#swings are literal gods pass it on

[athousandboxjumps]

Another moment from last night’s performance (April 9 — the swing show spectacular) that killed me:

*Bit of context: this was during the scene change from King of New York into Letter from the Refuge. Specs and Race clear some of the chairs to the stage right vom and they’re mics aren’t on, so you could only hear this if you were right in front of them. Specs was played by Samuel Bailey as usual and Race at this moment was Rory Shafford.*

Specs: Hey Race! ………….you don’t look like Race…………

Race: 👁️👄👁️

[iqmmir]

Hi im back . For some time

[cyhyr]

Look some days fic writing be like "if I get this document open, I will count it as a Win."

And then there are days where you map out the next 6 months of the timeline AND write over 3500 words and it's only the fact that your ass and wrists ache from being in the same spot for the last few hours that's making you stop.

That, and the cats screaming at you to go tf to bed.

[qqueenofhades]

I think its genuinely fascinating how Biden has somehow become the bad vibes sin eater for the party. I'm seeing people who were doing the whole "voting doesn't matter both old men are the same" pivot hard into voting as harm reduction. The anti voting rhetoric has COMPLETELY lost The Youths on tiktok. People suddenly remember the good things the Biden administration has done but don't associate Harris with any of the things they didn't like. In my swing state volunteers are signing up in droves. People feel ENERGIZED, the vibe shift pre and post Biden dropping from the race has just been insane

Y'know, that is a... good way of putting it. It's also why I'm quite sure that Biden has probably been planning it for a while. I don't think he was intending to step down, and didn't want to be forced out at the drop of a hat, but after he realized that the circus was never going to stop until he did, he did the honorable fall-on-his-own-sword thing and definitely, DEFINITELY spent some time choreographing this behind the scenes. Because while the roll-out has been very smooth, it could just as easily (as many of us were expecting) have been a total disaster, and that doesn't happen without SOME planning. It's also entirely possible that the campaign staff flipped from Biden to Harris are superhuman, to come up with a massive online roll-out, new branding, new signs (they had plenty of 'em in Wisconsin yesterday), new everything, but I'm guessing it's a combination of both. Biden has spent his entire political career being underestimated, and after we literally made a meme out of Dark Brandon juking the Republicans out of their shoes, we should definitely give credit where credit is due in how masterfully he pulled it off.

Because we have had eight years defined by the central question of Whether The President Is a God King Who Should Serve For Life (the MAGAts obviously think yes), the sheer idea of a president willingly giving up his power BEFORE he had to is also novel and admirable. It's sad that this is the case, but so be it. The Republicans also got a heaping helping of Be Careful What You Wish For that was undoubtedly brilliant; they've been yelling for years that Biden is old and frail and can't serve and should step down. Biden went "lol okay" and gave it to them, and now they're fucked.

Aside from that, on the most basic level, it's far, far easier to see the actual difference in the parties with Harris as the nominee, just because it shows that one party is willing to make progress and reflect the new demographic reality and social mores of America, and the other one is not. Now to be clear, Biden deserves an incredible amount of credit for coming out of retirement (he was ALREADY 77 years old when he became president and had had decades of a long and respected career in public service behind him) to fight, beat Trump, and deliver an incredibly successful presidency. He held the line against authoritarianism at home and abroad, he rescued the trashed American economy and managed a world-leading recovery from Covid, he stood up for democracy, he spent four years filling the benches with liberal judges to reverse even some of the Trump/McConnell hack job, he finally passed comprehensive infrastructure investment and the Green New Deal under the name of the Inflation Reduction Act -- and so on. Many of these priorities had been languishing for decades or were completely trashed under Trump, and he could not have done so much in just 4 years without all that age, skill, and experience. Hence why all the Ageism!!! was (aside from being a Republican/media smear job) dumb. He's able to do the job because he has had decades to study. Turns out that makes you actually pretty damn good at it.

Yes, Biden could not do as much as he wanted or originally planned, had to deal with MAGA Republicans and Joe Manchin/Kyrsten Sinema sabotaging him the whole time (lololol Manchin, possible possessor of the World's Biggest Ego and with Trump around that's saying something, popping out of obscurity to self-righteously announce he would not be willing to be Kamala's VP. YEAH ASSHOLE. LITERALLY NOBODY ASKED YOU. NOBODY WHATSOEVER. NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS AT LEAST WE WILL SOON NO LONGER HAVE MANCHIN IN THE SENATE). And yes, Biden made some serious mistakes of his own, because he IS from an older generation and a different style of doing politics/different beliefs that no longer resonate with the younger segments of the electorate. But this old white Catholic guy at the age of almost 80 still managed to be the most progressive president ever, coming in at a moment of incredible domestic and international crisis and getting us safely to the other side, and all cynicism, criticizing, and caveating aside, he deserves an incredible amount of credit for that. I mean that absolutely, and I am very grateful.

As I said, willingly relinquishing that power takes guts, and when Biden saw the writing on the wall that he had to sacrifice himself, he took his time, he didn't jump too early, and he didn't jump too late. On the most basic level, it becomes a hell of a lot easier to make the "both parties are not the same" argument when one is running a (comparatively) young brown woman and the other is still running their loathed felonious old demented orange traitor. Most Americans are not plugged into policy minutiae and details. They look at Biden-Trump, they see two old white guys. When you take one of those old white guys away (who goes in a self-sacrificially heroic manner and in sharp contrast with the coup-happy fascist) and put Kamala Harris in there instead, it generates an obvious jolt. People can see for themselves that there is a real difference that doesn't rely on closely reading news and tracking complex policy, because as noted, most Americans simply don't. The brown first-generation American daughter of brown immigrants is a quantifiably different story from "old white guy career politician," which for better or worse is how Biden was seen, especially the old part. We needed that establishment expertise to beat Trump in 2020; I still think Biden is the only one who could have done it, and as noted, we owe him a great debt for doing so.

However.... 2024 is not 2020, and it is not 2016. There has been this HUGE and unbelievable swing to Kamala because she represents the antithesis of what the last eight years of Trump-induced anger, fear, panic, chaos, and hatred has stirred up. That's why people are so ready to rally around her, just as they were (I daresay) around Obama in 2008, after the exhaustion, chaos, war, and mounting economic misery of Bush. Trump has been out of office for the last four years, but his shadow over the American political landscape has been omnipresent. Now people know that we finally have a real chance at getting rid of him forever, and just as Biden was uniquely positioned to capitalize on that in 2020, so Harris is now. Which is why, however tough it will be, she has a real shot at winning. I can guarantee the Republicans know that, and are shit scared. Because the Black Lady Army of Democracy has indeed arrived in force to Get This Shit Done and I don't know about you, but I found that incalculably comforting:

Yikes! All lined up for Kamala pic.twitter.com/Dt4OCDp7WX

— Alex Cole (@acnewsitics) July 24, 2024

This, at the most basic level, is what scares fascists the most, it's exactly what we need now, and what Harris is uniquely positioned to mobilize, along with her gangbusters appeal to young voters:

This is the energy we need. This is what Biden saw and planned for and which he launched us into, and where all that experience and age paid off. This is why people, even people otherwise disengaged, disillusioned, or checked out of the tedious and mind-numbering drudgery and depression of American politics, are responding to it. Because it's easy to understand, it offers hope, and it tells a very simple story that is nonetheless long overdue:

Thanks so much, Joe. Go absolutely waste that orange fucker, Kamala. We got your back.

[c0eu4]

Can I request something? If not it’s ok

Reader being Landos younger sister and he catches his teammate and his sister really deep into making out

OP81 | Caught ♡

Summary: Y/n is the apple of Lando’s eye. He always protected her from everyone. Well, that's what he thought until he realized that she's not that innocent... Especially with his teammate.

Warning: smut, dom!Oscar, sub!reader, Y/n Norris

A/N: I hope you were talking about Oscar when you said teammates 😔 (And if it wasn't about him, tell me so I can make another one :)

part one - part two

MASTERLIST requests are open

She walks through the paddocks, looking for her brother. Her orange t-shirt proudly bears the number 4 on the back, but is slightly hidden by her long hair.

She goes to his driver's room, to the cafeteria, she even goes to Ferrari to see if he's with Carlos but he's still nowhere to be found.

She returns to McLaren's private premises and takes something to quench her thirst. The heat is in full swing in Spain. She's supposed to go back to the hotel with Lando but it's going to be complicated if he doesn't answer the phone and is nowhere to be found.

''Lando went to the gym.'' She jumps and turns around to see who had spoken to her (even though she had already recognized the person with his Australian accent.) ''He asked me to drive you back to the hotel .'' Oh my God. Finally she will have a chance to be alone with him.

Since they met, it was like love at first sight for Y/n. She only had eyes for him. Of course, he didn't even notice her that much, too focused on race. But Y/n, she couldn't stop thinking about him. And unfortunately, Lando quickly noticed, doing everything possible to avoid the two of them being alone. Y/n loves Lando. But he's too protective. She has always had to hide every relationship she has from him, for fear that her boyfriend will run away.

''You heard me?'' He passed his hand in front of her, visibly annoyed. She feels herself blushing, stammering words. ''I..uhg..yes, yeah.. sorry.'' He chuckles. ''Am I destabilizing you, Norris?'' She feels herself blushing even more. ''No!'' She sighs, feeling shame sticking to her cheeks.

''Do you still have things to do?'' He runs his hand through his hair. How she loves it when he does that. ''No, you need to grab something before we go?'' She shakes her head as a no and he walks, followed by her, to the exit of the track. They go to his car and he starts driving.

She doesn't dare to move the whole way, too afraid to get his attention. This may be the longest car ride any of them have ever had the opportunity to take. Embarrassment is felt throughout, with none of them daring to speak.

Finally arriving at the hotel, she quickly gets out of the car and closes the door without slamming it, for fear of making him more annoying (she was traumatized because of Lando.)

He walks her to her hotel room, since their rooms are opposite each other. She searches in her pocket, then in her jacket, then in her purse. No no no no... it's not possible... she, who thought the situation couldn't be more awkward. It's Lando who has her keys.

She turns to Oscar, who understands directly. He huffs and runs his hand through his hair again. ''Tell Lando to hurry up. You will wait in my room.'' On the one hand, she's like 'oh my god, I'm going to stay alone with Oscar in his room.' but on the other hand, it's more like 'Oh no, shame, I'll have to wait with him.'

She follows him into his room. It's like hers, a simple bed, a television and a door that leads to the bathroom. Nothing very extraordinary.

''Do you mind if I go take a shower?'' She shakes her head as a no and hopes he'll take his time, just to ease the awkwardness between them.

She sits on the bed, not really knowing what to do. She sends a message to Lando, literally asking him to come save her.

Meanwhile, Oscar takes his time in the shower. Not because he doesn't want to see Y/n, but more for a masculine reason. The icy water runs down his naked body, trying to deflate his now hard member. But he can't help but think of Y/n, in the next room. He grunts, not even managing to wash his body without feeling a thrill of pleasure because he's so excited.

His thoughts wander to y/n, naked, touching herself. ''Uhg..fuck..'' No no no no. He needs to get his act together. He comes out of the shower, his member still hard. He changes and tries to hide the bump on his sweatpants as best as possible.

He opens the bathroom door and runs his hand through his damp hair. He does this all the time when he's embarrassed. And he hopes she hasn't noticed.

His first mistake when he sees Y/n again is to stare a little too long at the bottom of her thighs, her shorts revealing her skin a little more given the position she was in. His second mistake was imagining himself between her legs, rubbing against her.

''You ok?'' She asked him, her voice was so innocent. ''Uhm I.. yes.'' She chuckles, understanding that she has an effect on him. Unfortunately for Oscar, his bump wasn't hidden very well with his gray sweatpants. ''Am I destabilizing you?'' She reuses his words that he said earlier.

Oscar takes a while to respond. He doesn't know if he should say 'yes' to her and go all out by kissing her or say 'no' and probably never have this opportunity again in his life. He thinks about Lando. To the conversation they had earlier this year,''Don't even think about fucking my sister once in your entire life.''

Well. Fuck you Lando.

''Yes you are.'' She looks at him, shocked. She expected anything but that. She sits up in bed, leaning against the headboard as he moves a little closer to her. ''Since I met you, I haven't been able to get you out of my head. That's why Lando never leaves us alone together.''

His eyes widen. She doesn't know what to say. But she feels the excitement building in her body. Without thinking twice, he sits next to her in bed, placing his hand on her cheek. He surprises himself by being so confident. His cheeks turn as red as hers.

''Can I?'' He manages to say, their lips a few centimeters away. ''Yes.'' He feels her breath on his lips and doesn't wait any longer to stick his lips against hers. Her lips are soft and warm. He tastes her cherry Labello on her lips. She doesn't push him away but welcomes him with open arms. She places her hands in the crook of his neck, pulling him towards her. He takes the opportunity to slip between her legs, deepening the kiss with his tongue. He caresses her inner cheeks, his hips grinding against hers. She can't help but moan, sending shivers down his spine.

His kisses go down on her jaw, her neck and her collarbone. ''Why did I wait longer?'' He asked him, making her laugh softly. She lets her hand trail through her hair, playing with a few strands. He plays with her t-shirt, pulling it slightly, ''Can I?''

She nodded slowly, blushing even more at the idea of Oscar seeing her so naked. ''I need word, sugar..'' He whispered to her, his voice rough and full of lust. ''Yes..please..'' Her breathing quickens when Oscar's hands caresses her thin exposed waist, removing her t-shirt completely.

''Ah-ha.. Oscar..'' He takes off his t-shirt, his kisses descending on her chest. He feels her gesticulate slightly because of the pleasure he gives her.

''I..I need you.'' Oscar smiled mischievously. ''Are you sure?'' ''Yes!'' He doesn't wait any longer to undress her completely and gets up to rummage through his suitcase. He returns with a box of condoms and some lube. He places them next to her and also undresses himself.

She watches him do it, her eyes filled with love for him. She refrains from moaning at the sight of his imposing member, watching his hands slide the condom over his length. He opens the lube and drops some into his hand, jerking himself gently to spread the liquid.

He gets on top of her and she feels his member between her thighs. ''Do you want me to warn you?'' She shakes her head as a no, waiting for him to enter. He kisses her nose, pushing his length slowly in her.

The feeling is...strange? It's the first time she's felt so stretched. He gives her time, not moving at all and his gaze remains fixed on her every movement. He takes her hand and entangles her fingers with his. She uses her other arm to put it around his neck, keeping him close to her.

''You're ok?'' He asks her, to be sure that she's not feeling uncomfortable. ''Yes. And you? You're in a good position?'' He kisses her cheek. ''Don't worry about me, darling.''

He moves his hips against hers, making her moan slightly. He almost takes out of her, then goes back in with a wet noise. ''Fuck you're so tight..'' He moaned, keeping a slow but pleasant pace. He allows himself to speed up, increasing the volume of the moans that echo through the room.

He hides his head in the crook of her neck, muffling his loud moans. ''Oh yes! Oh yes! Oh yes!'' She keeps moaning, her hips moving at the same time as him.

This is probably the first time that Oscar is going to cum so quickly. He feels so good inside her. And he waited so long for this moment. The ball of excitement in his stomach is about to burst.

''O-Osc-Oscar..I'm..Uh..I..Fuck..I'm.. cumming..'' Her eyes roll back, her orgasm crashing over her like a wave of bricks. Her walls tighten around him and he barely takes a few seconds before his eyes close and he releases his hot seed in the condom.

''Did you just spill in my sister!?'' None of them have time to collect their minds before they turn their heads and see Lando, frowning and obviously very angry.

They were so involved in their lovemaking that they didn't hear Lando come into the room.

''LANDO!'' She grabbed a cushion and managed to throw it at him. Oscar withdraws from her hastily, reluctantly and pulls the blanket up over their naked bodies.

