#can they both be in the prequel pls

[love-belle]

you got me thinking nonsense !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which heartbreak led to her real love and she'd be damned if she didn't make sure everyone knows that.

or

for when they're everything to you. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

social media au // charles leclerc x fem!reader

prequel - light as a feather ⋆·˚ ༘ *

warnings - language

author's note - posting this i simply couldn't resist!!! i'll try my HARDEST to post carlos' version of shout out to my ex tonight but if not then tomorrow fs <3 thank u so much for reading, i love u <3

taglist - @marsdreamworld @eviethetheatrefreak @22yuki @incoherenciass @bb-swift @willowpains @lordperceval-16 (tagging all those who asked for part ii <3)

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by pierregasly, f1updates, exwagsclub and 79,726 others

paddock.club y/n y/l/n and charles leclerc spark dating rumours as they were seen out on a "date", which were further confirmed as the couple shared a kiss. for weeks, y/l/n and leclerc have been having coy and not-so-platonic interactions on social media and fans have speculated that these two are more just friends. this news comes after y/n's break up with a fellow driver of charles and while neither y/n or her ex have commented on this, it's clear that they didn't have a clean break up as there were rumours of cheating surrounding the ex. for more details, click on the link in our bio.

tagged charles_leclerc yourusername

589 comments

username LMFAOAOOA THE WAY LANDO ISN'T EVEN MENTIONED HERE

username "the ex" ur so right he's not worth mentioning 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

username olivia was talking abt lando when she sang "some weird second string loser who's not worth mentioning"

*liked by oliviarodrigo*

username my true parents fr ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

username she looks sooo happy with him im so happy for her

username love how none of yes are surprised like we all saw this coming

username the way l*ndo isn't even mentioned ONCE like that's what u get for cheating babes!!!!!!!!!

username CHARLES AND Y/N FUCK YEA

username she genuinely looks so much happier with charles like this is the type of relationship she deserved ❤️

username IM ❤️ SO ❤️ HAPPY ❤️ FOR ❤️ THEM ❤️

username no bc there was no way they thought that they'd be able to convince us that they weren't together

username istg i see one person comment some out of pocket shit im SWINGING

username l*ndo's crying rn like i can Feel it

username no bc HOW'D he pull 😭😭😭😭😭

-> username fr like u put him near y/n he starts malfunctioning

-> username no bc that one interview where he forgot his own team's name js bc y/n walked past him is LIVING proof

username i know the driver's gc is WILDIN rn

username see now idk who to be jealous of

-> username the only correct answer is both

username no bc IMAGINE THE SONGS SHE'LL WRITE ABOUT HIM!!!!!!

username pretty people (y/n and charles) ruining it for the ugly people (me) by getting together

username oh so he got GAME

username everyone bffr y/n was probably the one who took the initiative

username guys stop with all the l*ndo slander comments i can't like them all

username charles leclerc i will never forgive u for taking my wife

username im sooooOOOOooo normal about this. ha fucking ha.

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by charles_leclerc, lewishamilton, carmenmmundt and 2,792,712 others

yourusername nonsense is now yours!!! i wrote this song on my very close friend's bedroom's floor and i can officially say that this is the most unhinged song i have ever written :) i love u all sooo much i could cry <3 (charles_leclerc be my personal photographer pls ❤️)

15,628 comments

username HELLO?????? PLEASE IM CRYING WHAT IS THIS SONG AND WHY IS IT MAKING ME CRY AND HORNY

username IM TALKIN OPPOSITE OF SOFT?????? Y/N?????????

username nah she's unhinged

username "on my very close friend's bedroom's floor" BABE WE KNOW

username how quickly can u take ur clothes off pop quiz 🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔

-> username oh she's wild for adding this

username IN LOVE WITH THE OUTRO

username PLEASE touch some grass and meditate

georgerussell63 wish i never heard it but cool beats x

-> yourusername i too wish u never heard it but thank u russell george x

username i know sebastian texted her after this

*liked by yourusername*

username okayyyy so at least he's winning off the track

-> username OH UR SO WRONG FOR THIS

username at least my girl's getting some good dick y'all leave her alone

username im a changed woman after hearing this song

username u gotta keep up with me!!!!! i got some young energy!!!!!!! i caught the l-o-v-e!!!! why do u do this to me!!!!!!!

username i know charles is blasting the SHIT out of this sin anthem (encouraging)

-> username PLEASE NOT SIN ANTHEM

lilymhe when will you write a song like this about me :/

-> yourusername if u would like i can show u????

