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glenechoslasher · 1 month

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Could I have a John x fem reader where the reader reacts to John winning (but still beat tf up) in a bar fight?

Thanks bestie <3

Eyyy of COURSE you can bestie?! I have been practicing writing John, and I may not be the best, but I think I'm confident in my abilities. I think. But here, have a fun, flirty little brawl with your man~

"Trouble" ||

John Marston x f!Reader

Length: 2.1k

Rating: Mature: Mentions of blood, fighting, language

How John ended up in this situation was honestly beyond him, it was just an innocent outing with you and him running some errands for the ranch, and yet he was getting fist after fist pounded into his face.

After a long day of working, you could tell he was going stir-crazy. His old life was all about freedom and running around, doing things to bring in money or just getting to do as he pleased, but now? He was on a ranch, pretending to be someone he wasn’t to get by, and his trigger finger was beginning to itch. But to make you happy, to keep your heads low, and to survive, John had to behave and live as his persona for the time being.

“So, Jim,” you said with a smirk, “maybe we should stop at a saloon since it’s getting dark, we could eat a decent meal, maybe stay in a hotel for the night. I’m tired,” you sighed and leaned your head against the man’s shoulder.

John matched your sigh and flicked the reigns on the horses as he pulled them to the right, heading into Valentine's territory, which he hadn’t expected to be back here so soon. “I mean, it is a long way back, we could use the rest. And I am starvin’, could use something that isn’t a stew for once.”

You both pulled the wagon off and made sure the horses were comfortable, hitched to a nearby post, and then John helped you down to the ground and smiled wide with his arm wrapped around your waist. “Well, let’s get inside, maybe we can get a bath before bed, too,” he said softly with a smirk. He pulled you along and walked beside you, looking around the town that felt so different from when he was last here.

As you both entered the saloon, you definitely could tell that the environment was more lively, but you both tried to keep your wits about you as you ordered some food and sat in the corner, away from the rowdy group of people. The food was delicious and the conversation you shared was pleasant, as usual, but John couldn't shake the feeling that eyes kept falling on you both. He'd look away from you as he stopped mid-sentence to see one of the men staring at the both of you, but he tried to pay no mind, you were taking his attention.

The food was finished and you both were feeling content, the party of people in the saloon only grew larger in number and louder in volume, so you both figured it was time to head out to the hotel for the evening. John allowed you to walk out first so he could follow behind you, but you had barely gotten several steps toward the door when one of the men stepped in front of your path, blocking you from the exit.

“Hey there now, y'all ain't plannin’ on comin’ over to celebrate with us?”

“Sorry, friend, but we have other plans to attend to,” John answered firmly.

The man just scoffed, the reek of booze was strong on his breath, it was a wonder he was still standing. “Aww c'mon, my friend over there is gettin’ married, you could have one drink to congratulate him!”

“Sorry sir, but we don't even know you,” you said sharply, stepping back from him, and bumping into John. You felt a bit more at ease since he was here.

“And? You ain't heard of makin’ friends?” The man chuckled and grabbed your arm, pulling you along toward the table. He then decided to yank your arm and attempt to pull you over toward the table, but John stepped up and grabbed his wrist hard.

“We ain't interested, sir. My woman and I are heading out for the evenin’, so maybe next time you should use your brain and not touch a lady when she says no.”

John pushed the man away so you both had room to leave, but some of the drunk’s friends decided to get involved.

John stepped up protectively, his spine stiffened as his hand hovered over the knife that was holstered, hidden beneath his jacket. “Sir, you got till the count of three to back off and leave us alone,” he warned.

There had been a taller man who stood up from the table and interjected, pushing his friend gently off to the side. “Are you threatenin’ us?” He snapped.

“I ‘spose I am,” John retorted, holding his ground as he pushed you further behind him to shield you.

Another of the man's friends stepped up and tried to land a surprise swing on John, but he pushed you out of the way and took the hook to his shoulder. After that, John was brawling with several of the men who ganged up on you both. The one in the red shirt had tried to grab John to put him in a headlock so his friends could take their turns wailing on him, but your John was fast. He elbowed Red and kicked his leg in, causing the man to fall flat on his face.

That was one down—three more to go.

“I ain’t been in a bar fight in a long time,” John commented as he had both arms up, ready to block any attacks if needed, “but I’d rather continue my night with my lady if you gentlemen don’t mind.”

The three other men all ignored him and each one tried to punch him at different intervals to throw him off, but somehow, John managed to throw one man into the other and watched as the two tumbled straight into a table. The others who occupied the saloon were standing back and vacating the building. The bartender just sighed and walked off, not wanting to be part of yet another brawl. That left you, standing on the stairs away from the tussle.

The gunslinger looked back and you, making sure you were out of harm's way, then he got back to it. The two men who collided with the table were too drunk to stand, and all they did was stumble over one another. There was one left standing, and he was a little larger than the others.

“Look, I can just leave, no reason you gotta get involved,” John said nonchalantly, his stance easing up a little.

The man just glared down at him and he scoffed at the offer. “You ruined my engagement celebration, mister, I don’t take so kind to that.”

John just sighed and lifted his hands again, balling them into fists. “Alright then, have it your way,” he replied.

The man took a fast step forward and swung his fist straight at John’s jaw, and if it weren’t for the speed, maybe John would have dodged it, instead, he got nicked against his chin, which still caught him enough to cause some pain. That was all the distraction the man needed to step in and lunge at John, his larger body barreled into him and tackled him to the floor.

You let out a yelp, terrified that the man was going to have a one-up on John, and all you could do was watch in fear as your hands gripped the railing in fear.

The gunslinger was pinned onto the floor as the man above him threw punch after punch, landing a blow on his cheek, and almost breaking his nose at one point. John held up his arms to block and tried his best to use the strength from his legs to somehow get him to slip off, and he managed to throw the man off of him for a split second. He scrambled to find some balance, then rolled off to the side as the man recovered.

“Give up yet?” John asked with a smirk on his face as he licked the blood from his split lip, the bruises on his face forming fast.

The man just yelled out in frustration and then John had him in a blind frenzy, which made any man messy in a fight. John ducked from the swing and swung his right arm quickly, the blow landed in the side of the man’s temple, stunning him momentarily. Then it was over, John was finally standing over him and landing punch after punch in the man’s face until he fell unconscious. The gunslinger released the man’s collar, allowing his body to fall slack onto the wooden floor.

He looked up at you, panting to catch his breath as he straightened his posture. The people who occupied the saloon had all either hidden somewhere or run off, and there were just the two of you left with the pile of unconscious men scattered about on the floor. You waited a moment before hesitantly walking down the stairs to run into his arms, thankful he was alright despite being a little black and blue.

“As always you’re my hero,” you chuckled and reached up to touch his face, wiping away a smear of blood from his lip.

“And as always, we’re both gettin’ into trouble,” he replied gruffly.

You just scoffed. “We?”

“Well yeah, you’re my accomplice, partner in crime, ain’t you?” He asked as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Plus you’re the one always gettin’ the attention,” John teased as he slipped his arm through yours. He pulled you along and threw a couple of bills onto the countertop, then escorted you outside and across the muddly way, leading you straight to the hotel.

You both walked inside, the environment a complete flip from the saloon, and you were more at ease now, and even more thankful when you saw the list of services. The gentleman behind the counter stopped sweeping the floor and greeted you both with a kind smile.

“Howdy, how can I help y’all this evenin’?” He looked between the both of you with concern but didn’t voice them.

Your eyes looked over at John with a smile and then back at the desk man. “One bath and one room, please.”

The man smiled and got everything situated for you both, you thanked him and paid, then pulled John up the stairs to the bath. He followed obediently and cracked his neck as he ascended the stairs with you, groaning.

“Sleepin’ is gonna be a bitch, I just know it,” he complained.

“Well if you behaved for five minutes you wouldn’t have to worry about it, would you?” You scolded playfully as you looked over your shoulder at him. “He got some good hits in, but not gonna lie, Mister Marston, you looked really good kickin’ his ass.” You flashed him a cheeky smile and continued to lead him to the bath. “You go get cleaned up, I’ll get the room ready.”

You almost walked away, leaving him in front of the bath door, but his hand grabbed your wrist, and then he pulled you back toward him, falling into him as his arms wrapped around you. “Yeah? You think I looked good, huh?” He asked flirtatiously, pulling you close so his face was mere inches from yours. “Then why do you think you can just leave me here alone?” “John Marston, are you implyin’ I’m gonna join you in your bath?” You gasped, faux shock crossed your features.

All he could do was smile, the raised edges of the scars across his face made his face look extra handsome, and the dim lighting in the hall only made you admire his face even more. “Nah, I’m declarin’ that you are, unless you don’t wanna?” His hands cupped your cheeks, pulling you into the most tender kiss he could manage.

When he pulled away, your eyes fluttered open and you just stared up at him with a lovestruck smile. “Well, when you put it that way…”

That was all the confirmation he needed, so he opened the door to the readied hot bath, pulling you in after him, and you couldn’t help but giggle as he closed the door behind you both. You sighed as he leaned your hands against his chest, just smiling up at him with that look.

“I know that look, what is it?”

“Nothin’, you’re just trouble, John Marston,” you said softly, your hand cupped his cheek again, mindful of how gentle you had to be. “But I wouldn’t change it for the world, you know that, right?”

The man looked down at you and pulled you into another kiss, pulling away a moment later with that charming smile you were unable to resist, his hand reached up to brush your hair away from your face so he could see the light in those pretty eyes of yours. Just a minor setback to your shared evening, but John always had ways to make it up to you.

#Tinalbion writings #john marston #john marston drabble #john marston writing #writing drabble #writing ask #rdr #rdr2 #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption john marston #john marston x reader #john marston x you #john marston x f!reader #comfort #angst #fluff #afab reader #vidjausers-fable

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emyn-arnens · 1 year

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'[Gríma] is bold and cunning. Even now he plays a game with peril and wins a throw. Hours of my precious time he has wasted already. Down, snake!' he said suddenly in a terrible voice. 'Down on your belly! How long is it since Saruman bought you? What was the promised price? When all the men were dead, you were to pick your share of the treasure, and take the woman you desire? Too long have you watched her under your eyelids and haunted her steps.' — The King of the Golden Hall, TTT

‘My friend,’ said Gandalf, ‘you had horses, and deeds of arms, and the free fields; but she, born in the body of a maid, had a spirit and courage at least the match of yours. Yet she was doomed to wait upon an old man, whom she loved as a father, and watch him falling into a mean dishonoured dotage; and her part seemed to her more ignoble than that of the staff he leaned on.’

‘Think you that Wormtongue had poison only for Théoden’s ears? Dotard! What is the house of Eorl but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek, and their brats roll on the floor among their dogs? Have you not heard those words before? Saruman spoke them, the teacher of Wormtongue. Though I do not doubt that Wormtongue at home wrapped their meaning in terms more cunning. My lord, if your sister’s love for you, and her will still bent to her duty, had not restrained her lips, you might have heard even such things as these escape them. But who knows what she spoke to the darkness, alone, in the bitter watches of the night, when all her life seemed shrinking, and the walls of her bower closing in about her, a hutch to trammel some wild thing in?’ — The Houses of Healing, ROTK

What I love about these two scenes is that they show how Gandalf, despite all of the responsibilities and concerns burdening him, and despite having his attention fractured between all of the pieces he must move across the board, stops and sees Éowyn—truly sees her, as even her own family cannot—and he understands and he cares. The first quote shows that Gandalf has noticed Gríma's preying on Éowyn for quite some time, before the Three Hunters ever reached Rohan, and that her fear and suffering has been on his mind and continues to be, even though he is focused on setting Rohan right and undoing the work of Saruman.

Despite all of the pressing concerns weighing upon him at the moment—worrying about Frodo's safety, freeing Théoden and galvanizing the Rohirrim, arranging the pieces on the board against Saruman, etc.—Gandalf has compassion for Éowyn and marks her suffering from Gríma's words and advances as something worthy of attention and concern, as important as the other matters that must be addressed.

Even after the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, when victory has been won for the day but at a steep cost, and the future is still uncertain, and the work to be done is still mountainous, and the hope of the world walks treacherous paths in Mordor and his safety and success are uncertain, and all these things weigh upon Gandalf—still he pauses to pay attention to Éowyn's suffering, and to show Éomer all that he has neglected to see, due to his place of privilege that has blinded him from seeing what Éowyn has longed for and been barred from.

It’s moments like this where Gandalf's time spent learning from Nienna truly shows. Despite every important, pressing concern—concerns that other characters might argue are more important at the moment—he stops, notices, understands, has compassion, and encourages others to have compassion as well.

#lotr newsletter #lotr #rotk #gandalf #eowyn #eomer #.txt #my meta #i just. have so many feelings about this #and about how the narrative pauses to place importance on eowyn's suffering #anyways. compassion is the heart of lotr etc. etc.

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sky-kiss · 5 months

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Sending prompt for Dadphael! Maybe the kids getting in trouble but Raphael is low key proud they managed to pull it off. I just need Dadphael in my life and I love baby Orin.

A/N: I can do this. Not the best, but hopefully you chuckle.

Dadphael: He Shouldn't Be Surprised, He Robbed His Dad Too

Raphael's first reaction is blinding rage. A voice in his head screaming how has it come to this? How, in the name of the gods above and below, by all of Asmodeus' grace, could his spawn have been so colossally, unequivocally stupid?

His second reaction is begrudging respect.

He settles somewhere in the middle, screwing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. In the most even tone he can manage, the devil says, "Explain your vision."

Orin's brow furrows. In contrast to her brother, who has adopted an expression of absolute contrition, his daughter seems to weigh her answer. Her expression shifts, visibility reactive to the path of her thoughts: confusion, desperation, irritation, all in quick succession.

She settles on a petulant. "Haarlep?"

"Are you naming your inspiration? Or enquiring after the source of your damnation?"

She turns her nose up, crossing her arms over her chest. "Both."

"Mm, then, in the spirit of fair play," he steps forward, linking his hands at the small of his back. "Yes. They sold you out. Let this be a lesson to you, pet: trust carefully. Better yet, trust none but me." The impudent little thing snorts. Raphael holds his hand out, "And now, an explanation is in order: why have you robbed me?"

Carlyle steps forward, the pilfered item in question held before him. Orin favors her brother with a look. It is so simultaneously venomous, and so pleading that the boy cannot fathom how to proceed. "We meant to return it, Father, truly. But Korilla would not allow us near portals…"

"With excellent reason."

"...and we needed the scroll to contact an associate on the Prime Material."

"Why."

"Don't tell him, stupid," Orin hisses.

But Carlyle is determined to come clean, his sense of fair play and respect for his sire winning out over whatever fear his much smaller sibling might inspire. He hands the scroll of dimension door back to Raphael, standing tall and proud. "A gift, father. Haarlep gave us the location of one of your preferred artists. We'd hoped…" he shrugs, attempting a smile. And it is fundamentally strange to see his own expression reflected at him, all on the face of himself in miniature. "To commission something."