''Get dressed and Y/n, join me in your room. We need to talk.'' Lando is cold and strict in his voice. What he saw really didn't please him. He walks out of the room and slams the door behind him. Y/n meets Oscar’s gaze and they both laugh softly.

He gets up and gives her her clothes again, helping her to get dressed.

Once done, he can't help but kiss her tenderly and let her leave her room, stressed for her but also for him.

[antiquarianfics]

A Slip of the Tongue

a/n: how would y’all like an un-proofread one shot i wrote? ‘twas inspired by someone else’s story with a similar concept, but i lost it. :( anyhoo. i made you some content.

warnings: brief mention of death, otherwise none.

masterlist

—

“Me and Nina played on the swings today!” Your daughter, Ellie, tells you as you strap her into her car seat.

“Yeah? That so?” You ask. This is one of your favorite parts of your day; that is, listening to Ellie tell you about her day at school.

“Yeah! Nina is new. Her daddy got a new job and had to move them here. She speaks 2 languages!”

“Wow! That’s really cool, baby. What other language does she speak?”

“I think she said… Um. Something that started with an R.” Ellie scrunches her face up in consideration.

“Russian?” You ask, finishing buckling her in. You close the door and move around the car, getting in yourself.

“Yeah, I think,” Ellie replies.

“Did you know Bucky speaks Russian?” You ask her, sharing the tidbit about your boyfriend with your daughter.

Ellie loves Bucky, and he her. When Ellie’s father passed away, you truly never thought you would move on, and it killed you Ellie would grow up without a father. Then, you met Bucky, and he was wonderful. It was a complete meet-cute. You ran into him—literally—in a coffee shop 5 minutes away from Ellie’s school. You were in a rush, trying to get your coffee, your belongings, and your bearings to go pick up Ellie, and in your frantic fumbling, you crashed into a stranger who, rather than getting upset by being hit and drenched in a late, simply steadied you by the arms and asked if you were alright.

Bucky insisted on buying you a new coffee because “It’s my fault for being on your way, Doll. Besides, my ma’d kill me if she knew I passed up an opportunity to ask a pretty woman on a date.”

The admission took you by surprise, and Bucky later revealed it took him by surprise, too. Something about you, he said, brought out his old 40s confidence. He didn’t worry about scaring you like he would anyone else. In fact, he said, in that moment, he wasn’t the Winter Soldier, and he never was. He was just Bucky.

That day, though, you’d declined, telling him you had to pick your daughter up from school, but you quickly amended your statement to let him know you were at that very coffee shop everyday for an hour before you picked up Ellie. “So,” you had said, “if my being a single mom doesn’t scare you, you can buy me that make-up latte another time.” And, by god, Bucky Barnes was at that coffee shop then next day, waiting with your latte.

Fast forward to today, and Bucky practically lives with you and Ellie. He still has his apartment, but he spends 6 out of 7 days at your house. It’s so natural, though, you wish he’d just ditch the apartment and make it official. After all, he is an excellent roommate. He does the dishes, cleans up after himself, doesn’t hog the blankets, and—most importantly—he is fantastic with Ellie. He plays with her, he reads her bedtime stories, he cuts her food for her, and so much more. He is everything to you and Ellie.

So, when you tell Ellie that Bucky also speaks more than one language, you can’t help but grin when she rambles the rest of the car ride home about how she is going to ask him about that language he speaks—what language does Bucky speak again, Mama?—and then she is going to learn it too so she can show Nina.

Ellie’s rambling lasts all the way home, into the house, and into the living room where she drops her backpack on the ground and runs to Bucky, jumping in his lap with no warning. Bucky grunts at the impact, but he smiles fondly at the young girl.

“Hey, El,” he greets. “How was school?”

“Bucky, I made a new friend! She’s so cool. Did you know she speaks 2 languages! That’s really cool. I can only speak 1 language. Her daddy got a new job, so they came here. She’s my new best friend. I don’t remember what language she speaks, though.”

Ellie speaks a million miles a minute as she tries to fill Bucky in on her day. Bucky makes eye contact with you over her head and you merely smile and shrug, making Bucky grin.

“Russian,” you offer, as you move to sink down onto the couch next to your boyfriend and your daughter.

“Russian!” Ellie exclaims, nodding her head excitedly. “Mama said you speak Russian, Bucky. Do you speak Russian?”

“I do,” Bucky confirms, laughing at the amazed look that crosses Ellie’s face.

“Say something! Say something!” She begs.

“Yeah, Bucky, say something in Russian!” You join in on Ellie’s begging with a laugh.

“Вы двое знали, что я люблю вас? Мои красивые, глупые девочки,” Bucky says, chuckling to himself as he watches Ellie’s amazed face.

“Wow,” she says, eyes transfixed on Bucky.

You laugh. “Yeah, wow,” you confirm, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to Bucky’s cheek before standing to go to the kitchen.

You make it just across the room when you stop dead in your tracks, turning to make eye contact with Bucky and attempt to gauge his reaction to Ellie’s words.

“I can’t wait to tell Nina tomorrow that my daddy speaks Russian, too,” Ellie says, lying her head on Bucky’s chest.

You and Bucky make eye contact across the room, and you hold a silent conversation.

Bucky’s eyes are widened in shock, but he raises an eyebrow at you as if to ask, “Did she just call me her daddy?”

You shrug, mouth slightly agape. Ellie has never called Bucky her daddy before, but it doesn’t surprise you. Bucky is always around, and he acts like a father figure regardless of your relationship with him. So, you say nothing, just shrug your shoulders and hope Bucky gets the message:

“I don’t know, but I’ll tell her not to if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Bucky shakes his head to let you know he doesn’t mind. Really likes it even.

Finally he speaks, “Yeah, tell her your daddy speaks Russian. I’ll even teach you some if you want.”

Ellie shoots up in Bucky’s lap, grabbing his face between her hands, and seriously begging him to follow through with his promise immediately.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” She exclaims. “What did you say a minute ago?” She asks, assigning her first Russian lesson.

“Вы двое знали, что я люблю вас? Мои красивые, глупые девочки. It means, “Did you two know I love you? My beautiful, silly girls.”

[sukunas-wife]

you could do something where sukuna and yuji team up to protect their mom/wife when a person is bothering or harassing her, they love her so much that they won't let someone hurt her 🥹💗

Leave Mama Kuna alone 😔

Old Day, because no one was brave enough to confront Sukuna for murder.

Warnings? Murder, in red text a man attempted to force himself on reader, Gore, Blood

It didn't take much to upset Sukuna, he was always looking for a reason to snap at someone and end a life. Sadly his son Yuji was a cock block for murder, and it irked him that he basically had to shake and rile his son up to get angry and then he’d just flat line and “but why don’t we-“ They didn’t agree to often on why a man should die- but in this case they were all agreeing. “Get him daddy!” Yuji yelled, pointing his chubby finger at a man maybe in his early Twenties who had been talking to you while you were trying to pick out Snacks for Yuji. He had wandered off after passing a candy stand and usually you’d send a maid or help to get the necessities but today you wanted to take Yuji out to walk and play and hopefully learn some self preservation, Sukuna, well he was feared and he just wanted to come along to make sure no idiot would try to disrespect you. “Listen, I’m just trying to get some things for my son. Leave while you still can and maybe my husband will let you live.” You smiled nodding at the man who scoffed “Your husband? What is he? a Mercenary? What’s he gonna do to kill me? That’s probably a lie you probably don’t even have a so-” you sighed turning away when Sukuna lifted the man by the neck with one hand twisting him around to face him, “No, I’m your God,” his stare darkened “but I’m not so merciful.” There stood Yuji by his dads leg, “Yeah! You deserve no mercy! That’s my mom you were disrespecting!… Idiot!” You tried not to laugh at Yuji’s extra words and went back to paying the scared vendor for the snacks you had picked out. By the time you looked back the guy was laid out on the floor bloody and probably just barely clinging to life, head being pressed into the dirt being grinded on by Sukuna’s large foot. Yuji was swinging away on his ribs and stomach, for a 7 year old his hits were surprisingly solid.

As the day progressed you had managed to convince Sukuna to have lunch despite the fact he didn’t eat human food. But he watched as Yuji sat beside him slurping away at noodles and his rice topped with diced meat, “Boy’s more human than curse.” Was all Sukuna said when Yuji looked up at him, noodles hanging out his mouth before he slurped them up smiling. “Daddy I gotta Pee.” Sukuna sighed standing up out of the booth, “then go.” “…go with me?” Yuji looked up at his dead with pleading eyes before Sukuna groaned and motioned for him to go, “Fine.” Sukuna was waiting outside the bathroom when he heard a trio, two men and one woman. “That's her isn’t it? She’s the Deity at the Shrine house isn’t she?” One man asked the girl. She just shrugged, “Yeah but I don’t see what’s so special about her? So she had some big curses kid, her body’s probably trashed or something.” “Shut up Kaguya, you're probably just jealous, any man would give anything to lay that woman in their bed. If I had a chance I’d get her pregnant too, look at her, I’d do anything to pull her robes off.” The second guy spoke up, “That’s sick man, she has a husband and kid, Yeah she’s pretty but she’s literally a deity, have some respect.” Kaguya interrupted “She’s probably a slut and maid who just had sex with him and got lucky she got pregnant, she’d probably spread her legs for anyone if they offered a comfortable lif-“ Sukuna’s hands were bloody, in a matter of seconds he had ripped th hearts out of the first man and the girls chest. It hadn't been processed as they managed to look up his blood covered hands. The smirk on his face was sinister and became worse when the second man looked up at him in fear, struggling to scream. He shoved the man’s friend's heart into his mouth like a gag, leaning down with a threatening voice “You’d do best to keep your mouth shut.”

Yuji and you had wandered off from Sukuna when he became surrounded by people bearing gifts to honour him. He was annoyed and even more when he turned to realise both you and Yuji had left his side. You were taking Yuji with you to the shrine house the people had built for you. The eunuchs at the entrance greeted you, stopping to ask if Yuji would be entering with you, which caused him to hold onto the side of your robes and sleeve, you put your hand on his shoulder comforting him, “Yes, this is my son after all.” Entering the shrine, you made your way all the way to the back where you would sit and wait before the doors would open to the public. Yuji was walking around the room looking around until he stopped. You had a wall where all the drawings he’d ever given you while leaving the palace had been framed because “I don wan you to forget me” A young girl came into the room shocked that Yuji was there until you cleared your throat, “oh! Forgive me Lady Y/n, I didn’t know you would be here today.” You waved a hand of dismissal. “I didn’t expect to be here either, but I thought Yuji,” you looked at him, he was staring at the girl in the door, slowly walking to you, his eyes never left her face. He looked serious, a face his dad often wore when something was wrong and he was watching it play out or when he was lost in thought. He turned away from you leaning against your lap standing between you and the girl. “Who the hell is she?” He sounded like a younger version of his dad with his demanding tone and dead stare, his curse word caught you off guard. You tried to form words stopping when you couldn’t, “she’s a servant who works here Yu, what’s wrong?” You leaned trying to get a look at his face, but he wouldn’t turn to look at you, he had his target. The girl became uncomfortable under his stare, “well, him Lady y/n there was an expecting mother who came by begging for a miracle.. the details shouldn’t be explained in front of such a young boy or boy at all really but-“ you held up your hand silencing her. “Bring her into the main room. I'll be out in a minute. I just need to make sure Yuji will be okay here for a few minutes.” She bowed, closing the door, Yuji turned to look at you and he seemed visibly at ease, “Yu.. what’s wrong?” He looked at the door, “She’s funny.. in a bad way..” you didn’t know how to answer. “Alright, I’ll remember that then.” You stood up, setting him on your chair and kneeling in front of him, “Will you be okay here? Alone for a short bit?” He shook his head no while kicking his feet, “Don’t leave me.”

That’s how you ended up with Yuji following quietly behind you when you made your way through the hallways to the main room. He got distracted stopping for a moment to look at a picture, the end of the hallway split two ways. There was a painting of Sukuna holding newborn Yuji, he looked so serious in the painting, when you told Sukuna you wanted it for your shrine he refused to smile saying it wouldn’t look good in the public eye or something along those words. Yuji was pulled out of his day dream when he heard you scream, he ran trying to find you. He froze seeing a man cornering you in the hallway, you were fighting him off the best you could but you couldn’t only do so much against a half curse half man that was attempting to measure up to Sukuna. He was far off from even touching the hem of Ryomen’s robes, but he was an entitled arrogant bastard. When the servant girl came, Yuji saw how she smiled at the scene. Yuji ran in blind, jumping and climbing the man’s back, wrapping his arms around his neck and biting into his shoulder. The man screamed and tried to pull Yuji free. He couldn’t do it alone so the servant girl tried, you fought harder when you saw how she was shaking him around. You broke free from the man's grip pulling Yuji free from her before rushing screaming for Sukuna, all the eunuchs wouldn’t be able to help you. The man grabbed your robes and Yuji fell from your arms, he watched his man lift you by the front of your robes and your hands, nails were digging into his wrist.

Why don’t you use your technique mom!? DO SOMETHING! dads not he- “Domain Expansion” the room went black, there was the sound of a drip and everything was dark, it felt hard to breathe, “Cleave.” Your eyes widened before you shoved the man off of you. You heard the squelch and thud of a body, and the crashing and cracking of the walls to your shrine being torn apart. Turning to look you saw Yuji, his hand sign was opposite his fathers, but he looked livid. His face was covered in markings mirroring his fathers more human form. You wanted to say something, but you turned to the gaping wall. The Cursed man was laying in the dusty street, he was sliced deeply but not fatally. The servant didn’t stand a chance. She was sliced finely for betrayal. Watching a crowd gather you pulled Yuji with you to see if the cursed man was alive. He was laying there, unfocused, he saw you and yelled “ILL FUCKING KILL YOU AND YOUR DAMN CHILD I AM THE ONE DESTINED FOR GREAT I WILL BE THE KING OF CURSES YOU BOTH WILL DIE AT MY HANDS,” before forcing himself up, chest, arms, and waist crossed with deep gashes.

He tried to lift his hands only to realise they weren’t there, his arms were gone. Yuji was mad that a man would try to take advantage of his mother, but as long as his father wasn’t there he would be there, but for now, a low chuckled rumbled behind the man, “You’ll need your hands to even think about laying them on my wife and son.” Sukuna wrapped his arm around the man from behind, large hand squeezing his neck, a low grumble, “You aren’t strong, you’re a fool and your brain is a pile of shit. You deserve only the worst death, but I’m having a little fun here so I’ll make this slow and painful.” Uraume approached Sukuna holding out his staff. Sukuna stabbed it into the ground piercing the man on the pointed edges, letting him sink down until it pierced through his chest. There the cursed man screamed and no matter how much he squirmed and begged for mercy Sukuna would push him down further. The man begged for mercy, for him to stop, “Did you listen to my wife when she asked you to stop?” He took the man’s jaw in his hand forcing him to look up at him, the pressure slowly fracturing his jaw as he shook his head no trying to profusely apologise. Sukunas nails dug into his face before he let go, “Did you have mercy on my wife when you grabbed her like this?” His large hand crushed the man's throat, nails digging into his skin, blood flowing, “WHEN MY WIFE TRIED TO PUSH YOU AWAY DID YOU WALK AWAY? NO YOU TRIED TO TOUCH HER LIKE THIS.” Sukuna placed his hand on the man’s chest, “dishonourable actions will be paid for with blood.” The crowd was watching when Sukuna drove his hand into the man’s chest squeezing his heart in his chest, the man screamed and gurgled as he spat up blood. Sukuna ripped out his heart throwing it on the ground and ripping off his head crushing his skull in his head, “Let this be a warning to every human in the vicinity, in this city in the existence of this time, that any man or woman who would act to lift a hand against my child or wife, your blood will be spilled to atone your sins.”

