#There’s more I just pivoted a few times

[eqt-95]

💖 rough kiss / hot and heavy / making out

please👉👈

oh anon, i am definitely the wrong person for this one, but here goes nothing:

- - - - - -

Lena has a secret. 

No, it isn't that she’s doubling as a superhero in her free time. That’s Kara.

And no, it isn't that she has an unquenchable crush on her best friend. They'd solved that eons ago.

And definitely no, it isn’t that her toy collection is extensive and well-stocked. Everyone at game night already knows about that.

The secret went like this: 

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Lena replied with the innocence of a Luthor.

“So it just so happens that the bartender who has been making eyes at you all night is now being sized-up by my sister?”

“Correlation without causation. I thought you were a scientist,” Lena shrugged and tried her best to conceal a knowing smile.

“Uh-huh,” Alex replied with an arched eyebrow that said much more. “And that fact he grabbed your ass on the way to the bathroom?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Well I for one am not about to do a bunch of paperwork over an NDA because Kara can’t keep it together over this ass-hat groping you, so if you will excuse me-”

- - - -

And this: 

“Hey babe?”

“Hm?”

“What’s this?”

Lena looked up from her work and squinted at the letter gripped in Kara’s hand. 

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just some administrative stuff,” Lena hummed and returned to her work.

“Doesn’t look like ‘nothing’. It looks like you were served.”

The scowl that followed was one that could be seen from space which meant it was impossible to ignore from across their apartment. Lena rolled her eyes. 

“It’s just Morgan Edge playing bully again, darling.”

“Yea but,” Kara continued, eyes skimming the multi-page document that now had a few extra crinkles in it. “He’s suing for patent rights? Who does he think he is-”

“It’s nothing, really. I’ll handle it tomorrow.”

“You shouldn’t have to handle it in the first place.”

“It’s fine. Let’s just-”

But Kara was already gone through the terrace door and halfway across the city.

- - - -

And most of all, this:

“Ms. Luthor, The Sun has accused you of covering up nearly a dozen fatalities since-”

“Lena Luthor, it has been alleged that Obsidian North’s stolen technology was found in L-Corp’s latest-”

“Ms. Luthor, how do you explain the recent deaths associated with-”

“How do you sleep at night when your maniac brother is still on the loose-”

“No comment,” Lena repeated for the eighteenth time. She pushed ahead, trying to find a path between L-Corp’s front door and the waiting car that would take her home. Unfortunately, the best path was also the longest. Worse, when she looked ahead, her car was nowhere to be found. What she did find was wall-to-wall traffic and no chance of freedom.

Great.

More questions were hurled, a flash sent blotches across her vision. Another came an inch away and sent her staggering. It felt like a garbage compactor except worse because garbage compactors weren’t sentient creatures known for shouting lies while doing its job.

She clambered through the crowd and found a gap. She glanced around for her security guard who was lost amidst a second offshoot of angry journalists and misinformed citizens. Now wasn’t the time for manners as three journalists and an oversized camera pivoted toward her, so instead of waiting, she booked it down the sidewalk.

They followed with vigor and ignorance and a stubbornness that would have made Lillian proud, shouting rather uncreative conspiracy theories and growing closer by the second. Lena turned a corner then, in a move she might have patted herself on the back for, slipped into an alley. She breathed a sigh of relief until-

“Ms. Luthor-”

“Lena Luthor-”

“-you can’t hide from the truth.” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Lena heaved, staggering backwards in the kind of stereotypical way she mocked television shows for.

The cameraman was fastest, breaking into her personal space and jamming the lens into her face.

“Ms. Luthor-”

“-is it true Supergirl won’t speak to you?”

“-how does it feel having National City’s Darling reject you?”

What happened next might have been comical if Lena weren’t breathless, irritated, and fuming that her anniversary dinner was being interrupted by a wave of wannabe reporters hanging onto the coattails of the marketing dollars that funded their tabloids. 

Be that as it was, she was not in her usual smirky-mood when the burst of air sent all of them turning on heel to find an equally irritated and equally fuming Supergirl towering over them with the kind of anger usually reserved for the extra-bad baddies.

“S-supergirl,” they all seemed to whimper in unison. 

The camera was fumbled then dropped. The lens splintered with a deserved crack. A few short seconds later, it was the only evidence anyone with a press badge had been there.

“Where’d you take them?” Lena asked when Kara whooshed down moments later. She pushed off the brick wall and closed the distance, raising her hands to fix Kara’s ruffled cape.

“I considered the middle of the Pacific-” Kara shrugged.

“Oh is that right?” Lena smirked, letting her hands climb to brush an errant strand of hair into place.

“But then I remembered the whole ‘hope, help, and compassion’ thing,” she continued, her own hands finding a home on Lena’s waist. “So I dropped them off just outside the city limits instead.”

And there it was: the secret. Somewhere between Kara, all beet-faced and rage hovering over the cowering reporters and then dragging said group of gaggling reporters to the edges of town, Lena felt it - that tiny pang of warmth and safety and appreciation that always came with her overprotective Kryptonian. It also usually sent a tiny pang of something else through her.

“Well that was very big of you,” Lena replied, the gap between lips narrowing. “But just so you know,” she continued, her breath ghosting across Kara’s lips, “I had it handled-”

Kara skipped her lines and closed the gap, pressing lips, hands, and body against Lena until her back found the brick wall again and nothing but the taste, touch, and smell of Kara consumed her. Lips dragged to Lena’s jawline then neck then exposed shoulder. Hands grabbed against the restrictions of fabric. Lena cursed (again) the constraints of a supersuit.

“I really need to design you a new suit,” Lena huffed.

“Probably for the best.” Kara replied, fingers venturing dangerously close to public indecency. “Alex says we need to leave before someone sees us anyway.”

“Tell Alex to stop committing voyeurism. There are websites for that.”

“Oh, she did not like that,” Kara snickered, lips pressing a final kiss to the crook of Lena’s neck. 

“Turn that thing off and take me home, Supergirl.”

“What about our reservations?”

“I have other dinner plans tonight.”

- - - - -

ask game

#I headcanon that Lena secretly likes when Kara gets overprotective of her not because it causes a scene but because it reinforces the feelin #which was like. kind of definitely missing from her childhood #the make-out sessions that follow aren’t too bad either #the dinner that follows the make-out session aren't too bad either either #anon #qs with quinn #ask game

[rileyglas]

The List ~Pt. 12 - Conviction~

Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) x Reader

Summary: As you train for Extermination Day, your power intensifies, granting you visions of a dark future. Determined to save those you love, you battle through the Exorcists, facing relentless challenges. Things take a turn mid battle, leading to an unexpected twist of fate.

Themes: The usual angst, mystery, sassiness, cursing, fluff, actual plot, slow burn, Rosie is the sweetest, eventual smut, and of course 18+

4.2k Words

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5  Part 6 Part 7 Part 7.A Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 (You're on it!)

**sentences in italics are internal thoughts of the reader

When Alastor said you needed to train together, you weren’t entirely sure what he meant. You half expected to just practice fighting each other but the reality was more exhausting. You both felt your abilities expanding, yet you’ve been struggling more than anticipated. It is one thing having to adjust from small needles to heftier daggers, but the focus it takes to stop objects is an entirely different challenge. When you did it at V Tower it was in the heat of the moment, you didn’t have the time to think about it. Now you’ve spent almost three days trying to hone in the new ability with no luck. 

After multiple failures Alastor suggests to up the stakes. “Maybe you need to feel threatened in order to channel the power?” he teases half joking, half serious. Vaggie overhears this and is quick to volunteer, throwing her spear directly at your chest from across the lawn. You reach your hand out but nothing happens. Oh shit. A dark shield surrounds you, making the weapon bounce off and clatter to the ground. You snap your head to Alastor to see his cane omitting green sparks, “How did you do that?!” 

He shrugs, “Quite an interesting development, I suppose.” Charlie runs over excitedly, “If you’re able to cast that over the hotel, it could buy us needed time and protection! What do you think?” The two start to scheme how and when the shield could help against the Exorcists. Within a few tries, he effortlessly produces one large enough to surround the hotel. Feeling utterly defeated, you huff in frustration. I need to focus, I’m no use dead. Why is this so difficult NOW? 

“Must I be the one near death in order for you to do this, dear?” You feel Alastor’s hot breath suddenly breeze across your neck. You scoff and shake your head, “Apparently!” Vaggie enthusiastically picks up her spear again, more than eager to throw it at Alastor but you’re quick to shut her down, “Don’t even think about it! I do not wish to test that theory!!” She pouts and walks away disappointed.

Finally you’re able to get away from the madness. You plop onto the couch in the foyer, leaning your head against the backrest. I just need a few minutes to rest my eyes. The instant your eyes close, you feel your mind slip away from exhaustion. 

Golden blood rains on top of you. Angels, if you can even call them that, fall left and right. Screams of battle fill the air. It seems as though all the training and planning with the rest of the hotel and cannibals is actually working. “Eat shrapnel fuckers!!!” Cherry Bomb releases her grenades into a group of Exorcists. You toss a few angelic steel daggers to finish off a few she missed. “Fuck yeah! Keep it going girl!” she yells over her shoulder. Nifty runs around stabbing the already fallen angels while also collecting your weapons. Carmilla managed to get you a small handful but it was plenty so long as Nifty could return them to you quickly. She hands over the bundle manically laughing, “Stab, Stab, STAB!!!”

Looking up, you see Alastor battling Adam atop the roof. His shadow demons swarm the Exorcist leader making him curse and lose focus. There you go, keep a distance and you’ve got him Al. A smile creeps across your face, amazed by how well Charlie’s plan is working. 

You pivot your focus to a few cannibals in need of healing. The amount of energy it takes to heal so many injuries back to back is draining but not impossible, especially with Alastor close by. As you finish mending a wound on Rosie’s shoulder, a pang hits your chest. 

The neon sign above the hotel flickers as Alastor’s tentacles flail and throw Adam around. A voice thunders overhead, “- Radio is fuckin’ dead!” Adam swings his guitar, slashing Alastor nearly in two. You watch his lifeless body flip over the roof railing and plummet to the ground. 

Any power or sense you usually have of Alastor disappears completely. You stumble over to him, violently heaving from the sickness settling in your stomach, but it’s too late. Even as you cradle his body, kissing him, begging him to wake up, it’s all in vain. This can’t be it. This wasn’t supposed to happen…You hear screams echoing around you. It takes a moment for you to realize it’s your voice filling the air. 

“Hey Toots - Toots! Stop yelling! Come on, snap out of it!” You open your eyes to a very concerned Angel trying to shake you awake. “Kid, you alright?” Husk rests a hand on your shoulder. Your brain catches up and brings you back to the present, regrounding yourself in the lobby of the hotel. You shake your head trying to answer, voice hoarse, “Al - where -” 

“What is going on? Is someone hurt?” Alastor paces through the lobby having heard the commotion. His smile falters seeing the disheveled state you’re in. He rushes to you, unintentionally (or probably intentionally) shoving aside Husk with his cane. He drops to his knees to grab your face, “What is it? What happened?” his voice wavers in a mix of worry and anger. 

You throw your arms around him, making him grunt from how tight your grip is, “Nothing. Just - Just a nightmare.” you whisper into his neck. But was it really a nightmare? Everything was so vivid and clear. It was as surreal as when you dreamt of your life on Earth. It felt real. You let go to sit back on the couch, taking both his hands, “I think the stress and exhaustion is getting to me. Nothing a good night's rest won’t fix.” He nods but his eyes reflect doubt. He knows you all too well by now.

“Really, I’m fine. Let’s get back to training.” You attempt to put on a more confident voice for everyone. Angel and Husk walk away to the bar, mumbling something about the possibility of cracking under pressure. You know it’s far from the truth. You spent years on Earth preparing, training, and enduring the battles of war. It wasn’t a foreign feeling, quite the contrary, it was nice to have some familiarity even under these insane circumstances. But this dream truly felt different. 

Alastor insisted you go to bed early and you happily complied. As soon as your head hits the pillow you’re out. However, the “dream” returns, exactly as before. The raining of blood, Cherry Bomb, Rosie’s injury, and then -

“My dear I’m right here, what’s going on?” he wraps his body around you, pulling you out of your nightmare. Your throat strains once again. A cold sweat covers your body but your blood feels like wildfire. You sit up and brush back your hair, “I - I don’t think this is just a dream anymore Al. This entire time we’ve been training, trying to grow our power together and I think…maybe mine has evolved into seeing flashes of what’s to come. Is that possible?” your chest heaves trying to regain some composure.

He ponders for a moment, “Well it is entirely possible I’d say. The question is, do you receive the visions to change the future or is it foreshadowing the inevitable -” “Don’t say that.” you cut him off sharply. He recoils at your sudden aggression, then softens when he notices your eyes beginning to well up. With a deep sigh, he places a kiss on your temple, “You’re dreaming about Extermination Day, aren’t you?” You remain silent, unable to find the right words without crying. The back of his hand gently brushes your cheek, “You can tell me, my love. It can only help for me to have some insight.” 

Fighting through tears, you tell him every detail of what you’ve been seeing. There had to be a reason you were given the vision, you refuse to believe otherwise. After explaining the dream you begin to ramble, “You can’t fight Adam. He’s too strong. Let me do it or maybe I can join you or maybe we can get Lucifer -” He shakes his head, shushing you, “No - no, the plans have already been put in place. You need to be on the ground to assist the others. Besides, we both know Lucifer will only step in if Charlie is in danger. You’ve given me enough to predict how Adam will fight. I can use that to my advantage and have the upper hand on him. Things will be different.”

You rest against his chest, entwining your fingers with his, “I’ll hold you to that.” you mutter under your breath. He brings the back of your hand to his lips, “Get some rest. We have two days to gather our strength. Should - or rather when - we get through this, we still have the deal with Lucifer to handle.” You nod. The pit in your stomach weighs heavily at the thought that there is still another battle awaiting at the end of all of this, but you try to shake off the feeling, knowing your mind needs to stay clear for the sake of the hotel and your friends. Rule #3 K̵e̷e̴p̴ ̷t̸h̴o̴s̷e̵ ̷y̶o̴u̵ ̶l̴o̷v̶e̴ ̸c̶l̴o̷s̴e̷

In the blink of an eye it was already the eve of Extermination Day. Charlie delivered a more than fitting speech, giving everyone a glimmer of hope. How this charming, sweet, hopeful woman was the daughter of someone like Lucifer, you didn’t know. Maybe it was the fall that jaded him? Maybe the loss of Lilith pushed him over the edge? All you knew is that she radiated a warmth that everyone could feel, even Alastor. 

“Ah, the celebratory night before a courageous last stand. It's been a surprising thrill to witness these wayward souls find connection. Almost makes one sentimental, eh, Niffty?" you overhear him from the balcony as you sit at the bar with the other hotel members. Angel grabs your attention with a few pokes to your side, “So, are ya really an Overlord? I thought that line o’ work required you to be a ruthless asshole.”

You take a swig of whiskey and chuckle, “Even in Hell, kindness can get you far, so long as you put your trust in the right people.” A scoff comes from across the bar, “Interesting take considering your choice in men.” Husk grumbles, cocking an eyebrow at you then up to Alastor. You slide your now empty glass over to him as a silent refill request. 

“Last I checked that man and I are the only two saving graces you all have for tomorrow. I know you aren’t friends, but maybe show some appreciation towards his willingness to help. I don’t see Lucifer jumping in on the front line.” You bite harsher than intended. There is a part of you that harbored pity for Husk. Going from a prestigious Overlord to nothing but a pet had to come with its share of personal demons. You try not to take his bitterness to heart.  He growls as he slides back a filled glass, “I had a feeling there was more to you than you let on. Al wouldn’t take an interest in just anyone.” “Oh I think he has more than just interest in our friend here. Heard her screaming his name from down the hall yesterday!” Angel jeers but the grimace on your face erases his smile. You stare vacantly into your glass remembering the night before, the blood, the screams, Alastor’s limp, lifeless body. “Hey dollface lighten up! I’m just giving yous a hard time. What ya do in the bedroom is -” “That’s not the reason I was screaming last night.” you say abruptly. Husk and Angel share a brief look of concern. “I’ve been having nightmares about tomorrow. Every single one ends the same and every time I wake up yelling out for him.” you throw back your drink and slam it against the bar. They continue to stare, speechless, while you stand to shimmy on your jacket. “We will make it through tomorrow, I promise.” Rule #2 D̷o̸n̷’̷t̵ ̴b̸e̶ ̸a̸f̴r̸a̶i̴d̵ ̶t̵o̶ ̸s̷h̶o̵w̸ ̴y̸o̶u̷r̴ ̴p̵o̴w̵e̵r̶ With a grim smile you walk out of the lobby, needing a walk and some fresh air. 

You only make it a few steps from the door when a voice calls out to you. Turning, you see Rosie sitting on a bench out front. Though you’d never formally met the woman you recognize her immediately from the Overlord meetings. She waves you over and motions for you to take a seat, “Ya know when Alastor came to me saying he fancied someone, I knew they had to be something quite special. He didn’t mention, however, what an absolute gem you are!” You share a bashful giggle. Alastor has talked about Rosie a few times in the past, always alluding to her being one of his closest friends since arriving in Hell.

“Thank you Miss Rosie. I’ve heard nothing but good things about you. We all truly appreciate your assistance with the cannibals. Will you be joining us tomorrow?” You make conversational pleasantries, as if you didn’t already know the answer. “Oh, of course! Though I might be more on the sidelines. The townspeople can get pretty rambunctious when given free reign.” Her sweet demeanor radiates much like Charlie’s. Even with the darkest thoughts spiraling behind your eyes, you can’t help but smile hearing her enthusiasm. 

A question pops into your mind. If anyone knows Alastor and his past, it’s Rosie. You look around to ensure no other ears are around, dropping your voice so it doesn’t carry, “Miss Rosie may I ask an unusual question? It’s regarding Alastor.” 

Her black eyes widen with curiosity, “Well of course darlin’. Anything at all! What’s on your mind?” You take a deep breath and focus nervously on your hands resting in your lap. “I know about his deal and I know about Lilith. Did he ever…have any feelings towards her? Or rather made her think he did in an attempt to sway her in some way?” As soon as the question leaves your mouth, a twist of regret and embarrassment sets in. Here you are, the night before possibly losing the most important people in your (after)life, and you’re asking mundane things like this. I’m so stupid…

“Oh my -” she sits back, taken off guard by such an inquisition. There’s a tense silence for a few moments which only makes your heart sink deeper in anticipation. A small smile returns to her face after having collected her thoughts, “Alastor has done a lot to get to where he is today. You’re aware of that I’m sure. When he spoke of Lilith and his plans, there was always something more sinister behind that smile of his. He only became truly passionate when he mentioned the power he would obtain and the possibility of being more than just an Overlord.” 