The idea reeks of sentiment rather than bloodlust. Carlyle's idea, then, not Orin. Raphael eyes the pair, suspicious, irritated. "And how did you intend to pay for this work?" Orin produces a back of coin from her pocket, grumbling as she hands it over. "Ah. Is there anything else I should expect to find missing?"

They answer as one: "No, my duke."

"And you know better than to lie to me, yes?"

"Yes, father."

"Off with you then, little failures. Consider what you might have done to succeed. Learn from this." He is feeling magnanimous, infernal wine still heady in his system, a night of potential pleasure stretching out before him. Let them take this as a lesson and be done with it.

A decision he comes to regret later.

The little shits are, in fact, acting as a distraction. Haarlep has slipped from the House (also highly against protocol). Haarlep contracts the artist for the little beasts, and they present their gift to him a month later, beaming and unrepentant.

He is caught entirely off guard, delighted and horrified in equal measure. Conniving wretches! Little thieves! They beam at him, a united front, unrepentant and full of potential.

He still sends the little shits to their room without supper and confines them to their wing of the House for the next month.

He's proud but too petty to pass up seeing the look of betrayal on their little faces.

#bg3 raphael #asks #my writing #dadphael #do you want cavities?#because this is how you get cavities #soft fic

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tobiasdrake · 5 months

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Rating Rain Code Characters on the Fight Me Bruh Scale

Here we go. We're ranking all of the major characters in Rain Code based on how confident I am that I can beat them in a fight.

Swank Catsonell

I want you all to know that despite what the rumors may suggest, I absolutely did not pay him to take a dive. This was a fight I won fair and square, because I am very principled and masculine.

<.< >.>

Seth Burroughs

For all his bluster, Seth is the least threatening man in Kanai Ward. The only thing threatening about him is his control over the Peacekeepers. He does nothing for himself, even needing one of his men to carry a megaphone around for him.

Seth feels like he'd go down so fast, I'd almost feel bad for him. But then I'd remind myself that he's a fucking fascist and hit him harder.

Yakou Furio

Despite his name, Yakou's not very tough. He gets routinely floored in every fight he's in. He did manage to shank Huesca with the element of incredible surprise, but that was more a product of crafty premeditation than formidable brawling. Even when he jumped his wife's would-be assassin, we next see him beaten to hell so clearly that fight took a turn after she (and we) bailed on it.

His file says he weighs 165 lbs but I have no idea where he puts it because his body type is skeletal. A stiff breeze would knock him over.

Yomi Hellsmile

Yomi reeks of paper tiger to me. As much as he loves throwing his weight around, he's too chickenshit to throw down himself. Even with guns in both hands and people he wanted dead right in front of him, he inexplicably returned the guns to his soldiers and ordered them to shoot everyone instead.

Yomi's fighting style is to run for his life and try to find someone else to fight in his place. But those other people who would fight for him, would already be fighting instead if a fight was happening. By definition, if I'm fighting Yomi, then there's nobody around to stop me from fighting Yomi. If this fight takes place then I win it. There is no version of the fight where Yomi fights and doesn't lose.

Desuhiko Thunderbolt

When he was faking the Master Detectives' deaths, Makoto figured that Desuhiko would barely even make it out of the starting gate. He judged correctly. Desuhiko is not a fighter. He's scared of blood and sticks to undercover intelligence.

His best shot at victory would be to show up to the fight Disguised as someone tougher than him. But it's not super clear whether that would actually help him.

Vivia Twilight

From what little we see of him in action, Vivia's incredibly quick on his feet and holds his own next to Halara. He moves blindingly fast and shitstomps cops with the best of him. But that's when people he cares about are in danger.

If we're just duking it out in the street, there's a strong chance Vivia goes down with the first punch and then mutters something to the effect of, "Oh well, you got me. Guess I'll just lay here now. Maybe the small bruise from your fist will kill me. Wouldn't that be nice?"

I only win this fight if Vivia isn't motivated enough to snap my neck before I know what hit me. But I don't plan to do anything that would motivate him to do that, so this is the most likely scenario when Vivia and I throw down. I'm not proud of it but I'll take the win.

Yuma Kokohead

With a Truth Sword in hand, Yuma is incredibly formidable. He's outfought countless Mystery Phantoms and even outmatched Makoto in a swordfight. However, it's not super clear how transferrable those skills are outside of the Labyrinth setting. Most of the time when Yuma's cornered, he's powerless; However, most of the time when Yuma's cornered, guns are involved, so that's not a fair comparison.

What it amounts to is that Yuma's ability to hold his own in a street brawl is difficult to gauge. That said, his stature is intimidating in and of itself. I'm always leery of fighting someone whose height easily allows for a full-body haymaker to the junk. Short people have no chill.

Kurumi Wendy

Kurumi doesn't get many opportunities for action but given what we know of her, I don't envy my chances. She's had to evade pursuing Peacekeepers in the past, which implies she's pretty scrappy and quick on her feet. She also managed to get in and out of Dohya District while it was under a counter-terrorist lockdown, skirting through Guillaume and Dominic's police state with so little effort that it put Yuma and Fubuki's attempt to do the same to shame.

So even though she never gets to throw a punch in the entire story, she fucking scares me. I start shit, she is going to sucker-punch me in ways I couldn't possibly see coming. There is a feral beast inside of her waiting for an excuse, and I'm not talking about her homunculus biology.

Martina Electro

This woman scares me. She's Yomi's right-hand, which means she does all the physically-intensive things that he doesn't. She's in the field leading from the front and, unlike Seth, we see that she's entirely willing to take matters into her own hands.

I have no basis for saying she could probably fold me in half and feed me my own spine, and has likely done exactly that to people in the past. But I believe it.

Dominic Fulltank

Are you joking? This man is 500 lbs of solid murder.

Let me paint you a word picture. I throw a punch. I break my fist on his rock-hard abs. Then he picks me up and rips me in half with his bare hands.

Guillaume Hall

Are you joking? This girl is 150 lbs sopping wet.

Let me paint you a word picture. I throw a punch. I hit her right in the fucking face because she's not a fighter. Then goddamn Dominic appears out of nowhere, picks me up, and rips me in half with his bare hands. But with extreme prejudice this time; Before, he was just defending himself, but now he's defending his boss.

Makoto Kagutsuchi

If I could define Makoto in one word, it would be cunning. Makoto has no reservations about doing whatever it takes to win, and his ultra-genius intellect is constantly plotting and scheming. He's so physically unimpressive that he looks like he'll collapse with a rough shove, but by the time fists start flying, he's already figured out 11 different ways to kill me.

Even if he might seem to be on the backfoot at the moment, Makoto is always in control of every situation he's in. He chose the place, he chose how we fight, he chose what happens to be on hand to use in the fight, and he chose who wins. He merely let me think that I chose those things.

Fubuki Clockford

We see precious little of what Fubuki's capable of in a fight. But she's no stranger to it. When Yuma first asked her to clear out the coffee shop patrons, her kneejerk go-to was to try violence. He had to talk her into a distraction instead. So she's clearly been in fights before.

Her biggest asset is her ability to save scum, though that has its limitations. It takes a lot out of her every time she turns back time, often leaving her winded and gasping for breath by the second reset. The stamina cost offsets the advantage of temporal prescience, especially in a street brawl.

But that advantage is powerful nonetheless. Do I feel confident that I could take Fubuki in a fight? Sure. Do I feel confident I could take her in five out of five fights? That's much more intimidating. Fubuki only has to win once. She decides which match "counts".

Halara Nightmare

Halara can take Fubuki in five out of five fights. Halara can take anyone in five out of five fights. Consecutively. Simultaneously. However you want to go, you'll regret it fast. We see them in action plenty and it's always the same: Halara Nightmare is violence incarnate.

Some fighters hit like a sledgehammer. Some hit like a truck. Halara hits like hospital anaesthetic; You blink and then wake up seven hours later with your kidney removed and no idea where the time went. They put me down so fast that I spend the rest of the day trying to figure out what even happened. Like a Hangover movie but instead of being drunk I got my ass kicked.

They are, and shall remain, the reigning champion of violence in Kanai Ward.

Real Yuma

I want you all to know that despite what the rumors may suggest, he absolutely did not offer me free ramen in exchange for taking a dive. This was a fight I lost fair and square, because we are both very principled and masculine.

<.< >.>

*slurp*

#master detective archives: rain code #drake plays rain code #fight me bruh #yuma kokohead #halara nightmare #yakou furio #desuhiko thunderbolt #vivia twilight #fubuki clockford #yomi hellsmile #guillaume hall #dominic fulltank #makoto kagutsuchi #seth burroughs #swank catsonell #kurumi wendy #martina electro

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kachowder · 1 year

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Would Cameron (yandere therapist) love a darling that is an exotic dancer? Darling is upfront with it, knowing what it means to be profesional. They respect his time always and seem to draw boundaries with him just because of it.

Really they are just too sweet and kind. Being placed as the scum of society makes them want to be better. Maybe they also double as an escort to fancy places sometimes, being arm candy for any wealthy person willing to pay their high fees (don’t worry, they are extremely profesional at what they do. A really good actor they are). I Can just imagine his jealousy. How was he supposed to focus on winning his darling over when, others are touching them? Seeing their body in ways that only should be allowed by HIM. Do you think he would ever be bold enough to try and “rent” their darling? Maybe secretly go see one of their shows at a high end club that reeks of sin? His darling enchanting men and women alike with their movements.

Cameron would love darling no matter what. He’s in love with you. Regardless of what you do for a living whether that be dancing, teaching, murdering etc

Cameron, down to his core, is a very respectful and polite man. Being a therapist as is, he doesn’t really have any room or desire to judge you, or anyone for that matter.

However, despite him respecting your profession, he’s man enough to admit that he does get jealous. He trusts you! Of course he does. Besides, he knows all your tells so you lying to him wouldn’t really work out anyway. He just doesn’t trust…others. It won’t be a matter of sneaking in to see you, or request you.

It’ll be a matter of him giving very generous donations to your place of work. And maybe possibly hiring security to keep anyone from being able to rent you if you do happen to work as an escort.

Suddenly you stopped receiving customers? Oh no, that’s terrible! He’ll be more than happy to fill up your schedule though! He’ll even pay extra!

Now let’s put this under the impression that you guys have been talking outside of the sessions. As “friends”.

Since yknow, no client relationships. (For now)

And you brought up that you were an exotic dancer.

He may express an interest in your line of work! Perhaps ask you to show him the ropes. Figuratively speaking.

And also literally.

Imagine you too dancing together? Doesn’t that sound fun?

All in all, Cameron doesn’t care what you do for a living. Yes he’ll be jealous. But you’ll be only his soon enough anyway right? So he can’t take care of you once that happens and then you wont even need to work anymore.

I mean if you want to, I guess he’ll let you. But let him be your manager of sorts at least. He’ll make sure everything’s perfect for you too. You want the stage to yourself? Consider it done.

You want the guy who stole some of your earnings form you taken care? Not really his style but he’ll hire someone to do it no problem.

He’ll do anything for you.

#yandere #x oc #yandere x reader #x reader #yandere therapist #Cameron Oc

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not-alien-girl-v · 7 months

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Mrs All American (Matty Healy)

warning: mention of dick sucking, tw mention of his fuckass mohawk circa 2013

note: god i’m so lonely.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

he had been at the studio all day. it’s something you’re used to, him being a musician and all, it’s just a little unfortunate that because he’s always so ‘in the zone’ during his time at the studio that he never texts. it’s not impossible to get a message to him, but most of the time you have to call, which is a lot of work.

he left before you woke up this morning. you don’t live together, you have your own place but if you don’t spend most of your time at his house, you’d almost never see him.

today, once he left, you simply didn’t go home, spending your day lounging around his shared house with george, who was also away at the studio all day.

it’s around 6 in the evening now, you’re at the dining room table, headphones on blasting a catchy song by an australian pop rock band that you adore, and your back is to the door, so you don’t even notice a change in the house when the door swings open, two men entering.

you do notice, however, when a pair of arms wrap around you from behind, a warm breath onto the shell of your ear, a loving sigh, and a tight squeeze from the arms. the red bracelet, the ‘dad’ tattoo, the smell of tobacco on his breath.

popping out your earbuds, your eyes are still trained on the laptop but you touch your palm to his forearm, squeezing it. “hey, baby.”

“how’d you know it was me?”

“i can tell by the stench.”

he rolls his eyes, the sunset catching a curl against his cheek, causing the dark brown to glow golden for a moment, and he looks too beautiful.

“i’ve told you before, love, you’ve got to stop referring to any scent as a ‘stench.’ it makes it seem like i smell bad.”

you open your mouth to release a snarky remark but he predicts it. “ah! and i do not smell bad.”

you smile back at him. george enters, grabbing a soda from the fridge and cracking it open, not even paying attention to this lovers quarrel, he knows better than to by now.

“what can i say? you’re a boy. you’re stinky. and you have cooties.” he snorts and you hear george, against his best effort, conceal a giggle from across the room, leaving you feeling like a real comedian. they should start paying you for this comedy show.

“i do not have cooties, you stupid girl. you don’t even know.” he’s still hugging you from behind and the position is awkward for a full conversation so you peel him off and turn to face him in your chair.

“trust me, i know what i’m talking about. i spend all day in this house, and let me tell you, this place reeks of male energy. and cooties.”

he hums, not quite ready to let you have it. “you probably have cooties by now, then. shouldn’t have agreed to marry me if you’re so worried about disease.”

you grin and you don’t want to fake argue with him anymore, so you wordlessly turn back to the laptop. he leaves a parting kiss on your cheek, and it’s a bit wet with saliva so, like any intelligent woman would, you fake gag and wipe it off.

he gasps, loudly, stumbling back and placing a hand over his chest like he’s been shot, such a drama queen. “did you just wipe off my kiss?”

playing dumb, “i don’t know, did i?”

he lunges forward, smooching your cheek again, you wipe it off just as fast. it’s instantly become a battle that you’re committed to winning. he kisses again, you wipe it again. he kisses one more time, you wipe it off.

once more, he kisses your cheek and just as you’re about to wipe it off your face, he forcefully grabs your wrist mid-air and uses this leverage to yank you up out of the chair.

you’re chest to chest with him and for a split second you’re worried he’s genuinely lost his temper, but the thought is dissolved from your mind immediately when you remember this matty you’re talking about, and he loves you too much to ever lay a wrong hand on you.

he drops your wrist and instead gently takes your face into both of his hands, leaning in slowly to kiss you sweetly. this time, you decide it’s best to just enjoy it, you’ve been clingy and missing him all day and this is the first bit of attention you’ve received from your lover since last night.

after your normal, romantic kiss, he pulls away and with a silly smile, leans in again, catching your lips and releasing them with a big ‘mwah.’

“well, i got some candy for you my dear, but i understand, since i’m so gross and have cooties, i’ll just have to eat it all myself.” he walks away, grabbing at the plastic bag you’ve only just noticed had been dropped to the floor by your chair, and he disappears down the hall.