The crowd quickly cleared out and Sukuna turned to you, Yuji still had the markings on his face, his eyes were red. Sukuna nodded, holding an arm out to you. Pushing Yuji ahead of you, you started to tear up, hugging your husband’s side. Yuji was hugging your side. “Ryo-“ he shushed you using a hand to press your face against his chest. Burying your face against his hot skin your body wanted to tremble while you cried into the comforting of your husband but his presence was reassuring as surprising as it might sound. He rubbed his warm hand up and down your back “I’m here now.” He rested his chin on top of your head, he looked down at Yuji pulling him into his other side ruffling his hair. “You did good kid.” Yuji still looked serious before he leaned into his dads side with a slight smile. He went over to hug you, you took hold of him and he didn’t let go until you stopped sniffling. He smiled up at you, puffy eyes and red cheeks, Sukuna snickered, pinching your cheek making a joke, Yuji’s bright smile didn’t falter, “I still think you’re pretty.” Your sudden laugh made your husband and son laugh. Kneeling down you pinched both of Yuji’s cheeks lightly as he laughed, before cupping his face in both hands bringing him close to kiss both of cheeks and forehead calling him “My Little Protector.” He smiled with pride before you got up smiling at Sukuna, he sides eyed you before sighing leaning to the side giving you his face, “and my big hero.” Cupping his face you brought him into a kiss and he smirked against your lips when Yuji let out a loud “eeeewwww”

“Cmon Yu,” you held your hand out to him and he took it happily walking while holding your hand, “I’ll be stronger next time!”

Tag:

@sakuxxi @mercymccann @simpforyoubitch @certainduckanchor @domainofmarie @najiiix @bakugou-katsukis-wife @amitiel-truth @souyasplushie @mylovelessnightmare @sad-darksoul @cyder-puff @satorisgirl l @bontensbabygirl @lupita97lm @queen-luna-007 7

[themultifanshipper]

Lando was up on the top step of the podium, lifting the 1st place trophy for the first time.

You were fuming.

My brain though of it, my fingers typed it,

Had a breakdown

Bon appétit

Warnings: this unhinged, like seriously unhinged, Lando is feral, smut, don't wanna spoil it too much but... spit, lots of spit, also cum, sort of public sex

Not that you weren't happy for him. You were basically joined at the hip, sometimes quite literally.

Neither of you wanted a relationship, too much of a hassle especially between two drivers, and that was fine, the friendship was as strong as ever and the sex was great! Who could ask for more?

So when he won, you watched Max and Charles almost waterboarding him on the podium, and the first thing you felt was unsurmountable pride and... joy... and-

and then the dread set in.

See, a couple of weeks before, at a party, Lando had made an offhand comment about him obviously winning a gp before you. He was just teasing but it still made your blood boil. So you made a bet to settle it. You genuinely didn't think Lando would be winning anything in 2024 so you bet that whoever won a race first, the other would get a tattoo in their honour.

Which was fine.

Except needles reaaally weren't your thing. You'd always wanted a few tattoos but never had the guts to go through with it.

Except it was a tattoo of your friend/rival/fuckbuddy/coworker.

Except now you didn't have a choice.

The reality of it started to set in at the club that night with Lando and Oscar. He hadn't mentioned the bet so far so you assumed he'd forgotten, but a bet is a bet, and out of principle you always honour your word.

So at the end of the night, when you were all well on your way to alcohol poisonning, you all said goodbye and went your seperate ways. But instead of going to bed you decided to look up tattoo parlours.

Turns out they are not hard to find in Miami.

So you did it, the alcohol dimming the pain as a small 'LN4' sat just next to your hip bone.

You forgot about it the next morning, barely remembering anything from last night at all. It's only when you had a shower the next day and passed naked in front of the mirror, that you froze and stared at it for like 20 minutes.

Oh god. You were pretty sure when you made the bet the tattoo was supposed to be like, on your arm or something, not... not that close to your private bits. Oh well.

Lando, as it turns out, had not stopped thinking about it. He didn't want to bring it up because he knew you were scared of needles and didn't want to pressure you. But ever since that bet he couldn't stop imagining you with his name inked into your skin and he was determined to see it happen. And well, as luck would have it he won the week after the bet, in Miami. It was fate.

But it went unmentioned for the whole week after Miami.

Two weeks after Miami, the week leading up to Imola, a few drivers (mainly the Monaco dwellers) decided to have a day at the beach. So you rang Lando to see if he wanted to have a sleepover, but weirdy he didn't seem to be in the mood, so you stuck to your own appartment for the night, only going the next day to pick him up.

You almost forgot that you hadn't told Lando about the tattoo until you were putting your bikini on. Incidentally it was bright orange. After all, orange is a great colour! It compliments every single skin tone. No wonder all the Mclaren employees look good.

As you ate breakfast in his kitchen you almost called out for Lando to tell him about it but he was in the shower. So you just waited for him to get ready, before swinging by Max's appartment so you could all go down together.

The others were already down there playing a probably unlawful version of volleyball and you really couldn't be bothered. So as Lando and Max joined them, you looked for the inevitable pile of bags and stuff, which was next to an empty lounge chair. Perfect. You put your towel on it, took you clothes off, and lay down in the sun.

Oscar arrived a little while later and put his bag next to yours, getting a water bottle out to drink from it. You were too comfortable to get up to hug him so you held out your fist for a fist bump.

"You know it's really not subtle." He said, eyeing your body as he drank. "I mean the orange looks fucking good, don't get me wrong but it- "

He stopped dead, wide eyes looking straight at your hip.

"But it what, Osc?"

He squinted at you "Is that what I think it is?"

"I don't know" you said coyly "why don't you take a closer look and check"

He leaned closer to you, mouth agape, hand gently going to hold your hip, thumb underling the tattoo.

He looked at you "Does he know? Has he seen it?"

"Nope" You smirked "Not yet"

He pulled back and stood up again, eyebrows dissappearing up his hairline. "Well, he's gonna lose his shit"

You only laughed in response as he turned and ran off to greet the others. Oh I know.

You both spent hours waiting. And I mean literal hours. You even went to join them splashing about in the water when they started climbing on each other's shoulders and pushing each other off like children. You were on Max's shoulders, trying and failing to push Charles off his perch and Lando was just watching. And he still hadn't noticed. He was either too oblivious or too respectful to look at your body. You and Oscar kept sending each other exasperated looks. Which he obviously didn't pick up on either.

So you gave up for the time being and decided to go back to your chair to get some more sun. Then it hit you.

You sat down, getting a container and your sunglasses out of your bag, and yelled towards the man "Lando! Come help me put my lotion on!"

He ran over immediately. So predictable. This had to work.

You were lying on your front so you asked him to start with your back and the back of your legs, his hands going a little higher than necessary, slowly squeezing your butt and smacking it gently to watch it wobble.

You could help but laugh. "You're a child! Okay let me turn over so you can do my front"

You turned and he sat down between your legs, your thighs draped over his on each side of the lounger. He squirted some cream on his hands and rubbed them together as he looked at your covered breasts and slipped his hands under the flimsy fabric, humming softly to himself. You closed your eyes and sighed, his large hands feeling incredible, massaging your skin.

You felt his hands go lower and lower until they suddenly froze, quiet gasp falling from his lips.

You struggled to keep a straight face, keeping your eyes closed behind your sunglasses. You asked innocently "What's wrong Lan?"

He didn't answer. The silence streched on. And on. Until you started to get a bit unsure of yourself so you opened your eyes.

The look on his face was indescribable. His mouth was agape, not unlike Oscar earlier, but all you saw on Lando from this angle was shock. He just stared, you could see the gears turning. It's a few seconds later, when he finally looked up at you that you also saw the hunger in his eyes. You almost moaned from the look alone. In the years of knowing him, and the short time you'd been fucking him, you'd never seen him look so intense. Like he actually wanted to eat you.

"Lando..." Your voice came out shaky "Are you okay? Do you-" You gulped "Do you like it?" You tried for a smile but it was unconvincing.

Eyes back on the tattoo, he slowly opened his mouth to say something but nothing would come out. You'd rendered Lando Norris completely speechless.

He leaned back a bit taking more of your body in as his right hand came to rest over your pubic bone. His thumb stroked gently over the fabric that only barely covered you. You were already on fire and the barely there pressure on your clit was torture.

"Lando, please say something" your voice was shaking.

His eyes went back to yours for a second before going back to the tattoo and increased the pressure on your clit.

You gasped and glanced around, the beach had become deserted as the sun was making it's way down the horizon, and the drivers seemed to have been swept further down the beach and were sitting around chatting. That's odd, why were they so far away? They should have come back by n-

You had a sudden thought. Oscar.

Thank fuck for Oscar Piastri.

The feeling of Lando's fingers sliding into you brought you back to the present and the searing heat between your legs. His right hand was still settled on you, applying a bit of pressure and thumb still rubbing your now exposed clit while the other hand pumped in and out of you, bikini lazily pushed to the side. He'd gone straight from one finger to three, not letting you adjust, and the stretch was delicious.

You couldn't help but notice he was still staring intently at his initials on your hip.

Just as you felt like you were going to start unraveling, he withrew his fingers and untied his shorts to pull his cock out. He was already leaking heavily, and he was panting as he finally got a hand around himself and started rubbing his tip along your folds. Still staring at the tattoo.

A second later he pushed inside without warning and you both moaned loud.

Thank god for Oscar Piastri, you though again as Lando started fucking into you at a brutal pace, hips and thighs slapping against yours. You were on cloud nine as his hand slithered up to hold your throat, not pressing for once, just holding you down, making sure you couldn't move as he had his way with you, as he took exactly what he wanted. You looked at him and he was still staring at that damn tattoo.

What had you done? You'd created a fucking monster.

He was railing you in public, while his friends were like 100 meters away. Fuck, the thought of that shouldn't have been as hot as it was.

As you were about to attempt speech again (which would probably have been futile anyway) he opened his mouth, and instead of finally breaking the silence, he let a line of spit land on your clit, dripping down onto his dick making the slide all the more pleasurable and the sight of it sending you into a delirious state.

Fuck, he'd never done that before. He then, the absolute madman, spat again, right on the tattoo.

You moaned and clenched around him, already impossibly close. He finally spoke for the first time when he growled out, voice raspy from disuse,

"Come on my fucking cock, now "

Your vision blacked out as you came harder than you ever had in your life. Clenching hard around him, but he wasn't deterred in the slightest as he just kept going, still refusing to look at you. You had barely recovered before another orgasm came creeping up on you. And the determined look on his face is what made you come for the second time, legs shaking around him.

You whimpered, oversensitive, when he carried on, undeterred by your orgasms, thumb spreading his spit over his initials, gazing at them longingly.

You had a feeling you knew where this was going.

He finally pulled out, hand working furiously over his cock as he finally came in spurts over your pussy, your stomach, covered your tattoo, and let out an uncharacteristically high pitched moan.

And during normal sex, you would have laughed at it, had it not been for the sight in front of you. Lando's spent cock sitting in a pool of his seed on top of his inked out initials. Panting hard. You looked at him and realised with a start that he was finally looking at you.

You both stared at each other for a moment, while he tried to catch his breath.

"Who do you belong to?"

You didn't even think before answering "You, Lando."

"Fuck, yeah, okay" he moaned, and hesitated as he glanced down, seemingly having only just noticed your orange bikini.

He took a gamble, eyes darting rapidly from your face to the fabric and back again, then rushed out an "I love you" before crashing your lips together. He didn't want to let go, scared of your answer, so you just put your arms around him and squeezed as hard as you could, to convey that the feeling was mutual.

Once you were both out of breath, he rested his forehead against yours and you stared at each other like that for a bit. Just existing comfortably in each other's space, breathing each other's air and sharing the first of many intimate moments.

After a while he laughed quietly before blurting out "Now that that's out of the way, do you have a pack of tissues, my love?"

[targaryenluvs]

HIDE N SEEK’ / DEMON!DEAN WINCHESTER

Pairings: Demon!Dean Winchester x Fem!Hunter!Reader

Summary: Sam had placed you in a safe home when learning that Dean had somehow gotten away. But Dean promised you, a few games have to be played, and maybe you might just get away. Silly you, a Demon never keeps his word.

Warnings: Dark themes per usual, established relationship, chasing, taunting, use of force, threats & anger, hair pulling, threats, dacryphilia, sexual implications, vulgar language

Word count: 1.7K Words

A/N: Here it is! My first Supernatural fic, I’m so excited to write for these two! I'm still on season one so forgive me for any inaccuracies <3

Gif not mine, credits to the owner!

Your heart was beating erratically, and rightfully so.

The literal demon version of your own boyfriend, Dean, was currently chasing you around your place. So much for safe home.

“The more you run, the more angry I get Y/n/n.” His voice sent chills down your spine but you knew you had to keep going. You rounded the corner and grabbed the stair case banister to haul yourself upstairs. You could hear his footsteps, loud and clear.

“I gave you a chance, remember that.”

The house that was now trapping you inside, used to be your safe haven.

“Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on Sam?!” His eyes wouldn’t meet yours, the entire time he drove. Sam’s knuckles kept wrapping around the wheel, his knuckles were white and his grip unrelenting.

You’d met Dean not long ago, whilst you were still a baby hunter. Only a year had gone by since you’d lost your best friend whilst she and her boyfriend were on a hunt. It was your first time, and when you’d found out about the supernatural world. A wrong swing, a sharp knife and the dark of night caused her to pass away that night.

You were thoroughly traumatised from losing someone you were so close to, and the job wasn’t complete yet. But Jake called in reinforcements, in the form of Sam and Dean.

From then you’d continued to keep in touch with them, mostly Dean, talking to him helped you immensely when dealing with the pain of losing someone you loved. And when you’d run into them in California, and Dean asked you out, you were jumping for joy.

Within the two weeks you’d spent with them, hunting, travelling and living, you’d never felt happier. So when Dean asked you to stay with him, to be his?

You agreed with no hesitation.

But with a sick family member, you drew back. It’d been over a month and in that time you’d missed so much. So when your family got better and they all dispersed to their rightful places, you were surprised when Sam all of a sudden came to pick you up.

And you’d wound up at your safe home. With no explanation and a lack of communication, you found yourself lonely. Dean never reached out, Sam only checked in on mornings to make sure you were okay. Sam had literally taken your phone, giving you another with only his number.

Of course you’d asked questions, but you trusted Sam. So when he told you it was for the best? You’d listened. You’d wanted more information, but not like this.

The ringing of your phone had awoken you that night, you groaned as you turned over glancing at the alarm clock to your side.

3:30am.

“Sam what—,”

“Are you okay?”

You furrowed your eyebrows as you sat up in your bed, “I’m fine, what’s up?”

“You need to check the doors. The windows— god everything. You need to make sure you’re safe. Do you have access to your weapons?”

“No, I left them in my car. Most of my weapons stash is downstairs, I only have a few handguns and knifes in the bathroom. What’s wrong Sam?”

“It’s Dean, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you Y/n. He’s not safe, he’s…” You got up from your bed, heading downstairs. You needed water if you were going to continue with this weird conversation.

You refrained from rolling your eyes, what hell is up with the dramatics? “He’s what Sam. A vampire?” You joked whilst grabbing a glass from the cupboard.

“Nope, not a vampire sweetheart.”

The glass shattered on the floor at the sound of his voice, it’d been far too long since you’d heard it.

‘Y/n? You still there?’ His voice was so close yet so far.

‘'Y/n? Is he there?" His voice was so close yet so far. Dean’s eyes were dark and black, nothing like the green you found yourself loving everyday. As if the eyes weren’t enough to tell you something was wrong, the hammer in his hand and the dark expression on his face.

Demon. 

It was the one word that seeped into your mind from Sam’s screeching through the phone. Dean’s smirk made your heart beat faster. "If I was you sweetheart, I’d get to runnin’."

So you did. 

With all the energy your drowsy body could muster, you ran past him and into the dining room before turning the corner. His taunts followed as you turned a corner, only to be met with a hard chest. “You’re making this too easy baby. How bout’ this, you hide and I seek. And if I catch you,”

You tried to pull away from him, but Dean was stronger now. “If I catch you, well you don’t wanna know.” His eyes flicked from green to black, and your heart dropped. His grip faltered and you took it as your chance to go. You ran to the back door, only to find it locked.