She sets a light hand on your shoulder. You turn to meet her gaze and her voice softens, “But in all my years of knowing Alastor, I’ve never seen him so smitten when talking about someone. I see how his eyes follow you around here. He holds the look of a man willing to set both Heaven and Hell ablaze for you. Does that help answer your question?” 

A warmth builds in your chest, you smile and nod through a few tears of happiness, “I think it does. Thank you.” Rule #1 B̶e̸ ̷o̵p̶e̶n̶ ̶t̷o̶ ̷t̴r̸u̸s̸t̵,̶ ̷b̸u̵t̴ ̶n̵e̵v̷e̸r̷ ̷d̶o̵ ̶s̴o̷ ̴b̶l̷i̴n̵d̴l̷y̶ You pat her hand still atop your shoulder. She takes your hand, fiddling with the few rings you have on, “You share something so special with him. I can’t wait to see what the future holds for you two.” She glances behind you and lights up, “Speak of the handsome demon - Alastor, dearie, how are you this evening!?” she waves at him while you try to brush away the tears without him noticing. “Ah, marvelous as always, my dear. I see you’ve already acquainted yourself with my darling other half?” his smile widens as he sets a possessive hand to your back.“Yes and she is just a doll! It’s almost unbelievable such a gal would become entangled with the likes of you!” Rosie teases playfully. She pats your arm and stands, “Such a pleasure to finally meet you, but it is getting late. I’m off to rest up for tomorrow. Have a wonderful evening you two.” She gives a quick kiss to Alastor's cheek, mumbling something to him before gliding gracefully into the hotel. Alastor slides in beside you on the bench, crossing his legs and wrapping an arm around you. “Good company is never hard to find with Rosie.” he sighs contently, “How are you feeling, dear?” You snuggle closer and lean your head against his chest, “As good as I can I suppose.” He hums agreeingly. A comfortable silence falls between you. The closer he is, the more at ease you always feel. In the quiet of the evening an idea stirs. 

“I’ve been thinking Al…I know your contract limits your power. Maybe for the sake of tomorrow, we can try to break it before the fight?” His fingers tighten against your skin, “Absolutely not.” he answers sternly. You pull away, surprised by the brunt response, “But - it could be just what we need to -” He raises a hand and cuts you off, “I said no. We don’t know what predicaments that can cause.” A small pout makes your lip quiver. I only want what’s best for him. If it would help, I’d be more than willing to take that chance. His finger hooks under your chin to pull you closer, “I appreciate your sentiments dear but you will need to trust me on this. Everything will be handled in due time.” he whispers above your lips before closing the space. 

What starts as a soft peck swells into something more passionate. His hands smooth down to your waist and he presses into you hungrily. You return his intensity, threading your fingers through his hair. After a few moments you break away, breathless, “Don’t do that.” “Do what?” he pants through a smug smile. Your finger glides across his lower lip as your eyes burn into his, “Don’t kiss me as if it’s our last.” His toothy grin spreads under half-lidded eyes, “Of course it’s not! Though after tomorrow, I hope you know we will not be leaving our room for a few days. The heat of battle just might awaken something more between us.” he growls into your ear while his fingers tease the hem of your shirt. You giggle and push him away, “Let’s just try to get through the next twenty-four hours, shall we?” 

He chuckles, offering his hand, “As you wish. Off to bed then?” You take his hand and within a second you’re back in your room. Only a few hours of rest before battle, something that felt all too familiar. Your entire future in Hell relies on what happens tomorrow. You try to hold onto any bit of sheer hope as you relax against Alastor’s chest and drift off. Rule #4 T̷u̵r̷n̸ ̸y̵o̶u̵r̴ ̶w̵e̴a̶k̸n̸e̶s̶s̶ ̴i̷n̶t̷o̶ ̴s̴t̵r̵e̴n̵g̸t̷h̵

Everyone stands outside the hotel, weapons in hand. As Heaven opens up, Alastor’s shield forms around the perimeter. Only a few Exorcists make it through and they’re easily disposed of. “It’s working!” Charlie exclaims excitedly. 

Just when you think the last of the Exorcists are dealt with, Adam’s fist shatters the entirety of the shield. Shit - ready or not Al, here he comes. You continue to fight alongside the others, using your daggers in between healing some of the more vulnerable cannibals. Then it begins. 

Golden blood begins to drop from the sky. Cherry Bomb. Nifty. Your chest pounds reliving the very nightmare you’ve watched unfold multiple times. A shout of pain brings you out of your horror filled haze. You watch an Exorcist throw a spear into Rosie, luckily only hitting her shoulder. You swiftly toss a few daggers to drop the Angel and grab ahold of the Cannibal Overlord. 

“Miss Rosie, I got you.” You press a kiss to her hand, flinching slightly from the pain radiating through your shoulder. Her expression is both shocked and impressed, “Handy little thing aren’t ya? Thank you, dear!” She lovingly pats your face then begins tearing apart the Angel on the ground. 

The flickering of the neon above you makes your heart drop. You freeze, watching the battle on the roof. All the air leaves your lungs as Adam swings, only instead of hitting Alastor, you hear a metallic snap followed by a wail of pain. Fuck fuck fuck I need to get to him. As you rush towards the building a black shadow slides up your legs, holding you in place. “No! Let me go!” you scream to the ground.

An eerie silence falls over the battlefield. Charlie runs over and clings to you, “Please…it’s Pentious…tell me you can do something!?” She starts to sob into your shoulder, “Please…Adam zapped him and the Egg Bois…” she whimpers. You look around but don’t see them anywhere, “Charlie, I’m sorry. I can only heal what I can see and touch…I - I can’t bring back the dead…”

She screams out, transforming into her demon form and taking off on Razzle towards Adam. You remain held down by Alastor’s shadows. “Take me to him now!” you beg the shadow attached to your legs. Your pleas go ignored. Enraged, your hand begins to glow, “GET OFF!” you scream as your power pushes the shadowy fingers off your legs. Finally free, you continue towards the hotel. Before you hit the door a large blast rips through the center of the building, making the walls crumble around you. The shadows once again flood around your feet but this time the world around you fades out. Your body swims through darkness. In the past you’ve always been sent straight to another location. This time, however, he holds you within the shadows. 

After who knows how long, the world begins to fade in again. The demolished remains of Alastor’s tower surround you, clouded by dust and smoke. Being held in the shadow state for so long felt like being on a ship in a storm. You stumble to your knees trying to regain your balance. “Alastor?” You call out, coughing from the thick air. 

Pained grunts can be heard to your right. You stagger over and find Alastor sitting up against a broken beam. Blood gushes from a wound across his chest, “Damnit…” You mumble, straddling his legs to get a better look at the gash and keep him still. “Don’t!” He snaps as your hands run across his chest. 

You sit back on your heels with a puzzled look, “Don’t what? Heal you? Are you stupid? You’re going to bleed out!” You place your hands on his shoulders, pinning him in place, “Hold still, I can -” “I said don’t!” he shoves your body to the side and shuffles away from your reach. You freeze watching the blood continue to drip down his body. “I should have had him. He was weak!” he huffs angrily through the pain. “At least if this kills me, we won’t have to worry about Lucifer’s deal.” 

“Not funny.” you whisper, slowly crawling back towards him. He holds a hand out in protest, “You’re already weakened from healing the others. I don’t want to risk what this could do to you!” you ignore his resistance and continue to climb over him. Your legs cage him in and your hands gently press his body to the floor by his shoulders. His eyes flicker between red and black as he pants under you. 

“Please, my love, this is not your pain to bear. You’re not strong enough. Not after everything -” he pleads weakly through a raspy voice. His eyes begin to glaze over and his smile fades. You cup his cheek, grinning through teary eyes, “There was only ever one choice when it came to the deal with Lucifer. I love you, and I’d die a thousand times more if it meant saving you.” 

Before he can respond, your lips crash into his. He captures your screams of pain with his mouth. You feel his arms wrap around your writhing body as a hot white fire burns across every fiber of your being. You peek through blurred vision long enough to see a single teardrop fall from his eyes. 

He breaks the embrace and sits up to cradle you, “You stupid, stubborn, beautiful woman…” he coos while brushing the hair away from your sweat soaked face. You spasm in his arms, the fire still tearing through you, gasping for any air your lungs can contain. Your eyes start to roll back and he shakes you gently to keep you awake, voice wavering, “No, you don’t get to leave me now. There’s too much we still need to do.” 

Through the blinding pain, you feel him slip something onto your finger. He leans down and kisses your forehead. “I choose to never live without you.” He breathes against your skin. You can almost make out a bright glow of pink and green growing around you before your vision fades and your body goes limp in his arms. 

Tag List (Let me know if you would like to be added!)

@rl800 @fairyv-ice @looking1016 @martinys-world @sirens-and-moonflowers 

@alastorssimp @alastorsgirl48 @mysterisumone @ohnah2022 @catticora

@eris-norwega @kaylopolis @littlebluefishtail @little-slyvixen @laudrawin 

@qu1cks1lversb1tch @diffidentphantom @rapturenyx @purplerose291 @mcntsee

@iheartalastor @written1nthest4rs @cloverresin20

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #alastor smut #hazbin #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x you #slow burn #female reader #fem reader #x reader #reader insert #fanfic #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #radio demon #lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer x reader #hazbin lucifer #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel lilith #lucifer x lilith #hazbin lucifer x reader

[sapphicscholar]

Hacks Episode 3x09 Thoughts

Okay, so back during S2, I wrote up my thoughts about each pair of Hacks episodes as they dropped – partially for sharing but largely as an archive for myself of my own thoughts/feelings to revisit when I watched the episodes later to see how they held up, how it compared to watch them serially vs. as a whole season, etc. Anyway, I was incredibly stressed out and busy for much of this season (after over a year of that being the key set of words to describe my life), but I wanted to throw out my thoughts about the finale before they grow too stale! And maybe I’ll come back and revisit the prior episodes in posts later when I have the time (hopefully in just a couple short weeks!) to enjoy them properly

As always, disjointed bulleted lists are the name of the game, going from the big picture to the detailed:

Overall, this felt like a very solid episode in the vein of season 1 in many ways! It brought us back to the interpersonal as the primary ground of conflict after many episodes (here and in S2) of the new hour, the special, and the Late Night host gig quest being our main plot drivers (which, at many times, made for weaker storytelling for reasons that exceed the scope of this post!). In particular, I felt like this episode hit its stride around the halfway point, and never really faltered after that in impressive ways!

That being said, I had two somewhat significant critiques of the finale (both of which reflect larger trends about strands of the show that continue to leave me a little disappointed)

We should have seen Marcus' conversation with Deborah about the new job. Period. I'll get into what could have been cut in my second critique, but even if there weren't weak spots in the episode, I still would have been deeply disappointed in the show for this oversight, especially since they apparently filmed it. Although Hacks is clearly a show with a leading duo, it once had a core ensemble, but S2 saw them moved more and more to B-plots and bit roles, and now S3 has seen many of the characters we know and love eliminated almost entirely--a point that's particularly galling given that it's almost entirely characters of color (many of them canonically queer) who have been cut in favor of new white characters. Moreover, this scene would have been SO IMPORTANT - I could have seen it going 2 ways: a) Marcus quits after the convo where Deborah tells Ava she's willing to lose her, and Deborah has a reaction that is so utterly outsized because it's the terror of losing the person she's had with her the longest now compounded with the reality setting in that she's also driven away the woman who gave her new life when she most needed it; or b) Marcus shows up to quit, and Deborah immediately launches into a rant about Ava's leaving, which puts Marcus in the awkward spot of adding to that at a pivotal moment in the career of the woman he's spent much of his adult life with or giving up something he needs to do for himself; it could have been a lovely callback to S1 when he shows up with his whole speech prepared but then accepts the promotion without ever telling Deborah how he feels - only this time Marcus would have changed so much, and he'd have the opportunity to showcase that growth by insisting that he needs to do this for him. So many lost opportunities...

re what could have been cut because imo it did NOT work: Kathy Vance's return. Now, I love Hacks in large part because it insists on the complexity of its characters. No one is purely the victim or the hero of the story, and Deborah's "click" moment showcased that better than anything. AND YET the writing here did not work. Back in the Christmas ep, I messaged a friend saying I was glad that they brought Kathy back but seemed not to ask us to side with her - after all, she comes crashing back into Deborah's life, doesn't take ownership over her actions and in fact insists she was in the right because it only happened a few times, because Deborah wasn't sleeping with him (very "you weren't playing with it, so it's mine now" little sister energy that is deeply unappealing in a grown ass adult), and because they were the "better couple" which is, I'm sorry, NEVER the fucking thing to tell someone whose marriage and life you destroyed. I joked then that I'd take back my compliments if her role in the finale suggested that actually we should be on Kathy's side here. And lo and behold... What's a real bummer is that there were ways to do this better! Because you can have sympathy for an imperfect character--this show is a testament to that fact!--but not like this. We as an audience have no reason to side with Kathy when she insists that Deborah will be worse than ever and berates her for cutting their weekend short. Instead, we see a woman with a large sense of entitlement she's done nothing to earn and directorial choices that don't make it a smooth transition. But what could have been lovely is, for instance, treating the Christmas and finale reunions as these deflationary moments of anticipation and disappointment because they are, after this many decades, essentially strangers to one another. Had we seen two women who longed for the deep affective ties of their childhood relationship only to be confronted with the cold hard fact of their estrangement from one anther, it would have been so much more powerful. And here you could ACTUALLY garner sympathy (some) for Kathy by having it be this moment of "I lost my sister" partially through her own actions "to Late Night once, and now, right when I have a chance to try to build something with her again, I feel like I'm going to lose her again before I can even really try to do right by her this go around." THAT could have worked. This was just too much time on something that did almost nothing in the grand scheme of the plot (because we didn't have the emotional connection to feel it as another compounding loss for Deborah in an episode where Ava's "and you're going to die alone" could have landed with even more force)

Okay so it turns out this is getting hella fucking long, so some shorter praise and giddy feelings things:

I LOVE how often Ava got to say the things we've all been squeeing about for years during this episode - especially that the material is good because of their relationship, not the other way around; their dynamic is not incidental to the work, and that's so important to me personally.

I had guessed that Ava would be offered head writer and quit her current job, only to have it taken away because Deborah was too scared to rock the boat, but I did NOT see the end coming! In fact, I kind of thought Ava might end up suing Deborah for intellectual property theft (using material Ava wrote outside of her contractual appointment for the new show because, surprise surprise, the writers who sucked when she was a guest still suck now compared to Ava!) In fact, I sort of thought that end scene might end up being a return to the car scene, and was relishing the thought of Ava's mimicking Deb's "It'll be fun, honey." But the blackmail as a form of love/devotion was soooo much better. Truly chef's kiss.

Also the way this rewrote the S2 finale even as the underlying message remained the same is so special to me - I'll stay with you even when it's bad for me (sacrificing my career -> sacrificing my morals) because it's good for you and more importantly it's good for us and the work. JPL know how to write a finale, and I'd give up a kidney to have that same energy be there throughout a whole season again (not that the eps are bad, but they lack some of the sharpness in writing and emotional depth that JPL do so well with finales and also often with the first couple eps of a season too)

Lastly JPL going on the record that Deborah was turned on by that final scene + Ava's "I would, wouldn't you?" and "Let's begin" - truly some of the hottest TV. We're so back babyyy. No more half naked superheroes with all the eroticism of a desk chair. Give me messy women determined to fling themselves into the air because they know the thrill is worth everything good and safe they're leaving behind, even if they hit the ground with no parachute!

I have many, many thoughts about S3 and what's to come, but I'll save them for another post because phewww this got long as fuck

#hacks hbo #hacks season 3 finale #hacks 3x09 #deborah vance #ava daniels #my thoughts #this has not been proofread ill get around to it later lmao #my meta

[dirt-piper]

The TF2 problem

Don't take anything I say here as gospel - much of it is my own speculation and musings.

TF2 is my favorite game of all time. I started playing it wayyy back in 2012, and while I don't have that many hours racked up total (a meager ~1K), I can at least consider myself to be a few rungs above 'total n00b' in terms of familiarity with the game. I've experienced the best and worst eras of the game - from the Love & War update to the current botting crisis, and I have loved TF2 every step of the way.

But just because I love it, doesn't mean I think it's flawless!

Around 2015-2016 I noticed (alongside damn near everyone else playing TF2) that TF2 was changing, and not in a particularly good way. Love & War was in many ways a perfect update for TF2 - it gave attention and goodies to both the highly casual and the highly competitive ends of the playerbase, with a fancy new taunt system bundled with some pretty fun new weapons. At about this time, Blizzard announced the imminent release of their new game Overwatch, which was directly inspired by TF2 - and now presented itself as being a direct competitor to TF2 in its own niche. This, of course, turned out to be bogus - Overwatch is its own game with its own niche that has a playerbase nearly wholly separate from TF2's.

A common trend amongst the TF2 playerbase at the time was this sense of dread regarding Overwatch - either that it would suck up the entire TF2 playerbase, leaving the game to die, or that Blizzard would try their damnedest to manifest such a reality. Either way, a ton of die-hard TF2 fans began to absolutely loathe Blizzard's new game (before it even came out, I might add) for so much as daring to 'unthrone' TF2.

This entire premise is stupid. It's stupid now, and it was stupid then. But the fear became so pervasive throughout the community that, eventually, it seemed like VALVe was getting scared too. The tone and focus of TF2's updates began to shift far more heavily towards the competitive end of TF2's playerbase - which has never been the majority - as VALVe appeared to try to pivot TF2 into a stance where it could better "compete" with the upcoming Overwatch. Bits and pieces of this started showing with Gun Mettle and Tough Break, before Meet your Match completely revamped the game into a more competitive-focused format.

Why they would do this didn't really make sense - if VALVe wanted to compete against Blizzard's new AAA FPS with a competitive scene, then why would they try to remodel TF2 to position it as a "more valid competitor" to Overwatch when CS:GO was already a proven champion in that space? TF2 doesn't need to compete with Overwatch. It never did. So why would they expend so much effort to change TF2's course when, frankly, it was doing fine as-is?

Looking back now, with nearly a decade of hindsight and a bit more insight into VALVe actually works, I think the picture is a bit clearer, or at least the one I've formed in my head is. I don't think TF2's sudden drastic shift in focus was the result of VALVe scrambling to shore TF2 up against the onslaught of Overwatch - I think it was, rather, the TF2 team scrambling to shore TF2 up against VALVe.

VALVe is not a normal game studio. VALVe is not only lucky enough to be their own publisher (therefore making them a completely independent studio - yes, VALVe games are 'indie'), but also extremely lucky enough to be the de-facto publisher for nearly the entire PC game industry, thanks to Steam. VALVe makes money off of every single game sold through Steam whether they made it or not, essentially guaranteeing them a constant stream of exorbitant income regardless of their own output. They have a complete vertical monopoly of their own industry - they own themselves (VALVe has no shareholders whatsoever), they own their products, they own their publisher, they own their distributor - and now, with the Steam Deck, they own their hardware platforms too. VALVe answers to nobody but themselves, because they own everything that could possibly impact their business.