“wait! i’m sorry!” you holler and scamper down the hallway to catch him before he eats your candy because knowing matty, he may actually do it.

you find him sitting on his bed, trifling through the bag of sweets. “what did you get me?”

“you? oh, i didn’t get you anything. i got me a bar of chocolate and another twix bar in case i’m still hungry. twix is your favorite, isn’t it? ah, that’s too bad it’s all for me, then.”

you pout and approach him on the bed. “i’m sorry, please, you don’t have cooties, i love you. if you give me the twix, i’ll suck your dick so hard your stomach will cave in like a juice box, i promise.” you put your hands together and grovel.

“i’ll hold you to that,” he sighs and hands you the twix bar, it’s a left twix.

you giggle, giddy like a child given candy. it’s not far from the truth. he stands and stretches out, groaning and joins cracking. he pulls off his t-shirt, glancing at the hamper across the room and then to you. “think i can make this shot?” you put your candy down on his nightstand.

“no.”

“prepare to be wrong, baby.” he crumples up the fabric into a ball and makes a proper shot at the hamper, missing it by about 2 feet. the shirt lands helplessly on the floor. “shit.”

you burst out laughing, falling back into the bed in a fit of giggles. “that was embarrassing, stop laughing.”

he crawls over and lays down beside you, settling down on top of the black duvet. it’s when you both finally still that your neediness snakes it’s way back into your brain like an evil worm that tells you to kiss him all over.

you steal glances at him through your lashes, admiring his beauty, specifically his soft, dark curly hair. you scooch closer to him, pressing your body against his, propping up on an elbow and reaching out to brush your fingers over his hair.

like a puppy, his eyes flutter shut. “this is getting long.”

“it is. do you like it?”

“of course i like it. but do you want to keep it like this. wanna let me cut it?”

“if you like it, then i won’t cut it.”

“i like your hair all the time. except for when you had that fuckass mohawk, that sucked.”

he sighs, “i know, baby, i won’t do it again,” he sounds like he’s being scolded for something and you’re glad. you hated that fuckass mohawk.

“missed you today,” you keep a hand threaded into his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp with the very tips of your nails.

“missed you too. promise i’ll be home more often, hate being away for so long.”

“it’s fine. i know it’s your life. it’s one of your things.”

he opens his eyes again, looking at you with a deep sense of purpose all the sudden. with his one hand, he places it on your forearm, rubbing gentle with his thumb. “just don’t think i don’t care. don’t think i don’t miss you just as much every time i leave. it’s not hard to love you, it’s the easiest thing i’ve ever done. and the best thing, as well.”

you don’t know why, but tears begin to well up in your eyes and you want to look away from him and his intense gaze. it’s like he senses every thought in your mind, so he pulls you into his arms, chest to chest again, his nose brushing against your exposed collarbone.

he works his hands up and down your back, pushing under your shirt to graze across your bare skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind.

any sense of urgency in your clinginess is instantly lost as he holds you like you’re falling out of his arms.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

taglist: @indierockgirrl @itssimpleanditgoeslikethis @milkluvr8 @americanangel @butyou-callmewhenyourebored

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missingmark · 1 year

Text

― old habits die hard pt.1

Despite feeling your old crush on Matt return, you still offer to help him with his nail-biting problem. Old habits die hard, you guess.

‧₊˚ matt x fem!reader

‧₊˚ warnings: it's mentioned that the reader has painted nails & wore a dress to prom, slight angst, reader thinks she has a one-sided crush

‧₊˚ word count: 1.2k

‧₊˚ masterlist - (part 1.5) | part 2 | part 3

You liked to think that moments like this were reserved just for you and Matt alone. The soft blankets covering your bodies on his bed, a movie running in the back that you had both forgotten about, and your full attention on him.

His voice was calm and barely above a whisper as he rambled on about the video they filmed just a few hours prior.

When they had come back from filming, you were still sound asleep on Matt's bed. An abandoned homework still opened on your laptop as the yelling and laughing of the brothers announced them back home.

You got up to greet them and watched their faces light up at the sight of you still being here, nick quickly running over to you to give you a side hug before dashing past you to bring you something from his room while Chris walked past u towards the kitchen, giving you a quick peck on the side of your head as his form of acknowledgement

Matt's way of greeting you had always been a bit different, though.

You watched his shoulders relax at the sight of you, he let out a sigh that sounded tired but in a way that told you he was just exhausted from doing something he enjoyed putting his energy to.

His hand would find themselves slowly pulling at the material of your sweater into his arms. His face buried into your neck as he sought out the much awaited peave and comfort he could only find in your arms.

You hugged him back just as tight.

"Okay, you two. Get a room," Nick mumbled as he came back downstairs, an object in bus hand that you couldn't quite make out due to some of Matt's locks still blocking your view.

Much to his dismay, Nick peeled his brother off of you, pushing you towards the couch to show you what he had found.

"No way," you giggled, delicately takiny the framed photo that Nick wanted to show you from him.

You remembered that night so clearly, tracking your fingers over the picture you could almost feel the satin material of the dress you had worn that night. You're smiling, the genuine joy radiating off of your face too strong for you to try and nitpick a flaw of you.

You thought back to the dreadful day at the mall you and the triplets had spent months earlier to pick that dress. The way you instantly decided on the one that Matt seemed to have liked the most. His eyes lingering on the straps to the cut of it before finding their way back to your face, giving you a shy smile.

That picture was taken just minutes after he had first seen you wear it.

"You look beautiful," he said.

You smiled at the memory, giggling inside as you remembered your old crush on Matt.

"Look at the big ass zit Chris had that day," Matt pointed out, pulling you out of your thoughts and taking the picture from your hands.

"You shut up with that haircut, I don't wanna hear a thing from you," Chris mumbled.

"You gonna sleep in my room tonight? We can watch that movie we didn't fin-"

"No, all their stuffs already in my room also your room reeks," Matt protested, taking both you and the framed picture with him.

Nick, for once, didn't try to argue, knowing he wouldn't win when it came to you.

―

When the two of you were laying in bed, Matt had a tendency to start talking about anything that came to mind, occasionally he'd glance at you, making sure you were still paying attention to which you would give his hand an appreciative squeeze. After filming all day with his brothers, you knew Matt needed you to just give him your undevided attention, letting him speak freely without any interruption.

Until you started to hear his words turn into an incoherent mumble, the sound of biting making your head shoot up to look at him.

"Hey!" You spoke up for the first time in a while, slapping his hand away from his mouth and giving him a scolding look.

Matt had always asked you to stop him if you ever caught him biting his nails and despite your much appreciated effort, his habit didn't seem to fade.

"Im sorry," he apologized, the genuine guilt written on his face pulled at your heart strings.

"Don't be sorry," you murmured, "it's not your fault, 'kay?"

"I know, it's just," he leaned his head back a bit, a low groan escaping him, "I don't know, it doesn't bother me in itself, it bothers me more that I can't stop."

You understood. Sitting up a bit, you turned towards him.

"Hey, don't be upset, you just have to find something to do instead of biting your nails, you know? Like every time you get the urge to bite them, you can just play with my nails instead."

He hesitated, but reached for your hand nonetheless. You had just recently gotten your nails done and even when the two of you were still in school he had always had a strange fascination with them.

"...can I bite them?" He mumbled.

"I'd rather you wouldn't," you replied, skeptically.

"Can I rip-" he started to play with the edge of your long nails.

"Noooo," you protested again, pulling your hand away and shielding it with your other in front of your chest.

He smiled apologetically.

"Okay, okay, I was just kidding. C'mon, give it back."

He reached for your hand again, this time carefully tracing the glossy lair of nail polish with his thumb while the rest of his fingers held your hand up in his.

"You better not make me regret this, Matt. If you rip off one of my nails, I'll shave your head."

He ignored your threat, at this point way too entranced by you, the form of your fingers and the softness of your skin. The texture of the design felt fun under his fingertips, and he traced it almost subconsciously.

There was something weird and familiar bubbling up in your chest at the sight of him treating you so delicately. He looked up at you, a grateful smile graced his features as he leaned back down, placed your hand on his, and continued to trace your fingers with his others.

His eyes were back on the movie, leaving you to stare at his side profile with a thousand thoughts running through your head all at once.

At first, you felt warm, giddy, your stomach turning and your cheeks reddening and then an indescribable cold shiver, and the urge to scream into a pillow bubbled up inside you.

The TV illuminated his side profile, the small smile he had while watching. The way your hand seemed to fit so perfectly in his.

"Not this again," you scolded as his fingers tried to rip at one of your nails again.

He just smiled a bit, a slight hint of mischief behind his eyes.

"Don't be scared, I would never hurt you, would I?" He grinned.

You sighed. You were going to hold him to those words.

I wrote this in a daze 😨😨😨 anyway part two coming out soon (someone teach me how to write one shots I can't be controlled)

Next part will be in Matt's pov btw maybe? Who knows. But I have an idea where I want this to go. I think.

Anyway

Hope you enjoyed, luv u <3

#matt sturniolo fanfiction #matt sturniolo x yn #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #fanfic #fanfiction #missingmark #sturniolo triplets x reader #sturniolo triplets x you #sturniolo triplets fanfic #sturniolo triplets fanfiction

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luffyvace · 5 months

Text

STRAW HAT HEADCANONS

YUP YUP

as a thx for being patient for me not posting all day-

you get the whole crew!! :)

(some of these are based off true stories i’ve heard of from my friends 😭🧍‍♀️)

Luffy

never a peaceful day goes by

hes the type of guy that has to make noise if it’s “too silent”

like bro can’t we get some peace and quiet??

thrives in chaos

his eye to hand coordination is on point bc this man doesn’t think before he does ANYTHING

steals things from his crew even

if he sees something he likes he just takes it

he goes into the bathroom, puts boogers on the tissue then leaves

doesn’t even take it off or flush it

the next person who has to use that bathroom is mortified

when nami finds out and holds a whole meeting to find out who did this terrible act of crime

they find out it’s him he just laughs

per usual

stop this madness.

(he doesn’t)

Zoro

also a menace

not as straightforward with it though

its more like if he gets water everywhere when washing his hands

or spills his drink when pouring it

or pee all over the toilet

he’s kinda like oh whoops

(for future reference- my apologies for who ever you simp for here bc these headcanons don’t hold back)

anyway

sometimes he doesn’t shower after he trains

and just walks in the kitchen full body REEKING 😭😭😭

seriously dude take a shower

”i’ll cool off eventually”

THAT AINT GONNA GET RID OF THE STENCH

it makes me doubt he changes his underwear often enough

he leaves empty water bottles everywhere

it’s worse in the crows nest trust

Nami

thankfully this poor victim isn’t nearly as much as a menace

as long as you pay your beli

is genuinely willing to wait as long as it takes to get that money

and if you die she’s taking your life insurance

if your a pirate and have none she probably just takes whatever money and belongings you own

if it’s gems she’ll keep them but otherwise

she sells your clothes and other stuff that’s not worth much

smells like flowers

yes i said it

every time she comes out the shower something chaotic has happened

ah what a refreshing shower..

WHAT DO YOU MEAN LUFFY UPSET ANOTHER GOD 😱

😡✊ 🤣 💥 😓 😑

you can guess what happened

Usopp

his luck heavily fluctuates

sometimes he can get away with stealing. from. nami.

wow.

to other times getting blamed for farting

by luffy

and no one likes that feeling

has a better fashion sense but just chooses to dress how he does

no reason really

he can do hair and paint nails

nail painting he learned from kaya

would love horse back riding if he tried

he would suck at first tho

likes little children but they always end up beating him up for some reason

‘his cooking isn’t that good!’

‘let’s jump him!’

‘yeah!!’

besides the usopp pirates—they just do

Sanji

he could pull if he just stopped simping so hard

opla sanji is proof

his favorite thing to cook is spicy foods

him and chopper bond over spices bc some are good for your health and all

chopper sometimes recommends new herbs to put in foods

and vice versa for medicine

he helps chopper shop for herbs and such

if zoro wasn’t his big brother it was def be sanji

i love this duo it need more screen time

Sanji is a natural with children

which is why i wanna know why he ain’t wifed up yet?!

still hasn’t had his first kiss

prob would’ve genuinely married pudding if she was regular girl or at least not a big mom pirate

Chopper

sweetest person ever

looks up to all the straw hats

so he picks up bad habits from them

and is influenced by them easily

they use him as a tie breaker for stuff

they all bribe him to picking they’re option

usually robin, nami, sanji or zoro wins

robin bc she uses her psychological knowledge

nami bc she offers to buy his doctor stuff (which is rare)

sanji bc they have a close bond and relate to each other

and zoro bc they’re bond too (and bc he scares him sometimes- like that time in water 7)

asks people to help him with his doctor research

everyone was willing until the time usopp had diarrhea

then he could only convince luffy to do it 😭

Robin♥︎

her stare scares the rest of the straw hats

if it’s not a genuine smile and more like a distant stare that is

shes always observing and watching

theres no hiding secrets from her

she’s knows all

she actually reminds me of a friend i had irl and idk how to feel abt it

she wasn’t a bad person

she was just

just like robin 🧍‍♀️

anyway

i wonder if robin would read stephen king?

she would prob big up the book

only for them to find out it’s pretty dark

she prefers tea over coffee any day

its healthier w more health benefits

it just suits her taste pallet more

plus it doesn’t stain your teeth yellow n stuff..

Franky

SO LOUD

the second he gets up-

SUPERRRRRRR

its kinda annoying

he doesn’t care much if you don’t like it

Luffy is louder ok

your fine

wants robin to think he’s cool

if you don’t get something he said he doesn’t feel like repeating himself

either leaves out more details the more he explains it

or stares at you until you get it

constantly requesting american food for dinner

he doesn’t mind noodles and other around the world dishes

but can he get some pizza??

is that too much??

actually such a kind and considerate person

can relate to sanji on his kindness and empathy being his superpower

♡♡BROOK♡♡

needs so much more attention

the only one who still laughs at his skull jokes are luffy and chopper

sometimes usopp if it was a good one

loves to exchange books with robin but..

sometimes they’re a bit scary

(dude your a skeleton…YOUR SCARY-)

robin listens to him well bc he has a wealth of knowledge

he is 90 after all

maybe brook gets his clothes tailored??( bc who makes clothes so skinny a skeleton could fit them?!)

can play instruments no ones ever even HEARD OF before

randomly re-realizes his generation of people is dead

like now he has to accommodate with the youngsters 😭

i mean people in one piece live pretty long

but still they’re not out here kickin it n allike they used to

like rayliegh-

except he’s younger-

way younger-

ok so maybe whitebeard

but he was still jukin-

IDK MAN

one piece people are weird..

