in; kisses him. Pulls back. "Go shower. You stink."

Matthew grins at her, eyes curving, grin somewhere between shit-stirring and soft. "Uh-huh," he says, before he sneaks another kiss.

"Shower," Leon repeats, shoving him away, before turning around to ask if Brady is getting lunch with him.

She still isn't sure that she wants that big Tkachuk wedding. Still isn't sure how to reconcile the way she imagined her life at 16 with what Matthew is asking her to consider now. Still isn't sure that this time Matthew won't finally figure out exactly the kind of person Leon is, how she's always going to be, and decide that it isn't worth it in the end.

But she is sure that she wants to have this. This intense, horrible and wonderful pressure in her chest and warmth in her limbs and sense of rightness when she and Matthew are in the same room. She doesn't want to give that up. Not now, not ever.

So. Maybe marriage is something worth thinking about.

[zandvoort23]

ROUND 1/24 ⸺ bahrain grand prix ✩ 02.03.2024

maple's rating: ★★★★ (8.3/10)

☁︎ click read more facts, highlights & experiences ☁︎

✩ facts

red bull ties with williams for fourth on the all-time win table with 114 race wins!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🍾🍾🍾🍾

max today won his eighth consecutive race 😁✨🌷☀️☀️🍾🍾💌💌💌

max now has two of the four longest winning streaks in history in the past 10 months (10 races, eight races)

this is max's fifth grand slam, tying alberto ascari and michael schumacher’s career totals, third of all-time‼️‼️‼️💥💥💥

max is the first driver to score a grand slam in the opening race of the season since michael schumacher in 2004 🥺🥺🥺🥺

today was max’s 42nd consecutive classified finish (the second longest streak in history behind lewis’ 48)

red bull finished one-two in the opening race for the second consecutive season (max beat checo by 11.987s in 2023)

checo’s p2 today was his best finish since monza 23

carlos’ p3 was only his fourth podium finish since the start of 2023

charles’ p4 gave him 12 points – he only scored six points in the opening three races of 2023 combined

with george in p5 and lewis p7, mercedes scored an identical result to bahrain 2023, but with their drivers swapped over

fernando was p9 – he finished on the podium in the opening three races last year

there were no retirements in the opening race of a season for the first time in f1 history 🥺🥺🥰🥰🥰🌷🌷✨✨

✩ raceweek highlights

✩ free practice

max NOT slaying 🙅🙅🙅

dam that ferrari looks a bit fast

DAMN WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING TO MERC 😵😵😵😵😵

max not sounding stressed though 👍

✩ qualifying

FIRST QUALIFYING OF THE SEASON 😵😵😵😵💥💥💥‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

qualifying being SO close

lewis kinda not impressing :/ oh okay

no incidents in quali! woah!!!

ALPINE. MASTERCLASS. 🇫🇷🇫🇷🇫🇷🇫🇷🇫🇷 (disasterclass): p19 & p20

GEORGE not following the delta (he did not get a penalty. of course)

charles' q2 lap ✨✨✨✨

thank you oscar piastri for that tow. i will remember 💕💕💕💕

MAX POLE MAX POLE MAX POLE MAX POLE‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️💕💕💕💕💕💕💕☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️

"ha ha sorry gp!" (gp and helmut bet on whether max got pole or not.)

33 poles for maxy!!!

✩ race

me having trouble breathing during the formation lap (normal occurrence. but still funny) 💥💥💥

OKAY. 🚨🚨🚨🚨 LETS FUCKING GOOOO

max IMMEDIATELY fucking off. who cares about the new drs rule if he can make a 1+ second gap within a lap 💀💀💀💀💀

NICE START FROM CHECOOO WOOOOO

contact between nico and lance 😨👎

charles. poor meow. what is happening to u 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫💔💔

fernando dropping 💔💔💔💔

FERRARI INFIGHTING LETS GOOO‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️💥💥💥💥💥

max building the fuck out of that gap 💘💕💓💖💗‼️‼️‼️🙏🙏🙏

50+ second pit stop for valtteri 💀 why does this always happen to him bro 😭😭😭😭

lewis not having a good time. like. at all 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 ‘MY SEAT IS BROKEN’ AHHSHAHAHAH 😭😭😭😭😭