VALVe is, in a lot of ways, in a somewhat similar situation to AT&T (aka 'Ma Bell') back before the breakup of the phone company back in 1982. AT&T owned the entire phone network - from the switching equipment to the phone lines to the handsets plugged into them - and they charged every person in the country who leased phone service from them (you couldn't own a phone back then!) a subscription fee. AT&T, then, had basically infinite money to do whatever the hell they wanted with (though the government strictly regulated their commercial activities so they could not compete in any industry but telephony). As a result of this, Bell labs, the core Research & Development branch of AT&T, was in a very unique scenario - projects undertaken by Bell labs researchers weren't given budgets - they were given quotas.

AT&T didn't care how much money or time was spent on a project by a Bell labs researcher, so long as it ultimately resulted in something that benefited the company. And this model worked very, very well - Bell labs' researchers gave the world the transistor, the laser, the CCD, the Unix operating system, the C programming language, and received 10 Nobel peace prizes.

VALVe, through Steam, has a free, infinite revenue stream. VALVe's staff, then, effectively have infinite money and time at their disposal to make whatever they desire - so long as it ultimately results in something that benefits VALVe. Or, at least, so long as the people who hold the most seniority at VALVe think it would benefit VALVe.

It's no particular secret that the old guard at VALVe are, largely, unenthusiastic about TF2. Remember - Team Fortress is VALVe's oldest franchise. The original Team Fortress mod was released in August of 1996 - a mere one month after the Nintendo 64's initial release - a full 2 years before Half-life. Sure, VALVe didn't initially create Team Fortress, but they bought Team Fortress Software for a reason - Team Fortress was insanely popular. And it's not just TF2 that has absurd longevity, it's the entire Team Fortress franchise; here's a match from a Quake Team Fortress competitive tournament that is currently ongoing as I write this post:

VALVe acquired Team Fortress software with the premise that the sequel to Team Fortress would become an expansion to Half-life, thereby increasing Half-life's desirability by attaching it to the sequel of one of the most popular FPS games available at the time. TF2, of course, took a bit longer than expected - so Team Fortress Classic, a more-or-less direct port of Team Fortress to goldsrc, was released in 1999 to satiate people until the real TF2 came out.

That took another 8 years.

When TF2 finally released, it pioneered the concept of games as a service - that you could buy a game once and it would receive new content, features, fixes, etc. indefinitely - for free. These were not paid expansions or DLC, these were actual updates made directly to the game that anyone could get access to so long as they happened to own the game. And, once TF2 went free to play, the deal became even better. This model was utterly groundbreaking in 2007 - it's the standard for how most games operate today, sure, but only because TF2 proved how well it could work.

The issue, of course, is that VALVe was eternally working on TF2. By 2015, Team Fortress 2 had been in development in some form or another for 17 years. With this perspective, it seems understandable why some of the more senior members of VALVe would have grown sick of Team Fortress - they'd been doing or dealing with the same game for nearly 2 decades.

But, of course, newer hires at VALVe would have nowhere near the same level of fatigue - many of them were likely still very passionate about the game, and eager to continue its lifespan - but when the people who sign their paychecks and review their employee performances are sick and tired of hearing about Team Fortress, it becomes less and less attractive to pour effort into the game, no matter how much they may personally wish to.

Under these circumstances, the tonal shift TF2 experienced around the release of Overwatch appears more as an internal struggle - the remaining TF2 team trying desperately to prove to their seniors that TF2 was not yet ready to be phased out, that the game could modernize and remain relevant in the modern competitive gaming scene, that just because they were sick of TF2 didn't mean that everyone was.

So, they gambled. They bet TF2's future on a new revamp to adapt it to the then-modern world of competitive e-sports... and fumbled it pretty hard with Meet your Match.

The problem with the TF2 team's attempt to make TF2 more suited to the modern world of competitive gaming was that they seemed to overlook that, to the average non-competitive TF2 player, the game as it was was perfectly fine. Through Quickplay, any player could be automatically placed into a server matching their desired criteria and just... play. A server would stay on a given map for roughly 45 minutes (though players could vote to extend the map timer) regardless of how many rounds there were, meaning that everyone got the same amount of time to play the map regardless of how good or bad either team, as a whole, performed. This game players plenty of time to just... have fun playing TF2. There was no rush or hurry or incentive to play the game in any way other than how you wanted to.

This made TF2 very unique in the FPS world - the truest example of a "casual shooter". There were no ranks or rewards or incentives to play every day beyond random item drops and the enjoyment derived from simply playing the game itself.

The TF2 team's attempt to 'modernize' TF2 in Meet your Match effectively ruined this.

In addition to the introduction of a new, dedicated 6v6 competitive mode, Quickplay was replaced with 'Casual' - a matchmaking lite that tried to find a middle ground between the chaotic ad-hoc freedom of Quickplay and the more rigid, competitive structure of Competitive. It didn't work. Most TF2 players just wanted to play TF2 - casual forced them to stop and wait for the matchmaking system to find a server for them matching its desired criteria, stop and wait every other round for the server to change maps, stop and wait for matchmaking cooldowns to run out if they left a game in progress - so much time was spent stopping and waiting to play the game that hardly any was left to play the game itself. Yes, some of these problems have since been smoothed over, but Casual still forces the play to spend less time playing the game than Quickplay did. In my opinion, Casual, as it was released, could have been perfectly fine if Quickplay was kept alongside it. Instead, in one fell swoop, the way the vast majority of people played TF2 was effectively removed from the game.

In fairness to the TF2 team regarding this gamble, they were under enormous pressure - not just from a TF2 community growing increasingly paranoid about TF2's future due to the imagined threat of Overwatch - but also from the higher-ups at VALVe they were trying to convince.

However, the TF2 team snuck a back-up plan into Meet your Match - the Heavy vs. Pyro war. By outright promising a future major update (or perhaps two, even!), the TF2 team could at least insure that, no matter what their 'bosses' thought, they could justify their continued work on the game as fulfillment of a promise made to the community. And, if the new update was enough of a hit, it could perhaps inspire their 'bosses' to let TF2 continue to live on, at least for a little while.

So, the TF2 team pulled out all the stops for the next update. Jungle Inferno had an animated short, new maps, new weapons, entirely new features (ie. the contracker), it had a massive hype-spiraling 4-day-long update announcement, major weapon rebalances and overhauls - they clearly tried their damnedest to make the best TF2 update possible.

Whether or not the team managed to convince their superiors is unknowable. Jungle Inferno was followed by the fanfare-less Blue Moon update in early 2018, followed by radio silence. The TF2 team may very well have still been hard at work on the elusive Heavy update, but the double-whammy of the all-hands-on-deck push to get Half-life: Alyx finished and released immediately followed by the COVID pandemic likely reset whatever momentum or motivation the TF2 team had left.

This scenario, as described, is painful enough. From the outside, it appears as though VALVe had rebounded from Meet your Match, and was doing its best to improve the game in the wake of their own missteps, only to suddenly drop TF2 with zero explanation given. TF2 was left in a state of indefinite limbo with no clear outlook whatsoever on the future.

What made this infinitely worse is that VALVe had left the game in a state that wasn't just unfinished, it was broken.

TF2 has literally always had a botting problem. For the first span of the game's life, this generally manifested as idling/trading bots, but later on more and more bots began to appear that sought only to disrupt gameplay. Micspam, false votekicks, aimbotting, speedhacks, etc. - purely for the sake of irritating real players. Until Meet your Match, these cheating bots were relatively uncommon - real players could very easily either kick them from the game or simply join another server via Quickplay. Their impact on gameplay was no more than a minor, brief annoyance, and thus they were considered a non-issue.

Meet your Match's new Casual system, however, dramatically restricted the player's ability to hop to other servers when bots arose. Not only this, but the ability to switch teams at will was disabled on Casual servers, meaning it was now impossible to deal with bots on any team but your own (previously, if the other team was too slow to kick their own bots, it was possible to just wait for an opening on the other team, hop over, and call a votekick against the offending bot that would usually end up succeeding). Now, the disruption caused by a single bot was far more impactful than it had been before - because it was a far greater chore to either kick the bot or find a different server. Moreover, Casual outright incentivizes players to stick to the same server until the end - awarding them extra points the more they play, and nullifying any progress they've made towards a given contract that match if they leave before it ends. Players are thus, in effect, forced to play even when bots have made the game unenjoyable.

This resulted in a feedback loop - bots were now more irritating, so people complained about them more, so bot hosters hosted more bots, making them even more irritating - and that feedback loop has continued nearly unabated until modern day.

The TF2 community has been begging for an end to the botting problem for ages - and there have been genuine efforts from the TF2 team to try and fix the problem, but they have been too small and too infrequent to make much impact. And, to be frank, there is no way to effectively, permanently remove the bots. Attempting to keep any and all bots from the game would require enormous, constant effort from the TF2 team - something which is a very tall ask given VALVe's attitude towards the game for the past decade.

What can be done, however, is to simply make the bots less impactful. To let players more easily avoid them, to let players enjoy the game for longer so the bots are no longer such a nuisance, to let players have enough freedom in how they play that they are no longer forced to suffer through games with bots. It won't outright remove bots forever, but it will make them so much less of a nuisance that bot hosters will likely lose the incentive to bother with them. As soon as that happens, the feedback loop will be broken, and the botting issue will decline in severity as their potential impact on players' enjoyment of the game is neutered.

The simplest way to do this is to make Casual just as free as Quickplay was.

45 minute map timers, extensible by vote.

An Indefinite number of rounds per map.

Ad-hoc joining, leaving, and team switching.

Progress on contracts not erased by leaving mid-round.

These are not overwhelming changes. If anything, it's something of a return to form - not outright bringing back Quickplay, but making Casual into a suitable replacement for it - at long last.

And - most importantly - it's a one-time fix. It does not require an eternal arms race against bot hosters, nor a full return to frequent, massive content updates (though those would be nice).

One update to make TF2 more fun, to make the bots less impactful, and to give the game a better standing for the future.

One update to fix TF2.

-DirtPiper

#fixTF2 #savetf2 #tf2 #team fortess 2 #valve #bot crisis #team fortress two #casual mode #quickplay #tf2 update #tf2 bots #bot #bots #botting #squidward's house #teams defense fort two #tf2 team #valve games #half life #overwatch #Youtube

[cupidskissx]

❓ any WIP snippet you want! PLEASE lol

Hola kind Anon, apologies this took a while 😘

Life was pretty up and down for a hot minute. Here’s a snippet from the second one shot in my new Art as Dialogue series:

*

“Do you need some help?”  The proximity and familiarity of Max’s voice sets the hair on the back of Charles’ neck on end. He twists around, nearly elbowing him in the face. “What are you doing here?” Charles asks. “Nice to see you too.” “I thought you had media in the pen today?” “I do, but these bathrooms are closer than my driver’s room.” Charles doesn’t need reminding that the Red Bull garage is the opposite side of the paddock. “No need to rub it in,” Charles attempts to round off his tone with a chuckle, but it’s forced. Ferrari’s garage being bumped down the order is still a touchy subject. They used to have the luxury of sneaking in between their teams’ motorhomes to steal a quick kiss. Not this season... 

I hope you have a lovely rest of your day/night ❤️ ask game

#ask game #Lestappen WIP #Art as Dialogue series #Shh no one needs to know this is about 80% of what I have written #There’s more I just pivoted a few times

[aroaessidhe]

2023 reads

Saint Juniper’s Folly

YA paranormal mystery

follows a foster kid returning to the small town he grew up in, who runs from the judgemental townspeople and ends up magically trapped in a mysterious house in the woods

a boy who lives a boring life in the town until he finds him, and wants to figure out how to save him

and the young witch from the town over who’s heard the woods calling since her mother died, and wants to help

m/m, friendship & investigating a mystery

#Saint Juniper’s Folly #aroaessidhe 2023 reads #this is….okay #writing is quite young - it feels like middle grade. would be fine bc i like middle grade but it's a bit at odds with the fact that #they’re 18 and talking about college soon and driving round in cars a lot #There’s very little ghosty or spookiness - it’s more just about the characters and their developing relationships #I felt like there were quite a few pivotal scenes missing? Like it skips from the kid being back in this town for the first time #to suddenly he’s stuck in this house in the woods. We don’t see him go out there; realise he’s stuck; or anything. #(unless libby skipped a chapter in my audiobook again?) #It also felt like it skipped any of them like testing the supernatural stuff? They go straight to researching the house’s history. #Once the end is revealed it makes sense I guess - but it’s like the because the author forgot to make the characters (who Don’t know) #do the first logical things you might do in a situation like that. idk. #the boys hating each other at the start felt manufactured for some hate to love thing instead of for any reason.....I didn't buy it #Also my pet peeve of: having a character call her dad by his first name! …….but it's an indication of their bad relationship. okay then. #(I know that is also a real experience but MAN sometimes people just do that it's not always a sign of emotional neglect!!!!) #Anyway - I didn’t hate it by any means; there’s just a few little things that didn't work for me

[ruvi-muffin]

my grandmother is dead and i don't see a point to living anymore

Frankly i think that's a normal ass emotion to have bc my grandma's fckn dead

#Society's obsession w being fine is yoxic #Wheres my mourning garb #Shes nit even in the ground and im supposed to just be fine about it #Just accept death they say #As if its no the most pivotal experience one can go through #Youre all selfish pieces of shit for believing that #I refuse ro be fine avout it #Frankly its not even all of the shit im going through #Im fucking furious #About everything that lead up to her death #My whole life #Her life #And im sad okay #I hate that theres never enough time to be allowed to feel #Were dorsed to cry alone bc noone lives w their family units anymore #Were forsed to comfort ourselves bc noone is prepared to carry the grief of a friend for more than a few hours #Funerals are supposed to be communal not a solitary nesessiry #Someone created the hell we live in and im allowed to be angry at him #Muffin rambles #Personal #cw death

[erb23]

I am still so mad about them going along with the single dumbest plan ever.

#the leaks make it worse #“I won't let you ruin the peace [she] made!” bro what peace? where? when someone got shot and someone else got beaten to a pulp #fucking what'll happen when these people start using their new skills to hench for sc*recr*ow or tw*f*ce #because you can not tell me that someone that's learning under her plan won't go right back to working for those assholes #because shocker shocker some people are awful and aide awful individuals for the ideology more than the money #Why the hell did we have that whole P*nchl*ne ordeal a few years back if that wasn't going to be an angle worth considering in the comics?! #if her plan were any good and also NOT blatantly self serving there would be some better way at offboarding potential former henchmen from #aiding villains in the future. Which you know B*tm*n already covers (not perfectly but better than this) #pivoting from one kind of crime to another does not actually reduce crime! it would be better to actually teach them skills #and provide resources that could give them something else to do that isn't helping sc*recr*w with his next mass poisoning of the watersuppl #but long rant shortened the premise of their falling out is so fucking shaky. I agree that they wouldn't take his side but why the hell #would they agree to this stupid fucking plan! #there's no reform and no providing access to anything that would realistically get them to stop career henching! you're only making them #better at it!!!! Also fucking!!! every other villain can just get non-gothamites to hench!!! they would not just give up because they can't #hire locally!! how fucking many times have a gaggle of jerks from other parts of the world just done their crimes in gotham #for the hell of it? Too many times!!!

[screampied]

i have an idea :]

ok so i always see people asking for gentle/needy/desperate choso. and i love it, but…

what about unassumingly ruthless choso? reader doesn’t know what she’s getting into? reader is cocky and gets humbled FAST? idk i just…

👉👈

❤︎ ໋𓈒 choso who puts his cute bratty gf in her place

warnings. fem! reader, attempted brat taming, doggystyle, big dick choso, unprotected.

you’ve always been one to push his buttons, mainly because he always made it so easy.

choso was as intimidating as a kitten, whenever you’d tease him he’d always keep composure or restrain himself.

briefly smiling nervously, kissing your wrist and telling you to be a good girl and wait until you each return home.

but one day, he kind of just snaps…

he takes you home from shopping nearly all day with you, and you were enthusiastically ecstatic. you wondered what he’d do this time, but your thoughts were no match for what he had initially planned. to put it brief, choso had you laid on the bed on all fours. he’s drilling ruthlessly into your pussy and you’re just…speechless. choso’s so handsy, every few seconds he’d spank your ass to hear you whine out his name—in such two slutty syllables.

“c-choso..” you’d moan, the left side of your cheek attached practically to the silk bed sheets as if it was velcro.

“shh, no talkin, princess,” he grunts, and you could hear the slight whine picking up his voice before he stops himself. “i-i have to be more stern with you it seems. can’t always be so nice, gotta humble you just a little bit, fuck.”

if it was a word to perfectly describe you right now, at this particular moment…it would for sure be…dumbfounded.

you couldn’t see yourself but you’d bet money you looked stupid.

choso’s dick was so lengthy, appetizing and hitting every spot with just the tiniest amount of pressures his thrusts had you gnawing on the inside of your cheek with your toes curling tightly.

“what’s the matter? no more attitude?” he huffs, tilting his head to move some remaining strands that were starting to occlude his vision.

“i-if you’re gonna be rough, at least go h—”

“…oh, baby, you’re jus’ asking for it by this point.” he murmurs, wiping his forehead with the back of his palm.

your eyes rolls at feeling the very tips the curve of choso’s cock kiss against your folds. so deep, his thrusts were sloppy. purely responsible for the squelched that continuously sang throughout the room.

choso grabs onto both of your waist, and you moan once he’s just dragging your hips back and forth against him, making sure you feel every thick inch of his.

“do me a favor ‘n arch your back more,” immensely, you do—your body responds to choso with such a quickness it was simply humiliating. “good girl….now,” and you barely recognize choso’s voice. usually it’s so sweet and tender, now it was rough and a bit husky, a rasp hidden underneath each sentence he spoke.

needless to say, you found this version of choso to be quite hot.

“wait,” he pauses, pausing the mood with his own cute stammer in his voice, back to normal. “not goin' to rough, am i? i want you to be comfortable and-”

“baby, ‘m fine. keep fucking me please.” you pleaded, feeling his hips stutter as he was in the middle of talking. even trying to keep up a act, he still wanted to make sure you were okay—choso simpers to himself, caressing your ass before spanking it yet another time.

“okay okay,” he hums. his hips pick up again and you’re basically being pounded into the bed. the grip he had on your hips wasn’t too rough but just the perfect amount.

choso’s breathing starts to pick up, and he enjoys the view of you more than he thought he would. his head goes back, along with his let down hair before he pivots his hips a certain way. your pussy clamped down against him and you hear his jaw clench in pleasure. “…shit.”

your legs quavered beneath him, and he then used a hand to bring both of your wrists behind your back. “j-just like that choso, please, please.”