“Thought I told you to hide?”

“Shut up! I’m not playing!” You shouted as you ducked behind the kitchen counter, hopefully he hadn’t seen you by now.

As you peaked from behind you noticed the black boot by your foot, “You always looked best beneath me.” A wave of disgust rolled through as you grabbed onto his leg and pushed, swiping it from underneath him.

You ran back to the stairs.

“I gave you a chance, remember that.”

The words echoed through your head as you ran upstairs into your bedroom when the alarm system began blaring.

A bit late for that, you thought.

The crimson red seeped through the whole home, indicating an intruder. Shivers went up your spine at the thought of a demon chasing you, red consuming you.

You were a hunter, yes. But not emotionless, so a literal Demon chasing you through your home with the face of your boyfriend was more than enough to cloud your judgement. On one hand, all you can see is Dean. You can stare into his eyes, whether they're green or black, you can see the familiar stature that always cuddled you.

You could hear his voice, and boy was it hard to not listen.

Leaning against the door, you closed your eyes and breathed heavily in an attempt to calm yourself down. Was Sam on his way? Or were you defenceless against him?

As you calmed down, your eyes widened in terror. The bathroom door to your right was open, and led right into your room. You scrambled to your feet and rushed to the door but were knocked back down.

You were right, a Demon's much more menacing with a red glow. he was entering the bathroom with a smile on his face.

"There you are, sweetheart." He raised his arms outwards in a mock hug, those open arms were usually your safety. But now? You weren't so sure if they'd be the best place to be.

"Now I told you not to run, you can't get away. Be realistic baby." His footsteps were slow and menacing, but he hadn't entered the room yet. Your eyes flickered momentarily to the door, and an idea rushed through your mind.

Dean seemingly caught on, "Don't you dare—,"

The slamming of the door cut him off as you swiftly rose to your knees, turning the lock. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you got up with the help of your bed. "Okay, now I'm mad."

And you sure as hell were not in the mood to experience it. So you slowly tiptoed over to the bedroom door, unlocking it. The eerie silence did nothing but raise your heartbeat. Where was he?

You turned to look back at the bathroom door, you couldn't spot any shadows. Either you barricade yourself upstairs and pray for a miracle in the form of a certain Winchester, or you take your chances with the stairs and risk getting grabbed.

You had a good feeling about the stairs, and if Dean was following then you'd for sure hear him with how loud his steps were, right?

The bedroom door closed behind you as you slowly made your way to the top of the stairs. You couldn't hear anything, or see anything besides red. So you ran.

With each step your faith in getting away was renewed.

But as you made your way to the ground an arm harshly dug into your stomach as you screamed. "Told you I'd getcha." You squirmed in his grasp, clawing at the door to pull yourself away from him. "Keep moving like that and I'll crush your skull in." That got your attention, your arms dropped to your side as you stood on the ground.

"Always so good for me baby, yeah?" You shook your head as he chuckled, "You don't want to be my good girl?" His voice was hot in your ear, and his words went straight down to your--

"I'm talking to you." Dean spun you around, you were chest to chest now, his eyes bore into yours as he awaited a response. His stare was too intense so you settled for staring at the ground. He didn't like it.

His hands dug into your chin, forcing you to look up at him, "Yes or No?" Your lips inched closer to his as he grinned, "Missed me have you?" The distraction was all you needed, the hunter in you telling you to run. Dean groaned as you ran towards the door having swiftly kneed him in the groin.

As your hands fumbled with the latch, a hand twisted around your hair before yanking you back, "You bitch, you think you're slick?" You cried out as he climbed ontop of you, his eyes flashed back to black as a scowl overcame his face.

His hold never relented as he dragged you upstairs, “Please Dean!” Despite your pleading he continued to walk, your pleas seemingly driving him. “You want to be a bitch? I’ll treat you like one.” You wheezed as you made impact with bed, courtesy of Dean’s harsh push.

You turned over, trying to crawl away as his hand wrapped around your ankle, “Stop!” His chuckle was deep and his hand bruised you. You couldn’t help the tears that ran down your face, this wasn’t your Dean.

“Fuck you look pretty when you cry. Y’know, I’ve missed this.” His hands ran down your stomach, and back up your chest as you attempted to shimmy away. A hand wrapped around your hip, digging in to hold you down.

“Missed these tits too.”

Your eyes widened as his hand unbuckled his belt.

“We’ve got time to spare, right?”

[loveinhawkins]

Robin’s always had a soft spot for Eddie Munson, but up until recently it had been in a distant kind of way; she appreciated his class clown act, the way it had a domino effect of keeping the heat off the band kids, how he hogged the spotlight for any passing douchebag’s attention.

But then they both literally dive into The Upside Down, and her appreciation reaches a whole new level.

They’re in the Wheeler’s garage, thanking their lucky stars that four bikes exist in 1983 (and yeah, Robin’s sure that if she thinks about the whole time thing for half a second more her brain will promptly melt, so she doesn’t).

Each of them are pushing their chosen bike down the driveway, in a dazed sort of silence—the high of the Lite-Brite worn off in the face of another grim journey through The Upside Down.

Steve is flagging, Robin can hear it: his breathing’s growing laboured as he walks, an occasional unsteadiness to him that’s setting her anxiety off all over again, because what if they were wrong, what if it’s really rabies, and it’s too late, it’s coursing through his veins, and he’s—they’re gonna lose him—

“Hey, Harrington,” Eddie says, swinging a leg over his saddle, “wanna race?”

“… Hmm? Sorry, what?” Steve says.

There’s not even that long of a delay in him speaking, but the pause still has Robin’s heart in her throat.

Eddie’s got one foot on a pedal now, ready to set off. He looks back at them with a shaky grin—like he’s terrified, but he’s still gonna have some fun anyway.

“I’m throwing down the gauntlet, King Steve. Bet I’ll be faster than you.”

Steve scoffs, stands up a little straighter before he mirrors Eddie, balancing on the bike with one foot on the pedal.

“How much are we betting?”

Eddie huffs. “Oh, no money involved,” he says nonchalantly. He raises an eyebrow in challenge. “This is just for the glory.”

And God, there’s that spark back in Steve’s eyes; it’s like Robin can physically see his competitive streak giving him strength.

Eddie Munson, you beautiful soul, she thinks, I could kiss you.

“Faster than me? Yeah, maybe in your dreams, Munson,” Steve says.

But Eddie’s already speeding off with a comical whoop; Steve curses as he hurriedly tries to catch up, yelling, “You dick, that’s cheating!”

“Not in my rulebook!” Eddie says with a cackle.

And for a little while, that’s enough to put Robin’s mind at ease: watching the pair of them taunt each other like kids—hearing Nancy laugh at the spectacle as she bikes alongside her.

But then she falls through the Gate, Eddie close behind her, and they freeze when Steve screams Nancy’s name with such fear.

Robin’s plunged back into a mind-numbing panic; she’s sure that her heart doesn’t even begin to slow until they’ve left the trailer park, until Steve’s control of the RV switches from ‘holy shit, we’re on the run, what have our lives become?’ to something more normal—the reliable, measured driving she’s familiar with, taking her to and from school or work.

Finally, she has time to, um… take stock. Of… things.

She wobbles her way over to Eddie, grabbing onto his elbow as Steve takes a turning.

Eddie instantly holds her up, a steadying hand around her waist. “Oh, hi. I’ve gotcha—” “Your music isn’t actually shit,” Robin says in one breath. “I know, um, on balance, it’s probably not the worst thing I could’ve said, but the delivery was—but, you know, considering I thought Nance was literally about to die, I’d say it was, like, kinda calm all things considered, but—”

Eddie’s chuckling. “Yeah, on balance,” he echoes teasingly, “you were pretty damn funny, actually. Uh, sorry for. Um. Screaming at you? Basically?”

“Basically,” Robin agrees. “Yeah, you were like impressively loud. Not quite eardrum-rupturing level, but y’know, I don’t actually know anyone who’s really had that happen to them; Amanda Wallis said she ruptured hers at the pep rally ‘cause she was standing too close to us—the band, I mean, but—”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Oh, that’s bull, there’s no way that’d be loud enough to—”

“—I think she just had a grudge ‘cause David C on mellophone got literally the tiniest bit of spit on her, and he was only—”

“Yeah, well, everyone knows you sit in the splash zone at your own risk.”

“Exactly! She’s had plenty of time to learn marching band protocol.”

“Uh-huh, protocol,” Eddie echoes again, with a giggle.

He’s got a nice kind of laugh, Robin thinks: one where she’s never in doubt that he’s laughing with her rather than at her.

“That stuff you do’s pretty cool,” he says; with his free hand, he actually imitates her mime of playing a trumpet. “You must have good, uh…” She can see the exact moment that he’s having second thoughts about saying it, but he forges ahead anyway, with a hilariously uncertain, “Good… lungs?”

“Fascinating attempt at a compliment,” Robin says. “Luckily for you, I accept insults as, like, equal tokens of friendship.”

Eddie does a double take. He doesn’t go so far as letting out a questioning, “We’re friends?”, but he might as well have said it anyway: his eyes widen for a moment, like someone who’s just been unexpectedly asked out to prom.

Steve takes another turning; he does it smoothly enough, but even he can’t stop the RV from moving with it, and Robin stumbles again, very nearly ends up repeating how she toppled right onto Eddie in The Upside Down.

“Woah there, you’re good,” Eddie says, “just gotta find your, uh, what’s it called? Your equilibrium.”

“I don’t have any,” Robin says, all theatrical devastation, and Eddie snorts.

“Sure you do, Buckley. Look, just take my—yeah, that’s it, then just kinda straighten up… yeah, you’ve got it.”

And yes, after a minute or so, Robin’s footing does feel more certain, but she still keeps a stubborn grip on Eddie’s elbow, just in case.

“God, d’you know what I’m gonna do when all this is over?” Eddie says.

“Pray tell.”

“I’m gonna make a list. What was it you said, Madonna, Blondie…? Whatever, I’m getting all of them, m’never getting caught out like that again.”

“I’m hoping that needing music to evade the clutches of a serial killer from an alternate dimension is, um, strictly a one-time thing.”

“Don’t care,” Eddie says. “Still buying those tapes. Just in case.”

And yeah, it’s said partly in jest, but Robin can hear that he means it. Still, it’s the most optimistic that she’s heard him be so far: making plans for after, like he can really see a way through this. Like maybe he finally knows that they’ll help him get there.

“Need a list of tapes from you too, Buckley. You and Harrington.”

Robin smiles. Her first thought is of singing Total Eclipse of the Heart from the dirt-ridden floor of a mall bathroom, but then she thinks of every car ride with Steve, every time they’ve turned up the radio to belt along, and she knows that there are way too many songs to count.

“Forget a list,” Robin says, “I could fill a book. Same for big boy over there.”

Eddie blinks, like he’s suddenly taking stock, too. “Oh yeah,” he says, laughing lightly, “I did say that, huh?”

“Sure did. I was doubting my ears, too.”

Robin had been hoping they’d long since reached the point of being able to joke around with one another. But while Eddie does laugh again, he also starts biting at his thumbnail, glancing over at Steve in the driver’s seat.

“Um, hey.” Robin manages to keep her balance, briefly pressing her knee against his leg. “I didn’t mean anything by it, Eddie.”

“No, I know.” Eddie huffs self-effacingly. “I’ve kinda got permanent foot-in-mouth disease, my report cards would tell you that.”

Well, if he wants to pass it off as sometimes I just say the darnedest things, Robin would be a hypocrite to deny him.

It fascinates her in a sad sort of way though, how he veers between joking and nervousness—like he’s worried he’s intruding on their group, of overstepping somehow.

She wants to tell him: Look, we all got dragged into this, but we chose to stick around, and you’re no different.

But she no longer has the aftermath of Russian drugs to help bypass her own nerves, to kickstart her sincerity.

“Hey, you’re awfully quiet back there,” Steve calls, and Eddie startles.

Robin shakes her head. “Not us, that’s his—”

“Hello? Henderson, I’m talking to you.”

“We’re not even doing anything!” Dustin shouts back in exaggerated affront.

He’s sat on the backseat of the RV, peering out the window along with Lucas, Erica and Max. Robin stifles a chuckle at the sight; they look like they’re on a field trip—the cool kids at the back of the bus.

“Yeah, well, just checking,” Steve says, amused. “For all I know, you coulda been building a gigantic radio again on, like, the roof of this thing.”

“Cerebro,” Dustin says, just as Eddie lets out a baffled, “Uh, again?”

But then they’re pulling into The War Zone’s parking lot, and any chatter abruptly dies.

Afterwards, Steve gets off the road to park in a reassuringly deserted field. They don’t head outside right away (Robin’s not exactly looking forward to prepping Molotov cocktails), instead staying in the RV to eat junk food they’d grabbed beforehand.

Robin discovers that Dustin’s somehow bought five more cans of Pringles and snorts, declaring, “You’ve got a problem.”

At some point, Steve tries to sneak off to the bathroom so he can change his dressings—“And use actual proper bandages!” Robin calls to him; no offence to Nancy’s resourcefulness, but the torn shirt strips only do so much good.

It becomes a more comical than horrifying event, although she’s sure that’s down to Steve deliberately making it so, like a sleight of hand trick: playing it down as he keeps talking to the kids throughout, never wincing even once.

He ends up having to keep the bathroom door open to continue an argument with Erica over which Scoops Ahoy sundae was the best of all time—then figures that he might as well just step out into the open anyway.

At least the wounds have stopped bleeding—although the sight of Steve cleaning around them with bottled water is one that Robin could personally do without.

The kids are entirely unfazed. They flock to Steve, peering at the glimpses he lets them see like he’s just got a cool tattoo. Robin supposes that after El and whatever nightmare wormy thing was in her leg, they’ve seen everything.

Eddie, however, is another matter. He keeps quiet about it, not obvious at all, but Robin watches his face grow paler and paler before Steve wraps the new bandages around his stomach.

Dustin, bless his precocious little heart, must also notice, because he quickly starts up a seemingly impromptu game of charades, meaning that Eddie is soon distracted by his ridiculously over the top gestures.

“No, Steve, how are you not getting this?”

“I thought the whole appeal of this game was that you’re not meant to talk, Henderson. Dude, watch it, you nearly took Max’s eye out with… whatever the hell that was.”

“Oh my god, it’s Back to the Future, obviously! Ow, Max, I didn’t mean to—uh, yeah, the mime needs to be that big, how else am I gonna project what—”

“Dustin, I swear to god, I’m about to project you out the window,” Steve drawls.

Eddie laughs, hides it behind his hand.

But Steve must catch it, because he glances over at Eddie and winks before he’s dragged back into guessing another movie title.

And Robin’s obviously seen Steve wink before—he does it all the time, so much so that she’s become quite adept at reading when it’s a friendly one for her, or if he’s sharing some kind of in-joke with one of the kids.

She’s also seen his attempts at a ‘smooth’ wink towards some girls at work—and look, he’s Steve Harrington, it’s not like he’s going to be bad at it.

But if you ask Robin, it’s never looked quite right, like he’s always performing to an audience he’s unsure of.

But this wink doesn’t look like it belongs to either of those categories. Well, it’s got something in common with the first: that it looks entirely natural, as if he’s doing it almost without thinking. Like it just feels right.

They go through some more rounds of charades—Dustin’s gestures, if possible, getting even more dramatic—and Eddie gradually goes from contributing a few guesses to none at all, curling up on the backseat. He looks utterly wiped out.

Robin tries to catch Nancy’s eye, and after a few attempts, she gets the message, stands up with a nod.

“Okay, let’s take this outside, guys.”

“Spoken like a true camp counsellor,” Max says.

Nancy acts like she’s offended, but her lips keep twitching into a smile. “Max, never say that to me again.”