carlos 👀👀👀

williams overheating / wheel failure 😨😨😨 bc of their new screen 😭😭😭‼️‼️‼️

MAX LAPPING👀👀👀🪽🪽🪽

fuck you vcarb for doing that to my man yuki. fuck you. fuck youuuu oh my god fuck youuuu‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️👎👎👎👎💥💥💥💥💥💥

max weaving on the way to the finish line 😭😭😭😭😭

MAX VERSTAPPEN WINS THE FIRST RACE OF THE SEASON WITH A FUCKING GRAND SLAM‼️‼️‼️🏆🏆🏆☀️☀️☀️🌷🌷🌷🌷🪽🪽🪽💕💕💖💓💖💓💖🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

checo p2! first p2 since monza 😭😭

✩ miscellaneous

lestappen + george after quali 💀 bye

max laughing at george for thinking he's 0.5 behind per lap 🗣️

new intro screen! max looks cutieful! but its a downgrade for the intro in general 💔💔💔

ALAIN PROST IN THE PRERACE SHOW??? BONJOUR SIR!!!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰💥💥💥💥💥

versainz kindaa 👀👀👀😏😏😏

✩ maple's diary

[sapphicwhimsy]

Llama Pearl shoots Gem out of the sky by accident :D

THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE

Hotguy was flying overhead again.

Of course he was. He had been taking shots at her all day, had hit her a few times as well. She had respawned at home for it, nearly lost all of her stuff in the mad dash back to Twinkly Trash…

And he apparently wasn't happy with killing her once today, because he was back. An arrow whizzed by her ear, nearly nicking it, and thwacked in the ground next to her.

She didn't think. She was annoyed, had been shot at too many times for it to be fun anymore, and she aimed at target overhead. She wasn't paying attention in her annoyance, only focusing to make sure she would hit.

And she did! She heard the ding and puffed up her chest with pride, watching as her target plummeted to the ground. She watched them trying to spread their wings, watched as the rocket slipped from their grip and their attempt turned into a piss poor glide, until…

Gem crashed in front of her, scraping herself along the ground with a pained cry that broke Pearl's heart.

"Oh! Gem!" she cried out, rushing to her side. Thankfully Gem hadn't respawned, had only left a streak in the grass from her impact, and didn't look like she had any broken bones. She hasn't killed her, but she could see the pain in her face and the tears in her eyes.

"Good morning to you too," Gem mumbled, scrubbing her cheek with the palm of her hand as she propped herself up with the other hand. "You could have just said you weren't in the mood…"

"I'm so sorry!" Pearl apologized, carefully helping Gem sit upright. She checked her over, mainly seeing that she looked bruised and dirty but no worse for wear. "I thought you were Scar! He's been hotguying me all day… Are you okay? Anything hurt?"

"Only my ego," Gem said with a sigh, leaning into Pearl as Pearl patted her down. "Can't believe you thought I was Scar…"

"I wasn't looking," she weakly explained, and moved to stand. She helped Gem to her feet and went to brush her off, though she knew her dress would need a thorough washing if it was to ever get those grass stains out. Oh, that would suck so much, maybe Gem would let her clean it for her… "What can I do to make it up to you?"

That… was maybe the wrong choice of words. Gem paused and seemed to think, staring over the build Pearl had been working on all day. Eventually, she turned her attention back to Pearl, a dangerous sparkle in her eyes.

"You can take me to dinner tonight."

"Wh-what?"

"You heard me! You can take me to dinner. Tonight at 8, we can go out and get something together."

Her brain seemed to fry at the implications, her ears pinning back and a blush coating her cheeks as Gem's words sunk in. She wanted to make it up to her, and Gem seemed so determined… It was cute. Gem was cute.

As far as repayment went, a date with Gem wasn't half bad.

"O-okay. It's a date."

"Good! I expect you to pick me up at 8." Gem readied herself, shaking her elytra free of debris. She readied herself to launch off again, and Pearl watched her with wide eyes, before something else seemed to occur to Gem. She stepped forward, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. "Just watch where you're shooting next time, Pearlie."

And then Gem was gone, leaving her standing next to the ruined grass trail, a dark blush on her cheeks.

She had a date…

[toodrasticallydumb]

Oh c’mon you knew I had to.