JINBEI

idk much about him especially but imma try

he’s so cool

he can prob cook really well

has very good survival and leader skills

plus instincts

wait how old is he??

looked it up he’s 46

so he’s the 2nd oldest

technically would be first if brook wasn’t a moving pile of bones

yohohoho!

my apologies your right this is jinbei.

i feel like he can dance

like he knows traditional dances of all sorts

i mean he could travel under water pretty fast

he should be able to visit different places right?

besides, he was a warlord

of course he did!

i feel he wouldn’t be a simp

as in for boa specifically

like he’s like i got too much going on to simp over some youngster

ik he ain’t real old or anything

but my dude a grown man

bro ain’t got time

he’s too busy being himothy

i feel he’d like poems

jinbei’s was like the most serious one. and that was still all over the place itself-

i take it back probably chopper or robin

this was fun but it took so long. it’s ok u guys enjoy :). i’m off to watch some anime 🏃‍♀️

oh my GOODNESS. so many tags 🤓

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landinrris · 10 months

Text

I come bearing a bit of a Carlando ficlet repurposed from an abandoned wip I mentioned in a previous fic note. Technically same year/timeline as the recent honeymoon fic. From a timeline where Lando's fighting for the championship with McLaren. This takes place during a sponsorship event early in the season and involves an ignorant brand rep and Carlos subsequently taking Lando's mind off it. Not quite nsfw, though they are them. (Also, definitely wrote this initially before silly season last summer and didn't have the heart to replace anyone upon going back through it.)

May 2024

Just because Lando’s spent the last six years being subject to the same monotonous and circle-jerk-worthy sponsor events doesn’t mean he has grown to like or enjoy them. They’re usually full of the upper echelons of who “matters” and who’s willing to write the largest cheque—meaning Lando’s stuck smiling and nodding for hours on end while he pretends to care.

He’s often stuck entertaining people’s thoughts and comments that sound like they’re trying to project an air of knowing more than he does.

Even though they never do.

While Lando’s not sure these events will ever be good, they’re at least always better when Carlos is able to be there with him. Daniel helps as well, turning them into a three-man front against condescending and underhanded remarks.

With the early races showing that Lando may well be a contender for the championship, the events he’s required to go to seem to escalate. Carlos has only been to one other event with him since the start of the season, busy with his own obligations, but he’s here tonight.

Except for the part where it’s Carlos who’s been tugged away for a conversation by Andreas of all people, leaving Lando standing off to the side with a half-empty champagne flute as perfect bait for some old fuck to corner him.

And the universe must have it out for him tonight because that’s what happens.

Some older guy who’s in charge of something or other to do with Goldman Sachs and its European branch (Lando can’t be assed to remember) pulls Lando into a conversation about the one thing Lando really wishes he wouldn’t. He reeks of cologne that lingers on the edge of too sweet, the cloying scent of red wine practically condensing in front of his mouth.

Lando pulls upon his years of politeness and PR training to stay where he is. After four sponsor events in the last month and a half, he’s rather tired of accepting their comments and strategy calls for the championship like the decision is obvious. As if the team doesn’t have months and months ahead of them with the competition close behind.

This guy starts there, like so many others, asking about how Lando feels about the team’s progress (better than during preseason now that they can see everyone’s pace), his thoughts on development (cautiously optimistic given their recent progress and his comfort level with the car), and the upcoming race (Barcelona is always fun and practically feels like home after the last few years).

It doesn’t stay there though when Mr. Goldman Sachs leans in almost conspiratorially and says, “You know, given the last few champions and standings, I think the real trick is to not be tied down to a woman while trying to be competitive.”

Lando, honest to God, chokes on his champagne, his eyes going wide despite his best efforts. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t quite get what you mean.”

Unfortunately, this guy has no issue repeating himself. “Lewis Hamilton and Max Verstappen, during their truly dominant seasons, never had anyone holding them back. True, you’ll find the same for a lot of the multiple champion-winning drivers. And really, maybe it’s something the teams should pay more attention to.”

Beneath the utter audacity of this man trying to start a conversation about drivers’ libidos, there’s something immensely amusing about him being so confident about Max specifically over the past few years (and that’s to say nothing about the others). Lando wants so badly to tell him Max has been in a committed relationship since 2017. He wants to see the man’s eyes grow wide, for him to choke on his words and make a stuttered apology before scampering off to talk to some other CEO. Lando keeps his mouth shut lest he accidentally creates headline-worthy news out of a fucking sponsor event, but God does he want to ruin this man’s worldview.

Mr. Goldman Sachs is rambling something about virile young men (Lando almost throws up at that one) while Lando debates asking again what position this guy holds in the company. What would the odds be of Zak renegotiating their sponsorship future over this if Lando asked?

“But you don’t have a girlfriend, I trust? Nothing to stop you from putting everything you’ve got into this championship. McLaren needs another champion. It’s been too long.” His smile is on the wrong side of leering, and Lando suppresses his shudder. He wonders if this guy even knows McLaren’s last champion, considering it’s obvious he knows little about their current front-runner.

“No sir, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Ah, good man,” he interjects before Lando can correct him.

“I do have a fiancé, but I don’t really anticipate it having a negative effect on my championship fight.”

Carlos, God bless him, chooses that moment to finish talking to Andreas. Lando shifts his eyes over Mr. Goldman Sachs’ shoulder and sees him approaching with an easy smile on his face, two flutes of champagne in his hands. Now is not the moment to admire Carlos in his well-tailored suit that Lando has wanted to tear off him all night, all sleek lines and sharp corners.

Especially when Mr. Goldman Sachs regrettably makes his thoughts on Lando’s relationship status known. He schools his moderately surprised expression and says just about what Lando expects from him by this point.

“Oh, well, I hope you’re right. Distance just creates such a hiccup in any relationship, let alone the stress I’m sure you’ll be under as the season unfolds. And given how focused Red Bull is on correcting their mistakes, it won’t be long with Verstappen coming through the field with a single mindset.”

The literal only thing that stops Lando from yelling that Max isn’t single and having to subsequently beg for his and Daniel’s forgiveness until the end of time, is the back of Carlos’ hand brushing against Lando’s upper arm. His smile is warm as his eyes flit back and forth between Lando and Mr. Goldman Sachs. He tilts his head enough for Lando to understand that he’s asking two questions at once.

“More champagne? Andreas needed my opinion on something, so I bring back apology alcohol for abandoning you.”

Lando’s only too glad to take it and exchanges his almost empty glass for Carlos to hand to a passing waiter.

“Am I interrupting?” Carlos asks once Lando smiles in thanks, shifting his gaze to Mr. Goldman Sachs. There’s a carefully veiled concern there, like Lando need only use their rescue word to change locations.

But Lando just musters his most professional smile and holds out a hand to present Mr. Goldman Sachs to Carlos. One of the most unfortunate moments of his career. “Uh, Carlos, this is the head of the European branch for Goldman Sachs. One of our sponsors.” Lando looks more directly at Mr. Goldman Sachs as if challenging him with his next words. “I’m sure you must be familiar with Carlos Sainz—my fiancé, actually. You’ll find distance won’t really play a role in our relationship.”

Both Carlos’ and Mr. Goldman Sachs’ faces do something funny for completely different reasons, but Lando’s too ticked off to find either of them amusing. He’ll have to commiserate with Daniel and Max later.

“Sainz? You’re with Ferrari, are you not?” Mr. Goldman Sachs manages after he practically picks his jaw up off the floor. He’s oozing with faux politeness and acceptance—trying his hardest not to look rocked by the news that Lando has the farthest thing from a girlfriend.

Carlos shifts closer to Lando, picking up easily enough on Lando’s prickly attitude. Hell, Andreas probably can where he is across the room. The slide of Carlos’ hand over the middle of Lando’s back, coming to rest at the base of his spine helps Lando to relax some of his muscles.

Carlos returns just as much sanitized politeness. “I am normally. Tonight though, I am here as Lando’s plus one. It is true like he says, we are never far apart.”

“I just find it mildly surprising that Ferrari would allow you to be here, and in this capacity. They’ve always been notoriously strict, I’ve heard.”

Carlos shrugs and sips from his glass. He looks calm and collected, but Lando can see the subtle shift of his jaw— can feel the way Carlos’ fingers flex at Lando’s back. “There are some things more important than what Ferrari wants me to show sometimes. If you’ll excuse us. I was sent to fetch Lando for Zak.”

The lie is blatant even if it works. Lando wonders if Carlos realizes he’d said he was talking with Andreas before as he gives Mr. Goldman Sachs a barely-there smile. Carlos doesn’t give them much time to linger until he’s pulling Lando away and back in the direction he’d come from earlier before Mr. Goldman Sachs can say anything else.

Carlos pulls Lando down a long hallway off the main ballroom until they’re about three-quarters of the way. Only then does he stop and turn to look at Lando for the first time.

The irritation is plain to see on Carlos’ face and in the set of his shoulders when he sighs. “Some fucking people. What did he say to you? It didn’t sound like it was going well based on how you introduced us.”

Try as Lando might, he’s unable to refrain from unloading. Poor Carlos, who hates these kinds of things more than Lando does and who doesn’t even have to be here out of obligation. He’s only here on one of his precious few free nights out of his love for Lando and not wanting him to suffer alone.

Lando starts at the point where Carlos had first been pulled away, talking fast enough as if the quickness of the words would help Lando get over how uncomfortable they’d made him. As if the speed would make it so Carlos wouldn’t have to bear their abrasiveness as well. They’ve been publicly out for a year, how do people not know?

Carlos stops him in the middle of a tangent about how, even though he’d wanted to spill about Max and Daniel so bad, there’s no way he would deserve their forgiveness, and—

“Lando, Lando stop. Breathe for me, please.”

“Can we, let’s just— I really don’t want to go back out there yet. I will do something I regret.”

It’s a wonder that Carlos doesn’t have to ask him the specifics and just nods, taking Lando’s wrist in his hand and guiding them further down the hallway.

Their shoes echo together against the walls, but it’s infinitely better than the way everyone’s voices in the main hall coalesced together to create a quiet din that built up on his nerves slowly but surely. Like a fine grit that wasn’t noticeable until it was too late and left a bleeding mess of his nerves.

Carlos tries a few doors that are locked before coming to a set of narrow double doors that aren’t. They look like heavy oak, ornately carved like they themselves are an art piece— and maybe they are considering the rest of them looked to be pretty standard. Lando decides in the back of his mind that people rich enough to have an estate and manor this big to host corporate events don’t have to make sense.

The room that Carlos pushes into is a library because of course it is. And it’s not even a small room. The walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves, all packed to the brim with books old and new— tomes of information Lando could never hope to get through in this lifetime. There’s even a mezzanine off to the side with further shelves that reach to the top edge of the ceiling before it vaults up to the outer wall lined with windows. Thick drapes are pulled open along the outer edges, but they get the mood across.

The mood that happens to make Lando feel like he’s stepped back in time at least eighty years.

It’s not until Carlos pulls him a bit further into the room and away from the door that Lando remembers why they’d even found it. Right, the utter chaos of his brain and the people in the main hall aren’t mixing. And he quite likes his job.

Lando’s feet kickstart before Carlos can lead him to one of the wingback chairs off to the side, and instead, he pulls them to one of the far walls, tucked near the staircase that leads up to the mezzanine. If someone comes in looking for them, they might be out of sight back here.

Carlos turns once they stop walking, and it’s the first time Lando actually sees his face after begging to go somewhere other than the open hallway. All hints of the anger from before are gone, replaced instead with genuine concern. His big eyes and worried eyebrows make him look sad in a way Lando can’t deal with.

And maybe they shouldn’t be using the library of some wealthy person’s manor for their own benefit, but Lando desperately needs to get out of his mind—to forget, if just for a moment, what that man had said.

Carlos in all his rational sense likely has his own qualms about pressing Lando up against the shelf behind them with his hands spanning the width of Lando’s hips and their lips pressed against each other. He would ordinarily likely have some trepidation about kissing up Lando’s jaw and burying his head in Lando’s neck. Their breaths are a cacophonous roar in Lando’s ears, his chest fit to burst when Carlos’ teeth snag at Lando’s earlobe.

When their lips meet again after way too long, Lando frantically pulls Carlos’ mouth back to his own. As if this is a short, clandestine meeting where they’re meant to part once finished and pretend they don’t know the other— that they’re forbidden from being together.

It’s exactly like this, in a way. Lando doesn’t want to think of what would happen if anyone caught them in here, especially while he’s trying not to think.

Rather than Lando’s earlobe this time, Carlos’ teeth catch on his bottom lip, pulling a moan from Lando’s mouth, muffled as it is pressed to Carlos’. Lando feels weak under Carlos’ hands, surrendering to Carlos’ control with an ease that would be embarrassing if anyone else found out. But here, he’s only too happy to open his mouth to Carlos, whimpering at the feeling of Carlos’ tongue against his lip.

Even through his suit jacket, dress shirt, and undershirt, Lando can feel the heat of Carlos’ hands—can feel how they flex. It’s a tactile reminder of Carlos’ self-control, of how he’s barely holding himself together from ripping Lando’s clothing off.

Lando’s close to letting him, to saying to hell with it all, when he hears as much as feels Carlos’ groan ripped from his chest where he has his own hands splayed. He wants desperately to feel the warmth of Carlos’ skin and run his fingers through where Carlos’ chest hair is growing back from its latest wax. He wants to feel Carlos’ weight over him, pressing into him enough to reduce him to a litany of curses and pleas.

This is everything Lando wanted—to have every sense filled with Carlos instead of any of the people out in that grand hall.

All he hears is Carlos’ labored breathing that alternates between huffs and sighs and half-uttered proclamations of Lando’s name.

All he feels is the starch of Carlos’ shirt, the fleeting feel of silk that runs up the lapels of the suit jacket he’s regrettably still wearing.

All he tastes is Carlos, a hint of champagne still on his tongue, much fancier than they’re ever given on the podium. Lando still hates the taste, but it’s always been sweeter kissed from Carlos’ mouth.

Lando’s about five seconds from tearing his mouth from Carlos’ to sink to his knees where he stands, he really is, all the more encouraged when Carlos tears one of his hands from Lando’s waist to cradle his face instead. It’s instinctual to lean into the touch, Carlos’ mouth catching the corner of Lando’s and trailing up on its own accord to the space on his cheekbone just below his eye.

The action makes Lando giggle breathlessly, a noise incongruent with what they’ve been doing, what Lando’s really about to do. But that’s Carlos—always somehow subverting Lando’s expectations. It doesn’t stop Lando from trying to tilt his head back up into Carlos’ space, wordlessly begging for Carlos’ lips again, but it’s not a request that’s granted. A whimper may or may not escape unbidden from Lando’s throat at the action.

Instead, Carlos lets his thumb sweep across Lando’s cheek with a sad smile that just about reaches his eyes. Lando can’t tell for sure, but he wouldn’t be surprised if its presence wasn’t wholly because they can’t do as much as they want to. The most sure-fire way to get Lando out of his head when he wants to stop thinking isn’t something that’s possible right now, they both realistically know, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be sad about it.

“We really should not be doing this here, mi amor. Someone will be coming to look for us. We have been gone for too long, I think.”