-> lilymhe i'm On my way!

-> alex_albon STOP I'M STILL HERE

-> yourusername alex look away

-> charles_leclerc i'm

-> yourusername u too babe look AWAY

-> username BABE

-> username DID SHE JS CONFIRM IT FR FR

username said u like my eyes????? AND u like to make them roll??????

-> username if someone said that to me i would be AT the altar in most white dress ever

username charles won at life fr

username WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABT HOW GOOD SHE LOOKS IN THESE PHOTOS

-> username my heart stopped she's so barbie coded

charles_leclerc nice song

-> yourusername thank u

charles_leclerc any particular muse behind this?

-> yourusername js this cool guy i've been seeing

-> charles_leclerc "cool" huh? 😏😏😏😏🤪🤪🤪🤪🤗🤗🤗🤗🫡🫡🫡🫡🥶🥶🥶🥶😩😩😩😩🤧🤧🤧🤧☺️☺️☺️☺️😘😘😘😘🥰🥰🥰🥰😚😚😚😚

-> yourusername yes charles u are cool

-> username MY GOD SOMEONE TAKE AWAY THIS MAN'S PHONE

-> username y/n be honest does he blush and giggle when u call him a pet name????

-> yourusername what do u think

-> username I KNEW IT OMG

charles_leclerc if the person in front of the camera is you, i will gladly be behind the camera for the rest of my life.

-> yourusername the most romantic thing u have ever said to me

-> charles_leclerc that's not true

-> yourusername u called me a chameleon yesterday

-> charles_leclerc because you wear a different shade of eye colour everyday

-> yourusername eye shadow* baby

-> charles_leclerc okay :D

-> username WHO IS THIS MAN

-> username nah he's GONE for her

≡;- ꒰ twitter ꒱

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55, arthur_leclerc and 1,538,976 others

charles_leclerc she wrote a song for me and while it wasn't the most romantic one, the sentiment is still appreciated. y/n, i adore you completely, even if you spend more time with my mom than you do with me. mon cœur ❤️ ( my heart )

tagged yourusername

12,629 comments

username im

username js gonna leave yeah (ABSHDHDJSJJSSJ)

username what do u MEAN charles is in love and what do u MEAN that it's not with me (i love them both sm)

username okayyyy she wrote how much she loves u and ur little thing that's the MOST romantic thing ever

-> username nah bestie given the way she wrote the song im not it's *little*

*liked by yourusername*

-> username GIRL PLEASE WHY ARE U LURKING

username i love them both so much

carlossainz55 you two make me nauseous but it's been a long time coming 🤍 happy for you both !!

-> charles_leclerc thank you for your approval <3

-> carlossainz55 had to make sure you'd treat her better 🤷

-> username "treat her better" is speaking VOLUMES

-> username i love carlos so much ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

username y/n being the grid's favourite is my aesthetic 🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗

username I LOVE THEM SOOO MUCH THEY'RE MY PARENTS LIKE AJSJSKSKSJKSKKS

username "mon cœur" can u hear me SCREAMING 💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

username they genuinely deserve all the happy things in life like im SO fr

username ferrari better get their shit in order bc i know that if they fuck up again y/n is fr gonna destroy them and idk if that's gonna be by words or by a song or she's straight up gonna fist fight them

*liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc and carlossainz55*

danielricciardo at least she writes you songs, she writes me threatening messages

-> yourusername U CALLED ME THAT MCDONALD'S CLOWN

-> charles_leclerc i'm not gonna intervene

-> danielricciardo BECAUSE YOU LOOKED LIKE ONE

-> yourusername THAT'S JS CHARLES NOT ME

-> charles_leclerc i am going to intervene

username im so ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ about them

username i just fell to the floor what the fuck

username IM SOOOOOOOOO *cries*

lewishamilton 🫶🏼

*liked by charles_leclerc*

username i KNOW lando is pulling at his hair rn

username THAT NOTE OH MY GOD

username pls god when will it be me

username im so 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

yourusername wdym "u said u like my eyes and u like to make em roll" is not romantic

-> charles_leclerc the most romantic thing i have ever heard in my eye

-> yourusername ❤️

yourusername i love ur mom

-> charles_leclerc i know

-> leclerc_pascale mon ange 😘

-> yourusername MAMA LECLERC ❤️❤️❤️

-> charles_leclerc and i'm right here...

yourusername cannot wait to write songs for u my entire life

-> charles_leclerc cannot wait to compose piano pieces for you 😘

-> username IM SCREAMING

-> username WHAT DO U MEAN HE COMPOSES PIANO PIECES FOR HER 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

username they're so

username i would give anything to have a love like that 😭😭😭😭😭

username im crying.