My version of the Barbie mugshot with stricklake because I just COULD NOT get it out of my head:

This is specifically from my Trollhunter!Strickler au solely because of the white streak in Barbara’s hair lol and now that I’ve drawn it I am oh so tempted to have it be an actual scene that happens somewhere along the story…

Little snippet of the would-be scene (it's so long it got away from me, I'm sorry):

*the two are rummaging around in a very much broken into museum to find what may or not be a message from Nomura*

Barbara: Walt...?

Walter: Hm? Yes, love?

Barbara: What's that outside?

Walter, pausing for a second to listen: Oh. That would be the em...the police, my dear.

Barbara: Oh, okay, okay, excuse me, the WHAT.

Walter: ...Em. That is, I- um I suggest you hide the skathe-hrün somewhere, lest the authorities care to investigate further into what exactly it is when they take it from your person.

Barbara: So we're not even avoiding this? You know, getting arrested by the police?

Walter: Mmmm, no, unfortunately. I don't want you using the skathe-hrün (or more specifically its magic) anymore than absolutely necessary for today. You've expended yourself enough as it is.

Barbara: And getting arrested for breaking and entering is not an 'absolute necessity'???

Walter: Not particularly, it would only be a considered a second-degree burglary since it is a museum and not a residential, habitated building; which that sub-type of burglary is a 'wobbler' charge in the state of California, which equates—if it is persecuted as a misdemanor rather than a felony—to merely (at most) a year in county jail—

Barbara: A year?!

Walter: —and 1,000 dollar fine if, that is, we are found guilty by being proven to have harbored the intent to steal something, of which we did not and do not have evident by the fact neither of us pocess any given tools to break or take any item from its case. I assume this is the first time you have been accused of any given crime aside from speeding or any other driving-related violation? Without evidence of a previous criminal record we should be lined up quite well to be merely fined or, if NotEnrique can manage it (if I can bear to call upon endless embarassment and taunting), nothing at all but a slap on the wrist though I doubt we could not accomplish that on our own given our positions in the community as school teacher and doctor respectively.

Barbara: You have wings, Walt.

Walter: And mothman escaping a building with a strangely human-shaped figure in its arms is not at all a cause for alarm to the police who will no doubt be keeping close watch of all exits and entrances which would also draw unneeded attention before we can reach the proper cover of the clouds.

Barbara: *face-palms* Getting arrested. How wonderful. 'Oh, just breaking and entering, officer, not much.'

Walter: It is hardly as terrible as it sounds, really. We can omit the 'breaking' portion since we snuck in through the window without running into any trouble that would damage it. Frankly, we could go the route of claiming guilty to the crime of trespassing according to the Penal Code 602 (California's trespassing law) being that we entered the exhibit past museum hours. On top of which it is far more accurate to what we're doing in actuality, not proper burglary since we have established neither of us had the intent to run off with anything that was not ours. Doing so we would also fare far better than with a so-called 'breaking and entering' offense (such a named law does not actually exist in California, only burglary and trespassing separately but I will clasify it as the burglary law for sake of consistency) in which we would be recieving just a simple fine rather than possible felony charges that could come with a second-degree burglary we may have committed.

Barbara: Not really helping here, Walt.

Walter: Right, apologies-

Barbara: Which, of course, getting arrested is an experience you obviously know about.

Walter: The (pun intended) offense aimed against me is dully noted. However, my dear, the fact I know how the intricacies of the specific laws of California operate does not entail I have been arrested prior to this. That would be Nomura who holds the experience in that particular department.

*pause*

Barbara: Walt. Don't you dare. You stop it right there. Unless you want--

Walt: The police department. Heh. *guilty snort*

Barbara: *sends him the disappointed death glare*

Police: *break through the door* Hands up! On the ground, now!

Walter: *laying down* I hardly find my pun to have been that egregious.

Barbara, already on the floor: Really, Walt? Good puns involve good TIMING too.

Police: Dispatch, we have the two culprits in question now in our custody. *taking a pair of cuffs out* You're coming with us. You have the right to remain silent.

Walter, being actively handcuffed: Well, I suppose then, now would be the less than appropriate time to say this museum has gained quite the em...standing in the Lake family...?

Barbara, being stood up with her arms behind her back: Officers, I have no idea who this man is.

Walter: I never once said I intended to make good puns.