“There’s more space outside,” Erica says, “so we can duck out the way of Dustin’s windmilling arms.”

“Hey!”

“I’m bored of charades,” Lucas says. “We could do another competition? Like, I dunno, cartwheels or handstands or something?”

“Oh sure, so I can show you up?” Max returns, grinning.

Steve scoffs. “Uh, if you’re doing a cartwheel competition, I would win.”

“Since when?” Dustin says, an obvious taunt that Steve predictably rises to, flipping him off.

“Save your athletics for Vecna, please,” Nancy cuts in dryly.

“It wouldn’t be a fair fight.” Lucas gestures to Steve’s stomach, a little uncertainly. “You know, considering…”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Under normal circumstances, I would kick all your asses.”

“Sure,” Robin says brightly, “but Steve, if you do literally anything more strenuous than sitting down right now, I’m gonna—”

“Uh, Steve would kick your asses, actually,” Eddie says slowly. His voice is muffled from the way his hand’s holding up his chin, partly covering his mouth. “He did gymnastics.”

Robin, surprised, looks to Steve; he’s doing that thing where he scratches at his cheek unconsciously, seems to be a mixture of embarrassed and pleased.

“How’d you know that?” he asks.

Eddie shrugs. “We didn’t have a cover for gym one time, remember? There was a whole group of us slacking off but you just kept doing, y’know,” he twirls his fingers, “tricks on that box thingy.”

“Vaulting box,” Steve corrects like he can’t stop himself. He’s sporting an almost abashed little smile that Robin’s never seen before.

Eddie shrugs again. “S’all Greek to me,” he says, interrupts himself halfway through with a deep yawn.

Steve’s eyes soften. And then he’s ushering the kids outside, “C’mon, you can do whatever competition you want for thirty minutes before we get to work.”

“Got it, coach.”

“Shut up, Mayfield.”

“I’ll be your stopwatch if you’re doing handstands,” Nancy chips in, bringing up the rear—she catches Robin’s eye again, subtly tilts her head in Eddie’s direction and mouths Stay?

Robin nods.

“Uh, that won’t be accurate at all,” comes Dustin’s rebuttal—he’s outside now, but his voice still carries. “Unless you can like accurately keep time in your head down to the second—”

“Oh my god, Dustin, you’re such a shithead.”

“Nancy Wheeler, I’m heartbroken.”

Steve’s chuckle floats through the open door. “She said it, dude, not me.”

“You say it all the goddamn time!”

And then the voices fade away until all Robin can hear is distant laughs and joyful screams. It’s relaxing, in its own way.

“No gymnastics for you, Buckley?” Eddie says.

“Nope, not since 7th grade. Managed two cartwheels before I broke my wrist.”

Eddie winces in sympathy. He’s slumping a bit more; Robin makes herself comfy in the opposite corner of the backseat, gives him the most space.

She feels a weird lump at her back, behind one of the cushions. A quick investigation reveals an issue of TV Guide Magazine.

“Ooh, we can find out what we missed while on the run,” she says, waggling it in front of Eddie.

He smiles with a small huff. “Doubt it. Says 1981 on the front.”

“What’s a little more time travel?”

Robin flicks through to the crossword. She’s all too aware that Eddie’s still sat more stiffly than anything else. With Steve, it would be so easy; she could prod him in the thigh with her toe, light touches until he took the hint and relaxed.

But even before they’d really become friends, they were tactile: a tap on the shoulder to grab attention, bumping hips to move each other out of the way whenever they were scooping ice-cream at the same time. It’d been done so unconsciously, like they were already learning to read each other’s minds.

With Eddie, it’s clear that a different approach is needed.

Robin had caught onto that after her misstep at the boathouse, a pit in her stomach at the sight of Eddie’s hands shaking.

But her instinct to reach out, to soothe, made her unthinkingly try again; as they walked in the woods, she’d heard his breathing quicken, and her hand lightly brushed his back. She drew back as he instantly flinched at her touch.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said hurriedly. “Just—just checking you were okay. Sorry.”

Eddie just stared at her before nodding hesitantly.

And Robin wanted to tell him that it wasn’t by chance, that he had people who cared about him; that she did, and it wasn’t a fluke or an accident—she was choosing it.

She keeps her eyes on the magazine, jots down a few crossword answers. It reminds her of summer days spent reading on her grandparents’ porch, not wanting to startle a cat her grandpa had rescued as it approached her. It was always so spooked.

“You’ve just gotta let him come to you, sweet pea,” her grandma would say.

After a couple minutes, she hears Eddie breathe out, the creak of the seat as he lies down. He rests his head right next to her thigh.

“S’good?” he asks, pointing at the magazine.

“It’s pretty easy.” One of the crossword clues is ‘The Lion, the Witch, and the?’ which isn’t exactly taxing. “I’m used to doing the cryptic ones.”

Eddie laughs. He kinda sounds fond. “Of course you are.”

“They’re not that hard, once you know how to read ‘em.”

“Hmm, I doubt that. Lay one on me, Buckley.”

She purses her lips in thought. “Oh, I got this one last week. Condition of Wyoming, five letters.”

Eddie lifts his head ever so slightly to give her a blank look. “Not a fucking clue.”

“State. Get it? ‘Cause ‘condition’ is the definition, and Wyoming is literally—”

“God, I’m surrounded by geniuses.”

“Well, I’ve got the advantage of a summer of code-breaking.”

Robin slowly raises her hand as she speaks—makes sure to do it in Eddie’s line of vision, spots that he doesn’t pull back, that he even gives the tiniest half-nod. She pats his head twice.

Eddie scrunches up his nose. “Sorry, my hair’s gross.”

“It’s not that bad,” Robin says honestly. “Y’know for being on the run, it’s holding up pretty well. I’m getting whatever shampoo you use.”

Eddie smiles. “Sure.”

“Yours is looking way better than mine did after, like, one day getting wrapped up in all this.” Again, without really thinking, Robin adds, “I had all this sweat and blood and puke in it.”

Eddie’s eyes are closed now. He makes an unhappy sound, prods gently at her knee. “You’ve all gotta work on telling me horrific shit. That should not be casual for you, Buckley.”

He sounds emphatic—protective, even. Robin feels unexpectedly emotional.

“Yeah, sorry. Bad habit.”

Silence falls, and by the time Steve enters the RV, Robin has filled in the whole crossword, Eddie dozing by her side.

Steve’s getting another bottle of water—actually drinking it this time. He’s got grass stains on his knees, and he’s sweating slightly, like the ‘stay still’ advice hasn’t once been taken.

His eyes soften again when he sees Eddie sleeping—he doesn’t need to linger, but he does.

Robin watches.

We need more time, Steve, she thinks suddenly. For you to keep looking at him like that—for him to be awake to see it.

Steve tears his eyes away. Lands on her.

She smiles, mouthing What?

Steve rolls his eyes. He imitates her ‘what?’ mockingly, but then he smiles back and taps at his wrist, mimes winding a watch on. It’s what they do whenever they’re slammed at work, wanting to talk, but only able to briefly catch each other’s eyes in the rush. Later.

She taps her wrist. Later, she promises.

He gives her a double thumbs up—what a dork—before heading back outside.

Robin quietly puts the magazine away. Ever so carefully, she lightly strokes Eddie’s hair, feels her heart swell and break at the same time when he sighs contentedly in his sleep.

You’d better look after yourself, Eddie Munson, she thinks. You’ve got people here. People who really want you to stick around.

[tinytennisskirt]

a good old fluffy/intimate friends to lovers

stanford art ringing your doorbell at like 3am in the morning, drunk, with a bloody nose and a beat-up, puffy face after a huge bar fight where he was defending you after some asshole made rude comments about u. ☹️☹️☹️ taking care of him afterwards. him literally being on the verge of passing out from both the alcohol and his throbbing face. fluff and intimacy ENSUES. i’m talking like drunken love confession and everything. art would always get vulnerable, lost and sweet when he got drunk which is exactly why he avoided getting drunk often, but you found it sweet. this time things got a little different😊

Wounds and Words

summary: as above ^^^ (with my little twists of course)

warnings: mentions of a fight, blood, wounds, bruising. drunk art absolutely smitten. soft, fluffy, sweet.

The night after finals, you could finally rest. There was no more studying to do, no more late nights. Just summer. With the intention of playing grandma, you decided that tonight you’d stay in, shower, watch a movie, and sleep early. The day was long, but the shower was nice and the movie was good. Your hair airdried perfectly, watching a movie ignoring the sounds of post-final partying on the floor above you. You didn’t mind it, you were just glad to be drinking iced tea and enjoying the lack of stress.  You were just about to turn the TV on when there was a knock at your door. It was so quiet you almost missed it. 

You, in your loose pajama pants and tank top, turned the TV off and got up, arms crossed over your chest to excuse the lack of a bra. It was completely casual the way you opened the door expecting maybe a fluke or something strange, but it was just Art. 

Art Donaldson, the first person you met at Stanford, who had in the absence of your best friend and the absence of his, became one of your best friends. He was sweet, thoughtful, the best listener, and the kind of boy who wasn’t afraid not to seem much of one. He had been susceptible to eyeliner twice just because you asked. He watched your shows with you, tried repeatedly to teach you how to swing a racket, and was always up for coffee in the evening. He was also always there for you, so maybe along the route, you might have fallen for him just a bit. Who wouldn’t?

For the first time in all of the time you’d known Art, tonight was the only night you excused yourself from plans with him. He wanted to hit the campus bar to celebrate, but understood completely when you told him you planned to do nothing, which is why, when you opened the door, the first words out his mouth were, “I’m sorry.” 

He was standing just outside your room, holding the side of his face which had endured some sort of trauma. His cheekbone was bleeding and already bruising and there was a cut above his eyebrow. His nose was also bruising and bleeding and his lip looked just a little swollen. “Oh my god,” you said, moving forward. He was in a red T-shirt, but you could see the droplets that had fallen down his chin, onto his collar and the front of his shirt. “What happened? Are you okay?” 

“I’ve been drinking,” he told you, questions aside. You could tell that he had been, it was common sense, celebrating was celebrating. You pulled him into your room, guiding him carefully so that he didn’t topple anywhere. He went with it, and moved exactly the way you directed him, just a little wobbly. 

“No, I know,” you replied, concern might as well have been written on your forehead the way you looked at him. “Are you okay? What happened? Come-” You pulled him gently to the bathroom. He was more drunk than usual- when you went out, he was usually the designated driver and when it was just the two of you in either one of your dorms, he was always just a little more sober than you. But right now he was out of it, majorly, beyond what you’d seen from him. It probably also didn’t help that he was bleeding from the face quite a bit. 

He was putty in your hands as you sat him on the closed seat of your toilet. “I’m sorry, I know you didn’t want to do anything tonight. I didn’t know I was walking here until I was here.” He said, slurring just a little. 

“Art, it’s okay,” you managed a smile as you leaned over and grabbed your basket of facecloths. The whole thing toppled over but one fell into the sink and you turned on the tap. “You’re not answering, though. Are you okay?” 

He nodded, a small movement. “Better now.” He smiled back. 

You left him just momentarily to grab a cup from the other room and bring it back, filling it with water before shutting the sink off. You looked at Art again, who had his head down, looking at his hands, which you now noticed were beaten up as well. This was the product of a fight, you presumed by the way his knuckles were messed up. Art wasn’t the fighting type, he was one of the softest people you knew. The only thing about him that revolved around impact was hitting a tennis ball. Aside from that, he was always very soft-handed. Noted from every time he moved your hair from your face for you or when he held your hair when you threw up. When he hugged you, he was never too tight with it. He braided your hair once- he watched a video on how. So how he got into a fight was beyond you. 

“Art?” You sighed, sitting on the edge of the bathtub next to him. 

He lifted his head, to him, you were spinning. “Mhm?” He was so out of it. “Hi.” 

The grin that spread up his face was sweet almost, along with his little greeting. It almost made you want to grin back. “Hi.” You smiled. “Drink this for me?” 

“Water?” 

“Water,” you nodded, handing him the cup. He took it, drank it, all of it. “I’m going to clean you up, is that okay? It might hurt.” 

He nodded back, “Mhm.” He scrunched his nose just a little as you stood to get the wet cloth. You opened your little first aid kid and rested it on your knees. He was putty again, almost limp, eyes closed. You clicked your tongue. “I’m sorry, I’m tired.” He replied. “One too many.” 

“Seems like it,” you answered. “This is going to hurt a little-” You pressed the cloth gently against the cut above his brow. He winced, scrunching his nose again. It was cute- you wished it didn’t come from pain. “I’m wondering if you’re going to tell me what happened?” 

“You’re so nice,” he cut in, opening his eyes again. They were soft, settled on you with some sort of meaning. “And you smell good.” 

You giggled just a little, moving the cloth to clean his cheekbone, keeping the pressure light. “You’re sweet. Thank you. Hold still, please.” 

He grinned again, shutting his eyes and letting you clean him up. He was still so pretty even with all the bruising and slight swelling to his face. You carefully wiped away all the excess blood and his nose stopped bleeding. You poured him another cup of water, which he drank gratefully, but it didn’t sober him up much. You tilted your head to the side and dabbed up more of the blood from the wound on his cheekbone. It hurt to see him so pained, but he took it like a champ. “You always take care of me, I feel bad.” He sighed a little as you wiped down over his chin gently. 

“You don’t need to feel bad and it’s not like it’s unequal. You take care of me too.” 

He hummed just a little, “No. Not like this. Feels unfair.”

“We’re friends, Art, it’s fair. I don’t mind at all, I just want you to be okay.” You told him patiently. His eyes gazed over your face, gently letting the cloth move over his lower lip. His eyes were set on your eyes, your eyelashes, your lips, back to your eyes. “But what would you do without me, hm?” You smiled. 

He smiled back, his head falling just a little. If he wasn’t bruising you would have seen the pink flush that took over his cheeks and nose. “I don’t know.” 

“I don’t want you to know,” you told him. His grin was boyish and endearing, sincere and oddly happy for someone who had been beaten up in such a way. “Hold still, I have to go over your forehead again. I’m going to hold pressure.” 

He held still and you leaned forward just a bit to press the cloth to his forehead. The bleeding hadn’t stopped, so you put your junior lifeguarding skills to work with the pressure to stop it. His face was just a little closer to yours. You could see his eyes up close and he was almost shameless with the way he was looking at you. Drunk, at the borderline of sleep, and major intoxication. Half-lidded, watching the way you bit your lip as you focused on him. “You’re so pretty,” he mumbled. You looked down to meet his eyes. He kept them trained on yours with laser focus and you felt your heart pick up. 

“Art, you’re drunk,” you reasoned, trying to keep in your nervous laugh. 

“I’m right.” He said, keeping eye contact. “You’re pretty. You’re really pretty, like model pretty.” 

You felt your cheeks turn pink, “Thank you. That’s really, really sweet. Nobody has ever said that to me.” You began to dig into the first aid kid for the small yellow tube of polysporin and the small vial of hydrogen peroxide to disinfect. 

“Why?” He questioned, an almost puzzled look finding its way to his face. His eyes were so soft, so innocent in asking. His eyelashes fluttered. It was a shame how bruised up he was getting. 

“I don’t know, I just… Nobody has said it before.” 

“They should.” He said, voice just a little lower. He hung his head, looking away. “Fuck, I’m so drunk. My face hurts.” 

“I know,” you smiled just a little. “Hold still again for me?” He winced as you placed a little cotton pad with hydrogen peroxide over his cuts, gently dabbing. He scrunched up his nose in pain, you inhaled sharply, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry-” 

“Mmm- It’s okay,” his pained voice replied. His eyes opened once the pain passed, and met yours again. Every time he looked at you, you swore he was seeing something else the way his eyes looked so full of wonder. Like he had stars in his eyes. He was pretty too, but you’d rather tell him that when he was sober. Your heart was still beating hard and on top of that, you were still just a little hung up on how this all happened. “Y/N.”