“baby, you’re not supposed to be praising me,” he pouts, and you giggle before moaning again — a sudden moment occurs where you thickly swallow, only to continue your sweet whimpers. “this was s-supposed to be a punishment.”

“so punish me then.” you mewled, your cunt easily hugs him like a vice, the noise it makes, a wet pop and you’re just soaked. choso’s ears grows hot from the feeling and he knows you can feel it too.

he sighs, shoving you further into the bed. “you’re something else.” and his voice grows low and pitched again—yet choso does the unexpected. he leans right into you, and you instantaneously feel the heel of his foot press against the very back of your head.

he wore socks, the soft padded wool brushes against your neck, and he’s roughly driving into your pussy now to where you can’t even saying anything.

all that came out of your dumb mouth was a squeal, this angle…

“let me have you,” he grunts, balls deep, his base was thick and repeatedly thwacked against your entrance. you were dizzy…drunk, but not that kind of drunk. the good kind where all you could think about was how good you were getting stuffed by your boyfriend’s hefty cock. “yeah, just lie down and let me—fuck.”

you’re panting, and it felt so good.

choso was always used to being gentle and tender with you, although if you wanted him to be a little rougher, he was more than happy to oblige.

“i-i’m gonna cum, choso… gonna make me cum.”

“don’t think you deserve it, he utters, and your lips part, jaw dropping, plethora of sweetened moans only escaping as a subtle response. “you’ve been teasing me all day. even started to stroke me in the dressing room.”

“s-sorry.” you moaned.

choso remains with his foot near the back of your head before pursing his eyebrows together. “you’re not sorry are you, baby? be honest.”

“n—no,” you whined, the thickness of his shaft twitching inside of you felt so heavenly. you could have sworn you felt a vein that ran down his length pulse inside of your tight cunt. “you’re right, you’re right, ‘m not s-sorry.”

he chuckles. “you could have just lied, you know?”

choso’s angle and thrusts against you were so pivotal inside you, so astonishingly deep that not even moments later you end up cumming hard. leaving a ring around his base. your breathing was irregular and heavy, eyes half-lidded and just convulsing underneath him.

“messy girl,” he whispers, pulling out, not even caring that he didn’t finish, all that matters was that you did. choso turns you over before planting a kiss on your lips—you pull him in for another, and another, before you make him trample onto you. “did you learn your lesson?”

“no,” you moaned, sitting up before lightly shoving him down on his back, straddling his lap now. “i want more.”

choso smirks, sliding a hand down your waist, fully disregarding his flustered face at seeing you attempt to take control. “of course you do, brat.”

#★vegasbaby. #choso x reader #choso kamo smut #choso smut #choso kamo x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujustsu kaisen x reader #anime smut #female reader

[pucksandpower]

Breaking the Ice

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Lando Norris x Räikkönen!Reader

Summary: a boy who never shuts up meets a girl who rarely wastes the energy to speak … it doesn’t go as expected (or in which not having much to say runs in the Räikkönen family)

Lando shifts his weight from one foot to the other, fidgeting nervously as he awaits the arrival of the other drivers for the pre-season press conference. His gaze darts around the stark concrete room, taking in the harsh lighting and the row of empty chairs on the raised platform.

This is his sixth season in Formula 1, but the thrill of the new year and the prospect of racing still sends butterflies fluttering through his stomach. He sucks in a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves.

The door opens and you stride in, Valtteri Bottas at your side. Lando’s eyes are immediately drawn to you, the rookie driver already capturing attention despite your quiet presence. You move with the casual confidence of someone who has grown up in this world, unbothered by the lights and cameras.

Lando finds himself staring, captivated by the way you carry yourself. The famously reserved Räikkönen genes clearly run through your veins.

Before Lando can gather his wits to introduce himself, you slide into the chair at the end of the row, Valtteri taking the seat next to you. Lando blinks, realizing he’s been caught gawking.

Smooth, Norris. Real smooth.

He clears his throat and makes his way over, mustering his most charming grin. “Hi there! Lando Norris. Welcome to the circus.”

You turn towards him, your expression unreadable. For a beat, you simply regard him in silence. Then, “Hey.”

You give a small nod of acknowledgment before turning away, effectively shutting down the conversation. Lando’s smile falters as you refocus your attention on … absolutely nothing at all.

Well, that’s a bit rude. He frowns, stung by the brush-off. So much for breaking the ice. Maybe you’re just shy around new people? Lando decides to give you the benefit of the doubt as the other drivers begin filing in.

He takes his seat a few chairs away, sneaking sidelong glances at you. You haven’t so much as glanced in his direction again, adopting the same thousand-yard stare as the Iceman.

Like father, like daughter, Lando muses with a shake of his head.

When the press conference gets underway, question after question is lobbed at the drivers. Lando fields them with his usual charismatic charm, unable to resist hamming it up for the cameras with comedic flair. In contrast, you remain stubbornly curt whenever the mic is passed your way.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“I don’t know.”

Your terse responses draw titters of laughter from the audience and press corps alike. Lando watches in amazement, unable to fathom how anyone could be so … so ...

“Boring?” He blurts out before he can stop himself.

You cut your eyes towards him, holding his gaze for the first time since your noncommittal greeting. Lando feels himself flush, suddenly uncertain if he’s been too cheeky. But then the corners of your mouth tug up in an unmistakable smirk before you turn away again, leaving him to wonder if he’s imagined it.

By the time the press conference mercifully ends, Lando has decided you’re definitely an odd duck. But also … kind of fascinating? In an eccentric, robotic sort of way? He’s not sure what to make of his swirling thoughts as you all rise to make your exit.

Lando hangs back, angling to get one more shot at conversation. “Hey, uh, Y/N? I know you’re still getting your feet wet here, but if you ever need any advice or, you know, someone to show you the ropes, I’m always around.”

You pause, glancing back at him over your shoulder. For a fleeting second, Lando thinks he detects … what? Amusement? Disbelief? It’s impossible to tell with your trademark poker face firmly in place.

“Thanks,” you reply, your tone mild. “But I’m good.”

And with that, you pivot on your heel and stride away, leaving Lando to stare after you.

“Huh,” he mutters to himself. So much for breaking the ice.

As the next couple of days of testing wear on, Lando can’t seem to get a read on you. Oh, you’re perfectly courteous whenever your paths happen to cross in the paddock. You’ll return his greetings with a respectful nod or murmur of acknowledgment.

But that’s as far as it goes. You’re polite, but also totally inscrutable. Lando has no idea what you make of him, or really anything at all that might be going on inside that head of yours. All he knows is that his curiosity about you has been thoroughly piqued.

One morning, Lando spies you sitting alone, sipping from a a mug of coffee as you study a stack of data printouts. He ambles over, determined to try chatting you up again.

“Y/N! How’s it going?” His voice is cheerfully upbeat. “That coffee from the hotel? Because let me tell you, it’s rubbish. If you want a proper brew, you’ve got to venture out and find a decent cafe. I know all the best spots around here if you’d like some recommendations ...”

He trails off as you simply look up at him, silent and unblinking. Lando clears his throat, feeling oddly off-kilter beneath your steady regard.

“Anyway,” he blusters on, undeterred. “How are you finding testing so far? Not too overwhelming, I hope? If you ever want to debrief or go over data or anything, I’m happy to lend an ear. Or even an eye, I suppose, since it’s more looking at numbers than listening to-”

“Bwoah.”

The single syllable cuts through Lando’s babbling. You set down your coffee and rise to your feet in one effortless, graceful movement. Lando blinks in surprise as you turn and walk away without another word.

“Oh. Erm. Sure, just … ignore me then,” he mutters, feeling his cheeks flush hotly.

He shakes his head as you disappear around the corner, baffled by your total indifference. But then a wry chuckle escapes his lips as the truth dawns on him with crystal clarity.

You’re not rude or shy at all. That’s just … who you are. Curt, to the point, unconcerned with frivolous chitchat and social niceties. You’ve got laser-focus, and nothing is going to distract you from your pursuit of speed.

In that moment, Lando feels a swell of admiration. He gets it now — you’re carved from the same uncompromising bedrock as your old man. Refreshingly authentic without any affectations or pretense.

Most people would find your blunt aloofness off-putting. But not Lando. No, he finds the prospect of unraveling the mystery that is Y/N Räikkönen irresistibly intriguing.

He grins to himself as he ambles off to get ready for his own session out on track. Just you wait, Y/N. He’s going to get you to crack a smile yet, even if it kills him.

After all, whoever said being a woman of few words was a bad thing?

***

Lando is in the middle of his pre-race routine, trying to center his mind and get into the zone, when you appear out of nowhere and thrust something at him.

“Here,” you say brusquely.

He blinks, puzzled, as he registers the scraggly bundle of wildflowers gripped in your fist. They look like they’ve been unceremoniously ripped out of the dirt, roots, soil and all.

“Uh … what’s this?” Lando asks.

You meet his confused gaze head on, your expression typically unreadable. “Flowers. For you.”

“For me?” Lando repeats dumbly. He glances around, as if expecting a hidden camera crew to jump out at any second. “Are you … giving me these?”

“No, I’m giving them to the other idiot who won’t stop yapping at me every single day,” you deadpan.

Lando feels his cheeks grow warm at the mild rebuke. He knows you’re referring to his persistent, if extremely one-sided attempts at conversation over the past few weeks. All his friendly openings and invitations have been met with a string of indifferent brush-offs and noncommittal hums.

Can’t blame a guy for trying, right? At least he’s being polite, which is more than he can say for-

“Well?” You break into his thoughts, arching one coolly expectant brow. “Are you wooed or not?”

This time it’s Lando’s turn to stare at you blankly. “I’m … sorry, what?”

“Wooed,” you repeat flatly. “You said the girl of your dreams would woo you with flowers or some nonsense. So I got you flowers.” You give the bedraggled bouquet a little shake for emphasis. “Now you’re wooed. Happy?”

It takes a moment for the words to click into place in Lando’s brain. Then a strangled laugh bursts from his lips as he remembers the foolish, offhand comment he made in an interview a few days ago. He’d been prattling on about his imaginary ideal partner, somehow painting the ridiculous picture of himself being “wooed” like some lovestruck Victorian lady.

Leave it to you to take the whole ludicrous scenario at face value. Lando can’t decide if he’s more charmed or bewildered by the fact that you’ve actually gone to the trouble of physically wooing him with … weeds?

“You cannot be serious right now,” he sputters out between residual chuckles.

You simply stand there, utterly unfazed as you hold out the world’s saddest excuse for a bouquet expectantly. “Well? Am I doing it right or not?”

“Doing what right?” Lando shakes his head, chortling again. “This whole wooing business? Y/N, that was just me rambling on like an idiot, as usual. You didn’t actually have to-”

“But I did,” you interject, effectively cutting off his protests. “So. Are. You. Wooed?”

Lando opens his mouth, then closes it again as he searches for the right response. There’s no menace or mockery in your expression, just that same intense focus and matter-of-fact bluntness that you apply to everything. Somehow, he gets the distinct impression that you won’t be deterred until he gives you a straight answer.

“Uh … no?” He ventures at last. “N-Not really, I guess?”

You stand there for a beat, Processing his words. Then you give a curt nod of acknowledgment. “Okay. That’s a you problem.”

With that, you turn smartly on your heel and stride away, leaving Lando gaping after you in a stupor. He stares down at the shoddy little bundle of greenery still clutched in his hand, not sure whether to laugh or just shake his head in amazed disbelief.

“A ‘me’ problem?” he mutters, a wry grin tugging at his lips. “Well, you’ve got me there, Y/N.”

Because the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that you respecting him enough to even entertain his absurd hypothetical … that might just be his new favorite problem.

***

The roar of the crowd is deafening as Lando brings his car across the finish line in fourth place. Not his best result, but respectable points in the bag. He allows himself a tight smile as he peels into the pit lane and kills the engine.

Until the unmistakable bright green and black livery of your Kick Sauber fills his vision, that is.

Lando does a double take, his jaw dropping as the implication sinks in. No way. There’s absolutely no way you’ve … you’ve won this race, right? In that underpowered, aerodynamically-challenged shitbox?

He can scarcely believe his eyes as you glide to a stop behind the large “1” board. The cheers and applause swelling around the track leave no doubt — somehow, against all odds, you’ve just taken the top step of the podium.

Lando scrambles out of his own car, tugging off his helmet and balaclava as he hustles across parc fermé in a daze. The first thing he notices is the sheer confusion and shock etched onto the faces of everyone else milling around. Even the marshals look gobsmacked by this upset for the ages.

In the middle of the chaos, you’re casually unfurling yourself from the cockpit with your trademark nonchalance. Like this is just another ho-hum Sunday drive for Y/N Räikkönen instead of, you know, the most spectacular overachievement in recent Formula 1 history.

Lando stands there gaping at you, unable to fully process what’s just happened. He vaguely registers the rest of the top finishers pulling in around you, their body language radiating bewilderment and disbelief as they all turn to stare, dumbstruck.

No one can quite seem to believe that an underdog backmarker has just eclipsed them all in a car that typically struggles to score points, let alone wins.

For your part, you’re projecting indifference to the chaos swirling around you. You simply grab a water bottle and take a long, unhurried pull, seemingly oblivious to the escalating frenzy.

Then, you casually turn in Lando’s direction and arch one brow ever-so-slightly. A silent question.

“I … you ...” Lando sputters uselessly, his brain still stuttering to catch up. “Did you seriously just ...”

The corners of your lips quirk upwards, hinting at a suppressed grin. “Well?” You prompt him calmly. “Are you wooed yet or what?”

It takes a moment for the light to flicker on in Lando’s mind. Any other time, he’d be delighted by the playful ribbing, eager to keep the back-and-forth banter flowing.

But right now, something else cuts through the haze of astonishment clouding his thoughts.

“Wait … is this ...” Lando squints at you searchingly. “Did you just win this race … for me?”

The words slip out before he can stop them. Because that would be such an impossibly, endearingly you thing to do, wouldn’t it? To dedicate achieving the unachievable all because of an offhand remark about wanting to be wooed?

His heart does a strange little flip-flop at the mere idea of you going to such outlandishly romantic lengths, all for the sake of who-even-knows-what is brewing between you two these days.

For a long beat, you simply stare back at him, your expression unreadable as ever. Then, “What?” You let out a faintly derisive snort. “No, of course not. Why would I do that?”

The words detonate like a slap in the face, momentarily winding Lando with their blunt force. “Oh. Well, I just thought maybe since I mentioned the whole wooing thing, and then you ...”

You shake your head impatiently, cutting him off. “You’re not the one who won this race, Lando.”

With that, you turn on your heel and stride away, dismissing him with a curt finality. Lando is left speechless, mouth agape as he watches your retreating back.

Around him, the rest of the drivers and crew are still buzzing with perplexed whispers and incredulous looks. No one can seem to wrap their minds around what they’ve just witnessed.

A sudden boom of laughter from Stake F1 Team Kick Sauber garage shatters the tension. Lando glances over to see your grizzled race engineer doubled over, tears of mirth streaming down his face as he wheezes helplessly.

“That’s my girl!” He chortles, shaking his head in amazed delight. “Leave it to a Räikkönen to blow the entire fuckin’ field away and just shrug it off like it’s no big deal!”

Lando feels the corner of his own mouth twitch upwards, the pinpricks of embarrassment fading as quickly as they flared. Of course he wasn’t on your mind out there today — you’re a laser-focused competitor brimming with the same single-minded intensity as your father. No thoughts, just pure, unbridled velocity.

You don’t crave grandstanding or glory, you’re simply out there doing what you were born to do, with ruthless, unsentimental precision. No fuss, no frills. Just inevitable, undeniable greatness through sheer force of will.

For now, that’s more than enough to leave him feeling utterly, deliriously, irrevocably … wooed.

***

Lando flops back on the hotel bed with a contented sigh, still basking in the post-race glow. P3 on the podium is a stellar result, made even sweeter by the fact that you claimed second place.

He grins lazily as you emerge from the en-suite bathroom, having shed your team wear in favor of a comfy t-shirt and shorts. Even with your hair tied up in a messy bun and your face scrubbed free of makeup, you’re still the most beautiful sight he’s ever laid eyes on.

“There’s the champion,” he rumbles affectionately, reaching out to snag your wrist and tug you down onto the bed beside him. You allow yourself to be pulled into the circle of his arms with a quiet huff of amusement.

“I didn’t win, you dork,” you point out mildly, making no move to extract yourself from his embrace. “That was Max on the first step today, not me.”

“Mmm, true.” Lando hums his agreement, nuzzling against the crown of your head. “But you’ll get there again soon enough. Then we can really celebrate.”

He punctuates the promise with a languid kiss, smiling against your lips as you melt into him with a soft sigh of contentment. These tender, unguarded moments are rapidly becoming his favorite part of any race weekend.

You allow the liplock to linger for a few long, blissful seconds before finally pulling back with a faint smirk. “Speaking of celebrating ...”

Then, without any hesitation whatsoever, you deftly roll off the mattress and sink down onto your knees in one fluid motion, effectively pitching Lando’s heart rate into a gallop.

“Whoa, hey now,” he sputters out a nervous chuckle, propping himself up on his elbows to gawk down at you in surprise. “What are you doing down there, trouble?”

Rather than answering directly, you simply arch one eloquent brow and ask, “Are you wooed yet?”

Lando blinks, needing a second to parse your meaning. Then a bark of laughter escapes before he can stop it, finally realizing where this is going. “Oh my god, you cannot be serious right now. Are we really still doing that stupid bit?”

There’s no missing the impish glint in your eye as you regard him from your knees, clearly quite pleased with yourself for managing to get the upper hand. “Well? I’m waiting for an answer here.”

Lando shakes his head in amazed disbelief, unable to smother his grin. “Y/N, love, you have got to be the most impossible woman on the planet sometimes.” He reaches down to brush an errant lock of hair out of your eyes, cradling your face tenderly. “But lucky for you, it’s impossibly charming as hell.”

You lean into the caress ever so slightly, regarding him with an impish glint. “So? Do you feel wooed yet or not?”

Something warm and gooey blossoms in Lando’s chest as he studies your features — the amused quirk of your lips, the slight flush on your cheeks, the fire dancing in your eyes. You’re such an endearing contradiction, managing to be the most formidably stoic badass on the racetrack while also being irresistibly playful when it’s just the two of you.

“Y/N ...” he starts, a bemused chuckle rumbling from his lips. He presses a kiss to your forehead, relishing your quiet hum of approval. “You do realize you don’t have to keep trying to woo me anymore, right?”

You blink up at him, your brow furrowing slightly as you process his words. “What are you talking about?”