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by charles_leclerc, lorenzotl, lilymhe and 2,975,327 others

yourusername looking at u got me thinking nonsense!!!!!!!!!!! also special thanks to landonorris bc if not for him i wouldn't have met the love of my life so thanks dude even if ur a prepubescent piece of shit

tagged charles_leclerc

18,629 comments

username IM HOWLING WHAT THE FUCK

username THE TAG THE CAPTION

username prepubescent piece of shit will forever be engraved in my brain ❤️

username LMFAOAOAOAO

username y/n y/m/n y/l/n u will always be famous

username IM CRYINF WHAT THEBFUCK

lewishamilton both of you 💕

-> yourusername we love u lewis <3

username she will never let l*ndo live in peace and i love her sm for that

username i just cackled out loud why is she so funny

username SHE'S SOOOO UNSERIOUS

username i js know charles is MADLY in love with her bc HOW can u not be

username she's so unhinged. i love her.

username screaming

lilymhe i thought we were something

-> yourusername babygirl u own my heart and 4ever will

-> alex_albon wow.

-> charles_leclerc oh my god

username they're so adorable 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

username THEM

username no bc charles deffo manifested this shit like imagine having a crush on someone for YEARS and then they date ur friend but the friend cheats on them and u end up together like woahh wildddd

-> username and then they write a song about u

-> username AND THEN THEY WRITE A SONG ABOUT U

oscarpiastri a scream just erupted from *his* driver's room

*liked by yourusername*

-> username target audience reached 🫡

username stop with the l*ndo hate comments i seriously CANNOT like them all

username i would do anything to go to a driver's meeting ANYTHING

maxverstappen1 nice caption

-> yourusername thank u :) an angry dutch proof read this

username max proof reading this caption is sooo funny like omg

-> username they're truly destroying his peace and i respect them so much

username i truly cannot wait for the next race

username NO BC DID SOMEONE SEE THAT CLIP WHERE NONSENSE PLAYED IN THE PADDOCK WHILE LANDO WAS THERE AND HE LOOKED SO 😒😒😒😒😒😒

-> username LMFAOAOAOA THAT WAS HIGHLIGHT OF MY DAY

-> username truly a cinematic piece ❤️

charles_leclerc was the first photo necessary

-> yourusername absolutely like look at my man ❤️

charles_leclerc looking at YOU got ME thinking nonsense

-> yourusername stop im blushing

charles_leclerc i thought we'd be nice

-> yourusername no YOU'D be nice i'd be mean

-> charles_leclerc okay amour ( my love )

charles_leclerc i love you ❤️

-> yourusername i caught the l-o-v-e

-> yourusername i love you more ❤️

username IM SOOOOOO 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

username charles and y/n ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

username me when.

#f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #f1 imagines #social media au #fake instagram imagines #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc instagram au #charles leclerc au #charles leclerc fluff

[grandlinedreams]

|| i regret nothing I need Cooper Howard viscerally both pre and post Ghoulification

|| notes: semi Canon compliant, spoiler-ish for end of s1, semi-shifting pov, Lucy is adorable but baby girl you will be chewed up and spat out pls grow more spine, Dogmeat has never done anything wrong ever, godbless Cooper having a southern accent bc that's my accent, yeah, gonna do a sequel to this and a prequel on Coop and reader's first meeting, ok bye

|| warnings: weapons supplier!reader, couple of allusions to cannibalism, reader is not specifically gendered, NSFW ㅡ fingering/touching

“Where are we going?”

Not for the first time today, or even the last week, Cooper questions why he's letting the Vaultie (“Lucy,” she informs him primly, “my name is Lucy.”) tag along. The dog, at least, is a good, reliable companion. Dogmeat trots dutifully at his side, her tail wagging as he stops to glare at Lucy.

“Supplies, Vaultie,” he tells her, relishes the flicker of annoyance in her eyes. “Need supplies or we'll both be knee deep in shit.” He pauses. “More than we already are.” 