Lando sucks in a bit more air before he trusts his voice enough to answer without producing a distinctive wobble. “If we were at the MTC, I’d know where the hiding spots were.”

Carlos huffs out laughter at that. Good, Lando thinks. Anything to wipe away the look on his face.

“And I believe you. Later though, okay? You deserve me to make love to you not against a bookshelf in a gaudy manor, no?”

Lando tries to suppress the shudder that goes through him at the combination of Carlos’ words and the way they’re almost whispered into his ear. He nods unthinking because if Carlos is telling him he deserves to basically be fucked in luxury, then who is Lando to dispute that?

“What time is it?” Lando asks in lieu of physically pulling Carlos back into him. He should honestly be commended for his strength.

Carlos could tell him to look at his own watch if he felt like it, but he doesn’t. Rather, he barely shifts his gaze down to meet his watch at Lando’s hip and sighs. “We still have about an hour before you can make an elegant exit.”

“An elegant exit?”

“Ay, everything you do is elegant. Surely leaving one of these dreadful events must also be.”

Truly, one of the most elegant things would be leaving a sponsor event, so he won’t fight Carlos on that one.

What he wants to do is fight the tug on his wrist that Carlos gives him after a much more chaste kiss to his lips. He wants to fight the intent to lead him back through the overly ornate doors that lead back to too many inane comments and questions. If there’s one thing Lando’s decided for the rest of the night though, it’s that he won’t be left alone without one of his team members.

They reenter the main hall to find Daniel standing near the entrance, glass full while he holds an empty one in his hands. He doesn’t look at either of them as they pause next to each other, and for a moment, it’s a bubble of peace in the middle of chaos.

“I think I've just figured out why I never won a world championship,” Daniel says off-handedly. The PR fight leaves Lando then, bending him at the knees as he’s helpless to fight off the hysterical laughter that bubbles up and over inside him. Carlos’ steadying hand is on his back keeping him semi-upright, but it’s a losing battle.

Fucking sponsor events.

#anyway carlos and lando went back to their hotel later that night and carlos showed lando exactly what he thought he deserved #one of the few bits that got written for that version of that wip #carlando #husbands™#writing tag

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lutawolf · 10 months

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"Stay by My Side" Ep 1-4

It's a college rival to love story. You have Bu Xia who is brought up by his grandfather and older sister, both are spiritual mediums. But that isn't the life that Bu Xia wants, after his grandfathers passing, that changes due to a mishap. He can suddenly hear ghosts. The only time he has peace is when he is with his rival Jiang Chi, the boy he kissed to win an arm wrestling contest. To cover for all the touchy feeling, Bu Xia declares to Jiang Chi that he is special to him. Unprepared to reveal that he is being 100% truthful.

I had low expectations at the start of the episode. Maybe because it felt so cliché? I mean, we have the usual, bad boy meets group of sports kids and the one true love accidentally trips. The romantic fall troupe showcased exactly what this pairing was going to be like. The characters quickly grow on you though.

Jiang Chi to me at least, comes off as a confident gay that doesn't need to tell everyone he is gay. He can find you attractive and simultaneously be annoyed by you. Which is clear in his first meeting with Bu Xia. He is giving eyes and snarling at the same time. He then finds out he is rooming with him and the disgust begins. To be fair, he has reason to be, honestly, Bu Xia reminds me of my daughter. Super sweet, friendly, playful, cuddly, needy, clumsy, clueless, unsure and messy. While Jiang Chi is the absolute opposite of all that.

Yet, in all the fighting, Jiang Chi doesn't walk away. He easily could, and you see that is typically what he does with everyone else, but not Bu Xia. And Bu Xia for his part is so stupid as to why he is following Jiang Chi around and teasing him. Homeboy is telling himself it's to know his enemy and so on but give him have a chance to throw his mack down, and he is doing it without thought. Then freezing when he realizes what he has done. Homebody is clueless to himself and it's adorable. How could Jiang Chi not be charmed, even as he initially tries to hide it.

Side note, pay some attention to side characters because they are always giggling and taking pictures of the two.

Episode two is for sure, having Jiang Chi questioning himself. For the first time, he is sliding into a land of being completely unsure of himself. And Bu Xia cluelessly unaware of the havoc he is reeking while at the same time making comments like "You taste delicious." The boy is stupid and I love him.

The thing to understand about Bu Xia is that while he can be annoying in his playfulness, but he is extremely kind and caring. So while he pushes Jiang Chi to help him with his report, he also makes sure to send him a thank-you. He knowingly operates around Jiang Chi's schedule as to not disturb him. He'll happily annoy Jiang Chi for his attention, he doesn't really want to cause him issues.

Halfway through episode two is when the mishap happens and Bu Xia begins hearing ghosts. Boy is afraid and losing his shit, which causes him to run straight into the arms of Jiang Chi. Leaving Jiang Chi baffled and charmed. Boy is really being effected now, and I'm here for it.

Jiang Chi gives me the impression that he still doesn't know what to make of Bu Xia's affections. It's clear that he isn't used to being this close to anyone and maybe doesn't have experience and is floundering.

Episode 3 shows a clear thawing of ice. To the point that those around them are taking notice as well as taking pictures.

"He's actually quite cute when he's not being sarcastic."

When pictures are hung in the common area of them both. Bu Xia takes the opportunity to say that Jiang Chi is his special person. It comes off as both a gag and confession. Especially with the way he hugs and runs off afterward.

I found it refreshing that Jiang Chi chased after him to get clarification. He didn't get it, but I found it refreshing that he tried to get communication. Over the course of episode 3, Jiang Chi begins to understand that his boy is shy. Once this realization is made, Jiang Chi is clearly all in.

There is a scene that I wish I could find a gif set for. But Jiang Chi runs into a girl that know Bu Xia and he decides to ask some questions.

Jiang Chi "I have a friend who is always being harassed in some varies ways. He finds reasons to be around him, often stares at him, and even touches him intentionally and unintentionally."

Girl "Didn't your friend fight him?" As in, did he tell him to stop or no. Smack him.

Jiang Chi seems to reflect and shakes his head no.

Girl "Then it's not harassment. It should be considered flirting." So, basically telling them that both of their asses are flirting.

I was giddy the rest of the fucking episode. It was cute how Bu Xia was so rattled but unable to run away. The way Bu Xia talks, you can tell he isn't just there to silence the ghosts. "I find it very comfortable being with you." He's just so clueless about himself. But Jiang Chi, ugh, Jiang Chi is now subtly chasing his confused boy.

Which is what epside 4 is all about. Jiang Chi chasing his confused boy, it was so fucking adorable! Ahhhhhh!

It was sweet like cotton candy. All the feels. All the flipping feels, I tell you.

I'm so fucking excited for episode 5 guys. Just go watch, so I have other people to scream with! 💜💜💜

All gif credits go to @bl-bam-beyond and @ellsieee

#luta talks stay by my side #stay by my side #taiwanese bl

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celandeline · 4 months

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Summer of Like // Farleigh Start x OC (5)

On the chessboard in front of us, Venetia’s winning by a mile, which is how I know she isn’t really paying attention. It’s simply her way - whenever we’ve played games like this in the past, when she is focused on the board, she overthinks. When something else is on her mind, and she’s operating on instinct, she dominates. So maybe today, the day that Felix’s friend Oliver is supposed to arrive, was a bad day to challenge her to a chess match.

Head propped up on my hand, I move one of my knights to take her pawn. “Your move.”

Venetia’s eyes scan over the board, and she quickly moves one of her bishops, taking the knight that I just placed, and putting my king in danger. “Check.”

I lean back in my chair and groan. I’ve only got a handful of pieces left on the board, and I’ve barely made a dent in her troop. Begrudgingly, I shift my king one space to the side.

Across the table, Venetia laughs.

“What, laughing at my misery already V?” I frown petulantly. “At least save it until you’ve actually won the game.”

“No, no…” She giggles again. “Are you listening to Mum and Pamela?”

The room that we’re sitting in - the globe room, Venetia said - is connected to the library through a small archway, letting the voices of the rest of the family’s chatter drift over to us. I tune into the conversation as Venetia giggles again.

Elspeth’s voice is casual. “Well, I mean, they probably don’t have rehab in Liverpool.”

“No, gosh, no.” Pamela uses the same conversational tone to agree. “No, I can’t imagine they do.”

Venetia grins as I widen my eyes. The sheer absurdity of it - that in all of Liverpool, there couldn’t possibly be one rehab center - and the fact that they’re talking about it so casually, they can’t be joking, both makes me want to laugh and roll my eyes. Just how rich are these people?

Elspeth sighs. “Everybody just goes to ruin, I suppose.”

A moment of silence passes, and then Pamela’s soft voice breaks through again. “Where is Liverpool?”

“What?!” I say, keeping my voice low enough that only Venetia will hear.

“I know,” She says, leaning forward across the chess table. “I love Mum, I really do, but I swear she has a knack for befriending the most daft people on the fucking planet.”

I laugh, and move my last remaining rook to take one of her knights. The fact that she’s exempted her mother from that category just adds another layer of humor to the whole thing, and I don’t bother fighting back my grin.

Venetia pores over the board for a minute before moving her other knight with deft fingers, knocking out one of my bishops. I sigh, resting my elbow back on the edge of the table to prop my head up in my hand again. There’s no way I’m coming back from this.

From the library, Farleigh’s voice catches my attention. “It’s called Prescot.”

“Oh, it’ll be some awful slum.” Pamela says, pity dripping from her voice.

“Mm.” Elspeth agrees. “Some sort of hovel-ish squat. And both his parents were dealing. God, and his mother’s a drunk. I mean, babies can be really affected. Traumatized.”

“Oh, they come out drunk.” Pamela adds, sounding grave.

“Is that right that he had to put his fingers down his mother’s throat to make her sick?” Elspeth asks.

I don’t catch the answer to her question, because I’m suddenly aware of a pair of eyes on me. I look up to see Venetia gazing out into the hall, a slow smile spreading over her face. She breathes out a laugh, and I turn my head to follow her eyes.

A short boy stands in the hall just outside the library, his blue plaid shirt buttoned up all the way to the top. There’s an air of meekness about him, and everything about the way he’s styled himself reeks of insecurity. His eyes flick between Venetia and I, seemingly unsure of who to settle on. I make the decision for him, and turn back to look at Venetia, a grin playing at the corner of my lips.

Oliver disappears, and from the library, Farleigh’s voice booms.

“And here he is now! We were just talking about you!”

Venetia rises from her seat, and I follow her lead, a knowing smile on my face. If there’s one thing I’ve come to know about Venetia, it’s that she likes her men pathetic. The sort of boys that have never really been on the receiving end of female attention before, and once they get a taste, would bend over backwards to get their fix. He’s just her type.

She rolls her eyes at my look. “Stop.”

“I didn’t even say anything.” I say, teasing.

“I know what you were thinking - and I’m not going to! It’ll upset Felix.” She says, giving me a knowing look before turning to walk into the library.

“Sure.” I drawl, following her in. Maybe not now, but in a few weeks, when we’re all bored out of our minds and it’s unbearably hot? I’m sure her resolve will break.

Elspeth is giving Oliver the same once over that she gave me when we walk into the library. “Has Venetia seen you yet? Oh my god, she’ll die. She’s been draping herself about the house all day hoping you’ll come across her.”

Venetia rolls her eyes as she plops down on the sofa, patting the arm next to her. I perch there, and she leans against me, resting her head against my thighs.

Behind us, Farleigh snickers from behind his laptop. “As it were.”

James ambles over to shake Oliver’s hand, and Venetia shifts, turning her head to shoot a look at Farleigh. “Stop it. I’m not going to.”

Farleigh raises his hands, placating but teasing all the same. “I never said you were.”

“I did.” I say, grinning down at Venetia. “But I’ve since been told I’m wrong.” I pick up a few strands of her hair and start braiding them together across my lap.

Elspeth pulls Oliver with her back to the couch, placing him between herself and Pamela. I watch his eyes nervously dart around the room as I work on Venetia’s hair and a twinge of sympathy hits me. He and I are in the same boat, in a way. I was doing the same just a few days ago.

“Pamela, darling, can you go and find Annie and ask about tea?” Elspeth asks.

It takes Pamela a moment to register the question. “Yeah.” She says, hesitantly rising from the couch. “Yeah. Who, which…which ones that?”

“You’ll find her darling. Annie.”

Pamela takes a step towards the hall. “Where-?”

Elspeth’s grin tightens. “You’ll work it out darling.”

Almost steeling herself, Pamela says, “Okay. I’m going to work it out.”

James glances away from the television for a moment. “Kitchen.”

“Off you pop.” Elspeth says.

Pamela lingers for a moment, and then steps out into the hall, muttering under her breath. “Ah, the kitchen. Kitchen. So, Annie in the kitchen... Annie in the kitchen.”

I finish off my braid and begin working on another as Elspeth lets out a long sigh. “Poor dear Pamela. She's been staying with us while she gets back on her feet. She's had an awful

time this year. Hideous. But oh! Oliver- so have you! God, I'm so sorry to hear about your father.

How utterly, utterly tragic. I've lost so many friends to addiction. So, so many dear, dear friends.

It's the root of Poor Pamela's horrors too I'm afraid.”

Farleigh doesn’t look up from his laptop as he adds, “And the only interesting thing

about her.”

“Farleigh!” Elspeth shoots him a look over her shoulder. I resist the urge to snicker, lest I be given the same stare, but Venetia catches my eye and a little laugh slips out of my lips. She grins as well, lips pressed together.

Elspeth turns back to Oliver. “No, she is rather dull actually. But she's so beautiful. You have to admit she's very beautiful. But it's only ever really been a curse. I mean, the men Oliver. You wouldn't believe it. The latest one is some ghastly Russian billionaire. Malignantly ugly, of

course. She's been holed up here for months hiding from him.”

It’s largely the same conversation that I had with Elspeth when Venetia and I arrived, so I find myself tuning out, more focused on making little braids all throughout Venetia’s hair than Elspeth’s explanation of poor dear Pamela. Still, as Elspeth talks, I can’t help but feel that little twinge of anxiety that’s becoming more familiar the longer I’m here. The importance placed on Pamela’s beauty - the black-tie dinners every night that have me poring through Venetia’s closet - the casual way that Elspeth talks about addiction and tragedy - it’s all a reminder that I don’t fit in here. That I’m really just here for Venetia’s entertainment.

I start another braid in her hair, and try not to think about it too much.

< previous part | next part >

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atsadi-shenanigans · 2 months

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Feeding Alligators 41 - Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

Rated M for violence, swearing, and innuendo.

You and Astarion do a bit of reconnaissance.

On AO3.

Wyll is now a devil. That is a thing that can, apparently, fucking happen in Faerun. You quietly add “Mizora” to your “fuckheads to kill??” mental list. You ain’t sure if Wyll’s new look is permanent, or if it even goes more than skin deep. He, understandably, wants some time to process the whole thing—away from y’all—so you don’t ask.