Lando nods towards the pillow behind him, gesturing vaguely. “The flowers. The race win. All the coy banter and teasing.” He grins, cupping your face in his hands. “Pretty sure that ship has sailed at this point, love.”

You continue to stare at him with a blank look, like he’s suddenly started speaking in tongues. The lack of comprehension on your face is so unguarded and genuine that it makes Lando’s grin slowly slip.

Hold on … could it be that you actually don’t realize-

“Hey,” he asks slowly, hardly daring to breathe. “Correct me if I’m wrong here, but … I thought after the whole flower thing, we kind of … you know ...”

He trails off helplessly, not sure how to broach the subject in case he’s somehow misread everything completely. Your brow remains furrowed, making him abruptly hyper aware of the fact that your lithe form is literally kneeling at his feet while wearing very little clothing.

A pregnant pause stretches between you, thick with confused tension. Then-

“Oh my god,” you blurt out, your eyes going comically wide as the pieces finally click into place. “Did you think we were … dating? All this time?”

Lando chokes on his own tongue, too stunned to respond right away. He simply gapes at you, feeling like the world’s biggest moron for somehow operating under the wrong assumption for … how long, exactly?

Now that he’s thinking back, neither of you ever explicitly defined what was brewing between you two ... you just sort of started spending more and more time together, growing more and more intimately intertwined until … well ...

Suddenly he’s laughing, helpless peals of mirth bubbling up from his core as the truth dawns on him. All this time, you two have essentially been a couple of awkward teenagers muddling through the beginning stages of a relationship, the wires of communication getting hopelessly crossed along the way.

But oh man, of course it somehow ended up going down like this between you two. Why would he have expected anything less idiotically convoluted?

You’re chuckling too, the laughter rippling through your body in delightfully unreserved waves as you sway back on your heels. And just like that, the last lingering hint of tension dissolves from the air as you surrender to the hilarity of it all.

“So … I’m just gonna go ahead and take that as a no then,” Lando finally manages to gasp out between wheezing chuckles.

“Well that would depend,” you shoot back, your eyes bright with mischief. You shift forward onto your knees, leaning in close enough for him to feel the teasing rasp of your breath against his lips. “Because according to you, I’m already spoken for.”

Lando’s laughter cuts off with a soft groan as your nose brushes teasingly against his thigh, his palms finding their way to your hips as if by muscle memory. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?” He accuses without any real heat.

“Nope,” you agree matter-of-factly before capturing his lips in a searing kiss.

He loses himself in the velvet glide of your mouths for endless minutes, his fingertips tracing maddening patterns across the sliver of exposed skin at your waist. When you finally break apart, you’re both panting softly, gazes locked in a heated stalemate.

“So ...” Lando murmurs at last, his lips brushing deliciously against yours with every word. “If we haven’t actually been dating this whole time, then what would you call … this?” He sweeps one hand up in a languid caress, hinting at the incredible tangle you’ve both willingly stumbled into.

“Hmm ...” You press another series of featherlight kisses along the sharp line of his jaw, leaving him shivering. “How about … badly in need of remedial communication skills?”

Lando bursts out laughing again — because really, is there any more succinct way to sum up the two of you? He tugs you up onto his lap, cupping the back of your head and crushing your lips back to his in a heated clash of teeth and tongues.

You willingly arch against him with a throaty sigh, hands roaming possessively across his chest. The two of you are a whirlwind of tangled limbs and shared laughter and scorching friction.

It’s all so achingly, impossibly right that Lando can hardly stand it. But as you meet his heated gaze, chests heaving and eyes sparking with unspoken promises, Lando finds he wouldn’t have it any other way. Not when the payoff is stealing heated moments like these, all tangled up in each other with boundless laughter and blazing passion.

“Y/N ...” he murmurs reverently, tracing the curve of your smiling lips with the pad of his thumb. “I adore you. You incredible, impossible woman.”

You lean into the caress with a soft hum, covering his hand with yours to hold him there. “So what now?” You arch a playful brow. “Are you officially wooed or do you need some more convincing?”

With a low growl, he abruptly flips you both over onto the mattress in one fluid movement. You let out a startled squeak quickly swallowed by his questing mouth as he settles between your parted thighs, pinning you to the sheets.

You arch up to meet him in a slick glide of fevered skin, clutching him close. Through it all, your soft laughter never ceases — bubbling up in breathless peals of delight that Lando hungrily drinks in.

Yeah, he’s pretty damn wooed all right. But from this moment forward, he’s going to spend every second making damn sure you never have to ask again.

#f1 imagine #f1 #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 x you #lando norris #ln4 #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fic #lando norris fluff #lando norris fanfic #lando norris blurb #f1 fluff #f1 blurb #f1 one shot #f1 x y/n #f1 drabble #f1 fandom #f1blr #f1 x female reader #lando norris x female reader #lando norris x y/n #mclaren #lando norris one shot #lando norris drabble

[moondirti]

featuring: ghoap x nanny! f!reader. parenthood. adoption processes. fluff. slice of life. reader is given an age range

hear me out: simon and johnny transferring to reserve duty – i.e., serving the military on a part-time basis rather than being on active call – once they make the decision to become dads. it comes after a long period of deliberation (and healing on simon's part), but after they're absolutely sure that they want to start this next phase of life together, they call price to get it sorted.

who is thrilled for them, naturally, but warns that they still have a specialised commitment to the task force. if he needs them, then they best make sure they're there. the world isn't a better place yet, and no one can do what the pair does.

fine by them.

so it begins. instead of the complex and ethical choices that come with surrogacy, they opt for adoption and work with an attorney to facilitate the logistics. months of searching come up with a young mother, whose unwanted pregnancy has interfered with her life thus far, and is unwilling to make the further sacrifice that comes with keeping the baby. they must be more understanding, or otherwise less overbearing, than the other candidates – because two months later, they're in a hospital waiting room, anxiously lingering to meet the new addition to their family.

isla riley-mactavish. named after the river where johnny realised he'd be much happier with his lieutenant by his side.

the first few months are bliss. exhausting bliss, but a type of contentment that neither man has known since they first confessed to one another. isla's fussy through nights but they take turns settling her down, and if they have military duties to attend to then it's usually never at the same time. she's spoiled rotten – not just by them, but by the captain and gaz as well, who visit more often than not with bags full of toys they have nowhere to put. a little princess in the eyes of everyone who knows her.

by month five, she's teething and can hold her head up unsupported. simon reads somewhere that it's one of the most pivotal points in her development.

of course the call has to come then.

in the middle of the night, no less, and loud enough to wake her up from her crib. johnny scrambles to calm the bairn down as simon answers, price's grave voice crackling in from the other end. expected to be a long haul. a month at least. state security's at serious risk here, simon. i wouldn't ask you to come out otherwise.

and they made a promise. no matter how much it aches them to leave their darling girl behind.

rdv on base in a week.

he knows that one week is a matter of grace. he can feel the captain itching to hatch the operation as soon as possible, but has staved off to give the boys time to order their affairs. that doesn't mean simon's happy with the timeline, though. seven days is not nearly enough to find a sitter they can trust, especially given their own hindrances.

regardless, they send a job posting for a live-in, 24/7 nanny to close friends – no way in hell are they advertising it to the open internet – and hours later, johnny's sister lets them know of a girl who substitutes at the same primary school she works at. a real darling, apparently. honest 'n' stowed oot of energy, th' weans love her, and she haes experience with bairns too!

promising, but word of mouth isn't enough. they get a name and ask laswell to run a thorough background check. to their relief, it comes out squeaky clean. no arrests, no dui's, no shady travel history. modest socials with only a handful of followers. it's in line with what they know so far, solid enough to encourage them to reach out. so they do: just a brief email, asking what time and place would be best for a face-to-face interview.

they bring isla with them to the agreed meeting spot. a cozy cafe nestled in one of the safest parts of town. it's an early saturday morning and they're scheduled to leave in three days. so far, they've put all their eggs in this basket. johnny has to hold onto simon's hand when he notices the nerves dancing behind his partners usually void eyes. but if he were being honest with himself, he's just as scared.

they notice you as soon as they walk in.

sitting at a table for four, mug of coffee steaming as you bend over a well-loved book. despite your preoccupation, you're observant – they inch in your periphery and your head snaps up, a brilliant smile parting your lips as you spring up onto your feet. simon tallies a point on the ledger in his head. good. alert is good.

as is true for them, it's abundantly clear that you're who they're supposed to meet. johnny can't imagine anyone but a children's educator dressing like that: a gingham babydoll dress over a pair of blue tights, which carries over to the bow in your hair and is juxtaposed by the white oxford lace-ups on your feet. he startles when you extend your hand to shake his and he finds a painted fruit on each of your short nails. positively adorable. and so unlike anything they know.

simon shuffles next to him. isla reaches out from her bugaboo stroller, the colours having caught her eye.

"well hello there! aren't you just the cutest angel i've ever seen? do you like my dress?"

that's another point for immediately engaging with the object of your soon-to-be care. simon watches as you pull out a rattle from your purse, handing it over to the cooing baby. warmth blossoms in his chest, and his apprehension fizzles out in the heat. they hadn't told you they'd be bringing isla – opting to catch you off guard and seeing how you'd deal – so he assumes you carry the toy around for emergency purposes, like anyone else of their ilk would carry a gun.

something about that quirk just screams safe.

"it is a nice dress." johnny pursues, voice smooth in that way it gets when he's flirting but doesn't want it made clear. it took weeks for ghost to attune himself to it – he always just thought the scot spoke like that – but now that he's able to hear it for what it is, he shoots him a cautionary look. not so much mad as he is cautious. wouldn't want to scare her off.

"oh! thank you very much. it's my grandmother's design." you straighten up once isla gains a proper grip on the rattle, patting the skirt like you're basking in the praise. "shall we sit? i assume you have a lot to discuss, and i promise you'll want to try the maple scones they make here."

"please. after you." simon nods.

an hour later, you're giggling into your palm as johnny deviates into a story of the time they took isla to the hospital because they didn't know the soft spot on her head could pulse. simon is quiet in contrast, though not displeased. rather, he's focused on keeping the tally of all the green flags you've exhibited thus far. he doesn't mind that the conversation hasn't followed a typical interview format. in fact, people are more likely to show their true nature when in relaxed settings such as this, which is perhaps why johnny hasn't stuck to the script of questions they'd prepared beforehand. the man is better at social manoeuvring than simon is, anyway. he trusts him to direct this where it needs to go.

"it can be freaky! especially if you've never been around a child that young. i had a similar reaction the first time i babysat my neighbour's infant at sixteen. did you know that they can break out like teenagers? i noticed the poor thing's skin erupt in acne at just a month old and called his parent's crying." you wheeze, wiping the tears along your lashline.

"have ye worked wi' many bairns?"

"oh, yeah. it's been my primary source of income since secondary, all the way through uni. i just finished a master's degree in early childhood education, actually! and i wrote a list of referrals you can call if you need to double check on any of that." you rummage through your purse and pull out an apple-shaped sticky note. "do you mind if i ask what you do? people don't usually look for a full-time nanny unless they're really busy. not that i'm judging! i would ne–"

"military." simon interrupts, ensuring his tone is gentle enough to reassure.

"that makes sense! i mean, for an indefinite amount of time, the pay you're offering is more than perfect. above industry standard, really." you pause, brows furrowing like you're doubting whether you should have said that. "ah– whatever. anyway. isla is wonderful, just the sweetest. and the provided accommodation is an added plus. if you guys have no other qualms, then i'd love to accept the position."

"does i' bother you that there are cameras on the property? porch, kitchen, and living room. jus' for security's sake." simon tests, though he knows he doesn't need to, for extra measure. to someone with bad intentions, CCTV is a massive dealbreaker.

you don't hesitate before answering. "makes total sense! you guys are well within your right to check in at any time."

and they don't have to consult each other to know. johnny is practically buzzing in his seat, muscles flexed with enthusiasm as his gaze flits all over you. lingering on your chest in particular, before he looks over to simon and smiles in an offensively handsome way. simon can't help but smile back, crinkling his eyes more than necessary so the both of you can tell what's going on behind his mask.

it feels a little too good to be true, hopeful in a way that sets off the alarm bells in his head. he's stable enough to recognise that it isn't your fault, though. stable enough not to pin his distrust on you. this is likely the best shot they've got at ensuring their daughter's safety while they're away, and it's come in the form of a vivid, bright little blessing.

(with great tits.)

he'd be a fool to sabotage it.

johnny beats him to the cause. "ye'r hired."

[ next ]

#fashion wise im pulling from 'new girl' jess and 'me before you' louisa iykyk #as always my shit ends up way too long #fic ༄ miss magic #ghoap x reader #simon ghost riley x reader x johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley x johnny soap mactavish #ghoap #simon riley #john mactavish #ghost #soap #x female reader #x reader

[vanwritesfan-fiction]

Liar, Liar

Joe finds out you've faked it in the bedroom before, and he's determined to make sure you never lie to him again

Warnings: smut (thigh riding, intercourse), language, fluff at the end

"I mean", Sarah paused as she topped off her glass of red wine, the bottle hitting your coffee table with a thump, "there's this expectation that we're just supposed to be at the ready whenever they get home, and sometimes I'm too tired." She sunk into the couch dramatically, her confession earning a couple of hums and nods in agreement from the group.

"Exactly! Like just because you have the stamina of an athlete, doesn't mean I do!", Rebecca chimed in, raising her glass to the group, a few intoxicated chuckles echoing through the living room.

You were tight lipped as you tucked your legs underneath you on the couch, taking a big gulp of your wine as you nervously played with the hem of your sweater.

It was your turn to host the monthly Bengals WAGS get together. It started out as a book club, but quickly became a gossip and venting session where everyone would reveal the things that bothered them about being married or dating a professional athlete. It wasn't really your scene to air out your dirty laundry to anyone outside of your relationship, but you wanted to make friends in the organization, so you offered to bring the alcohol.

"Y/N, you're awfully quiet tonight." All eyes were on you now, and you shrunk under the scrutiny. "Spill it girl, everyone's dying to know how Joe is in bed." Tiffany, the most senior wife on the team, she'd been married to her husband for over a decade, scooted forward towards you. Desperate to change the conversation, you pivoted. "Uh, can I get anyone more wine?" You quickly lifted to your feet and scurried to through the house before anyone could stop you.

"Yeah, baby, how am I in bed?" Joe's voice startled you as you collided with him in the kitchen, Joe catching you at the waist. "Oh my god, don't even start." You playfully slapped him on the chest before pulling away, making him chuckle. You disappeared into the pantry and reemerged with a couple of bottles of wine.

"Where is the bottle opener, babe?" You searched the usual drawer, coming up empty. "Here." Joe approached you from behind, his crotch pressing against your ass as he reached above you to grab the bottle opener. "You better have nothing but good things to say about me", he teased you, a whisper in your ear sending a shiver down your spine.

"That doesn't bother you, that people are asking about something so intimate?" You asked, furrowing your brow as you looked at Joe, who simply shrugged. "I mean, not really. As long as you're not getting too detailed", he smirked at you, making your stomach flutter, "its just your version of locker room talk. Its harmless in my eyes."

You removed the cork from one of the bottles with a large with a loud pop. "So I shouldn't tell them about how you like to-", you gestured at your chest suggestively. "Hey! Those are details." Joe wagged a finger at you, playfully patting your butt as you walked back to the living room.

"Y/N! You're just in time!", one of the other wives perked up as you reentered the room, filling up the glasses before you sat back down. "Oh really?" You weren't sure you wanted to hear what they were talking about to be honest. 'Yes! We've been talking about whether or not we've ever faked it with our guys." She wiggled her eyebrows at you, "you know, in the bedroom."

You choked on your wine, letting out a couple of forced coughs to catch your breath. "I, uh-", you were feeling the pressure to say something memorable. You really hadn't ever faked an orgasm with Joe, but you really wanted to make friends with the other wives, they were your lifeline when you spent a lot of weeks alone. "I'm sure I've done it once before, I just really can't remember." You immediately regretted saying that, your throat going dry.

****

Once all of the ladies had left and you had cleaned up the living room and kitchen, you headed upstairs to get ready for bed. Joe had disappeared at some point during the night upstairs to watch game tape, but when you checked his office, it was empty. You followed the sound of the shower to your bedroom, spotting Joe's pajamas laid out on the bed.

"Remind me to never host a party again", you chuckled, "The wives are something else." Joe barely acknowledged your presence as he walked out of the bathroom, a towel tied at his waist. "I was thinking we could go to brunch at this new place Sarah mentioned." Joe was silent as he slipped a t-shirt over his head. "Joe?"

"I have practice tomorrow", he finally bit out with a sigh.

"I know. I mean after practice. Maybe we could run a couple errands together? Its been a while since we've done that."

"After practice, I have meetings." Even if you didn't know your husband well, anyone could tell that Joe was upset about something.

"Babe, what's wrong?"

Joe let out a curt laugh, louder than intended. "I don't know. You're the one faking orgasms, why don't you tell me?" Joe wasn't boastful, neither in his private life or on the field, but he did have pride, and it was wounded tonight when he heard you telling all the wives how unsatisfied you were with him in the bedroom.

"Joe, listen, I can explain that-"

"How long have you been lying to me?" You knew you had to tread carefully here and make sure you didn't say the wrong thing. "I haven't been lying to you, Joe. You said it yourself, its just "locker room" talk."

"And we agreed, no details! I don't talk to the guys about you like that." Joe sat at the edge of the bed, his brow furrowed in anger. You straddled his lap, raking your hands through his wet hair. "You're right. I crossed a line, it won't happen again, okay? But really, babe, it was nothing." You teased him with a quick peck on the lips, Joe deepening the kiss as he held you in place by the back of the head. You moaned as you felt his tongue roam your mouth, gasping for breath as the two of you made out.

You broke apart out of necessity, your chest heaving as you looked at Joe's baby blue eyes, your faces inches from each other.

"Show me."

You held his face in your hands. "Show you what?"

"When I'm fucking you. Where you're faking it." You groaned as you lifted yourself off of his lap. "Joe, let it go, please." Joe hated losing, always had, and this admission felt like a loss to him. He grabbed your wrist as you tried to walk away, pulling you to stand between his legs. His fingers toyed with the zipper of your jeans before he unbuttoned them, pushing them past your hips and exposing your lace panties. He pressed a kiss just below your belly button, his lips lingering against your skin as you shivered. You stepped out of your jeans, kicking them off to the side.

"If you're not lying, and this is just locker room talk, let me fix whatever's wrong."

The thought of you faking an orgasm truly did upset him, and as much as he hides behind his male bravado, there's something incredibly intimate about being able to truly release for your partner, no holds barred. A level of trust he's worked hard for, and you so easily revealed to be false.