She mumbles something he doesn't care to catch as he resumes walking, rolling his eyes as he adjusts his hat. He knows he could stand to be a little more sympathetic with the bombshell she's still dealing with, but he can't bring himself to ㅡ not when his daughter might still be alive out there, somewhere. (And his ex-wife, who he's pointedly trying to not think about too much.) 

Lucy is blessedly quiet for a good while, all the way until they get closer to where they're going. Cooper doesn't need that piece of shit vault-tec device on her arm to know where he is, but Lucy says it anyways.

“It's a town,” she mumbles at the cluster of ramshackle buildings, surrounded by the clustering of trees so much like Filly ㅡ but isn't. “Is thisㅡ”

“Yes,” he answers, “now shut it and walk.”

Lucy huffs. “I don't know if you've realized neither of us have means to pay for anything,” she protests, “but the general rule ofㅡ” 

“Vaultie.” If looks could kill, she'd be six feet under. He's never had much patience, but she’s already reached the bottom of it and keeps digging. “Shut the fuck up about your goddamn rules. If you haven't noticed, nobody up here gives a damn about playing by what's wrong and what's right.” He gives her a meaningful look. “Now if you don't want me to leave your ass to whatever comes along next, you'll be quiet and let me handle it.” 

Lucy's mouth shuts with an audible click, and Cooper turns on his heel to resume walking, Dogmeat at his heels. 

Like Filly, the center of buildings bustle with the day to day of so many others, the cacophony of animal sounds along with chatter ㅡ Cooper spares Lucy a brief glance to watch her struggle to keep up and scoffs to himself, shaking his head as he continues.

He knows where he's going, a little shop shoved between two others, narrow but deeper than the other two, because he's been here before. Several times, actually. Which accounts for the familiarity with which he strolls over the threshold and leaves Lucy and Dogmeat to follow. 

There's the jingle of what might be a bell over Lucy's head when she follows, blinking at the interior. Neat and tidy, or at least as much as can pass for such things on the surface ㅡ rows of weapons and other assorted things on shelves and stands. 

Lucy watches The Ghoul rap his fist on the counter. “I know you're here,” he calls, “you never leave this damn place!”

She expects whoever it is to come scuttling out with the tone of voice he uses and being as accustomed to his rougher attitude, and she listens to the clatter of something further in the shop.

“If that's your greeting nowadays,” comes the answer, “you can fuck off.” 

To Lucy’s surprise, The Ghoul husks a laugh instead of offering another threat. Footsteps approach, and Lucy blinks at the person who rounds the corner. 

“You,” you accuse, finger almost into his chest, “thought I told you I was done dealing with you if you couldn't work on your manners.” 

Lucy stares, and watches as you turn towards her and raise an eyebrow, eyeing her with unrestrained curiosity, then at Dogmeat. “A vaultie and a dog,” you say, then glance back at The Ghoul. “So, taking in strays, huh?”

The Ghoul grimaces. “Guess so.” He clears his throat. “Need supplies again, sweetheart.”

“Figured as much,” you say, arms folding across your chest. Lucy decides she likes you, because you're standing up to him ㅡ and he's letting you. “Take it you have no way of paying, again.”

Lucy wants to tell The Ghoul I told you so, because he can shit on all her little rules all he likes but the surface still deals in keeping the scales balanced. You have to eat too, so it's fair that you're expecting payment in the nonexistent caps they have. The Ghoul, on the other hand, tries a different route. 

“Oh come on now sugar,” The Ghoul wheedles, tone almost what could be considered as sweet. Playing at a gentleman for the way he leans against the cobbled together counter, even goes as far as to take his hat off and place it down. “Don't be like that.”

“Don't you sugar me,” you counter with an attitude that honestly startles Lucy for both the lack of genuine bite or answering hostility from The Ghoul. This isn't the first time you've met, she realizes, and is also quietly a little horrified to register that this almost sounds like flirting. “You're a pain in the ass, you know that?”

The Ghoul almost grins. “At least I'm consistent. Besides, you know you miss me when I'm gone.” 

You snort, pressing your lips together to hide a smile. Lucy feels a tiny bit uncomfortable with the atmosphere, like she's watching something she shouldn't be privy to. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you answer, bustling around to shove several fabric wrapped packs into his chest and giving him a meaningful look. “You owe me.” 

It's definitely flirting now, Lucy notes as The Ghoul's face lights up in a way that's still entirely human, tracking your movements with something far softer than anything she's ever seen from him. 