“Mmm,” Astarion tuts. “That’s a warlock bargain for you.”

Catches your blank stare, scoffs, and has to explain (“Not even devils? What do you mean Ay-yarth only has humans?”)

Karlach goes real quiet. You think she might be tearing up, but she runs so hot, any tears evaporate before they can pool.

You sit with her a bit. Let her talk at you. You don’t got much to say—isolated as Earth is from all this shit (is it, though? Seems to be an awful lot of cultural and culinary crossover to be coincidence). You ain’t sure why somebody like Wyll ever felt so desperate he had to make a deal with a devil for power.

“I think he’ll be okay,” you say.

“Really?” Karlach says. She’s big and intimidating, but she’s still got that golden retriever softness to her. When she’s not swinging that ax around. Or ripping saplings out of the ground and replanting them with her bare fucking hands.

“He don’t seem the type to give up,” you say.

And this gets a snort out of her. “He chased my big, red ass halfway through the hells, alright. Yeah. Yeah. Good old Blade of the Frontiers wouldn’t let that sack of shit win, will he? And between you and me, I’m gonna find a way to get that bitch’s claws out of him, if I have to smash her face in to do it.”

She’s like a black hole, only bright and shining, pulling you into her gravity well. “I’d pay money to watch that. Shit, I’ll help you do it.”

“You will?” And sweet god, all that violence-tinged enthusiasm focuses on you and your spine melts all warm and gooey like taffy in the sun. You want to swoon into her giant arms.

But can’t. Because she’s on fire.

Instead, you nod. “If we get a chance to get him out of this bullshit contract, we do it.”

“Fuck yeah. I knew you’d be alright!”

You would do almost anything to make this giant, flaming woman smile.

***

Naturally, that means killing the fuck out of some fake paladins. You should probably be more squeamish about that. None of the others are. Karlach is downright chipper and Lae’zel smiled for less than half a second when y’all set out.

“How many did you say were there?” Gale says.

Karlach answers, but your gaze slides to Wyll, sticking to the middle of the group. His cheeks have ridges, now. His eye turned black and red. And he’s got an impressive set of oil-black horns curving up from his forehead.

He was so eager, yesterday. So in his element, confidant he could remove a piece of evil from the world. And it was a lie. The whole thing might be a lie.

You know what that feels like.

“You okay?” you say, dropping back to his side.

He tries to smile, but it’s like a gray cloud blocking the sun. “I’ll be alright. Best focus on the mission at hand. It won’t be easy fighting agents of Zariel. Even if we outnumber them.”

This close, and you can trace the ridges disappearing down the neckline of his shirt. His cheekbones jut out, now. The whole look is sharper than before. But his eyes are still soft and kind.

“You’ll be okay, Wyll,” you say. “If you need anything, ask, yeah? I mean it.”

He kinda blinks at you. Attempts a smile and almost sticks the landing this time.

Then the wind shifts and the reek of carrion left out to rot washes over you. The road is up ahead. And beyond that, the tollhouse.

“Keep yourself safe,” Wyll says.

“You, too.”

***

Karlach wants to kick down the front door and start smashing heads together. You talk her down. Barely. She’s literally blazing by the time she steps back, sulking. She says there were five. Astarion noticed four, and they’d said they were “gravely wounded.” They mighta lost somebody.

Y’all need to scout the area.

Your gaze lands on Astarion. His eyes narrow.

“You and me take a peek?” you say.

And half the group objects. Not over Astarion—which he goes full offended cat about. Rather, it’s you. Until you remind them that 1. you got Lae’zel outta that trap by yourself 2. nobody's stabbed you yet, and 3. you are the most unassuming out of y’all’s entire group.

Lae’zel with her fuck off sword and her silver armor. Shadowheart with her cool, skin peeling glare (and also her armor and that mace). Gale is a fucking wizard and anybody at fifty paces can clock that. Wyll and Karlach both have horns, and Karlach is on fire.

“Sides, I ain’t going through the front door,” you say. “Hopefully they don’t see us at all.”

So with a reluctant “be careful” and “I can’t heal a severed limb, you know” and a “fuck yeah, bust some heads!” you both go scuttling towards the nearest overturned wagon to the tollhouse, the one that’s part of the makeshift barricade.

“Hmph,” Astarion sniffs. “No sending off for me, then.”

You kick her body like the football, your brain chimes in helpfully.

“Poor Miette,” you say. Flap your hand when he frowns. “It’s a saying. I would very much like it if you don’t get hurt.”

He settles. A bit.

Them bodies are still sprawled everywhere like lawn clippings. That alone makes you side with Karlach.

“Who leaves bodies just lying around where they sleep?” you say, as the two of you crouch down (your knee crack is barely audible) to watch.

“Oh, most monsters,” Astarion says.

You remember how he just left that pig in the road. “Huh.”

There. Backroom Lurker woman emerges from a side door on the second story. Stares out over the woods a bit. Stares out so long your left calf goes from burn to cramp. Astarion is absolutely fixated on her. Eyes not moving, not even twitching. His nostrils flare and he goes so utterly still, you know he’s not breathing. He’s every inch a big cat on the stalk. It sends a shiver down your spine.

Eventually, Backroom Lurker starts towards the stairs leading down to the porch. Stands there as you start sweating, swearing without using your vocal cords, before she finally opens a door at ground level and slips inside.

You fall on your ass and hiss as you stretch your legs. Astarion gives you an eyebrow arch and you know the bastard is laughing in his head. At least it broke up his eerie staring.

“What now?” you say.

He hesitates a second. Something flashes across his face, but then he looks back to the tollhouse and shifts his crouch.

“We wait.” His voice is so soft it gives you an ASMR shiver. Which he notices, and because he’s an asshole, it makes him smirk. “We need to establish her pattern before we try to slip between her little outings. At least one more go should give us a rough estimation.”

You nod. Stretch your legs a bit more before folding them in criss-cross applesauce (Sasha taught you that phrasing; you refuse to abandon it). And wait. And wait. The sun beats down and you ain’t even in armor and you’re starting to overheat. Astarion isn’t sweating, though. Nor does he seem bothered. He watches the tollhouse—gaze still creepily fixed, but has tilted his head so he catches as much of the light on his face that he can. He’s a cat sprawled on a windowsill. One watching for a pretty bird.

And there she finally is. Backroom Lurker reappears upstairs again some fifteen minutes later. Does her whole “standing around and looking at the trees” schtick before making her round and going back inside.

Astarion lifts his crouch. You scramble back to your feet just in time for him to take off. God, he’s fast and he is fucking silent. More like a ghost streaking towards that porch while you lumber and pant behind him. He barely slows as he sort of flows up onto the porch, still without a sound. There, he turns back. Frowns to find you about half the distance behind and already panting. You redouble your effort (maybe Lae’zel had the right idea; you would not have been able to do this a week ago).

You stop before the porch. Turn and reverse hop your ass onto it and roll as quietly as you can to your own feet. He keeps glancing behind you (the door where Lurker disappeared into) and up the stairs.

“Keep quiet,” he says as if you aren’t already smothering your own urge to fucking pant under trembling slow breaths. Then he starts up the stairs.

You tread carefully, much more slowly, up after him. Until you’re both at the upper deck. He starts to move and then stops so fast and completely, you think something shot him. But then his face twists—oh fuck, that man is a fucking vampire—and his lips peel back in the most fucked up grin you’ve ever seen. He silent-sprints over to the other side of the door, crouches down.

Leaves you standing there all dumb and awkward. Just in time for the door to swing open. For Backroom Lurker to step out, muttering, and take two steps and notice your own frozen ass.

“What—” she says.

And Astarion is on her. He rises up, something terrible, something that locks your bones and trips your heart. A hand comes around her front, glittering silver. The knife flashes. Opens her neck in a spray of blood. And before the first drop can even hit the deck, he tears into the wound with his fucking mouth. His other hand comes up, clamps her own lips shut—pretty sure he severed the vocal cords, oh god, is that just instinct? And he clutches her to him.

It’s part cat, part python. Her legs kick and she reaches up to try to tear at him, wrench him off her. But her neck is open and his teeth savage the wound and she makes these horrifying gurgling, gasping sounds. She looks at you. All fear and desperation—

You look away. You don’t need to see this. Don’t need this burned into your memory. You track the both of them out of the corner of your eye as she slumps. As he follows her down, until she’s sprawled out and he’s hunched over her, making those slurping, half-moaning noises of his own.

Until he finally wrenches himself off, panting, looking high as fuck. His grin is a wet, red smear across his face.

That…

Holy shit.

“That’s, uh…” you say. You ain’t even sure what you meant to finish.

He sighs happily. Stands. Pulls a rag from his pocket to clean off the knife.

Backroom Lurker lies deader than the ghost of Abraham Lincoln. Just like Olodan, her head is damn near sliced off, only the spine and a flap of skin holding it to the rest of her. Astarion’s lower face is absolutely soaked in blood, a sheen of it running down the front of his armor.

He notices you staring. “Is there something in my teeth, darling?”

You ogle a second. And then you can’t help yourself. There’s so much death and maiming, and your brain always did short circuit to humor.

You laugh. It’s a quiet thing, high-pitched, more of a wheeze. You motion to his mouth. “Yeah. You got a spot right…right there.”

His eyebrows lift, eyes glittering. The game between you is shifting and you’re kind of stuck in this raft as the current veers off course. This seems to tickle him right back. He wipes the corner of his mouth with a gloved hand. Pops it back in to suck it clean, glove and all.

“Better?” he says.

He’s smeared it, is what he’s done.

And the only thing you can come up with it, “Eh, I don’t think anyone’ll notice.”

A drop pools on his chin and falls to the deck between his feet.

“I’ll take your word for it,” he says, and he damn well knows. Has to feel all that wet on his face, but he makes no move to clean it (aside from occasional finger swipes, like stealing icing from a mixing bowl).

He examines the dead woman a second. But doesn't crouch to go through her things. Instead, he looks at you.

“She’s all yours,” he says. When you only stand there and stare, he motions to her. “You claimed first shot at jewelry, didn’t you? Her pockets are right there, my dear. I’ll let you have your turn.”

You…what. What the fuck? Why does that sound…what?

But he just stands there, smiling at you. Like he’s not covered in blood. Like he didn’t quite literally tear her throat open with his own teeth and now you’re both standing here, in the sunlight, over her cooling corpse and talking about dibs rights.

“We are running out of time, darling,” he says. “If you want to continue this scouting venture, that is.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fake paladins y’all gotta kill. Right. And he’s going to stand there until you do this, isn’t he? Fucking asshole. Fucking goblin ass psycho man.

You look down at Lurker. This was your idea. You know he had to kill her—it ain’t actually that easy to knock people out and it causes literal brain damage; she might’ve died anyway. And y’all are here to kill all of them. And, well…you do need money. She won’t.

Fuck.

You reach down, careful not to look past the arm flung over her torso, careful not to touch her anymore than you have to. A quick rummage through her pockets and you draw out five gold pieces.

“Hmm, no jewelry,” Astarion says. “How unfortunate.”

No jewelry. Just your first corpse robbing. Dead-thieving? What the fuck does one even call this, and why does it feel like some kinda test? One Astarion seems to approve of, judging from the glint in his eyes.

Though that might be the blood lust.

“We may only have a few moments before the others notice her deviation,” he says and pads over to the ladder next to the door. He gestures for you to go first and gives a bow at the waist, like some fancy pants doorman.

You got a dead woman’s coins in your pocket and he’s covered in blood, so you do the normal person thing and give him a silly bow back. What the fuck even is your life.

Your knees bitch about the climb, but you make it anyway. Settle into a crouch on the open patio to let Astarion take the lead. He palms the door handle, cracks it and pauses, listening. He ain’t breathing again, so you hold your own lungs as still as you can until he gives what you assume is an “all clear” gesture. Then he eases through.

You glance back, catch a flash of red at the barricade—the crew ducking down. Close enough that if you two get caught, one of them might get to you both before y’all get your asses skewered.

You breathe deep, flick your shaking hands a couple of times, and follow Astarion.

***

Notes:

Astarion is a cryptid murder hobo and I will shout this from the rooftops. Regular updates will continue for the next three chapters, but I'm gonna take a Wednesday off after chapter 44 because she got LONG. Next chapter: Slaughterhouse Four

#feeding alligators fic #these two shitheads #tavstarion #astarion x tav #bg3 fic #astarion fic #slow burn #plus size tav #demisexual tav #modern girl in faerun #astarion is a cryptid murder hobo

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formula1fanfiction · 7 months

Text

George Russell / Alex Albon

Title: Sex and cuddles

Pairing: George Russell / Alex Albon

Characters: George Russell, Alex Albon

Prompt: This time it's George who has been hit with his heat, Alex is very happy to help him out. (Can you do Alex and George next in the Omegaverse, Omega George?)

rating: 18+

A/N: This is part 6 of the ABO series, this can be read as a stand alone story but you can find Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 part 4 Part 5 here. :)

"Did you hear, Pierre came into heat in the pad- oh." Alex practically bounces through the hotel room door. His thoughts are abruptly cut short when he finds George spread out naked on the bed, a fine sheen of sweat covering his body.

"Shit, you too Georgie?" George nods, his whole body is trembling as more slick leaks out of him. Alex is a calm level headed alpha but the smell of George is overwhelming, his cock twitches with interest. "I was talking to some other omega's and apparently the strength of Pierre's has caused a sort of domino effect." George's tone is breathless and whiney. It's taking everything Alex has got not to jump his bones.

"It was horrible at Mercedes." A tear slips down George's cheek. Alex closes the distance between them and wraps his arms around George's shoulders. He can control himself if George needs him. "Tell me baby, what happened?" George snuggles into him, pressing his nose against Alex's scent gland.

"I came into heat in the garage and the mechanics were saying if i'm such a needy bitch I should just get my fill in the garage, like I was born to do so." George is full on crying now. "Toto, told me to just go home but you could tell he was tempted."

"That shouldn't be happening Georgie, there is literal laws to protect the omega." Alex bites his lips to try and compose his anger. George shrugs. "It just feels like the entire garage is an alpha. I could never win against them Alex." He knows George is right, instead he rubs soothing circles on his sweaty back.

"Alex.." George whines, his scent reeks of pure desperation, Alex knows what George is going to ask for, that doesn't stop him asking the question. "What do you need baby?" George changes his position and sits himself on Alex's knees. "I need you inside of me, please alpha."

Alex slides his fingers into George's sweaty hair and kiss him, he starts of slowly but it soon becomes a battle of tongues and teeth before Alex pulls away and trails down his strong neck. Alex pays lots of attention to George's scent gland, licking and kissing it overwhelming himself with strong smell of his omega in heat. He moves across to the mating bite, the redness of it starts out against George's pale skin, it's faded a little bit but all too soon Alex will be biting it again.

George grunts from the unexpected force of Alex pushing him off his knees onto the bed. Alex kisses his way down George's abs and stops when he gets to his strong trembling thighs.