You opened your mouth to speak, but could only let out a gasp as he quickly had you mount one of his large, muscular thighs, his hands holding you down at your hips. You instinctively ground yourself against him, the friction of your panties rubbing against your clit overwhelming. "Joe, I-" you mumbled against his lips as he pulled you in for another kiss, your fingertips digging into his shoulders as you quickened the pace of your hips, alternating between moving back and forth and in lazy circles as your orgasm built in your core.

"It can't be this, baby", he whispered, taking in your face as it contorted with pleasure, "that doesn't look like the face of someone faking it."

"I promise you, I'm not faking it." You bit out, throwing your head back. You pulled your shirt off over your head, your breasts at eye level with Joe. His nose trailed down your front, nestling between your breasts as he laid wet kisses between them. You were quickly coming undone, frantically moving on top of him. He could feel you getting close, your thighs clenching around his leg. "Get on the bed."

You climbed around Joe, lying on your back as he stood, the towel around his waist falling to his feet. The tip of his cock was bright pink and leaking with pre-cum as it rested against his lower stomach. You were salivating at the thought of feeling him on your tongue, but Joe had other plans for you. You felt the mattress dip as he pressed a knee into the bed, moving to position himself between your legs.

He let out a dark chuckle as he stroked himself, watching you wriggle on the bed uncomfortably, desperate to reach your climax. "Were you lying about this part, baby?" You let out a squeal as he drug the head of his cock through your drenched folds, teasing your entrance before pulling away.

"Joe, please", you begged, very aware of how desperate you sounded. You shifted yourself down towards him, growing impatient. "Joe, what?" At this point he was just enjoying toying with you. "Joe, please stop playing around." You could fake with your words all you wanted, but your body gave you away. You were no actor; there was no faking the shaking legs and the heaving chest.

He moaned out as he sunk deep into you, bottoming out as you adjusted to his size, slowly moving your hips around his pelvis. He leaned over, framing your head with his forearms. "You know, I could never fake this with you." He moved to your throat, grazing his teeth against your skin. At this point you were just cockwarming him as Joe pressed kisses to your jawline.

"Joe, please, move. Fuck me, please." You whined in his ear, digging your nails into his back, but he continued to hold you there with his body weight. There's nothing you can do but submit to him and you want nothing more than for him to ravish you, but you can tell he's holding back.

"The way you feel when I'm so deep inside of you." He slowly pulled out before slamming his hips back into you, all of the breath leaving your chest. "All of this is real. Always has been, always will be." He pulls out again, this time pushing himself to the hilt agonizingly slow, so you feel every inch of him.

The pace he set was relentless, his thrusts audible in the room as you coated his cock with your slick, hurdling toward your orgasm. "Fuck, Joe. Fuck, don't stop", you breathed out, your eyes shut tight. You tried to reach down to pleasure yourself, but Joe pounded so roughly into you, you couldn't focus, the circles around your clit erratic, your moans vibrating in your chest. "I'm- I'm, Joe-" you stuttered, gasping for breath, tears welling in your eyes from the intense pleasure. "I've got you, baby. I've got you", he reassured you, seeing you grasp at the sheets to steady yourself.

He studied your face, looking for the sign that you were close. There it was: you scrunched your face tightly, your nose wiggling as your release washed over you, your cushiony walls clenching down around him. He remembered how cute your orgasming face was the first time he saw it, an innocent juxtaposition to the explicit actions happening below.

"Such a good girl. So good, baby." He praised, as each pulse of your muscles pulled him in deeper, making his hips stutter, warmth pooling in his stomach. He continued to fuck you so you could ride your high as long as possible, but you were overstimulated. Joe nestled his face in the crook of your neck, groans leaving his mouth as he felt you tighten around him, and in within seconds he was cuming inside of you, "Oh, fuck, fuck", he cried out as you milked him for every drop of his release.

You pulled him in tight, cradling his head and drawling lazy circles on his back as you both came down from your high. His pants in your ear made you shiver, a giggle slipping from your lips as his cock grazed against your sensitive bud when he pulled out. He pushed away from the bed, resting on his hands, laying to the side of you. He took his time admiring your perfect body, his fingertips dragging along your sensitive skin, your face blissed out and euphoric.

"You know I'd never lie to you, right?", you stroked his cheek with your thumb as he looked down at you. "I love you, Joe."

"I know. I never should have doubted you." He gave you a small smile as he rested his chin on your chest. "Just no more bedroom talk with the wives. Deal?"

"Deal, baby."

Tag-List:

@wonderlandiswhereitsatyo

@bernelflo

@wickedfun9

@brrbrina

@zobellagio

@tallrock35

#joe burrow #joey burrow #joey b #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow fanfiction #joe burrow smut #joe burrow imagine #nfl imagine #nfl fanfic #nfl fanfiction #nfl smut

[solarmorrigan]

I'm late, I'm sorry, but here's the full fic from this WIP post yesterday!

[CW: bullying, references to canon racism and violence, mentions of recreational drug use]

-

Steve makes it to the bathroom down the hall from the shop classroom—the one that’s far from the cafeteria and always empty during lunch, where people really only come to smoke, anyway—before he completely loses his shit.

“Son of a bitch!” He’s almost screaming as he hauls off and punches the wall of one of the bathroom stalls, putting every ounce of anger and frustration and humiliation into it, hitting it so hard that the whole construction rattles.

“Motherfucker,” he hisses, shaking his hand out, because it had hurt, and then he winds up to do it again, to make it hurt more, because at least he’s in control of that much, at least it’s anything but what he’s feeling right now.

“That’s a good way to break your hand, y’know,” a voice comes from the doorway, startling Steve into pivoting and aiming his fist at whoever is coming after him now.

He stops short when he sees nobody but Eddie goddamn Munson standing there, cringing into a startled flinch to protect his head as Steve nearly swings at him.

“Jesus shit,” Steve barks, dropping his fist and stepping back, shaky with adrenaline. “You walk like a fucking ghost, Munson.”

Munson peeks out of his defensive crouch before straightening up and sending a meaningful glance at the stall wall. “Somehow, I don’t think you would’ve heard me even if I was making all the noise in the world.”

Steve shrugs, his shoulders staying up near his ears in a defensive slouch. He can feel something dropping out of his hair and down the side of his face, and he feels the humiliation all over again as he tries to swipe it away.

“What do you want?” he asks, beyond caring if he sounds rude; he thinks he’s entitled, considering.

This time, Munson shrugs, a rolling, casual thing that belies the sharp look in his eyes. “Came to see if you were okay, I guess.”

Steve snorts. Is he okay?

Like, in the grand scheme of things, the answer is a really shaky “maybe.” But lately? It’s more of a resounding “no, not fucking really.”

Aside from everything else – aside from the nightmares, aside from the headaches, aside from the fact he’d had to drop basketball after his concussion, aside from having no real friends or allies at school now that he and Nancy aren’t together – aside from all that, there’s Billy fucking Hargrove.

Hargrove, who had taken all of a month to start pushing Steve’s buttons again. Who had taken less than a few days after that to realize that Steve wasn’t going to push back.

And then he’d started looking for the boundary line, pushing and pushing, shoulder-checking Steve in the hall, tripping him in the single class they share, knocking shit out of his hands, shoving him when his back is turned, all the while spitting names and insults, until it had culminated into today’s fiasco: dumping a carton of chocolate milk over the top of Steve’s head in the middle of the cafeteria with a deeply unconvincing “oops.”

It had gone dead silent, every eye in the room on Steve’s red face and Hargrove’s triumphant grin, while Steve had only been able to stand there, shaking with startled rage as milk had sluiced out of his hair and seeped into his collar and down the back of his shirt, knowing that he couldn’t retaliate.

He couldn’t.

He’d marched out of the cafeteria, shame and anger growing as voices had bloomed up behind him, already gossiping and speculating.

So, no, actually, he’s not really okay.

But instead of saying any of this to Munson, he just scoffs and turns away, looking towards the sinks.

“Wouldn’t have expected you to care,” he says, injecting as much lazy indifference into his voice as he can, trying to armor up the way he used to. “The number of speeches you’ve given about how much me and my group suck, I’d have figured you’d be the first to say I deserved it.”

Munson doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Steve doesn’t look back to see if the barb landed. He doesn’t really care, he just wants the guy to go away so Steve can finish his meltdown and clean up in peace.

“Not your group anymore, though,” Munson finally says.

Steve shrugs, pulling a wad of paper towels from the dispenser; might as well move on to cleanup if Munson isn’t going to fuck off. He guesses his little breakdown can wait until he gets home.

“Hasn’t been for over a year, now, right?” Munson goes on. Steve says nothing, using a dry paper towel to try to blot up the mess. “And whatever you were like then, you’re… less like that now. Like, anyone paying attention can see you’re kinda trying something new this year.”

Steve ignores the way that makes something catch in his throat. “Thanks for the endorsement,” he drawls. “I’ll put it on my college apps: Not as much of an asshole as I used to be.”

“It’s a start,” Munson says, and Steve glances up in time to see him shrug in the mirror.

“I guess,” Steve mutters.

“And, uh – hey, I grabbed your stuff,” Munson says, holding up the binder and notebooks that Steve’s attention had glossed over until now. “Some of it’s kinda… milky, sorry.”

Steve blinks. “Uh. Thank you,” he says, stunned for a moment into sincerity.

Munson shrugs again, putting Steve’s stuff up on the narrow shelf on the wall that no one ever uses to hold things because it’s probably never been cleaned. Not like Steve’s stuff is clean now, anyway.

Steve turns back to the sink, wetting a few of the paper towels and waiting to see if Munson is going to leave now.

“What I can’t figure out–” nope, apparently he’s staying, “–is why you’re in here punching the wall, instead of out there, punching Hargrove.”

At least that makes more sense; he’s here out of curiosity, not concern.

“I mean, most people would’ve hit him for that,” Munson goes on. “I would’ve.”

But Steve’s already shaking his head before Munson’s finished speaking. “Not worth it,” he says firmly.

“What, afraid of a little suspension?” Munson asks, almost teasing. “Pretty sure the school would let their golden boy off with a slap on the wrist.”

“Not anybody’s golden boy anymore,” Steve snaps, scrubbing a wet paper towel through his hair in a vain attempt to get some of the rapidly-drying milk out. “I dropped basketball, remember? Didn’t even go in for swimming this year.”

“Oh, yeah,” Munson says, like he’d genuinely forgotten. “Sorry, not really into the whole… sports scene. Like, at all.”

Steve shrugs. “Whatever. Not important. I don’t give a shit about being suspended. I don’t even care if he hits me back. Not like I need another knock to the head at this point, but – whatever.” Steve shakes his head. “It’s just that he could– there are other things he could do.”

In the mirror, Munson’s eyebrows go up. “What, does he have blackmail on you or some shit?”

Steve raises his brows right back. “If he did, do you really think I’d tell you?”

Munson tips his head to the side. “Yeah, okay, fair enough.”

“Anyway, he doesn’t have blackmail, he has… leverage, I guess.” Steve lets out a harsh sigh and gives up on his hair for now, wetting a paper towel to try to get some of the milk off his face and neck, instead.

“…are you allowed to tell me what that is?” Munson asks after a moment.

And for a moment, Steve thinks about it. The only people in school who really know are Nancy and Jonathan, and he’s asked them to follow his lead in just – not talking about it. He hasn’t told anybody any version of what happened in the Byers’ house, or why Billy seems to have made him his personal stress ball. But who the hell would Munson tell? All his nerdy friends in his game club?

(No, no, that’s not fair. Steve doesn’t even know those people, and he’s trying not to be that guy anymore. He doesn’t have to be nice, but he shouldn’t be unkind.)

(The point stands, though – who would Munson even tell?)

“Do you know why Hargrove beat my face in back in November?” Steve finally asks, avoiding Munson’s eyes in the mirror by focusing very hard on getting the tacky milk off his hairline.

“Well, I’ve heard most of the rumors by now, I think. Heard Hargrove’s version of events, as has pretty much everyone, I’m sure. Haven’t heard yours, though,” Munson says, his voice tilting up in interest. “I just figured it was because he hated you.”

Steve lets out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, you’re not wrong. But also…” He pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “There are these kids I babysit. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Munson presses.

“Well, most of the time it feels like they’re just ordering me around like a bunch of entitled shitheads. But I make sure they get where they’re going without, like, disappearing, and that they don’t have so much unsupervised time that they manage to get themselves killed,” Steve admits.

“Uh huh,” Munson says; he sounds… a little confused, but not disbelieving. “And you ended up with this gig, how?”

“It’s Nancy’s little brother, and his little nerd friends,” Steve says (he’s allowed to call them nerds because he knows them, and it’s true. And besides, it’s affectionate).

“Aaand you’re still doing it now? Even though you and Wheeler aren’t…”

Steve shrugs. “They grew on me. But that’s– that’s not the point. One of the kids is, uh. Hargrove’s stepsister. And the night me and Hargrove got into it, I guess she wasn’t supposed to be out.”

“Ah,” Munson says.

“Yeah.” Steve sighs, giving up on the milk as a bad job; he probably should’ve run off to the gym showers instead of a shitty bathroom. He turns and leans back against the sink, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at the floor near Munson’s scuffed sneakers. “So he came looking for her.”

“So… Not that I’m advocating handing over children to pieces of shit like him, but – like, wouldn’t it have been the technically correct thing to do, to send her home with what is legally a family member?” Munson asks.

Steve passes a hand over his face. “She was terrified,” he says quietly, feeling a little like he’s betraying Max’s trust by saying it out loud, by saying it to a stranger. “She was terrified of what he would do if he found her there, where she wasn’t supposed to be. Terrified of what he would do to one of the other kids if he caught them together, since he’d specifically warned her to stay away from him.”

“What’s wrong with this other kid?” Munson asks, brows furrowed.

“Nothing,” Steve bites out. “He’s smart, and he’s brave, and he’s, like, slightly less of an asshole than some of the others, but what Hargrove cared about is that he’s black.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Munson snaps, and Steve’s hackles raise, ready to defend his kid all over again if he has to, but before he can get anything else out, Munson goes on. “We already knew he was a racist piece of shit, but – a fucking kid?”

Steve subsides. “Yeah. A fucking kid. So I told them all to stay inside and I went out to try to head him off. Or at least keep him out of the house. Which, obviously, I failed at.” He lets out a derisive little laugh, aimed solely at himself. “He knocked me on my ass, knocked the wind out of me, got past me– and by the time I was able to get up, he was already– he was inside, and he had that kid by the collar, up against the wall– one of my fucking kids–” Steve breaks off, the same rage and terror from that night choking up in his throat again. After the day he’s had, his emotions are all too close to the surface, too near to bubbling out, and he rubs at his nose, trying to stave off the angry, exhausted tears he can feel pricking at the corners of his eyes. “So I decked him.”

“Good!” Munson exclaims, and for a moment Steve actually manages a real smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “Then he hit me back, which, like, obviously. I was expecting him to, but– I mean, I might’ve actually won that fight if the fucker hadn’t hit me in the head with a plate.”

The expression that crosses Munson’s face is almost comically shocked. “What?”

“Yeah,” Steve says again, running a hand over his jaw, thumbing almost unconsciously at the still-fading scar where the porcelain had sliced him open. “I’m a little fuzzy on shit after that. Like, I remember being on the floor, and him kneeling over me, and hitting me, and hitting me, and then– I dunno, nothing.”

Distantly, Steve realizes that the expression on Munson’s face has turned from ‘comically shocked’ to ‘mildly horrified,’ but he’s a little too lost in the blurry memory of that night to do much about it.

“Holy shit, how are you not dead?” Munson blurts out.

He looks like he immediately regrets asking, but Steve finds he’s actually grateful for the question. He’s glad to move the conversation along.

“Max.” He smirks over at Eddie. “Hargrove’s stepsister. I guess she, uh– threatened him with a baseball bat? Saved my ass.”

That’s a deep over-simplification, but Steve can’t think of a way to explain the presence of heavy sedatives in the Byers’ house, and, anyway, she had threatened him with a baseball bat. The kids had all taken great joy in reenacting the way Max had nearly neutered Hargrove with the nailbat, actually; it’s almost like Steve had been there (and conscious).

“Holy shit,” Munson says, and whichever part he’s referring to, Steve is inclined to agree.

“Yep. So I was out fucking cold at the time, but the kids all insist that she got him to agree to leave her and her friends alone, but…” Steve shakes his head. “Hargrove is a fucking psychopath. I don’t trust him to keep that promise. So, at least if he’s focused on me, he might leave her alone. But if I hit back…”

“You think he’ll retaliate by going after one of your kids,” Munson says, only a hint of teasing in his words at the end.

“I know he will,” Steve says; Hargrove had implied as much more than once. He crosses his arms back over his chest. “And they are my kids.”

Munson throws his hands up, as if in surrender, but he’s definitely smiling now.

“I’m serious,” Steve insists, close to smiling himself. “They think I’m stuck with them, but they’re the ones stuck with me.”

“Lucky them,” Munson says, and– what?

“What?” Steve asks.

“Look, you’re either a better actor than, like, everyone in the drama club, or you at least seriously believe what you told me, which is more than I can say for Hargrove and whatever shit he came up with about the two of you getting into it over… what, his car was better than yours? He’s better at laundry ball? I don’t fucking remember, and it doesn’t really matter, because it was clearly and pathetically fabricated,” Munson says with an authoritative nod. “You, at the very least, really give a shit about those kids. So, yeah. Lucky them.”

“Well,” Steve scrambles for a moment, trying to cover the way he actually feels like he might start fucking blushing, “if I’d known all I had to do to change your mind about me was tell you about a fight I lost, I’d have done it ages ago.”

And now Munson’s back to smirking at him. “Seeking my esteem that badly, Harrington?”

“What? No. I mean – not– not specifically yours, it’s just… like, there’s not really an easy or fast way to make up for being kind of a dick for the last… while.” Steve runs his hand through his hair, stopping with a grimace when he remembers the drying milk. “You just have to keep not being a dick and hope people give you a chance. So, like, compared to that, convincing you was easy.”

“And all you had to do was get a severe concussion first,” Munson drawls.

Steve rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say it was severe.”

“You got hit with a plate,” Munson deadpans, and Steve can’t quite help the resulting flinch, at which Munson almost immediately softens. “Sorry.”

Steve shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

Mouth screwed to the side, Munson eyes Steve for a moment, glancing over his shirt and up to his face before gesturing at him. “You want some help with that?”

Steve blinks at him. “What?”

“Your whole… hair situation. You could bend ov– like, you could lean over the sink and I could, uh. Try to rinse it for you. Or whatever,” Munson offers, awkward but apparently sincere.

It sounds like a stupid as hell way to try to rinse his hair. The sinks are small, and not exactly high off the ground; Steve would have better luck just going to the locker room and showering it all out. His soap is there, too, and an extra shirt.

On the other hand, Steve really doesn’t feel like leaving the bathroom yet. He’s pretty sure lunch is going to end soon, and encountering everyone during passing period sounds like a nightmare. In here, with Munson, it’s quiet. It feels almost safe.