The turn towards her and head jerk to her and Dogmeat is as clear as dismissal as she's ever seen, to make herself scarce ㅡ so she does, but not before she catches the peripheral glimpse of the way you let him reach for you, almost melting into him for the way he moves to undoubtedly murmur something. 

That something is not the sweet words of a long time lover, but it's probably about as close as you're going to get with things the way they are.

 

“Anyone causin’ you trouble lately?” 

You roll your eyes. “Besides you?” He gives you a look, and you shake your head. “No, and even if there was, you know I can handle myself.” You turn to throw him a teasing look over your shoulder. “Don't tell me you're getting soft on me, old man.” 

It's Cooper's turn to snort, even as he moves to follow you. There's a sort of peace to watching you sort through boxes of shell casings and bottles of powder, letting his gaze drift over your body. 

When you turn, he doesn't even bother to hide the way he's watching you, and you arch an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothin’,” he returns. “Can't I admire you?”

You roll your eyes. “I'm too expensive for you, Cooper.” It's a playful taunt, one that incites a little flare of something in his eyes as he approaches, the jingle of his spurs as he comes to loom over you, cages you in against the shelves of “inventory”. 

“Really now,” he drawls, leans in, eyes predatory dark. A lifetime ago, you might have been scared. But the wastelands made no qualms about beating fear out of people just as quick as it snuffed out life all together. “Here I was thinkin’ I might get a discount.” He reaches, thumbs at your bottom lip with his gloved digit. “What's the askin’ price, sweetheart?” 

This close, he smells like the wastelands and sunbaked leather, with a little bit of blood ㅡ but you don't mind. Never have, not sure you ever will. Not when it comes to him, anyways.

He's a dangerous man. A man with a reputation that's well-earned, spoken in hushed whispers and anything but nice. But you let him slot a leg between yours, lean in, press his lips to your hair. You smell like gunpowder and hot metal, grease stained fingertips and more than a couple bruises and scars for your efforts. 

Sometimes Cooper contends with the idea he might need you just as much as he needs that chem that keeps him sane. Admits it here and there, quietly to himself when he wanders in, squashes it down that he makes the trips sometimes just to make sure you're still alive. Not like he'd know if you were, till he sees you. Not sure what he'd do if he someday came up and found you gone. No note, no goodbye ㅡ quick and quiet, the cruelty of the wastelands.  

“Didn't answer my question, darlin’.” He mumbles, lips to your cheeks now. Soft skin, kept carefully with rationed doses of radaway and a healthy heap of keeping your cute little self out of business that doesn't involve you. “Come on, I asked you real nicely.” 

You hook your fingers in the loops of his belt, pull him closer. He can feel the jump of your heartbeat under his lips, now at your jawline. A soft, shaky inhale. Selfishly, he wants to keep you. Steal you away, greedy to keep you for himself. Hates the idea of whatever scum that rolls in that you have to deal with on your own. You can handle yourself, he knows that. 

Doesn't stop that little piece of him that's still truly Cooper Howard from worrying. But he knows better than to think he can protect you, because he can't. So he does what he can.

Your skin is soft under his teeth, forgiving to the nip of them, the blooming blossom of pink that reminds him of strawberries. The noise you make is just as sweet, and he wonders if you'd taste like that, too. 

“I'm waiting,” he prompts between little nips, mouth curving against your flesh when you grip at him tighter. There's a lot he could do to you, and not a lot you wouldn't let him. “Don't tell me this big ol’ cat’s got your tongue, little songbird.” 

Your lips part, and he expects either a sparky response or a soft plea for what this is tilting towards, partaking of something far softer than anything he's used to nowadays ㅡ  but you’ve always had a taste for throwing him for a loop, and you do it now. 

“Take me with you.” 

That snaps him out of his little hazy, touch-greedy daze, enough that he pulls away to look at you properly. “Repeat that?”

“You heard me.” You tug at the loops of his belt, eyes steely, expression firm. “Take me with you. Tired of this shitty little outpost. Figure it's time to move before I get myself into trouble I can't get out of.”

Cooper laughs. “Think you're runnin’ straight into that fire by askin’ what you're askin’, sweet thing.” A warning and a plea, mixed mish-mash in his words. Part of him wants you to stay here. Concrete, much as it can be, where he knows where you are. Other part says it'd be easier to watch your back if he saw it all the time. 

“That's not an answer, Cooper.” 