George is a mess, he's sweaty and his slick has smeared everywhere, he's soaking a puddle onto the bed sheets, some of it has ended up pooling onto his stomach, Alex wastes little time in lapping it all up, cleaning up George's tummy.

"Please do something Alex, alpha please." George has his fingers in Alex's hair, lightly pulling at his bleached locks. "I got you baby, don't worry." Alex pushes up George's knees and pressing them against his chest, putting his soaking wet hole on the full display.

Alex laps up the slick around George's wet entrance, before sinking his tongue inside. George moans loudly once Alex's tongue starts exploring his entrance, waggling his tongue and collecting every drop of his slick. George shudders as another wave of pleasure rolls through, causing another wave of slick. Alex catches it all on his tongue.

"Poor baby, you've got it bad haven't you?" Alex wraps his hand around George's heavy leaking cock and starts to stroke him, while letting his tongue slip back inside. George is a withering mess underneath him. Alex points his tongue and stabs it in and out the younger man. George can do nothing but get tongue fucked into the mattress. He doesn't last much longer and is coming hard with a small whimper.

"Oh dear was that not enough baby?" Alex continues stroking George's still very hard cock. The first orgasm has done little to help his heat. "Does my little omega, need more?" George just nods, feeling a little silly because he's anything but little. "What do you need baby?"

"I need your knot, alpha please." George bites down his lips, his whole body is trembling with pure raw need. Alex knows exactly what George needs, but it's not often he gets him like this, so he uses it to his advantage.

"you want me to fuck you full of my pups, Georgie?" Alex strokes his cock faster. "Do you want me to fill you up until you can take it anymore?" Just nods eagerly. Alex practically rips off his own clothes.

George wraps his long legs around Alex's waist as the older man presses his cock against his soaking entrance. However he still feels like being a tease. "Does my little omega want to be filled up badly?" George nods, his cheeks are flushed red with need and he looks adorable. "Give it to me now, I can't wait any longer, please alpha."

"How can I deny you after you beg so prettily." Alex gives George little time to process his words before he's sinking inside. George is soaking wet, he bottoms out in a matter of seconds, both men moan in pleasure. "Fuck."

Alex starts to move instantly, both of them are far too gone for anymore teasing. He pulls nearly all the way out, only to slam back inside again, extra hard. Even dripping wet in heat, he still feels tight as fuck wrapped around Alex's cock. Alex leans in and presses his lips against George's while starting a brutal pace, slamming in and out of him like jack hammer.

Alex wraps his hand around George's cock and strokes him to the same pace as his thrusts, he can already feel his knot forming and he wants George to come first. Alex angles his thrusts and slams into George's prostate at the same time, overwhelming him with pure pleasure, it doesn't take long for George to starts coming in thick ropes over his own stomach and abs.

"Going to claim you baby, you're my little omega." Alex continues thrusts while sinking his teeth into George's mating bite, George yelps in pleasured pain. Alex's knot is almost fully formed now, he manages a few more hard thrusts before they are completely locked together. Alex laps up the blood from George's bite and kisses around the fresh around, "Mine, only mine."

"You okay Georgie? I feel like I went a little bit feral there." Alex rearranges their bodies into a spooning position. George's sweaty back is pressed against Alex's chest. "It's okay if you're feral with me, you're mine."

"Sleep baby, it will be time to go again soon."

#alex albon #George Russell #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfiction #fanfic #mxm #fanfiction #formula 1 #formula one #mxm smut #ABO

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wasdaya · 2 years

Text

HATING GAME | steve harrington

+ steve harrington x henderson!reader

summary: it's already something definite that you hate steve harrington and steve harrington hates you. but when dustin accidentally discovered a russian code you and steve were forced to work together

warnings: a lot of swearing + dustin being a dad

word count: 5.2k

a/n: this is total enemies to lovers and is inspired by the book the hating game | masterlist here.

Y/F/I = your favorite ice cream flavor | I/F/H = the ice cream flavor you hate

THERE IS A THEORY: hating and loving someone are strangely similar. Love and hate are visceral. Just thinking about that person makes your stomach turn. In the chest, the heart beats fast. Your appetite and sleep are compromised. Every time that person appears in front of you you feel the air leave your lungs, the environment gets smaller and warmer.

Love and hate are scattered versions of the same game - and you have to win.

That's how you felt about Steve Harrington and that's how Steve Harrington felt about you.

Ever since last year, when you had to live with Steve briefly because Dustin had lost his gooey bug Dart, caused a demogorgon disaster and that weird shit, you've been more angry than anything.

You didn't have a complete reason to hate Steve. Maybe you hated him because he's just an idiot. Or maybe because he talked a lot of shit to Jonathan. The point is: who cares? You hate him just as he hates you.

Right now, you're focused on the big reflection in front of the Scoops Ahoy cashier. You lift your hand, smooth your hair, and smooth your clothes.

On the other side of the ice cream shop, Steve rolls his eyes as he puts the ice cream in a cone for the customer in front of him.

You wish could say Steve is ugly. Steve should have a hunchback, dirty teeth and sweat that reeks of onions. But he is not like that. He is the exact opposite.

When you get in line at the ice cream shop, ready to get your ice cream and start your hate game with Steve.

“What is it, Y/N? Want your favorite flavor? I/F/H?”

Everyone knows you hate this flavor. You get to clench your jaw and saw your teeth.

"No." You let a gust of the equivalent of half a liter of cooking gas escape your lungs. “I want Y/F/I, Harrington.”

He takes the ice cream as gently and slowly as possible without breaking eye contact with you.

Did you happen to notice that he now had a plaque on his uniform stating his name: “Steve.”

“Now you have a license plate, hmm?” You tease.

"You pay too much attention on me, shortcake."

"Stop calling me shortcake or i’ll report you to your boss for teasing a customer."

"That's not against the rules, Y/N."

The only thing that is always capable of ruining the games between you and Steve is your brother, Dustin. Just like he's interrupting you right now.

“Steve! Y/N!” He yells as he walks into the ice cream shop. “I need to talk to you two. Urgently.”

“What is it now, Henderson?” Steve complains as he walks into the back room of the ice cream shop with you.

"Well, last night I was trying to get in touch with Suzie and-"

“Your fake girlfriend?” You tease.

“Y/N!” Dustin rolls his eyes before continuing: “And i intercepted a secret communication from the Russians.”

"YOU WHAT?" You scream - maybe too loud.

“Wait, and what does that mean?” Steve asks.

“It means, Steve, that we can be heroes. Great American heroes.” Your brother responds.

"No! It means, Steve, that you're not going to do anything! Because we're talking about Russians! Fucking Russians!” You say.

“American Heroes.” Steve continues, seeming to totally ignore what you just said.

“Just think, you can get all the girls you want and more.”

“Always about the girls.” You whisper to yourself as you throw your hands up.

"Well, we just have to figure out the audio." Dustin says and plays the Russian audio.

"I will not do it. And neither do you.” You scold.

"Come on, shortcake, stop being boring just once in your life."

Now, you, Steve and Dustin were almost 2 hours trying to figure out what the damn audio was talking about. So far the only progress you guys had made was finding some vague lyrics and translations. Just it.

"So what do you guys think?"

"Sounds familiar..." Steve says as he paces around munching on the tenth banana of the day.

“What sounds familiar, Harrington?” You ask tired.

"The music. The music there at the end.” He responds by licking his fingers.

“Why are you listening to the song, Steve? It's to listen to Russian. We are translating Russian!” Your brother almost scream.

"I'm trying to listen to Russian, but there's this song-"

"Enough. My shift is over.” Robin, a girl who worked at the ice cream shop along with Steve enters the room. "Hey! My frame. It was important.”

“I assure you that what we are doing is much more important.” Dustin assures.

“Yeah? And how do you know what the Russians are up to, huh?”

“How does she know about the Russians?” Dustin whispers with a look of amazement at you. “Did you tell her, Steve?” Dustin says turning to the brunette next to you.

"No! I didn-"

"Hello? I can hear you. In fact, I can hear absolutely everything. You think you've caught these evil Russians plotting against our country on this tape and you're trying to translate, but you didn't understand a single word. It's not that?"

The two boys seem too shocked to answer the question, so you intervene.

"Yeah. Can you help us?"

"Maybe. I am fluent in four languages and one of them is Russian.”

“Um… I think we should-“

"Ok. Steve will sell the ice cream with the help of Y/N and Robin and I will translate.” Dustin says, not even giving you and Steve a chance to object. "You two, go." He orders as he points to the door.

"Son of a bitch. You will pay for it.” You whisper in your brother's ear as you pass him.

A few minutes had passed since Steve had started selling the ice creams - or rather, flirting terribly with girls.

"You suck at this." You say from above the counter.

“In selling the ice cream. Yeah, imagine having to stay-"

"No. In flirting. It's embarrassing, Harrington."

"I don't give a damn what you think, i just want normal girls to like me."

“You are chronically addicted to making people like you. You should try not to care so much sometimes, King Steve.”

"No one calls me that any more and i didn't ask for any advice from you, Henderson."

“You should ask more often. I'm sure your life would be much better.” You huff before continuing, “I don't even know why im arguing with you. I get annoyed with myself when i allow you to drag me down to your level all the time!”

“And at what level do you imagine me dragging you? Horizontal?"

"You are disgusting. Go to hell."

He lets out a short laugh before saying, “You know that kid from your college? Leave the guy alone. That bridge creature thinks you're flirting with him."

"It's what people say about you and me." This unfortunate answer escapes your mouth. And you would do anything to collect the words anyway.

“Is that what you think we both do? Flirt?” He leans over the counter to be closer to you. “Shortcake, if we were flirting, you would know.”

His gazes meet yours and you feel a strange butterflies inside you.

"Oh yes? Likely because I would be traumatized?”

"Because you'd be thinking about it later, lying in bed."

"Are you still picturing my bed, Harrington?"

“I bet your bed is tiny.”

You're almost breathing fire. Imagining you opening his ridiculous uniform and strangling him to death.

“What are you imagining? Your countenance strikes me as obscene.”

“I'm imagining myself strangling you. With my own hands.”

“So this is obscene to you?” - Steve teases and you can see his brown eyes getting darker.

“Only when you are the victim.”

His eyebrows are raised and he opens his mouth but is unable to speak. And that's great. You managed to leave him speechless.

Later, when the mall had closed and the customers had left, Robin finally cracked the code:

“The week is long. The silver cat eats when blue meets yellow in the west.” You four read in unison.

"It can't be that." Steve says.

"That's it. I translated it right, im sure” Robin replies as the four of you walk through the dark mall.

“I also think Robin is right. Come on, why would anyone talk like that if it wasn't to hide the meaning of a message?” You speak thoughtfully.

"Exactly." Dustin agrees.

“We need a super genius to get the message but- Where's Steve?” Robin cuts herself.

When you turn around, you find Steve standing in front of a little horse looking for something in his pocket.

"What are you doing?" You ask.

He doesn't answer, just puts a coin in the safe in front of the little horse and it starts playing strangely familiar music to his ears.

“That song-“ You think out loud.

"It's the same song that plays in the background of the Russians' tape." Steve talks while meeting your gaze. "That code didn't come from Russia.. It came from here."

“Holy shit.” You say softly looking back at him.

"So are you going to say im a genius, Henderson?"

"Only in my worst nightmares and your best dreams, Harrington."

(...)

The next day, Steve and Dustin went looking for a suspect around the mall, while you and Robin kept trying to find the message hidden behind the code.

“The week is long. The silver cat eats when blue meets yellow in the west. A trip to China looks good, if you tread carefully.” Robin reads the note in her notebook.

“Tread carefully.” You repeat, the phrase sounding more like a question. A split second later, the two of you hear a knock on the back door.

“Y/N, can you take it? It's an order.”

"Of course."

You open the little window and slide through it. Opening the back door and running into a strangely weird delivery man.

You notice his uniform: Lynx Carrier.

"Good morning lady." He says turning around to make his way down the hall.

"Good Morning…"

You observe him leaving, on the back of the delivery man there was a drawing:

“Silver cat… Holy shit.”

At the same time you run out of Scoops Ahoy, bumping into Steve and Dustin who are entering the ice cream shop.

You quickly climbed onto the mall bench and started connecting the dots:

“A trip to China sounds good… There! If you step carefully… If you step… There! When blue and yellow meet in the West… There!” You smile.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” Dustin asks right below you, joined by Steve and Robin.

"I cracked the code."

(...)

You were sitting at the back table in the ice cream parlor while listening to Dustin explain the plan for the thousandth time:

“Well, there's a card, and that card opens the door. But there's an armed Russian guard, like, a really big, heavy gun.”

"Here's the thing, i can erase the Russian guard." Steve speaks confidently.

At the same moment you burst out laughing from across the room: "Sorry, but... You, Steve Harrington, couldn't win the fight with Jonathan Byers or Billy, imagine with a trained and armed guard."

"Oh, shut up, Henderson."

Suddenly, Robin gets up without giving any explanation, just says, "This might work."

A few hours later she arrived with a blueprint of the entire mall.

"Not bad." You tell her you reciprocate with a smile. "Sooo, we could use the vent, but no one will fit in there."

"I fit." Your brother speaks from your side.

"You definitely don't fit, Dusty."

"We don't need Dustin." Robin speaks while pointing to a short girl.

“Lucas' little sister? This is not going to end well for me.” You answer.

"It's our only shot."

You don't know how you managed to bribe Erica with just ice cream. What matters is that she's now inside the vent looking for clues about the Russians while you, Steve, Dustin and Robin keep an eye on the Russian guards outside.

“Erica, listening?” Robin asks on the walkie-talkie.

“Listening. Are the nerds in position yet?”

“Yeah. It's quiet out there so you have the green light to go.” Robin continues.

“Starting operation Minor in Danger. See you on the other side, nerds!” “There you go, nerds. I am here." Erica's voice reappears on the walkie.

"Excellent! What do you see?"

“Ridiculous boxes.” A scream sounds from the other side of the walkie-talkie: “I'm in.”

Robin smiles beside him as Steve snorts, "Oh my god."

And the door suddenly opens. Erica leaves the place full of “ridiculous boxes” and screams with her hands on her hips: “Free ice cream FOREVER.”

“I love this girl.” You say as everyone descends towards the location just opened by the newest Sinclair.

While digging through the boxes Steve pulls a neon green liquid from inside one of them: "What the fuck is this." Steve says.

Suddenly, the room seems to shake - it doesn't seem to, it definitely shook. -

“Is it just me or did this room just move?” Dustin asks already knowing the answer.

"Okay, take this and let's get the hell out of here." You say as Dustin moves to push buttons in the room.

“Which button do I press, Erica?”

"I don't know. Just press the buttons-“

And the room began to fall. In other words, the elevator started to fall and everyone started screaming.

"Holy crap!" You say and Steve starts screaming.

“WE ARE FALLING!” He screams.

"DON'T TELL ME HARRINGTON!" You yell back as you cling tight to one of the shelves full of boxes.