“Mhm?” You returned, dabbing again. He winced, and you cringed. He went back to looking at you the way he was. Slightly puffy lower lip hanging just the smallest bit open. You watched him swallow, looking down before he answered. 

“I should wait to tell you what happened until I’m sober, I’m afraid I’m going to slip up or… something.” He told you, the way he spoke was gentle in a way where it seemed he was trying not to hurt your feelings. “I want to tell you, I don’t want to lie, but I don’t want to tell you while drunk.” He was candid. 

“That’s okay.” You nodded. “A secret.”

“You’re going to make me tell you.” His smile crept back up. “It’s so stupid. It’s so fucking stupid.” You grinned back, giggling just a little at his tone and smile- something light in a room with lots of tissues and cloths and cotton pads covered in blood. He looked at you with that wide grin of his and your heart skipped another beat. The smile fell to a straight line, “Don’t look at me like that.” His eyes fell off yours and moved onto the floor, pulling his shirt collar up to hide in, almost. He was so drunk, you giggled again.

“Like what?” You inquired, taking a break from drying his now-cleaned wounds, and moving his shirt collar down again. His eyes set on yours again. Like they were magnetic to yours like they couldn’t stray for long, evident by small glances at your lips. You caught it, “Art, you’re drunk. I should get you bandaged and to bed, get you more water, I-” You scrambled, but he stayed so still. So focused on you. 

You turned your focus to unwrapping the first bandaid. “I think you know what. But it’s… fine.” He said. “I’m saying too much, I think, I’m sorry-” He rubbed over his good eye, his hand then trailing down his opposite cheek. “I just think- I-” Once more, his eyes met yours, then looked away again. “Fuck.” 

“You don’t have to tell me,” you smiled. “It’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not.” 

“I’ll stay curious for a bit, it’s okay, I promise.” You gently smoothed a bandaid over the cut on his forehead. His eyes were trained on yours, unable to move, it seemed. Followed yours through every movement it took to place the bandage on. “I’m not upset or anything, I can’t be, you know that. I’m just glad you came here instead of bleeding out in your dorm.” 

He smiled just a bit more, “Thank you. Hey, your eyes are really beautiful.”

“You need more water.” You said, moving closer to put a bigger bandage on his cheekbone. “You are drunk drunk.”

“Drunk thoughts sober words. Other way around. I am drunk.” 

“Yeah, just a little.” 

“My face hurts,” he sighed. 

“I know, I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, “Why are you sorry?” 

“Just am,” you answered, standing up in front of him to get him more water. “I don’t like to see you this way. So much blood, I… I’m just sorry that whatever happened, happened.”

“It’s okay. Was worth it.” He turned his head shaking into a nod. “I’m so tired. Fuck. I’m going to say something stupid.”

You gave him the water, he drank it. You made sure he got every drop of water, stepping closer to collect his cup. He looked up at you as you reached for another tiny bandage. His hand gently rested itself on your leg. A cool hand on the back of your knee, softly. Your heart picked up for the tenth time. You spoke, the heart in your throat an obstacle overcome, “As if I haven’t ranted to you about the dumbest things drunk. There’s nothing you could say that could throw me.” You told him. “No judgment, I swear.”  

“It’s different,” he was dancing around something. “You’re so beautiful. I really can’t-” he was lost, his train of thoughts cut off. “Fuck.” He tried to hide his face again. 

“How many shots?” you bat it off. He was out of it, he was gone. He was so drunk. His hand slipped just a little up the back of your leg, then back down. You hoped he couldn’t feel the entirety of your body rise in temperature.

“Too many.”

You were blushing a little too hard, you looked away. “Hey- um- can you stand?” He nodded, hand moving from your leg as he stood. He stood close to you, so close to you. His cheekbone looked worse, but his eyes were still so open and pretty. “Okay, this way.” He let you guide him again but instead of making it to your bed, he sat on the couch. There was no moving him now. “Couch it is.” 

“It’s a good couch,” he sighed, eyes shut. “Your pillows smell like you.” 

You smiled just a little at that, but sat next to him. “You need to move onto your side, okay? Just so you don’t die in my dorm.”

He nodded, moving onto his side without hesitation, doing just what you asked of him. He was mumbling something you couldn’t quite hear. You gently moved his blonde curls from his face. You knew that spinning bliss and tiredness that came with laying down after drinking too much, Art had been at your side for a lot of those moments, pulling you up off the grass of someone’s lawn and making sure you got home safely. You’d woken up tucked in countless times after falling asleep in that state. You smiled at him, finally getting your turn. Aside from his beaten-up face, he looked peaceful. 

Your eyes fell on his knuckles and you quickly went back to the bathroom to get your supplies and as he lay there, softly breathing in and out, mumbling now and then, you treated his knuckles the same way you did his face. “You’re going to be so pissed when you hear about it from someone else,” his voice was only audible for a moment. It made you pause. 

“Hm?” 

“I shouldn’t tell you, it comes off bad. But I don’t want you to what it from someone else…” He said, his face slightly smushed where he was laying. He trailed off again. You slunk out of your chair and sat on the floor in front of him. He opened his eyes just a little bit. “Hi.” 

“Hi.” You replied. His hand was in your own, you dropped the cloth. The wondering what happened was eating you alive. “Art, what happened?” 

He groaned just a little, “Just assholes. Talking about the length of your tennis… skirt.” He stretched and yawned. “At the bar.” You could deduct one thing: the fight had something to do with you. You were a little taken aback, but there was nothing you could find in you to say. “Said something about doing things… with you… to you. Made a mistake and told them to shut the fuck up. But it doesn’t feel like a mistake. My face hurts.” 

“Art…” 

“Don’t tell you I told you,” he sighed, rubbing his good eye again. “I don’t fight, I don’t fight.” 

“I know,” you moved his hair again gently. 

“He swung first. I don’t fight, but the way he was talking about you-.” He mumbled. “I just didn’t…” He trailed off again, then came back slightly. “Want you to think… I fight.” 

You smiled a little more, “I know you don’t fight, Art. I know.” 

“I had to,” he replied with another yawn. “Could’ve walked away. I would’ve… if it was anything else, but it was you.” He turned back onto his back, your hand accidentally slipping down his jaw following the movement, your hand previously in his hair. “Always you.” His slightly slurred tone just sounded tired at this point. Your heart was beating a mile a minute. 

“Art… You should… You need to get some sleep.” You were too flustered to act properly. Should you leave him to rest, say something and hope he didn’t remember sober, or not say anything at all and just wallow in this new fact that his injuries are because he stood up against someone saying something against you? You started to rise from your knees, “I’ll get you some more water.” 

“Can you just stay?” He asked, his eyes opening again to meet yours. His hand reached out for the back of your leg again, softly touching. Like he wanted to touch more but everywhere else wasn’t safe. He had those morals, at least. “Please.” 

You couldn’t move. You were sure your cheeks were a shade of pink close to full-on red. He was touchy in a friends way, but somehow, his hand on the back of your knee felt more intimate than anything. His face was fucked up because he had to tell someone off for sexualizing you, that was crazy, that was…  His hand was soft and a little bit cold and as you sat back down it slipped back to resting with him, but you swore the feeling of it echoed in your body. “I’m not going anywhere.” You reassured him. “I’m sorry about everything.” 

“It’s not your fault,” he hummed, propping himself up dizzily on his elbows. His soft eyes would not leave yours, his smile was endearing, lovely, even with the puffy lip. His gaze shifted to different points on your face, and your smile never wavered in return. Once again, he rubbed his good eye, hand sliding down his cheek, teeth showing in his crooked grin. “Did I tell you that you’re pretty?” 

“You did.” 

“You’re so pretty.” He almost whispered.

“So are you,” you let slip. His grin widened, he looked like he was struggling to stay awake, to stay above the alcohol and the sleep that called to him, was pulling him under. You looked at the bandages on his face. The unhidden bruises. He was beautiful. Always was. You wished he was sober. 

He wished the same thing, “You are- I like you so much.” He spilled, slurring slightly, leaning just a little toward you like it was a secret. Your stomach did a small flip, you were sure you were reaching a shade of light red. “For so long, too, it’s been killing me, you’re so… perfect.” He blabbed. “Patrick said I don’t have a chance, says you’re too-”

“You have a chance,” you cut in. 

“I have a chance?” 

“You have a chance.” 

“Tell me that in the morning too?” His grin was now from ear to ear. You pushed your hair behind your ears. “Fuck- I told you, didn’t I? I was planning to tell you at…” He trailed off again, looking at the ceiling.

“Afraid so,” you giggled. He was forgetful, drunk, tired. You could see him fading as he lowered himself back onto his side. “I’ll pretend it didn’t happen. Tell me again soon, you get a re do.” As if his sweet drunk self was any less worth the confession. Your heart was beating against your ribs and you were doing your best to stay mature and hide it. 

“Re do sounds good. Mmm- Thank you for patching me…” He yawned. “Up. I’ll see you in the…” He yawned again. “Morning.” 

You couldn’t help but smile at all of this. His confession almost dismissed the rest of the situation, but compiled it was a lot and it was all for you. All for you. He was all for… you. He was so sweet, mostly asleep at this point. And he liked you. And maybe he meant it. You clicked your tongue, tilting your head slightly. He liked you, he had liked you, he got into a fight… and he thought you were pretty. “Goodnight, Art.” 

“Goodnight,” Art sighed, smiling. You watched him fade, long eyelashes closed to rest. You stood up, hand gently brushing over his hair before getting him one of your fluffiest soft blankets. You draped him in it, then turned off the light, setting a glass of water on the coffee table. You then went to bed thinking about everything… laying awake on your back. For twenty minutes you just tossed, thinking about the confession, the fight, everything.  He did something he would never do just for you, to defend you. You weren’t even around and he still wanted your name out of their mouths. It was so out of character but at the same time so undeniably Art. He was so sweet, he was… everything. 

So you got up out of bed. Turned the light on and grabbed a marker from off your desk. You slunk into where the couch was, where he was sleeping and on his arm, you wrote a little messily, 

‘You have a chance.’

You smiled at that, got yourself a drink of water, and sat on the end of the couch thinking some more. Before you knew it, you were getting more and more tired, and as much as you wanted to move, the end of the couch was pulling you in. So slowly, you sank onto the opposite end of the couch. You faced away from Art’s feet, but you didn’t mind it all that much as you drifted off to sleep. Your bed remained empty for the rest of the night. 

You woke with the sun, still well-rested. You were facing the back of the couch, but the light still got in your eyes. Slowly, you moved upward, to a sitting position on the arm of the couch, gathering your surroundings. Art, still peacefully asleep, his bruises set in. You sighed quietly before quietly starting a pot of coffee and setting out some painkillers. His arm was still extended, reading those four words. It was all real. Everything from the night before was real. And you’d just have to sit with that until he read his arm and decided on when to take that re do. You’d wait. 

In the meantime, he was still one of your closest friends. He was up not too long after you and you poured him some coffee and gave him the painkillers while he looked at his bandaged wounds in the mirror. “Thank you.” He said a little sheepishly like he was shy about this. Like he was embarrassed by it.

“Always,” you replied with a smile, “What do you remember?” 

He sipped the coffee, looking to the ceiling. “Last thing I remember is… Leaving the bar.” 

“Mmm, so not much,” you teased. He grinned back at you, trying to hide it with his mug. “You feel okay, though?” 

“Hurts to smile, but other than that just a headache.” He replied. “I really- You didn’t have to do all of this.” 

“There’s no reality that I wouldn’t.” You shrugged, walking over to your minifridge to see what there could be for breakfast. Nothing. You had nothing. Art leaned against the doorframe of your bathroom. With your hands on your hips, you turned to him. “Do you want to go somewhere for breakfast?” You asked. You knew he’d seen his arm. You knew you’d wait for it, but it couldn’t hurt to have a little fun with it. 

He grinned and his eyes fell bashfully on the ground. “Yeah, sure. Somewhere off campus though?” 

“And we’ll stop by your dorm so you can change out of your stuff.” You agreed, passing him as you slipped into the closed door of your bedroom from the open area. As you got dressed, Art was looking at the black marker on his arm. You have a chance. Messy as it was, he knew your writing. There wasn’t much he could put together, but he did remember in bits and pieces, the way you touched his face and hair so gently the night before. It came and went in blurry memories so in his head, there was only one form of context for the writing on his arm. 

 He grinned and stayed grinning as you hopped out of your bedroom, putting on your socks as you went. He washed the mug he used and took one last glance at his face before the two of you headed out. He could not get that grin off of his face. You agreed with yourself to wait, but with the writing on his arm, you had no idea how short of a wait it was about to be. 

[velocesainz]

Can you do a fic where the reader works for Ferrari and has been friends with Charles for a long time, and recently Charles and the reader have a friends with benefits thing going on, but the reader is actually in love with him. Then when Lewis moves to Ferrari, he takes an interest in the reader, the reader decides to give him a shot and stops the situationship with Charles and he realises he doesn't want to let her go.

A/n: This request is literally sooo good also I changed the idea slightly I hope you don't mind, enjoy!

But what about us?

F1 masterlist | Main masterlist | Taglist

Summary: reader and Charles are childhood best friends and she works at Ferrari and has an interesting situationship with Charles. When Lewis joins Ferrari he is bewitched by reader and starts developing a strong bond with her but what will happen to Charles and reader?

Warnings: cursing? Mentions of sex, mdni

Pairing: Charles x reader; Lewis x reader

Reader pov:

After another night in with Charles I went back to my apartment to get ready for work.

Me and Charles have been friends from when we were in diapers

A drunken accident a few months ago changed our dynamic turning us into friends with benefits.

It really hurts constantly refer to Charles as my best friend

The truth is I’ve been in love with him for quite a few years at this point but I know he will never see as anything more than his best friend or fuck buddy

I got dressed and headed to the headquarters in Maranello, there was a welcoming meeting for Lewis Hamilton

Lewis was someone who always left me in awe, I admired Lewis so much and to be able to work with him as his race engineer seems like an absolute dream

When I got there the place was already jam packed with people- sponsors, mechanics, managers pretty much the entire Ferrari team was here to welcome him today

“Ah there you are y/n!” I turned around to be met with Fred who was closely followed by Lewis Hamilton himself

“Lewis this is y/n, she will be your race engineer for the coming season. Don’t worry she is one of the absolute best on the entire grid” he said introducing me to Lewis

“Well it’s a pleasure to meet my talented and beautiful race engineer” he said to me adding a wink causing me to blush

THE Lewis Hamilton was flirting with me

Oh god I could pass away right now.

"I'll let you two get acquainted with each other. Y/n make sure he knows all of your weird short signal things" Fred told us and disappeared into the crowd

"Lets go somewhere less crowded." Lewis said to me as he grabbed my hand and led me to an empty room

I felt my heart race as he closed the door and he sat me down in one of the chairs are we started talking

What felt like minutes took hours. We talked and talked about nearly everything, we were in our own world until my phone rang bringing us to the real world.

I looked at the caller id, it was Charles.

I picked up the call and was met with shouting on the other end

"Y/N WHERE ARE YOU? DID YOU LEAVE OR SOMETHING I'VE BEEN WORRIED SICK! I COULDN'T FIND YOU ANYWHERE AND NOBODY KNEW WHERE YOU WENT. ARE YOU OK??"

"Charles I'm fine don't worry, I'm in the conference room 002 with Lewis."

"Lewis? Why were guys in a random conference room? There's no meeting today, Fred is here mingling with everyone"

"Cha Fred told us to get familiar with each other and we couldn't really hear anything outside. You can go home if you wish, my car is with me"

Charles didn't reply and just cut the call

Me and Lewis went straight back to talking and soon enough it was time for us to leave. From next week onwards new season prep would be in full swing.

"I had a really great time with you y/n, I was wondering if I could have your number so we can talk over strategies?" Lewis asked me as we both headed out to our cars.