He snorts, softens at the edges again, a little sadder as he reaches to stroke your jawline, leans to bump his forehead to yours ㅡ radiation warm against radaway cold. “Wanna make sure you know what you're asking for, darlin’. I ain't your babysitter. Got my own shit to do.”

“I know.” There's that fire in your voice, the kind he loves and hates at the same time. “Wasn't asking for you to babysit me.” 

He swallows roughly. Lets his hands drift up your sides, tug at the tuck of your shirt, underneath to drag sun-worn leather against the soft skin of your abdomen. Relishes the way you shiver, leaning into his touch. “Can't promise nothin’, you know that.” 

Your smile promises the same kind of heartbreak his own words do, the kind rooted in the reality that the world doesn't deal in any absolute but death, and sure as shit won't give happy endings. Not anymore. “I know.” 

Cooper can't think of what to say to that, at least anything he's ready to, so he kisses you. Your lips are too soft against his, the warmth of your mouth reigniting that greedy, needy, human thing inside him. He pulls, digs his fingers into your soft, pliant skin, and he takes.

Takes what you willingly give him, hand over hand with nothing but that pretty little smile of yours. He muffles your gasp as he wedges his leg a little firmer, coaxes the part of your legs with a rough husk of, “just like that, dollface,” and delights too much in the sound of you moaning for him.

Hushed, quiet enough that there's no reason for Dogmeat or Lucy to come back yet (he doesn't know what they're up to nor does he really fuckin’ care at the moment), he lets himself indulge in the pleasure of your body against his. The sweet little sounds, half-gasped as he mouths at your neck, hitched to something almost like music as his hands wander. 

Pauses long enough to bite at the tip of his glove and tug, one then two, the bare, radiation scarred wander of his fingers over your body. It's selfish, the way he covets every little twitch and jump of your muscles, the choked gasp as he guides you into rocking against his leg. 

“You're so sweet for me, sugar,” he coos, syrupy as he picks you apart meticulously, piece by piece. Fingers still far too good at what they do when he replaces his leg with the press of them against you, remnants of a past life for how well he gets you to whimper his name. “Like ambrosia.” 

His fingers stroke, deceptively gentle, working over your slick, too-hot, achy skin until you’re panting and gripping at him, pleading for a relief only he can give you. And that’s exactly how he wants you, where all you can see and think of is him. 

The expression you make when he finally lets you come might truly be the most beautiful thing he’s seen in a very long time. Headier than the Jet, dizzying and making him swear as he jerks his clothed hips against yours, breath sharp in his chest. 

“Gonna be the death of me, I swear.” He bites at your neck, digs a little harder, scrapes his canines into your sweet, yielding flesh. He could devour you, take bite after sweet, sweet bite and actually test that theory about the strawberries. Crack the cage of your rib, feast on that beating yolk of heart that thumps so hard in your chest. 

“Gonna let me do it, sweet thing?” He rumbles against your ear. “Let me have it all?” 

Your eyes flash, lips pretty and swollen as they part to answer ㅡ and the bark of that damn mutt ruins it all. At least it's a warning for you both, because he's stepping back and letting you fix yourself with surprising speed as Lucy and Dogmeat return, an expectant look on the fuckin’ vaultie's face. 

“Well? Got what you need?"

Cooper snorts, tracks you instead of answering as you press your hand to his for a second, gone around the corner. Lucy frowns when you return, pistol strapped at your hip and a bandolier slung over your shoulder like his, broad pack strapped to your back. Like you planned for this.

And you did, he notes, but it hadn't been contingent on his agreement. Idly, he notes he never did answer you, not really. But he just hums, then turns towards Lucy, who looks between the two of you, confused. 

“Yeah,” he finally answers, “got what I need.”

#ㅡmine. #fallout series #fallout x reader #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader

[revasserium]

to the lighthouse - Zoro and what guides him home

10. to the lighthouse

zoro; 2,320 words, opla!zoro, the fluffiest of fluff, straw hat!reader, established relationship

summary: you just wanted to buy some apples; now complete with a prequel right here

a/n: aggressively adorable, truly -- i have no excuse for this okay. i'm just so freakishly whipped for opla!zoro pls dont look at at me

zoro has never been great shakes at directions (navigation has always been more nami’s thing, and he knows his place in the world), but he’s never needed a compass to find his way home. once, he might have. once, he would’ve wandered and wondered forever and ever, believing the great unknowns of the world to be his compass rose, the horizon his true north, but not anymore. because you see, he’s grown since then — he’s gotten bigger, stronger, more ruthless, more deadly. but he’s gotten smarter too… if only just by a little bit.

he’s learned since then that home doesn’t have to be a place, that it can just as easily be a person.

or, in his case, that it could be both.