“Yeah, sure,” Steve finally says, and Munson looks nearly shocked that he’s accepted.

Credit to him, though: he doesn’t back out. He just slides his jacket off, tosses it up over the wall of one of the bathroom stalls, rolls up his sleeves, and gestures for Steve to lean over the sink.

“Hot or cold?” he asks, going for the taps.

“Hot,” Steve answers immediately; he doesn’t need any other cold liquid on his head today.

“Hm.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Munson says airily, turning on the water. “You just kinda strike me as a cold shower guy. Like, up at dawn, go for a run, take a cold shower – all that weird jock shit.”

It isn’t intended to mock, Steve realizes as Munson tests the water temperature—the school pipes take forever to heat up—but to tease. It’s a joke, and Steve is invited in on it. And anyway, it’s… actually kind of close to the mark, so Steve doesn’t say anything at all for a moment as he puts his head as close to the faucet as he can get it and Munson places one cupped hand over the back of his neck and uses the other to scoop water over Steve’s hair.

“Cold water is better for your hair. Not that you’d know anything about that.” Steve finally says, hoping that his own teasing tone carries even with the way he has to raise his voice to be heard over the running water.

Luckily, Munson sounds amused when he answers. “Oh! Shots fucking fired. I see how it is!” Even as he’s pretending at being offended, his fingers stay gentle against Steve’s scalp as he tries to scrub out the dried mess, and Steve fights very, very hard not to shudder.

He can’t remember when the last time someone touched him with gentle intent was. Maybe he’d gotten a hug from Dustin last week?

Shit, that’s fucking pathetic.

He tries even harder not to lean into the touch, into the surprisingly kind hands on the back of his neck and on his scalp, tries hard not to act like some kind of touch-starved weirdo and make Munson regret offering to help.

The irony of the fact that Steve is trying not to act like a freak in front of Eddie Munson is not lost on him.

After another couple of minutes of Munson manipulating Steve’s head this way and that, doing his best to be thorough, he lets Steve go entirely and shuts the water off.

“That’s probably as good as I’m gonna be able to get it,” he says, pushing another handful of paper towels at Steve as he stands up.

“Better than I could’ve done here,” Steve says with a shrug, rubbing the paper towels over his hair and grimacing as he can feel it frizzing in about a hundred different directions.

When he finishes, he turns to look in the mirror, watching in real time as it droops over his forehead and tickles at his wet shirt collar. Munson stands next to him, watching without judgement, but with what feels like an inappropriate amount of fascination.

“Well, I’m not going to lie to you,” Munson says at last, “you look a little like a sad, wet dog.”

Steve’s eyes snap to Munson with a glare. “Gee, thanks.”

“Some people are into that!” Munson insists, holding his hands up placatingly. “That droopy aesthetic, with the big, brown puppy eyes. Someone might just wanna scoop you up and take you home to take care of you. It’s a thing.”

Do you want to? – the question comes immediately and unbidden to Steve’s head, and he quickly shakes it away. They might be on amiable terms right now, teasing each other a little, but he isn’t sure that wouldn’t be a bridge too far.

(He isn’t even sure it is teasing. For a moment, he’d had the genuine urge to ask.)

“Anyway, I think most of the mess is out of your hair, but I’m pretty sure your shirt is toast,” Munson goes on, gesturing to the brown stain around the collar, over one shoulder, and probably down the back.

If he’d been wearing a darker color today, it might’ve been alright, but of course today he’d chosen light blue. Steve sighs, plucking at the front of the shirt. If he can’t salvage it, he might as well ditch it; it’s getting uncomfortably stiff and tacky with the dried milk, and he’d honestly rather stick it out in his undershirt for as long as it takes him to get to the locker room than walk around with evidence of Hargrove’s little stunt all over him.

He untucks the shirt and yanks it over his head, no need to be careful of his hair, emerging from the depths of it to find Munson staring at him in a stunned sort of silence.

“What?” Steve asks. “If it’s wrecked, anyway, I might as well get rid of it. I’ve got a spare shirt in my gym locker I can go grab.”

Munson blinks at him, almost like he’s trying to clear his head. “Or!” he practically shouts – possibly louder than he meant to, since he continues more quietly, “Or, you could just ditch for the rest of the day. I mean, you have any particularly interesting classes after lunch you feel the need to attend?”

“Not really,” Steve admits with a huff of a laugh. “But leaving after that feels a little like– letting Hargrove win. Like I’m retreating or some shit.”

“Nah, don’t think of it like that.” Munson tosses an arm over Steve shoulders, waving his other in front of both of them, like he’s trying to show Steve a grand vision and they aren’t both just staring at the ugly tile on the bathroom wall. “Think of it as cutting class and getting free weed from Hawkins High’s most esteemed dealer.”

Steve turns to look at Munson, staring at him more closely than he’s ever had reason to, and realizing there are tiny freckles on his face. “What, seriously?”

“Sure.” Munson shrugs. “Lemme smoke you out, Harrington. Seems like a good way to let your stress go for a bit – though I am just a little biased.”

“Why?” Steve asks; he doesn’t understand the sudden turn this day has taken, the sudden and bizarre kindness offered that he doesn’t even know what he’s done to deserve.

Munson’s eyes slide away from Steve, though his arm notably stays draped over his shoulders. “Been where you are. It’s not great. And, I mean, if it had happened last year, then, admittedly, I probably wouldn’t have given as much of a shit. Jock on jock violence, whatever. But you,” he glances back at Steve, “you’re genuinely trying to be, like, a good person. And I don’t think you should be punished for that. I think, in fact, that you could probably use a friend.”

“I…” The words stick in Steve’s throat, because what the hell can he even say to that? On anyone else, Steve would have assumed an ulterior motive, but Munson had infused it with so much awkward sincerity that Steve can’t help but realize it’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s said or offered to do for him in… he’s not even sure how long.

His silence must stretch on a little too long, though, because the hopeful light in Munson’s eyes fades a bit, and he begins to slide his arm off of Steve’s shoulder. “Or, y’know, you can tell me to fuck off, because I’m, like, way overstepping some boundaries, and–”

“We should go to my place,” Steve blurts, while grabbing Munson’s wrist for some insane reason.

“What?” Munson blinks over at him, (understandably) startled.

“My place. We should go there to smoke. If you still want to.” Steve could cringe for how stilted the whole thing is coming out. “I want to be able to take a real shower.”

Munson stares at him for a moment longer before laying a hand over his heart with a gasp, suddenly leaning heavily into Steve’s side and forcing Steve to wrap an arm around his waist so they don’t both lose their balance.

“I see how it is!” Munson gasps dramatically. “My sink shower just wasn’t good enough!”

Steve holds in a laugh. “Your sink shower was… fine. But I’ve got milk dried in other uncomfortable places, so unless you want to wash my back for me, too, we should go back to mine.”

Munson’s gaze snaps back to Steve, something a little odd in it, and – oh. Oh, that hadn’t sounded quite like Steve had meant it. It had sounded a little like an offer of the kind you don’t go around making to just anybody.

Steve braces himself, waiting for the reaction (he doubts if Munson would get any kind of physical, but there will probably be an awkward pulling away and sudden remembering of something he has to do literally anywhere else that afternoon), but all Munson does is break into a sly smile and say, “I could, but I’d have to charge you extra.”

Steve can’t help it: he laughs, giving Munson a good-natured shove, who finally releases Steve but doesn’t stumble more than a couple of steps away.

“Meet you at my place?” Steve offers, balling up his shirt and dropping it on top of his notebooks as he grabs them from the shelf. “Half an hour?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Munson gives him a corny little salute before grabbing his jacket from over the stall wall and preceding Steve to the bathroom door.

“Munson,” Steve finds himself calling out, just as the other boy’s hand closes around the door handle; Munson glances back and Steve fights the urge to look away. “Uh. Thanks. For, like… yeah. Thanks.”

Whatever meaning Munson takes out of Steve’s absolutely eloquent verbal vomit of gratitude, it makes him smile. “No need for thanks, man,” he says. “I’m honestly a little surprised to say it, but the pleasure was definitely mine.”

And then he disappears out the door, leaving Steve in the bathroom wondering how the hell his day had taken this turn, and just what destination it’s leading him to.

And thinking that he’s honestly a little excited to find out.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things post s2 AU #stranger things #this one is a bit long just as a heads up; about 4.6k #is it good? I dunno but I had fun writing it and you guys seem interested so here we go! #eddiesteve #solar wrote

[plumdiggity]

There’s a standing event with my friends, we all come over to a place to hang out and drink and catch up and watch movies. The last couple of times I’ve blacked out but that’s kind of my fault for drinking on an empty stomach and no one else seems to mind me staying the night.

I’m the last to arrive, stuck in traffic, and the only spot free is right in the middle of the couch so I wedge myself in between and am immediately handed a drink. We’re just watching old vine compilation videos so it’s not weird that the video ends and another starts every few minutes. It takes me a few seconds to realise the next video isn’t vines or memes. It’s… porn. People with backs hunched wordlessly moaning and thrusting into some girl whose face is covered by another girls thighs assumedly being eaten out. It sounds brutal, balls slapping so loud I’m surprised if it doesn’t hurt. I laugh a little, about to make a joke about someone accidentally adding in their porn collection but stop when I recognise the couch. It’s the one I’m currently sitting on. I look around to gauge everyone else’s reactions but all eyes are on me.

“We were surprised that even after the 5th time we drugged you that you still never caught on. So we thought we’d skip that this time.”

“Yeah. Either you’re completely oblivious or way more of a slut than we thought.”

My eyes pivot back to the screen in time to see the camera pull back and the angle change and I’m watching myself getting manhandled into a new position. Straddling someone and hands shoving me down onto their thick cock, then pushed forward so my ass was more exposed for a second to slam into me as well. My cries are muffled and the camera turns so I see my drugged out self struggling to deepthroat a huge strap on that I’m told is going to split my tight ass if I don’t slobber it up enough.

I barely register that my glass had been taken out of my hand and my best friend has started sliding her hand up my thigh under my skirt. I don’t hear the rustling of clothing being removed but I let out an involuntary whimper when my bestie rubs her fingers over my panties and leans in close to whisper “I’m gonna make you squirt with that strap in your ass this time.”

#nsft txt #bd/sm community #bd/sm kink #cnc k!nk #rough cnc #cnc free use #cnc somno #plum speaks #r@pe fantasy #r@pe kink #g@ng r@pe #g@ngb@ng #nsft fantasy

[atinystraynstay]

Love Underneath the Moon - Christopher Bahng

Synopsis: "Coming home to you keeps me fucking sane."

Pairing: idol! Christopher Bahng x fem reader

Genre: fluff at the beginning but turns smut because all I keep thinking about is Chan's back photo from Global Citizen.. thanks Changbin, established relationship, possessive Chan - Minors DNI

Contains: nudity, dirty talk, fingering (f. receiving), ending (f. receiving), mentions of female masturbation with sex toys, unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, creampie, oral (f. receiving), Chan eats cum out of your pussy (idk what you even call that??)

Word Count: 4.3k

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Today has been fucking shit Nothing is going right, nobody is agreeing on anything I just want to be home with you..

Each time you read over the text messages, your heart broke a bit. Chan was the guy who put is 100% into everything he does. Not only because he wants a solid end product, but because he cares. You adored how motivated and dedicated Chan was, especially when it comes to music. He's worked so hard to get to this point.

However, with that high level of dedication came intense frustration when things weren't going his way. You wanted to help him out as much as you could, but Chan sometimes forbid you from coming to the studio. It wasn't that he didn't want you there. You were always the first one to listen to the newest songs or projects. When they were almost finished, that is. If he was in the midst of the hurricane of creativity, he wanted to wait until he rode out the storm.

That left you with only one solution - prepare for Chan to arrive home. You had cleaned the living room, so it was a comfortable space for Chan the moment he walked in. You had his favorite sandalwood candle burning on the coffee table. In the kitchen, you were preparing his favorite meal. God bless his mom for sending you the recipe. You were certain he hadn't eaten since he stepped into the studio.

Chan was the type of guy that took care of everyone before himself. That's why he got so frustrated whenever he was falling short of his own expectations. The songs were pivotal for himself but also the success of his members. He also found himself getting agitated because he was spending more time away from you.

You rarely got the chance to spoil your boyfriend. He often was too insistent that he had to take care of you first, both in the bedroom and on a day-to-day basis. Tonight was going to be different.

Suddenly, you heard the front door of your shared apartment open and the sound of footsteps. You stirred the stew cooking in the pot once more before putting a lid on it, letting it simmer for a few moments. Your boyfriend needed you.

"Princess, I'm home," called out that familiar voice. "Coming!"

Your feet couldn't have carried you faster. You rushed towards the front of the apartment where you spotted your boyfriend. He was slipping off his leather jacket, hanging it up on the coat rack before slipping out of his shoes. He groaned in relief when his feet hit the soft carpet beneath him.

"Welcome home, handsome," you greeted. Chan smiled at the sound of your voice being closer than before. He looked exhausted from his somewhat slumped posture to the look in his eyes. You knew he was due for a good night's sleep, but not before you were attentive to his needs.

Once you were close to him, you snaked your arms around his torso. He pulled you in closer, arms flexed around your smaller frame and holding you close as possible. His face nuzzled into your hair. He loved the scent of your shampoo - coconut with a hint of vanilla. It comforted him. You felt his body somewhat relax just by the physical contact. You placed tiny kisses across the side of his face and jawline.

You knew better than to ask him about work. You already got enough information how work went from the texts exchanged between the two of you. Now that he was home, you wanted to help him forget about the day.

"My girl miss me as much as I missed her?" Chan hummed lightly. "Of course I did," you whispered.

You pulled back gently, just enough to be able to look up into his eyes. He smiled once he got a view of your entire face. Keeping one arm wrapped around you, his other hand reached down to tuck a few strands of your hair behind your ear. His hand then slid forward so he cupped your cheek. His touch was warm and comforting, causing you to naturally lean your face into his palm. He grinned at the gesture.

"Now, I have a few options for us tonight-" you began. "Sweetie, I appreciate the gesture, but I'm exhausted," Chan frowned.

He hated letting you down. You quickly shook your head which caused him to furrow his eyebrows in confusion. Just wait until he hears what you have in store for him.

"If you let me finished, I was going to say you can pick what we do," you explained. You kept one arm wrapped around his torso. Your free hand slipped forward to rest on his chest. You allowed your fingertips to run up and down gently, feeling just how toned your boyfriend was. Lord have mercy.

"So, I do have dinner on the stove. It is ready for you now or I can easily put it in the fridge for after," you giggled. "You could also go take off your shirt and let me give you a message, you can go take a shower, or we can go relax in bed for a while until you feel ready to eat. Anything can happen that you'd like, baby boy."

His eyes widened in surprise as his heart swelled with happiness. How did he get so lucky?

"As much as I love your cooking, my body aches. I was going to take a hot shower before we eat, but a massage sounds even better," he confessed. His hands ran up and down your sides affectionately, stopping at your hips. He gave a light squeeze before pulling you in closer. Chan's face moved closer to yours. There was something in his mind transpiring. "And how could I pass up the opportunity of having your hands all over me?" He asked, eyebrow raised but a smirk on his lips. His voice had dropped an octave which only accentuated his accent. It also made you want to drop on your knees for him.

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

Candles were lit all around your bedroom, providing a warm glow to the room. Even under the dimmed lighting, Chan's skin still glowed. He had a playlist he created on Spotify for when the two of you would unwind at night. Currently, "I'm Probably Going To Rock Your World" by Logic was playing through the speakers.

You were straddling Chan's lower back. He was shirtless, muscles relaxed for the time being. His hands gently resting on the comforter beneath him. He always loved the feeling of your body on his. You were his anchor in this life. He would do everything and anything for you as you really go above and beyond for him.

"Just relax, baby," you whispered. "I've got you."

That's all that Chan needed to hear. He crossed his arms and let the left side of his face rest against them. From this position, he could still look back at you.

Your lips began to plant gentle kisses across his face. He had a wide grin on his lips, chuckling and blushing a bit. Chris was still getting used to the fact that you were willing to show him so much affection. He's never had a partner that seemed to be so prideful in being his. It made him all giggly. You smiled lightly against his skin as you pressed the tiny kisses which nearly killed him.

Sitting up slightly, your lips began to press into the back of his neck. They moved slowly to his shoulder blades. You've always been mesmerized by his shoulders, specifically their strength. In every sense, Chan was the strongest person you knew.

He was the leader of the group, he attended every meeting possible so the best decision was being made for the 7 members. He also constantly recorded every single that his mind came up with, most of the time for the others. He always put the 7 boys first before himself.

You also were attracted to his physical strength. You could watch the way his muscles flexed whenever he had to lift, pull, push, or do anything. You wanted to run your hands over every ridge formed, kiss every dimple. How did you get so lucky to have him all to yourself? Reaching beside you, you squirted a bit of lotion into your hands. Gently rubbing them together, just so the lotion spreads over your hands. Your hands got to work at easing his tense muscles. He groaned in bliss at the feeling of your hands against his skin. You felt your stomach tingle at the sound.

You focused on his back muscles first. Your fingertips pressed into his skin, rolling it gently. He hummed at the feeling, shutting his eyes. One of his hands though moved from underneath his head. It moved slowly to rest against your outer thigh.

There was no denying that you loved having Chan's attention. He was a very busy man. You were grateful to be a part of his world, but you loved the moments when nothing else mattered besides you. And to Chan, you were his everything. He was unafraid to show you that. "I'm sorry, sweet girl, that I've been away for a while. I cannot imagine how lonely the nights must've been."

With dance rehearsals, award shows, and promotions, you and Chan have rarely gotten time to just be with each other. Of course, you were incredibly proud to be able to witness firsthand all his hard work paying off. You just couldn't fight that you secretly wished he would be home more rather than seeing each other right when you wake up and right when you fall asleep. "Yet, here you are. Taking care of me?" Chan's hand ran up and down your bare thigh. His fingers ran along the skin, causing goosebumps to rise. He couldn't help but smirk knowing the effect he has on you. "Well, you're the one who had a bad day, baby," you rationalized. "Hmm, I did but you're always going above and beyond for me. I think it's time I return the favor." You didn't get the chance to argue with Chan. Before you knew it, Chan was sitting up. He placed both of his hands on your thighs to ease you onto the bed, so your back hit the comforter. He maneuvered himself so he however above you.

His hands left your thighs, so they could explore the rest of your body. He looked at you with love, with admiration, with lust. One hand rested on your side, caressing your stomach affectionately. The other hand was holding himself up as he leaned over you. "Much better, don't you think?" He winked.