I blushed and typed in my phone number into his phone and we both went our separate ways

Time skip to Bahrain gp:

We were 3 races deep into the new 2025 season and me and Lewis have become closer than ever and we were going over some strategies in his drivers room in peace.

My mind doesn't go over to Charles as much anymore, Lewis's company really makes it hard to focus on anyone else.

"And that's it. What do you think?" I asked Lewis after going over the latest strategy I came up with.

"It looks really good, I think we'll do this one instead of the first one" He told me and I nodded at him and got up to leave the room to get everything ready for today's race.

"Hey y/n/n could I ask you something?" he asked as I was about to open the door

I stopped and turned to look at him and tilted my head in slight confusion but signalled him to continue

"Would you like to go out to dinner after today's race, l-like a date?"

I blushed a deep shade of red but my mind thought about the situation between me and Charles.

It was clear that he didn't like me back and I felt it was about time for me to move on from him

"The race ends at like 1 Lew, you will be too tired. Tell you what, if you place on the podium today I'll go out with you for lunch. Like a date."

I told him and went out the door but put my ear against the door to hear his cute celebration of "Yes, yes, yes! Finallllllyyyyyy!!"

After the race:

I couldn't believe it. Not only had Lewis got onto the podium, he got onto the top step of it.

It was his first race win in 3 years and his first race win with Ferrari and everyone was surrounding him congratulating him on his wonderful performance until he came up to me

"I'll be at your place at 12, dress nicely. Also thank you for you amazing strategies" he gave me a kiss on the cheek and left leaving me speechless and frozen in place

Charles pov:

I saw everybody celebrating Lewis's but I couldn't help but feel left out. I had DNF'd and I had no one to comfort me.

I knew y/n was the only person who could make me feel better in this situation so I head out to find her only to find her talking to Lewis who kissed her and left for the cooldown room.

She was standing there blushing a ferrari red with a stupidly cute grin on her face.

I felt my world crumble further. First my team started caring about my teammate more than me and now my best friend and my long time crush was in love with him and not me.

The only way we had spent time with each other the past few weeks was when my dick was buried deep inside her but I have a feeling that we won't be able to do that much more now.

I walked back to my drivers room and let out all my emotions sobbing into my hands. Y/n had just sent me a text saying we should stop the friends with benefits we had going on.

Why had the world been so cruel to me? The only support I had left was now also gone.

Time skip:

I texted Y/n for the first time in weeks wanting to hear so desperately from her. I needed to tell her how I felt regardless of how her Lewis were doing.

A/n: Hello lovelies! I'm so so so sorry for being so inactive recently. I promise there will be more fics in the near future. As always make sure to let me know your feedback and requests are NOT currently open, I have to finish a bunch that are in my inbox and I'll open up requests. Also make sure to comment to be part of the taglist! Kissies ✨

Taglist:

@grantaires-waistcoat

@tellybearryyyy

[pupyuj]

GP! Yujin "accidentally" (girl never wears condoms who we kidding) knocking you up 🙊 now you have to tell her about being a possible baby daddy🤭 what if I say she might be into it🤔👀 like her thoughts drift to you walking around carrying HER kid for the next few months. 🤭She's possessive your honor😊 honestly her reaction is totally up to you

- 🧇

oddly enough i enjoyed writing this ask but mostly bcs it's on the softer side lmao 😭 might be the only time i indulge in something involving pregnancy but who knows! baby daddy yuj was just something i could NOTTTT pass up 😳

[cw: pregnancy!, lactation kink.]

oh my god she would be flabbergasted??? 😭 yujinnie likes to tell you that she'll give you babies whenever the two of you fuck but 78% of the time she doesn't mean it!! 😣 so one day when you sit her down and tell her you're pregnant and that you have absolutely no plans to 'get rid' of the baby... well, yujin was literally speechless 😭 but she wouldn't hate it... in fact seeing you so confident about your decision to keep her child really helped her come to her own conclusion about this whole situation herself! you best believe she'll raise tf outta that baby with you 😤💕

anw back to the nasty stuff—yk how turned on yujin would be afterwards?? just staring at you while you go about your day... her boner situation so fucking bad bcs she can't stop thinking about the night she put that baby inside you... and you don't even have your little bump yet but she acts like you do!! she's always caressing your stomach while making out, makes sure to plant the sweetest kisses on it before she goes down on you too! :3

every time she's staring she's so desperate to knock you up again that she just wants to bend you over and fuck you but she gets kinda afraid?? 😭 yujinnie doesn't want to hurt you or the baby so she refrains from doing anything too crazy... but then you'd tell her that you'll both be careful so that none of you three will get hurt and suddenly she's back to being a huge fucking pervert! oh and don't even get met started on how she acts when your tits start leaking... lord.

yujin would have you sat on her lap all the time, your shirt off and perky nipples on her mouth,,, yujin has no problem getting messy with it too!! sucking on your nipples like she’s the baby 😭😭😭 makes a joke about your tits drying up by the time the kid gets here bcs she really does get addicted to them! 😵‍💫 sometimes it gets annoying how she just wants to touch you all the time but most of your anger comes from the mood swings 😭😭 all yujin has to do is kiss you and pull you around for a dance with fun music playing in the background and you’ll be fine! 🥰

about the possessive thing… well yes! 😵‍💫 yujin also gets overprotective to the point it becomes something the two of you argue about… 😭 daddy will be nagging at you a lot but that’s bcs she’s only concerned about you and the kid!! most of the time you can’t even get mad at her bcs yujin’s just being a good daddy mommy 🥺 see, she’s usually so haughty and reckless but getting you pregnant would definitely bring out a sweeter side of yujin that you’ll fall in love w her all over again 😔💕

okay now she really needs to breed me—[SIRENS BLARING]

[mediumgayitalian]

“Hello, twerp.”

Kayla grunts at him. She is focused, intently, on something small enough to be covered up by her hands and curtaining hair; Nico decides it is likely some kind of explosive. There is a reason she, Banned From Arts ‘n’ Crafts For Criminal Reasons, is sneaking into the Hermes’ cabin’s time slot and hiding behind Julia.

Instead of confirming that she is, indeed, planning to blow up at least one of her brothers’ bunks in their sleep tonight, because of Plausible Deniability, Nico swings a leg over the picnic table bench, settling in next to her. She spares a second of attention to blow a raspberry at him, seemingly unprovoked. Nico reaches calmly over, plucks a pair of scissors from Connor’s hands, which he allows because of who he is as a person, and snips a piece of her hair. In response she pulls a notebook from her pocket and puts a little tick mark next to Nico’s name.

“So,” Nico says, choosing to ignore that. “I have a Question.”

“Ten dollars.”

“I’m not paying you, you little shit.”

“Then wonder in silence.”

Nico digs two wrinkled fives from his shoe and slams them on the table, scowling. Kayla pockets them.

“Proceed.”

Nico glares at her, noting her twitching mouth, and remembers that he does, in fact, need her help, and her brother is, in fact, his best friend, so challenging her to a duel to the death is a bad idea on both counts.

(Nonwithstanding the part where she has deadly accuracy with any projectile from almost any semi-reasonable distance. And he has, like, a sword. So.)

“Your brother,” he starts, and he does not need to clarify which one, “is always trying to…feed me.”

“Yes,” she agrees, “he is internally a seventy year old Southern woman. He does that.”

“Fruits.”

“Hm.”

“Oranges, specifically. Like, every single meal.”

“…Ah.”

It is a very knowing ah, Kayla’s little noise, and in fact she sets her project aside. (It is, in fact, an explosive.) She turns slightly on the bench to face him, lips pursed, hands folded. She blinks at him for several moments. Nico holds her gaze, remembering he is out ten dollars.

“My dear brother,” she begins, “my lovely, kind-hearted, smiley, morning person brother, is neurotic.”

Nico waits. This is, apparently, the end of her sentence, as she does not continue.

“I am aware,” he says slowly. “I have been present during every rant about Hollywood inaccuracies about medical sciences.”

She nods sagely. “This is true. You have. You are, however, by virtue of his cripplingly low self esteem and fervent belief that his mere existence is a Literal Actual Curse, spared from much of his most…colourful…contingencies.”

“Contingencies,” Nico repeats.

Kayla nods again.

“Yes. You see, dear future brother-in-law —”

“Cease,” Nico snaps, reddening.

“— our lovely William, also known as your Special Guy, according to Nico With Severe Blood Loss.” continues Kayla, not ceasing, “is under the impression that you, like all people, have a Limit.”

“…A Limit.”

“Yes. A point or level beyond which something does not or may not extend or pass.”

“I know what a godsdamn limit is, Kayla.”

“You seemed confused.”

“I am going to strangle you.”

Openly snickering to herself, she moves on.

“He feeds you oranges because he regularly paces around the cabin in the middle of the night stressing about your vitamin levels,” she explains, finally. “He doesn’t know how to tell you that like a normal person because he’s afraid he’s going to weird you out. Ergo.” She makes a flippant gesture with her hands. “Citrus.”

“Why is he so godsdamn cute,” Nico mutters to himself, then remembers to throw out a hasty, “Thank you,” before scrambling away from the table, ignoring the gathered snickers, and beelining for the the Demeter cabin. “Gods.”

It is empty, thankfully, when he strolls in, except for Miranda in the front gardens, who holds up a finger as he gets closer and whispers to a struggling seedling.

“Hey,” she says after a moment, smiling up at him. “What’s up?”

“I need,” he starts. He purses his lips, rocking back on his heels. His hands make some kind of motion. He’s not sure what, exactly, he didn’t give them permission. “I need.”

Miranda, thankfully, has had years of experience communicating with non-speaking entities, and as such is relatively fluent in Nico. She dusts off her hands, patting the spot beside her. Nico sits as indicated.

“Try a deep breath first,” she instructs. “When your brain is back up and running, try again.”

“It’s running. It’s running a lot.”

“Oh. In that case, might I suggest a small shout of frustration?”

“You may.”

He clears his throat, resting his hands on his diaphragm to Maximize the Output, as he has been previously instructed, and yells. A passing satyr jumps a full five feet in the air and flees. Nico grimaces, calling apologies after them.

“They’re never going to like me,” he grumbles.

Miranda pats his head. “There, there. One issue at a time.”

“Solace,” he says at her invitation, gesturing again. “Oranges.”

“…Ah.”

“He is. You know. Right?”

“I must confess I do not.”

He takes a moment to collect himself. Or, well, he tries to. He’s had an easier time trying to wrangle errant souls surfing along the Styx, but whatever. He literally owns his brain. It Shall submit to him, or he’ll get a new one. Watch.

“Will is…intensely thoughtful.”

“He’s a sweetheart,” Miranda agrees. “Once he brushed past me on the way to dinner and felt that I was going to get a cold, so he took the food I got and exchanged it for soup and veggies and Gatorade and stuff. He forgot to actually tell me that I was about to get a cold, at the time, but it was really nice of him in hindsight.”

Nico makes another loud, strangled bleating noise. Thankfully, no satyrs are harmed.

“He is so!”

“There, there,” Miranda says again. “You’ll get to full sentences soon, I’m sure of it.”

He takes a few moments to have a minor crisis in the peace and tranquility of Friendship. It’s this new thing he’s been trying. Will tells him it’s usually called ‘trust’ and ‘vulnerability’. It is mortifying for the most part but in small doses is kind of cool. Mostly.

“Who takes care of Will?“

“He doesn’t really get sick. Apollo genes and all that.”

“No, like. Emotionally.”

“Oh.” Miranda frowns thoughtfully. “Um. Chiron, maybe? I’m not actually sure.”

“It needs to be me,” Nico stresses. “He always takes care of me, and I want to, like, repay him. Not transactionally,”Nico rushes to clarify, “but, like, mutual care-ily.”

“I see.”

“You see?”

“Yes,” Miranda says sagely. “You must Show Him. That you are Invested in your Relationship.”

“Yes!” Nico cries, gripping her by the elbows. She meets his gaze head on, eyes wide and wizened. “Yes, exactly. Relationship Investment. You’re so smart.”

Miranda preens. “Thank you.” She stands, brushing off her jeans — fruitlessly, she’s got grass stains on top of grass stains on every piece of clothing she owns — and offering Nico a hand. Together they stand and observe the various shrubs, trees, and vines surrounding the cabin, hands on their hips.

Nico narrows his eyes. “Should I just get him oranges?”

“I still don’t fully understand the orange thing. But Will likes peaches.” She leans up and plucks one off of the largest tree, holding it out to Nico. “They make him think of home.”

Nico takes the peach and inspects it. It is, of course, impeccable — thick and heavy, skin soft and unblemished, full enough with juice and flavour to be fragrant even from the arm’s length Nico holds it. This is the kind of peach that wins fairs. This is the kind of peach that sits, prized, in a market, watching as mothers and hipsters claw at each other. This is the kind of peach that immediately upon first touch strikes within you such an intense urge to chuck it at the nearest hard surface and watch it splat into a beautiful explosion of Squelch that Nico has to, hastily, set it down and out of immediate reach.

“It’s perfect,” he declares.

“Don’t throw it at him,” Miranda advises, eyeing the fruit herself.

“Shan’t,” Nico promises, and it doubles at a warning to his brain because he can’t lie to Miranda, obviously, so his brain better Check Itself. There will be no peach throwing. Peach holding, only, and peach giving.

He waves goodbye to Miranda as he hustles off, headed for the bustling infirmary. There have been no great emergencies today — there would be a lot more of Will’s echoed screeching if this were the case — and many people who have walked in have walked out, minutes later, scowling, so now is a good a time as any. He could of course wait until Will is done his shift and they meet by Cabin Seven, like usual, but this is a Pressing Issue. Will can no longer continue to believe that Nico has a Limit, as Kayla had so unhelpfully explained. Nico is Limitless. He is a sine function. He is an eternal abyss. He is the final end of Chiron’s patience, if the horse is to be believed.

Also, the peach is really really tempting and Nico honestly does not have all that much control over his brain. It usually kind of does as it pleases. That’s why he has so many Situations.

“Solace,” he shouts, banging open the screen door loud enough to make everyone inside jump, “GET the hell over here.”

“I. Am.” Will holds up a patient’s arm, which has been hastily butterfly-clamped closed and is now being stitched. “Um. Is it urgent?”

Nico snaps his mouth shut. “No.” He stalks over to where Will is sitting, still bewildered, on his favourite stool, and stands with his arms crossed behind him. He nods at the injured camper, clearing his throat. “Proceed.”

“…Okay.”

Because Will is a Professional, his gaze remains focused on the gaping wound he is fixing. Because no one else at this camp is, everyone else chooses to gawk. Nico lets the fires of Hell enter his eyes, like Father showed him, and glares them all into subservience.

“Alright,” Will says, several minutes later, patting the patient’s knee with a smile. “I’m gonna wrap this, Jen, and you gotta keep it dry, okay? Have ambrosia twice a day like I told you and come see me at the end of the week.”

“There’ll be no scar?” the young girl hedges.

“Not if you follow my instructions,” Will promises. “Although you’ll be just as beautiful with a scar, kiddo, I promise. Ask your mother.”

Jen looks at him doubtfully, but Will is one of those people who’s unbelievably hard to distrust. It’s infuriating, if you’re Nico and committed to the whole goth/emo lifestyle. Probably comforting if you’re a normal person.

She leaves, and it is abruptly very quiet in the infirmary, which is crazy because it is abruptly never quiet at camp unless people are dead, usually, but no one is dead, and people are too godsdamn nosy to flinch away from Nico’s glare, or maybe they’re not scared of him anymore, and hey, isn’t that something. The world is so busy, all the time. Things keep happening. Who’s fault is that, again?

“Nico?” Will asks, rocking back on his heels. His hands are suddenly clean of blood and grime and his scrubs have been swapped out. They stand, also, at the other end of the infirmary, right outside of the on-call room. He looks up, and conversations have resumed, and Will is watching him, intently, bright eyes slightly too wide, front teeth gnawing at his bottom lip, Ace bandage winding, unwinding, winding.