“warn me, the next time you plan on getting kidnapped for ransom, would’ya?”

there’s blood on his headband and blood on his shoes, but he can’t quite keep his voice as gruff as he’d like, even as he hauls you bodily onto the deck of the going merry, scowling as you kick your feet in a feeble attempt to get him to let you go.

“it’s not like i was trying to get kidnapped! i was getting apples from the market!”

“yeah, in broad daylight, in a giant port town where all our faces are plastered across wanted posters! even i could’ve told you that’s a bad idea.”

you yelp as he dumps you unceremoniously onto the kitchen’s large wooden table, mumbling to himself as he beings to rummage through the drawers for a first aide kit, slamming cupboards as he goes.

you fold your arms, unable to stop the grin from tugging at your lips.

“did you… just call yourself dumb?”

zoro whirls around, color blotching into his cheeks as he glares, “i — f — you know what i mean!”

he whips back around and slams a drawer so hard the handle breaks; he swears even as you start to laugh, wincing and clutching at your stomach, the skin of your side tender and growing more so by the minute.

“o-ow! don’t make me laugh! it hurts!”

“serves you right… stupid… parading around… not paying attention…”

he slams the first aid kit onto the table next to you, roughly swatting your hand out of the way as he gingerly lifts your shirt to inspect the damage.

“i’m fine —”

“you’re not fine, and quit squirming. i’m not chopper so if i fuck up, it’s your fault.”

you press your lips and hold still, hissing as he carefully dabs at a rather large gash between two of your ribs.

“and i wasn’t parading… i mean, my face isn’t on a wanted poster yet so…”

zoro spares you a single look before going back to his work, “yeah. yet.”

you deflate, inching forward slightly to make his job a bit easier as he continues to clean your wound, his touch now so much gentler than anyone might give him credit for. you watch him with soft eyes, trail the tracks of his fingers as he fumbles with the alcohol soaked cotton pad, daubing at the raw red of your skin. you wondered if anyone who hunted him from his picture on a wanted poster would recognize him now, his cheeks flushed, his brows lightly furrowed, his eyes sharp and steady as tried his best not to hurt you.

“there,” he says, his voice short and rough as he presses his palm over a strip of clean gauze, sealing it in place. he pulls back to admire his handiwork, looking as pleased as he might’ve been if he’d just decapitated an entire infantry’s worth of men without drawing a single sword.

you gingerly tug your shirt back down, your skin feeling much warmer at the places where he’d touched, his palm-print burning like a brand along the expanse of your ribs. you gulp and clear your throat.

“sorry… i — i didn’t mean to.”

“save it,” and then, when you wince at his tone, zoro sighs, scratching at the back of his neck as he leans up against the table next to you, “i know you didn’t. i was just…”

and it’s his turn to pause, to clear his throat and look away.

“sanji… sanji wanted apples for the curry he’s making tonight,” you say, kicking your feet, your eyes trained on the tips of your shoes as they swing up and down in succession — right, left, right, left, right —

“apples in curry? ew.”

“he said they’re the secret ingredient! and — apparently, the better the apples, the better the curry, and it’s — well, it’s fall so they’re in season right now, and nami said this island is known for their apple orchards so i thought — maybe if i went to the market on the first day i’d be able to snag the best ones —”

he cuts you off with a kiss, swallowing passed your surprised squeak before your eyes flutter shut, your lashes tickling his cheeks like moth wings. you can almost taste his satisfied smirk when your fingers curl into the front of his shirt to tug him closer.

“you’re rambling… you only do that when you’re nervous.”

you bite your lip but zoro presses his thumb to your chin, tilting your head up till he meets your eyes.

“why’re you nervous?”

“i — i’m not —”

“hm. you’ve always been a shit liar.”

you try to tug your head away from him but his grip is strong, his other hand casually resting below your waist, his fingers pressing into the soft of your hips, holding you in place.

“it’s… nothing…” but he’s right. you have always been a terrible liar, even worse to the people who know you. and god does zoro know you.

zoro’s grin goes wolfish as he cocks his head, eyeing you as a hunter might his prey, “pretty little liar though… i gotta say,” he drags his thumb along the bottom of your lip, pushing against the plush of your mouth, his eyes going dark as he watches the way your breath hitches.