"SHIT! SHIT!" Dustin continues the screaming sequence.

“DUSTIN, STOP SCREAMING LIKE A 2-YEAR-OLD AND PUSH THE FUCKING BUTTON!” You scream one more time.

"I'M PUSHING!"

"PUSH THE BUTTON." Erica screams and finally presses the right button, causing the elevator and the boxes to fall on top of everyone.

"Ouch." Robin complains.

“My crotch! Fell in my crotch! Dustin! Take it from me!” Steve asks.

“Is everyone okay?” Robin asks.

"Yeah! I feel great now that I know Russians don't know how to make elevators.” Steve yells heading towards the damn buttons.

"Harrington, I think it's pretty clear these buttons don't work." You say, - try to say.

“They are buttons! They have to do something.”

“We are trapped here.” Dustin concludes.

“Just so you know, i was supposed to spend the night at Tina's. And Tina always has my back. But if I don't get home for Uncle Jack's party tomorrow, and my mom finds out the four of you are responsible, she's going to hunt you down, one by one, and slit your throats." Erica complains.

“I don't care about Tina! Not even for the uncle’s Jack party! Your mother won't find us if we're dead in a Russian elevator." Steve exclaims.

“Hey… What if we climb?” Dustin speaks as he points to the vent on the roof of the elevator.

The night was summed up in you and Steve trying to figure out how to open the vent while Dustin, Erica and Robin slept like nothing was happening. Until he give up:

“You know what, Henderson? Use your ridiculous idea to open the vent. But if it doesn't work, don't wake me up."

"You're so... Oh, never mind."

"Beautiful. Intelligent. Oh, wait. Ridiculously handsome. You finally understand, Y/N.”

"You are so predictable." Somehow, your words cut him deep. Filled with hate, his brown eyes narrow.

“Oh, am i? How?"

“Always the same hair, the same smell, the same flirtation. Standards. People like you will never succeed. If you acted out of the box and surprised me, i would die in shock.”

“Should I take this as a personal challenge?”

“I wanted to see you try. You are so inflexible.”

"And you're that flexible?"

"You have no idea."

“So what can i do to be less inflexible, hm?”

He's clearly hearing you for the first time. Your answer comes out as a whisper:

“You could try to stop being an asshole.”

He lowers his gaze and flashes a smile: “Ok..”

"Ok?"

"Isn't that what you want?” You don't answer and he just continues: "Tomorrow when you wake up you won’t recognize me."

(...)

You are able to hear the noise coming from above the elevator. Steve and Dustin were in the vent together - did Steve open the vent? - You wanted to be able to hear what they were mumbling so much.

“Steve, why are you all grumpy?” Dustin says.

"Maybe because I spent the whole night having to listen to your sister."

“Don't act like you don't like her, Steve. Your eyes sparkle every time she appears or teases you.” Dustin says.

“Get that disgusting idea out of your thoughts. I don't think your sister is pretty."

"I never said that. Wait- So you think she's pretty."

“No, Henderson! Now shut up.” He says as he unbuttons his belt.

"What are you doing?"

“Pissing! Now turn your face there.”

At the bottom of the elevator, where you were, a pee smell began to rise. That's when you realized it was Steve. And so you decided to test yesterday's conversation.

“Harrington, could you reroute your jet, please?”

He doesn't say anything, the jet just disappears. And you swear you let a little smile escape your lips. But you get serious again when you hear the noise of people walking.

“Robin, Erica! Come on, someone's coming. Go up now.” You scream.

When you go up through the vent you see Steve for the first time since yesterday, and he asks, "What?"

"The Russians." You answer it. "Silence."

When the footsteps seem to disappear beneath you, you run under the elevator before it is able to close.

"Shit! That was close." Dustin says relieved by his side.

"Yeah yeah. Let's go now." You speak as you walk towards the hallway, Steve following you from behind.

As you walk down the halls, you notice Steve slowly slowing down. And for some reason you do the same. Getting dangerously close to him.

“So…” You clear your throat before continuing. "Why would the Russians choose the base here- Shit-"

Steve seems to get the message right away. "You think the Russians know about the monsters and they- Shit."

"Yeah, shit."

Before you were able to continue, the walkie-talkie squeaks and Robin soon says:

"The code. We have to speed up the pace.”

When you start to hear a lot of buzz you arrive in a different environment. Full and armed guards and machines.

"Shit! Get down.” Steve asks.

“The communication room is over there!” Erica exclaims.

"How do you know?" Dustin asks nervously.

“I am psychic. I saw the living room door open, nerd!”

“Okay… we'll go fast. Now!" Steve signals.

You run and Steve nimbly opens the door to the communications room. And when you found yourself inside the room, an armed Russian was in it.

“Steve…” Dustin says.

Silence seemed to reign in the room a second before Steve screamed and ran towards the Russian.

Punching him once and leaving him destabilized, Steve grabs a phone stuck in the communications table and slams it into the Russian's face, causing him to fall to the floor.

"Dude! You won a fight!” Dustin laughs as he talks to his friend.

As everyone passes by to get the Russian's key and head towards a secluded room, you don't miss a chance to get past Steve.

"Not bad, Harrington." You say giving him a wink.

When you go up a ladder you come across a room full of people and a portal. A portal.

At the same moment you, Dustin and Steve are staring at each other. Thinking: Holy shit.

“Oookay. I think we should get out of here now, like right now.” You speak already heading down the stairs.

"Because?" Robin speaks as you walks down the stairs together with the other four.

"Let's just say that is bad, very bad." You answer it.

"Yeah. Like the end of the human race.” Dustin continues. "We're going to die."

“I didn't want to make the desperate moment worse but… where's the Russian Steve had left right here on the floor-” Erica is cut off as Russian guards enter the room and start approaching too quickly.

“Run!” Steve screams.

You couldn't understand what was happening. You were just running. Until one hour you were gone. You and Steve were holding the door of a random room to prevent the Russians from entering.

"Go! Now!" You yell at Robin, Dustin and Erica.

"No! Y/N, you're my sister!" Dustin whimpers.

"Go now, Henderson!" Steve screams.

"We'll come back for you!"

"GO!" You and Steve scream in unison before collapsing to the floor and finding yourself in the home of several Russians.

You don't know how you ended up strapped to a chair with Steve Harrington. Steve The Hair Harrington.

Steve's back was pressed against yours and you could hear him calling your name.

“Y/N! Y/N! Don't tell me you died behind my back. Henderson is going to kill me. Shit!"

"Don't you ever shut up?" You say kinda... sleepy?

"Shit! You scared me."

Silence settles in the tiny room you were in before you broke it with an idea.

“Hey, see that table over there? We could try to reach her and get the scissors! Then we would be free.”

“Okay…jumping on the chair?”

"Yeah. Jumping. Okay, not now… 1,2,3 and now!”

You and Steve do a little jump that brings you closer to the table making Steve vibrate.

"Ok! That worked, great. Let's go again." You ask.

And there went a jump, two, three and-- and you fell to the floor.

Steve swore to hear you cry, a sound that broke his heart into a thousand pieces – to the surprise of – “Hey, hey. Everything is fine. I’ll think of something and- Are you laughing?”

“I-” a breathless laugh, “I can't believe I'm going to die next to Steve Harrington! My mortal enemy!” You laugh and he joins you.

"You are stupid." Steve seems to hesitate before continuing: “Look… I wanted to apologize. For being an idiot.”

"Well, you got screwed over that, didn't you?"

“Yeah… I think at the end of the day we have to fuck ourselves to learn… You know, I wish I'd met you sooner. Maybe your hate for me had fixed me. I could be a fucking worker, making loads of money and not being stuck in an russian prison.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. I wanted so much. Maybe you would have helped me through.”

You smile and laugh. And Steve is sure it was the best sound he's ever heard in his life.

“Do you know whats my wish is now?”

"Hm?"

“See your smile.”

Before you could respond, the Russians entered the room and quickly got you both to your feet again.

“I hope you tell the truth this time. The doctor over there has a very painful solution for you to open your mouth.” Russian speaks with a heavy accent.

The doctor walks towards you with a blue liquid in a kind of syringe.

"Calm calm! What is this-” And Steve's screams fill the room and then his own.

This is your turn to wake up first.

“Steeeeveeee.” No reply. “Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve.”

“What?”

“Now you scared the shit out of me.” You say.

“Worried about me, Henderson?”

“Oh, don't be the badass. A few seconds ago you were all cute wanting to see my smile.”

"I did not say that."

"I think i was delusional then."

"You were. By the way, I think they got the wrong drug because i don't feel bad, like not a little bit.”

“Same.”

And you start laughing. Very very much. And then you start screaming:

“Assholes! They gave the wrong drug!”

And then you regret it - actually you didn't regret it, you didn't feel anything - when the Russians enter the room again.

“Is anyone going to want to speak the truth now?”

"Ooohhh, that's not going to be possible because Henderson is coming to rescue us."

“Steve!”

“Oh, sorry! I shouldn't have said that. But… his name is Dustin Henderson, okay? He's super smart and-"

“Steve! Stop talking!"

"Dustin Henderson, i’ll go after this Dust-"

And suddenly the alarm starts ringing around the Russian base.

"I told you." Steve smirk.

A second later, your younger brother enters the room, shocking the two Russians present.

“Shiiiit! That was pretty badass, Dusty!” You scream as Dustin nimbly slides to your side, cutting the ropes holding you and Steve together.

"You two, out! Both, now!” Dustin speaks right after untying you.

You get into a kind of cart. Robin drove alongside Dustin and Erica while you and Steve discussed:

“Imagine if Yoda were purple.” You blurt out “No-no-better! If he were neon yellow!”

And Steve laughs. He laughs so hard that he stops for a second just to say, “My belly hurts from laughing so hard! Make it stop!” And the laughter continues.

"What's their problem?" Robin complains.

"I have no idea!" Dustin responds. "Get in the elevator, let's go!"

"Yes Dad." Steve jokes.

"Daaaad!" You repeat and laugh again.

"They look drugged." Robin speaks inside the elevator.

“Y/N? Did you take drugs? Steve?” Dustin asks as he places his hand on Steve's bloodied forehead.

"We don't do drugs, Dad!" And… more laughter.

When the elevator door opens you don't even have a chance to continue the jokes because Dustin is already pushing you into the mall, or rather, into the cinema.

“Harrington, look! Back to the future!" You say.

"Let's see, let's go, let's go." Steve says excitedly.

“We're not going to see-” Dustin tries to complain but the two of you are already sitting there watching.

Errr, too late. You and Steve were already sitting down to watch the movie.

“Ooookay. Just sit there. Dont. Move.” Dustin commands as he points his finger at the two of you.

"Okay dad." Steve says stealing a laugh from you.

A few minutes pass and you decide to say: “I really need to drink water.”

"Okay, let's sneak out so Dad doesn't see."

The way to the water fountain was short but terrible. Your throat was dry and you were feeling the urge to vomit.

Now it was Steve who had his head in the water cooler.

“Water is amazing.”

"So i couldn't pay attention to that movie, but... I'm pretty sure that mother wanted to bang her son."

"No, was the pretty one Alex Keaton's mother?"

"Yeah.. I'm pretty sure."

"But they are the same age."

“Of course, Harrington! He went to the past.”

“So why is the movie called Back to the Future?”

“He has to go back to the future, because he's in the past. So the future, technically, is the present, which is his time.”

"You're too smart for me."

"Yeah yeah. Now i got out, i want to drink water again, otherwise im going to vomit.”

“Wow.. There, Y/N. You have to check it out.” Steve says while looking vaguely at the mall's ceiling. “You… do you see the ceiling? It's beautiful."

"Oh yes. Wowww.” And a minute of silence before the catastrophe happens. “Remember when I said I was going to throw up? Soooo, I really need to throw up right now.”

"Me too-"

And in a second you and Steve are already in the bathroom spewing all that suspicious liquid out. And what relief you felt when you threw up.

“The ceiling stopped spinning for me. Is it still spinning for you?”

“Holy shit. No. Did we vomit it all up?”

"It might be. Ask something. Ask me there so we can see.”

“Interrogate you? Okay, let's see. Yeah... when was the last time you peed your pants?”

"Today."

“Whaaat?”

“When the Russians got that injection.”

Steve laughs. "Yeah, you're still on drugs."

"I'm kidding. Come on, ask me a decent question.”

"No, no. I'm bad at this. Make me one.”

"Okay... Have you- Have you ever been in love?"

“Yep. Nancy Wheeler. First semester of senior year.”

“Oh, Nance. How could i forget?! Tragic."

“Yeah. Broke my heart.”

“Do you still love Nancy?”

"No."

"Why not?"

“I think it's because i found someone better for me. It's insane. Every time his brother comes to talk to me he says: “You have to find your Suzie.” And I think i found my Suzie. I actually found her since last year.”

“And what is she like?”

"She is amazing. She's smart, so smart i feel dumber than anyone could feel when I'm around her. And she has a smile, god, that smile. She is beautiful, it hurts to look at her. And shit, every time I think about her I hate myself because I know I should have been with her a long time ago.” He sighs before continuing. “And she's so funny. And she doesn't even force. It's just her. ”

And now you sigh. Your hands are holding your head and you are completely silent.

“Y/N? Did you just overdose there?”

"No."

And Steve slides across the bathroom floor, coming face to face with you.

"The floor is disgusting, Harrington."

"Yeah, but im already full of blood and vomit on my shirt so it doesn't matter... What do you think?"

"About?"

"The girl."

"She seems great."

"She is great. And the guy?"

"I think he's on drugs and not thinking straight."

“Really? I don't think he's ever thought so straight in his life."

"He's not."

“Why?”

"Because, actually, he hates this girl."

"I never hated you."

“Steve...”

"You hate me?" You do not answer. "Because i definitely don’t hate you."

“Love and hate are similar, Steve. You are getting confused.”

"If I hated you i wouldn't want to kiss you every time i see you."

Shit.

"So do it. Kiss me."

Steve looked at you carefully. And when you showed no signs of hysteria or that you were going to withdraw, he leaned over and placed a long kiss on your mouth. With his face pressed against yours, he kissed you like he was afraid, afraid it was more of a game.

You were able to feel his heart pounding against your ribs, and his mouth kept sliding over yours, over and over again. He pulls away with a small kiss to the corner of your mouth, and you both look at each other.

Steve is still at the point where the kiss was just a game, maybe. But then you lean forward again with a smile, and in the space of a sigh, you've given him what he needed: Lips and tongue and the occasional brush of teeth. His hands move to your waist.

"Your heart is super racing, Harrington." You say when you pull away a little. Steve's hands gripping your waist.

“Oh, shut up, shortcake.” He says leaning in again but you stop him.

“I would love to continue this to ease the build-up but we still have to save the world. And this is not hygienic.”

"I hate you."

"You love me."

#steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #stranger things #imagine #stranger things 4 #eddie munson #steveharrington #i love steve #robin buckley #dustin henderson #erica sinclair

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