I made this entirely too long but once it started I couldn't really find myself stopping. Whoops. Hope you enjoyed chaotic Walt not caring about being arrested because jail is honestly the least of his problems rn. It would honestly be a break.

[andithewhumper]

Experimentations Chapter 1: Nets and Traps

content: avian whumpee, scientist whumper, female whumper, nets, capture

Started this rp a while ago and wanted to post it. I'll be updating regularly. There is a bit of a backlog for this one. :)

Streak was stuck. He wasn't panicking, because obviously everything would be fine. Everything always was, and eventually this would be too. He just couldn't move. Or see. That was the more pressing concern, actually, the seeing part. The net he'd triggered had closed up quite tight, and his wings burritoed him. He couldn't see anything but feathers, and that was a bit of a problem. 

"Helllooooooo..." He cried out again, wriggling uselessly. He strained to hear if anything was around, but he couldn't tell. His feathers may have blocked his vision and hearing, but at least they would insulate him if he was still here when night fell. He wouldn't die of exposure, and that was good! Perhaps the only good news he had right now.

---

Dr. Vaughn hadn't wanted to get her hopes up today. The usual migration patterns of the avians in this area dictated that this late in the season it was very unlikely that there were any avians coming through this stretch of forest. When she got the notification that her trap had triggered she was thrilled. She only hoped that it hadn't been triggered by a deer again. When she arrived to the site she held back a gasp. The avian she caught was an adult with large dark brown wings. She couldn't quite tell if the avian was male or female due to the amusing predicament it had gotten itself into. That was until the creature gave out a low cry. Dr. Vaughn smiled. She had caught a male. She imagined he would put up an honorable fight. She pulled down the lever that controlled the trap and watched with intrigue as the net fell from its suspended position. The net, of course, remained firmly trapping the avian.

He let out a shout as he plummeted, his wings straining against the net instinctively, trying to catch him. But it didn't work, and he fell hard, with another shout. It hurt, a lot, but nothing was broken. He flexed his wings, making sure. Bruised, yes, but not broken. "Please, let me out!" He called, figuring someone must be there. "There's been a mistake! I'm not a bird, as I'm sure you can see! I'm an avian!" He wriggled around more, but there wasn't much he could do. Or anything he could do. "I understand the confusion, as I am devastatingly gorgeous and expertly preened-" thank you Loe, "But I am, in fact, sentient, so if you could please cut the net?"

Dr. Vaughn smiled at the avian's cries. She walked over to uncover a cart that was tucked away behind a large tree. She pulled the cart over to the avian and unhooked the latch in the back, making a small click as the metal was freed. She smirked again at the avain's words. He was arrogant, that was for sure. All the better; the arrogant ones were always the loudest. Dr. Vaughn crouched down next to the avian who, despite claiming he was well-preened, was currently a frantic ball of feathers. She reached out and picked up a large feather that had come loose in his struggle. It was a long feather, most likely from the outer wings and, to the avian's credit, was in near perfect condition. It was a chocolatey brown with black accents. Dr. Vaughn smiled, highly pleased with her capture. "Don't worry," Dr. Vaughn said lowly, leaning toward the avian, "I am well aware that you are sentient. I'm a scientist. Rest assured you're in good hands. My name is Doctor Vaughn."

"Cool, very cool," he commented anxiously, still unable to see who it was. "I don't need a doctor, I'm great, I am. So if you can please just let me out-" His struggles renewed and a hand punched through a hole in the net. He waved and laughed awkwardly. "Hi there. Please let me out now." He was running out of patience. "I need to get home now, I've been here a while now and I need to get going." He was worried, he needed to get home. Loe would be worried, he was supposed to be home soon. He was only going out for a fun flight.

Dr. Vaughn chuckled. "You misunderstand me. I am not a medical doctor, I'm a scientist, a researcher if you may." The doctor rolled up her sleeves and grabbed the bottom of the net, then she hoisted the avian into the cart, only straining a small amount despite the weight of the adult male. She situated the ball of feathers carefully in the bed of the cart and latched the gate back. When she stepped away she noticed that the avian had shifted enough that his eye was visible. She leaned down to examine it. His eye was a stunning shade of brown that was widened in confusion. Dr. Vaughn gave him a gleeful smile. "And you won't have to worry about your home. You won't be going back there any time soon." 

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