“This is for you,” Nico blurts, and shoves the peach at him.

Will blinks. “Oh.” He stares at the peach, a moment, before a smile erupts on his face. “Oh! Thank you!”

He takes the peach, gently, from Nico’s hands, and holds it close to his chest, wide hands gentle so as not to bruise, smile gone close-mouthed, giddy. The rocking gets every so slightly faster, and the slight breeze from the open screen door ruffles his frizzy hair, and his nose is scrunched, just slightly, enough to wrinkle his dotted feathers, and Nico’s mouth is very, very dry.

“I do not,” he tries, and it grinds along his paper-parched throat, near silent, “I do not have Limits, William.”

The rocking stills. Nico mourns it.

“…Sorry?”

“Limits,” Nico repeats. “I do not have them. I am Limitless. Purge the thought.”

“You have limits,” Will says, alarmed. “Um, we had that talk, right? About pushing yourself and why that is generally regarded as a bad plan.”

“That was you shouting at me in between nectar shots and frantic mothering, actually, but that’s not what I meant.”

Will doesn’t answer, only tilting his head.

“You’re neurotic,” Nico attempts to explain, and as could be expected by literally anyone with a brain this goes poorly, and he rushes to amend. “I mean! Well, you are neurotic — but! There is a but! Stop looking at me like that! You are neurotic but!”

“This is a very bad friendship break up if that is what you are trying,” says Will in a small voice, and Nico resolves to kick his own ass later tonight to Atone.

“I like it,” he hurries to explain. “You and your — neuroses. All of you, I like it. There is no Limit. Capital L. You’re groovy. On — point. Fleek? What do the kids say. I don’t —”

“Oh,” Will breathes, thankfully putting Nico out of his misery, “oh, this is about the oranges.”

Nico nods miserably.

“The oranges are —” Will cuts himself off, staring down at his shoes. “Um, scurvy freaks me out.”

“…Scurvy?”

“It — collagen synthesis is an active process? In your body? And scurvy makes it degrade really quickly. Which kind of tears your body apart by reopening scars. On top of other things. And you — were on a ship, you know. For a while. And you sweat a lot. And you don’t take the multivitamins I give you.”

“Because they’re gross,” Nico says, breathless, “and I’m not — sweaty.”

Wherever sunlight touches Will’s skin he tends to glow, slightly, and his freckles fluoresce the longer his hand takes to traverse the space between them, past the open window, resting, lightly, on Nico’s wrist.

“You are,” he says, gently. “You have — really low magnesium and potassium levels. Just, all the time.” He glances down at the inside of Nico’s wrist. “Right now, actually. Will you eat a banana if I go get you one?”

Will will go get a banana, and Nico will follow him, and they will sit, somewhere, probably the big rock by the lake, as Nico eats it, and Will will eat his peach, and Nico will watch his throat bob, and Will will talk, hands gesturing, peach juice everywhere, and they will stay there, probably, way past sunset, right till curfew, and then they will sprint, as they usually do, to avoid the harpies, and they will go to Nico’s cabin, first, because they always do, and Will will snag an orange as they run past the fruit trees by the Demeter cabin, and he will press it into Nico’s hands, firmly, smiling as he says goodnight, and running back to his own cabin. Where he will, according to Kayla, pace, and worry. Where he will rant about Limits, and how close Nico is to approaching them.

“Will,” says Nico seriously, grabbing his hands. Will’s eyes snap to his, wide, wider than usual, and they are so blue, so so blue, are things usually this blue? He’s startled by it every time. “Will, I am a sine function.”

“I don’t understand,” he admits.

Nico nods. “That’s okay! Just — peaches.” He reaches out and pats the fruit, curling Will’s fingers around them. “For you. Okay?”

Will glances down at the peach. He glances back up at Nico. He looks down, finally, at their hands, twined around the fruit, and holds there, one, two, three seconds.

“Oh,” he says, finally. “Oh, you don’t — oh.”

“Peaches,” Nico repeats, “oranges.” He pulls one hand free and draws a line between them. “You get it?”

“I get it,” Will says, softly. He looks up and smiles, small, private; too-big front teeth just barely peeling out. “You never reach your approached value.”

“I really don’t even get that close.”

“I’m kind of losing the metaphor, here.”

“Okay.”

Nico squeezes their hands together. Will squeezes back, shifting his weight.

“I’m still gonna — you still gotta get your vitamin C.”

“More oranges?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He rubs his finger over the backs of Will’s knuckles; he shivers. Nico meets his eyes and he smiles, widely, hurting his cheeks, and Will smiles back, and he rocks, and Nico is an abyss, and he is falling, falling, falling. “I like oranges.”

[fuctacles]

LATE BLOOMERS

for @steddieholidaydrabbles Spring pop-up | T | 1k | no cw | t4t w transfem Stevie and transmasc Eddie, pre relationship, mutual pining | read on Ao3 | part 2

Eddie hates spring. 

It’s getting warmer and swarms of people are going outside to piss on his good mood. Kids are screaming, parents are showing publicly how terrible they are, the sun is glaring into his eyes, and birds are chirping. Literal hell. His last slivers of peace are the nights and early mornings when everyone is still sleeping.

Except her.

She’s new here, moved in around Thanksgiving last year, and has been running daily ever since. Eddie had noticed her passing his house now and then, her chestnut ponytail swinging with the movement. 

Every morning, in a very un-Munson fashion, he sits on his porch, the cold planks digging into his ass, with a thick sweater, and a coffee warming his body. All so that he can nod at one of the many joggers blemishing the neighborhood.

He always liked drinking his morning coffee in the crisp, chilly air, still foggy and void of people, still in their beds or getting ready for work. She is a great motivator to do it every morning, to wake up to his alarm and start his day early. 

She’s like clockwork, always on time and never out of breath. Barely missed a step the first time he nodded at her in a casual “good morning, neighbor” greeting, and now every time she passes his house she looks to the side, catches his eye, and smiles, raising her hand in a small wave. 

Eddie’s heart swells in his chest and he’s on the verge of weeping into his coffee every time.

It’s all the interaction they’ve had so far, and he’s not even sure what the woman’s last name is, though the rumors he’s heard say it’s Harrington. He likes to imagine she chose this route to see him just like he chooses to wake up early every morning to drink his coffee on the porch, even though no jogging type would go for a metalhead freak like him. He might just be conveniently on the way to her favorite bakery or something. 

He hates spring a little less when it’s warm enough for local joggers to dress down. It gets him swooning over some ankle like an ancient bachelor. A couple of days later the temperatures rise to sports bra levels which he learns the hard way while choking on his coffee.

It’s tight, obviously, but no amount of support can prevent the obvious bounce accompanying the movement of running. He tries his best not to be a creep and greets her with the same smile.

He thinks he’s prepared for the sports bra the next day, but he’s heavily mistaken when the transgender flag rounds the corner. He gets the coffee on his t-shirt this time as he recognizes the top she’s wearing from the same site he used to get binders from. 

She's a little hesitant with her greeting this time, and Eddie can’t stand it. So he opens his stupid mouth and yells:

“Me too!”

She looks at him quizically so he adds, albeit a tad more timid:

“I’m trans.”

And to his absolute horror, she starts walking up to him. 

He’s thinking the worst things: maybe the colors are just a coincidence, maybe she got it because she liked it and has no idea what it means, or maybe he’s about to get shunned by the local community that he already doesn’t feel welcome in.

But then there’s a megawatt smile directed at him and every bad thought evaporates from his brain.

“Really?” she asks, and he can only dumbly nod. 

“Thank god! I worried it would be like, a problem.”

Her hand is out and she’s right in front of him.

“I’m Stephanie,” she says. Her hand is warm against the morning chill. Enveloping and strong.

“Eddie.”

She smiles, warm and teasing, wreaking havoc across Eddie’s internal organs. 

“Is there a chance I’d get a glass of water?”

Eddie straightens up immediately.

“Yes! Of course! Come in, come in!” He opens the door and motions her inside, hoping the filtering jug is full. 

It is, so he pours a glass for the gorgeous creature in his kitchen.

“Thank you,” she says politely and it’s so simple, but Eddie’s melting inside as he watches her swallow the water and lick her bottom lip.

“Hey, listen…”

“Mhm?” he makes a questioning sound, eyes drawn to the way she crosses her arms, making the muscles flex and frame her cleavage.

“Would it be weird if I asked to borrow a sweater? I heavily overestimated the weather today.”

Eddie was nodding before she was even finished, head bopping so hard he was getting dizzy. 

“No! Just give me a moment!” he said before running up the stairs to his bedroom to grab the first clean hoodie he could find. “Here.”

“Thank you.” She smiles and he has the pleasure of watching her put on his clothing. “It’s stupid, but I’ve been dressing up, or dressing down rather, to…” She bites her lip as she zips up the hoodie. There’s a flaking-away Metallica logo across the chest. “There’s this metalhead on my route I wanted to impress, I guess.”

Eddie swallows down the lump in his throat.

“I’m pretty sure you’d impress him in a skiing suit.”

She chuckles. 

“You think so? Maybe I should just suck it up and ask him out then,” she wonders out loud, turning to leave, and Eddie’s stomach sinks. But then she’s turning back and laughing again.

“Eddie! Do you want to go out with me?”

The relief he feels melts his bones. 

“Of course I do! Why do you think I’ve been freezing my ass on the porch every morning?” He goes for the snark because he doesn’t know how to deal with having this beautiful woman’s full attention.

“Breakfast tomorrow? The usual time?” she asks. Because of course, she’d take him on an early morning date.

“Should I buy a tracksuit?” he jokes, but to his horror, her eyes sparkle.

“That would be perfect.”

Stevie event interest check

[wileys-russo]

Can I request one with Leah boyfriend vibes where she's like an annoying teenage boyfriend to the point where we get really mad at her and she gets super soft until we're all right back and then she just goes back to annoying us like always

I feel like that's literally Leah. That cocky smile does things to me

I really love your work 🫶🥹

teenage love II l.williamson

"honey i'm hoome!" you heard your girlfriend sing out sarcastically as her keys jingled in the front door. "hi baby." you greeted happily, the girl dropping her kit bag by the front door. "oh leah get off you're all sweaty!" you whined in disgust as she wrapped you in a hug, just having finished training for the day.

"training went really really well, thank you for asking baby that's so kind of you to care how my career is going." the taller girl sighed dramatically, refusing to loosen her grip on you as you struggled to get away. "go have a shower." you finally pulled away, shoving her off you as the blonde only grinned.

"you secretly love it." she blew you a kiss and a sharp slap echoed around the room as she smacked your bum before jogging upstairs before you could tell her off for it.

with a roll of your eyes you disapeared back into the laundry, folding your girlfriends clean washing and humming along to the song playing from your phone tucked in your back pocket. you didn't hear leah return however a pile of dirty clothes landing on your head certainly alerted you to her presence.

"seriously?" you turned quickly with a glare and yanked them off, throwing them at her in distaste as she only gave you a cheeky smile and moved next to you to load them into the machine.

"you're so annoying." you grumbled under your breath, smacking her hands away as they poked at your side and she was momentarily distracted by fiddling around with the settings of the washer.

"oh my god move i'll do it." you sighed in frustration, pushing her to the side and setting up the machine, clicking for it to began the cycle, glaring at the blonde over your shoulder as she once again smacked your bum with a cheeky smile.

"even though i know that you know how to use the washer." you warned her as she pulled herself to sit up on the dryer, well aware leah only pretended not to know how to do things knowing you'd just take over and do them for her.

"excuse me babe i don't take lightly to these heinous accusations." the blonde gasped, clutching a hand to her chest as you ignored her and went back to folding her clean clothes.

"don't." you warned as your girlfriend kicked you lightly from behind, swinging her long legs as she remained perched on the dryer with a grin. you bit your tongue as she did it again and again, hoping she'd get bored and leave if you just ignored her, which usually worked since she had the attention span about as long as a blink.

you got your wish as she hopped down from the dryer, kissing your cheek sweetly as she passed by. though the nice moment was ruined as she pushed over the neatly folded stack of clothes, sprinting out of the room as they toppled to the floor.

"leah!" you yelled after her, dragging your hands down your face with a groan. "honestly and she's supposed to be older?" you muttered to yourself with a huff as you shoved her clean clothes into a basket.

"here's your clothes and your kit for tomorrow, fold them or leave them on the floor. i don't care!" you dumped the basket upside down beside the blonde on the lounge. "oh these are so warm, how did you know i was cold?" the taller girl made a point to lay down among the pile of clothes with a content sigh.

you bit the inside of your cheek as she smiled at you smugly, turning on heel and walking away, determined not to give her the satisfaction of your annoyance, you could swear she was a sixteen year old teenage boy and not a twenty six year old woman.

how she could switch from being so serious and stone faced on the pitch to sometimes the most infuriatingly immature human being you've ever met was a mystery you were yet to solve. she was lucky she was so annoyingly attractive and you were so in love with her or else you may have covered up her murder by now.

having a rare moment of peace you put away your own clean clothes in the bedroom, hearing the occasional pelt of your girlfriends laughter from downstairs as she entertained herself with a movie.

with a sigh you put away the trainers she'd tossed around the room when trying to decide which pair to wear today, full well knowing it would be you who tripped over them in three days time when they were still there.

you let out a loud scream as the tall blonde zapped you in the ribs from behind, you'd not even heard her come up. "don't do that!" you breathed out shakily, shoving her away with a glare. "i'm sorryyy." she sung out, pulling you into a hug as you kept your arms by your side.

"oh baby you've forgotten how to hug. well look we get these, and we put them here-" the girl grabbed your wrists, wrapping your arms around her back. "and then we squeeze!" you yelped as she suddenly picked you up off the ground, forcing you to cling onto her tightly.

"-and thats how you hug, you're welcome." the girl smirked, her hands gripping your thighs holding you up.

"you're insufferable you know that?"

~

"oo can i have a sandwich please babe?" you asked politely as your girlfriend returned to her spot beside you on the lounge, your errands for the day finally done meaning you could relax.

"sure. the bread is over there, and the ham is in the fridge." leah answered with a mouthful of food, pointing over her shoulder, eyes zoned in on the tv as you scoffed. "you're literally the worst." you smacked her leg hard and stood to your feet.

"oh thank you." your own sandwich that you made was snatched from your hand as you sat back down, leah taking a large bite as you stared at the smirking blonde in disbelief. you launched yourself at her as she laughed and held it out of reach, easily a good foot or two taller than you were.

"do you really want to do this? you know i'll win." leah grinned as you tried to grab your food back, climbing practically on top of her. "gimme it! god you're so annoying!" you grunted, leah taking another bite of the sandwich to spite you as she pushed you easily away with her free hand.

"leah!" you glared as she pressed her foot to your chest, long legs holding you off as she continued to eat your sandwich. "okay i have had enough!" you snapped, shooting to your feet as your girlfriend took the final bite, making a point to lick her fingers clean.

"you are always going out of your way to wind me up, you purposefully do the most basic tasks wrong so that i have to do them, you can't pick up after yourself, i do all the cooking and the cleaning, you lick your fucking finger and shove it in my ear, you-" you continued to rant, leah simply watching you with a cocky smile and her arms folded over her chest, man spreading arrogantly as she always did.

"what the fuck are you smiling at?" you spat, face twisted into a murderous glare with your fists balled by your sides. "you, you're just so gorgeous." she complimented, taking you off guard a little as you came down to earth, un-clenching your hands and taking a deep breath.

"come here." the blonde chuckled, grabbing the waistband of your shorts and tugging you to sit on her lap. "i love you so very much my girl, and i appreciate everything you do for me. it doesn't go unnoticed and i'll make more of an effort to help out." leah spoke, rarely serious for once as you nodded.

"that would be nice, thank you." "but not all the time...you look way too fit when you're pissed off with me." "god you are annoying."