The hand on your stomach slowly moved up underneath your shirt. He moved it slowly, wanting you to feel every ridge of his fingerprint on your skin. His hand slowly moved up and he cupped your left breast. He squeezed it gently, feeling the soft lace under his touch. Lace was always his kryptonite. "Why don't you take it off for me, darling? Hmm? Show me what belongs to me." You didn't have to be told twice. You first slipped off the oversized black shirt off your torso, the one you stole from his closet. The sleeves reached your elbows and came down to your thighs. You tossed the shirt onto the floor, exposing your white lace bra and panties to Chan. He nearly lost it.

"Like what you see?" You giggled.

When the two of you first together, you were a bit on the self-conscious side. You had a string of boyfriends who left more damage than love which made you cautious. Chan was quick to make work on dissolving any self-doubt you had about yourself. He loved watching your confidence grow because it meant that you were seeing yourself as he saw you. You were the whole universe in his eyes. "Baby girl, I fucking love it," he groaned under his breath. "And wearing all white? Really trying to be a good girl or the angel of death because you're going to kill me."

You couldn't help but giggle at his dramatics. One hand moved up to run through his hair, gripping it slightly. His jaw clenched as he could feel the lust storming inside of him. Yet, he wanted to keep his composure. He didn't want to go all in unless you gave him the green light. "You know I love you, right?" He murmured. He leaned down to press kisses into your jawline, moving down towards your neck. His lips worked rather quick. He made light nips into your skin, causing you to cling more to him. "But you want to ruin me?" You whispered into his ear.

You were quick to connect the dots. You could tell by the look in his eyes that there was something on his mind. And while you loved making love to your boyfriend, you both were craving each other. You had nowhere else to be but with each other. Your tone was light and seductive. It caused Chan's mind to become fuzzy as all he could think about was slamming his cock in your pussy. He craved your warm, wet, tight pussy as you screamed his name. The only name that could leave your mouth for the rest of your days. His inner thoughts revealed themselves as you could feel his boner pressing against your inner thigh.

"You read my fucking mind, darling." "Then what are you waiting for? Ruin my pussy for anyone else."

There it is. The green light.

He slowly sat up, looking down at you. You swore you'd never seen a more beautiful sight. And he was all yours. You smiled at him gently, showing him you were ready for everything that he was ready to give you.

The mood in the room shifted. Nothing prepared you for Chan gripping the lace of your panties and ripping them off your hips. You gasped in surprised, staring up at him with wide eyes. You always knew Chan was strong, but god damn. He could go through your whole underwear drawer if he wanted to because that was the hottest thing you've ever witnessed.

His ego boosted seeing as how your legs immediately opened for him. You have always been so responsive to him.

"My girl has been so patient for me, waiting every night for me to come home," he hummed. "Been craving this dick for so long, haven't you?" "I've missed your cock so much, daddy. Nothing can replace you." "You haven't been playing with yourself while I've been away then?" His eyebrow was raised. Oh fuck.

"Because don't think I didn't notice the pink vibrator you tucked underneath your pillow the other night. I know I never gave you permission because you never asked. What is one of daddy's rules?"

You wanted the bed to swallow you whole. You did your best to keep yourself occupied. Chan always appreciated his good girl. You would text him, saying how needy you were for his touch. The past few days of been silent on your end when it came to the topic. He figured you were just busy. "Well?" His tone now an octave lower. It accentuated his Australian accent, making your pussy become wetter in an instant. "Answer me." "To always ask daddy for permission before pleasing myself." "Very good. Daddy just likes to make sure his girl is being taken care of. I don't like lying." Before you could rush out apologizes to your significant other, his fingers smacked against your clit. The slap caused your legs to jolt a bit, pleasure running up your spin. "I really should punish you tonight." His words contradicted his actions. At first, his fingers gently rubbed small circles into your clit to ease the ache. Then, he moved his fingers to run up and down his slit. He smirked with satisfaction feeling already how wet you were for him. "But you went through so much trouble for me. It's as if you knew you got caught and were already trying to make up for it."

Your mind was a bit fuzzy already with the lust taking over. It's been weeks without the two of you being able to be intimate. There really wasn't anything that Ould replace how Chan makes you feel. You just needed something to hold you over, but you weren't able to risk saying that. You weren't in the mood for teasing. If being compliant got you what you desired most which was Chan stretching you out with his thick dick, you'd do whatever it took. "I'm sorry, daddy," you whimpered.

He smiled down at you gently before placing a lingering kiss on your forehead. You fluttered your eyes at the gesture but soon shot them up at the feeling of Chan's two fingers entering your pussy. He moved his forehead against yours, wanting to see your reaction.

His fingers already reached places your own could never. He made quick work to scissor his fingers. Chan always took pride in providing for you, in taking care of you. Foreplay and making sure you were properly ready, both physically but also emotionally and mentally were top priority for him. Skipping this step was a non-negotiable. "Oh, I know you are, baby girl. I know you can only be so patient for so long. I'm honestly impressed with how long you went before breaking." He didn't need to know just how many times you broke that rule. Not yet at least.

Your grip tightened on his hair as he curled his fingers in your pussy. The walls of your pussy were already clenching on his fingers, nearly making Chan roll his eyes back into his head. His fingers moved with urgency into you, his thumb moving to circle your clit. You cried out both in relief and pleasure at the feeling.

"My girl has really missed me."

All you could do was nod your head. You normally aren't the type to get this worked up over fingering, but given the circumstances and given that it was Chan - there was no surprise. You felt your clit throb from the stimulation and your legs twitch, your stomach growing warmer and tighter.

Not yet though. Chan wanted to experience that level of euphoria inside of you. Sure, he loved knowing that he could make you cum with just his fingers. He loved seeing that he was the one that made you see the stars.

Right now, with his cock throbbing inside his shorts, he needed to be inside of you. He wanted your pussy to squeeze his cock.

Just as you were about to warn close of your approaching high, he pulled his fingers out of you. He chuckled at your shocked state. You were so close. The lose of contact caused you to whimper. He almost felt bad. Almost.

He winked at you before sticking his two fingers in his mouth. He hummed loudly, loving the taste of you. It was his favorite thing in the world. He maintained eye contact with you, wanting you to know how attracted he was to you. He would do everything to make sure you never questioned his attraction to you.

Pop.

His fingers were pulled out of his mouth. The sound of their removal bouncing off the walls. "Sweet like honey."

Chan slowly sat up on his knees to pull his shorts. You both were grateful for your lack of clothing. it meant you two could get to each other sooner. He kicked them off, so they joined the shirts discarded on the floor. His cock slapped up against his stomach, the tip red with anger at being restrained for so long.

He was a work of art.

"No boxers, baby?" you giggled. "No, I knew I'd come up and fuck you the moment I left this morning."

You don't know what you did in your previous lives to be grated with being Chan's lover, but you were forever grateful.

Wasting no more time, Chan slid in between your legs. He placed one hand by your head. You tilted your head over to place a delicate kiss to Chan's wrist. You couldn't help yourself.

Even though it was rather intense in the room, that didn't mean you wouldn't let an opportunity pass by the show Chan how much he meant to you. He never crumbled at the gesture but quickly regained his composure.

With his free hand on your side, his knee pushed your thigh further apart. Just enough so he could slid in and place the head of your cock at your entrance. You moaned softly at the feeling. So close.

"Your pussy is mine, got it?"

You didn't even get to nod before Chan slammed into you. You moaned loudly at the feeling. His cock stretched you out, even after he fingered you properly. He groaned as your walls welcomed his cock, gripping already from how worked up and desperate you are. He rolled his head back. "So fucking gorgeous, babe. Fuck," he murmured before his hips began a brutal pace.

There was no time to hold back. You and Chan have gone far too long without being so intimate, all of it was being laid out. His hand gripped your side as his hips began to ram into you in a rhythm. The way he filled you up made you delirious.

His eyes never left you. He loved watching you fall apart in front of him. The grip you had on his bicep further encouraged him to give you everything he had.

The sound of wet skin slapping made him feral. He watched as your eyes rolled back, your cheeks a light pink color. Your lips were slightly parted as you moaned without any control. "That's it, darling. I know it feels good. Let everyone know how good it feels."

You moaned his name loudly. You're let one leg hook around his hip, keeping him close. In some ways, this is everything you wanted. You wanted him to just fuck you. Nothing more, nothing less. On the other hand, you craved just feeling him close to you. You craved his body heat.

This was all he wanted too. He wanted you all to himself, he wanted to be vulnerable and intimate with you. Having sex was just a bonus.

Given that Chan had teased you prior, it didn't take long for you to feel that familiar feeling return. Your back arched slightly as Chan made sure to angle his hips, wanting his cock to press against your g-spot and also make sure all of him was inside. You needed to feel every inch of him.

"C-Chan, I'm already close. I-I'm sorry, I can hold off and wait for you."

Your words were rushed. You felt guilty that tonight had become all about you, but honestly, this was Chan's perfect night. He smiled sickeningly sweet at you. Even with his cock filling you to the brim, you were the sweetest person. You were looking after him still even though he wanted nothing more than to cater to your desires.

"I know, darling. Don't apologize. Just let yourself go."

Your mind hesitated for a second. However, your body had other intentions. With one powerful thrust into your pussy, you came undone. You cried out in pleasure as your vision became white. Your toes curled slightly against the comforter. Chan admired for a moment the way your body shook.

That was all it took for Chan. He came just at the sight of you reaching your orgasm. He was satisfied seeing the sheen layer of sweat that coated your face and neck. He was over the moon the way your body trembled as you came down from your high. Your pussy walls was spasming against his cock

He groaned loudly as he came into your pussy. Hot spurts of his semen filled you deliciously. You could melt into the bed with all the love surrounding you.

Slowly, Chan pulled out of you. He felt his cock twitch slightly at the sight his cum seeping out of your pussy. You attempted to close your legs, but his hands stopped you. He wanted to take a second to admire his work.

Your chest was still rising and falling, but you were trying to come down quickly to rejoin him back in reality. Chan chuckled lightly underneath his breath before leaning down, licking a long strip to collect all the cum leaving your pussy.

You could die from the sight in between your legs. Sensing your eyes on him, Chan looked up. He winked at you before swallowing his cum. Lord have mercy.

Chan kissed your inner thigh before sitting up, allowing you to close your legs. He kissed up your stomach, in between your breasts, your neck. The kisses were cool yet set your skin ablaze. Your arms wrapped around his neck once he got closer to you.

The two of you were smiling wide, eyes disappearing and cheeks aching. Yet, neither of you could care. All the lonely nights were worth it for this one singular moment. And surely, there would be more moments like tonight to come. Your fingers played with the hair on the back of Chan's neck which made him chuckle, finding it both ticklish and enduring.

Soon, his lips moved to hover over your ear. His breath was warm as it hit the shell of your ear, causing you to shiver. Your heart raced with anticipation. What else did he have up his sleeve? "I hope you enjoyed your last orgasm from me for a little bit. Bad girls still get punished, no matter how good they try to be."

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Note: HAPPY NEW YEAR! I hope 2024 treats you well 🩷 I started writing on Tumblr as a way to bring some happiness back into my life. I've always been drawn to writing, so I'm glad that I have another way to get my thoughts, ideas, and whatever else out there for other people. I'm definitely looking to writing more in the new year

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[moonstruckme]

hi bae, can i pls request reader who’s recovering from eating problems and is gaining a bit of weight and gets insecure with poly marauders but they just find her more attractive cause of it

fighting demons rn

🫶🏻🫶🏻

Hi sweetheart, apologies for the wait! I was hunting your demons with a crossbow. Thanks for requesting <3

cw: implied past disordered eating, body image issues

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

Your favorite high waisted jeans used to sit just so on your hips, practically hanging off your hip bones. Now, they hug your waist, which you try to reason is where they were always meant to be, but it feels so wrong on your body. Everything about your body feels wrong. You jam your fingers in the waistband, and there’s little give. You’re beginning to wonder if you should even bother with these, when you know you’ll eat and they’ll start to bite into your midsection like a punishment. But they’re your favorite jeans.

James comes through on his way to the bathroom with a careless “Hi, lovie,” and you drop your hands from where they’ve been pinching critically at your waist. 

“Hi,” you echo halfheartedly. 

James pauses, pivoting slightly to give you a curious look. You have an out here, you know. You could fake a smile or feign confusion, and he’d let it go. Perhaps he’d be keeping a closer eye on you today, but James will never push the issue if you don’t feel like talking. 

Maybe it’s the option that makes you think it might be nice to externalize. 

“I’ve gained weight,” you say plainly. There. 

James’ eyebrows shoot up, more surprised at the abruptness of your complaint than the complaint itself. “Well, I should hope so. You’ve been doing really well lately.” 

“It’s just,” you sigh, “my jeans don’t fit.” 

He gives you a quick look-over, then an odd sort of smile. “They look great to me. Do they not feel right?” 

You feel your mouth quirk to the side. A dissatisfied pinch. “They used to feel different.” 

“That’s alright, sweetheart,” he says, going into the bathroom. You hear the satisfying schwick of his deodorant cap sliding off. “Do they still sell those same ones?”

You give a tentative nod as he emerges from the bathroom again, and he shrugs at you, a funny scrunch at the bridge of his nose. 

“Then get them in a bigger size.” 

Not what you want to hear. Not necessarily his fault, either. James doesn’t get it. How could he? The only time James’ body doesn’t look like it was drawn into a superhero comic is the few weeks of off-season where he doesn’t train as hard and gets a bit of pudge around his middle. And even then, it’s a very lovable pudge. James Potter wouldn’t know insecurity if it slept in his bed every night. (Which it does. You do.) 

“That’s not the point,” you say, and despite your best intentions your voice comes out with a petulant edge. “I just—I liked how these ones looked on me before. Don’t you think I look…different?” 

The scrunch migrates from the bridge of his nose to just above it, an unhappy notch between his brows. “Well, yeah. But I mean, I like it.” 

You give him a deadpan look. 

“I’m being honest.” James holds up his hands. “Really, sweetheart, I didn’t want to—I know talking about your body can be an issue for you, so I didn’t want to bring it up, but you’ve been looking fantastic lately.” 

You’re quiet, stuck. You aren’t sure what you’d wanted out of this anymore (validation, maybe?) but you’re not going to get it this way. You only feel bad for putting James in this position. He’s your boyfriend and a good one, he only ever had one way out of this. 

“Sorry,” you say, wrapping your arms around your torso, “I didn’t mean to fish for compliments.” 

“Hey.” He steps into your space, hooking his fingers through your belt loops to turn you towards him. “You’re not asking for anything I don’t want to give. You look amazing, I mean it.” Your eyes fall to his chest and he stoops to follow them, dark brows rising incredulously. “What, you don’t believe me?” 

You sigh. “I’m sorry I brought it up, okay? Can we not—”

“Nope.” James lets go of one of your belt loops but keeps a firm hold on the other. “Sorry, no longer an option.” He begins tugging you out of the room. Your hips follow disloyally, and though you wrap your hands around his wrist, he holds fast. 

“James, come on.” You give a little resistance, but he drags you doggedly onward. You could tear away if you commit to it, but these really are your favorite jeans and James is just as likely to take your belt loop with him. 

In the living room, Sirius is mending a pair of James’ trousers while Remus does the crossword, which involves him reading the clues aloud and Sirius firing off unrelated and too-long words until Remus gets it himself. Remus hears your protest first, brows rising as James brings you into the room. 

“What’s going on?” he asks, somewhat warily. 

“She doesn’t believe me when I tell her she’s lovely,” James says, like Can you believe it? Remus blinks and Sirius’ eyes flit up from his work, one brow quirking.

“That’s not what I said,” you defend. 

He releases you, and you step away, crossing your arms over your midsection. “Go on, then.” James sounds truly encouraging, though dubious. “Tell us how lovely you are, angel.” 

You roll your eyes. It’s difficult not to feel frivolous when they put you on the spot like this. “I was only saying that I don’t like the fit of my jeans now.” 

If you hadn’t had Sirius’ full attention already, you do now. He sets down James’ trousers, beckoning you forward, “C’mere, let’s see.” 

You go to stand between his legs, dread coiled like a snake around your ribcage that only squeezes tighter at the unflinching intensity of Sirius’ gaze while he analyzes your face. 

You look down to escape it, sticking your thumb into the waistband of your jeans. “Look, they’ve gotten small—”

“I can see for myself,” he says softly, moving your hand out of the way and replacing your thumb with his own slender fingers. They’re cool against your abdomen. He slides them around to the side of your waist, tugging experimentally at the denim. “Gorgeous, these fit great. This is exactly where you’d usually want them to be. What’s the issue?” 

“It’s just—they don’t—” You feel more and more ridiculous by the second, and you can’t figure out if you’re frustrated with yourself or with them for that. “They used to sit lower, and now I—I just feel like I look weird.”  

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” James insists, seating himself on the coffee table and setting his elbows on his knees. Sirius nudges your ankle with his foot, silent encouragement to sit between him and Remus. You comply. “You don’t look weird, sweetheart, you’re—listen, you’ve always been beautiful, but lately, it’s like—you’re just, you’re stunning.” 

You shrink from the compliment, face humiliatingly warm. “Thanks, Jamie, but you have to say that.” 

“No, he’s right,” Remus chimes in. He sounds so matter-of-fact, as if he’s simply recounting how traffic was on the way home from work today. “You don’t look the same as you did before, true, but it’s not a bad change. You’re just not used to seeing yourself healthy, is all.” 

“Exactly.” James throws up his palms, relieved. 

You consider this. It was warped perspective that had gotten you into this mess. Maybe you’re still not seeing things clearly quite yet. 

Sirius wraps a hand around the inside of your thigh, tugging it over one of his. “Babe, if these jeans are evidence of anything, it’s that you’re finally growing into the size you were always supposed to be. If you eventually have to get a larger pair, then fine. It still won’t mean anything about you. You’re exactly right, understand?” 

You nod, feeling thoroughly chastened, and Sirius grins. His fingertips dig into your thigh as he leans over to kiss your cheek. 

“Honestly, I don’t know how you can’t see it,” James says, looking pleased to have some validation from the other boys. “You’re radiant, lovie, your skin is glowing, you look happier—really, you’ve never been more lovely.” 

“It helps that we know you’re doing better, too,” Remus says, a bit quieter. “Frailty doesn’t suit you, dove. It’s…I love you no matter what, but it does make it easier when you’re kind to yourself. Feels more like we’re on the same team.” 

“Thanks,” you say softly, then once more for good measure. “Thanks, guys.” 

“Told you already,” James says, “you’re not asking for anything we don’t want to give.” 

“You liked it when these jeans fit a bit saggier, showed more skin, yeah?” Sirius asks. You nod with a shrug. It doesn’t feel quite so important now. “We can do that. We’ll get you the same ones, if you want, or another pair that might sit a bit more on your hips.” He gives your thigh a squeeze through your jeans. “Gotta show off this bod, right, babydoll?”

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