“but even pretty little liars deserve to be punished, don’t they?” he leans in, breath hot by your ear, his words chasing shivers up and down your spine. you fight back a whimper, knowing that if he were truly to pin you there, there’d be nothing you could do to escape him.

“unless… you wanna tell me the truth?”

you let out a shuddering breath before sighing.

“w-we — we wanted to — to throw you a birthday party.”

zoro pauses, his darkened gaze going wide for a second before he pulls back, visibly confused.

“b…birthday? uh — that’s not till november —”

“i know but… who knows if we’ll be docked by then, and… your favorite season is autumn so…” you shrug, voice small even as you try to duck and hide the blush rushing up into your cheeks.

“so… you went to get apples… for my not-birthday birthday dinner?”

“i mean — your favorite food is rice and… curry goes the best with rice, right?”

zoro lets out a breathy laugh, his hand falling to press against your other hip. but before he can say anything else, sanji’s voice echoes in from just beyond the door before it swings open to reveal sanji, with his arms full of groceries and usopp close behind him, nearly running into sanji’s back as he comes to an abrupt stop at the sight before him.

“darling, did you manage to get those apples? y’know if we’re really gonna make this curry, it’ll have to stew for a good three or so hours — oh — my apologies… was i interrupting something? decide to give the lucky man an amuse bouche before his main course tonight, yeah?”

you groan and try to tug away but zoro merely quirks an eyebrow, seemingly unphased.

“why’re you putting apples into perfectly good curry?”

at this, sanji rolls his eyes and hoists the groceries on to the kitchen table next to you, casting zoro a scathing look.

“look man, i don’t question your sword-swinging and you don’t question my cooking, alright? now, if you’re really thirsting to know — the sweetness in the apples gives texture to the curry as it stews, and that’s what makes it so damn delicious when you pair it with the rice, got it?”

zoro scoffs, his hands still planted firmly on either side of your hips even as sanji starts to pull out all the varied ingredients for the meal. behind him, usopp is juggling an impressive number of liquor bottles as he tries to slot them into the drinks rack.

“yeah. we’ll see,” and with a single arm, zoro hoists you from the table and sets you down on the ground next to him, guiding you from the kitchens even as sanji shoots you a salacious wink.

“you’ll be singin’ to a different tune when you’ve had your first taste, moss-head!”

zoro doesn’t grace that with a response, steering you out of the kitchens before yelling for usopp to toss him a bottle of something good over his shoulder.

later that night, when the party is in full swing, he finds you by the carved white railings at the darkened head of the ship, eyes trained on the far horizon. behind you both, luffy is standing on a barrel, belting some old drinking song while nami laughs and sanji swings chopper in a strange, uncoordinated two-step.

“hey,” he says, bumping your shoulder with his.

“oh! hey…” you cast him a smile as he takes another swig from his nearly empty glass.

“why aren’t you —” he jerks his head back towards the swinging, dancing, laughing crew.

you bite back a smile, shrugging, “i was just… thinking.”

“oh. well, that’s not good.”

you slam your shoulder into his but he barely moves, chuckling.

“today… when you saved me from those kidnappers… how’dyou know where to find me?”

you turn to look at him, and for a second, the question almost catches him off guard. he stares at you, as if unsure himself how to answer before he grins, his eyes slipping from you out towards the darkness beyond as behind you both, sanji starts in on a showtune in a warbled language neither of you can understand.

“actually, ‘m not sure… i just… had a feeling.”

you blink, “you… had a feeling?”

“yeah like… y’know when uh — turtles and stuff always know how to get back to the beach where they were born?”

your eyebrows slowly migrate up your forehead this words as you stare at him, dumbstruck.

“zoro… you’ve gotten lost on a straight road before —”

“shut up! it’s not — it’s different though… i dunno how to explain it, but i just… i just knew. something — something wasn’t right and i knew i had to find you.”

and even in the relative darkness, you can see the color seeping into his cheeks. you let yourself laugh, glancing down at the half-finished drink in your own hands.

“i’ll… i’ll always find you.”

you look up at his words, his voice so much softer than you’re used to, the words so much more tender. you look up to find him watching you, his gaze soft and warm, sweet and molten.

“even if it takes me forever… i’ll… i’ll always find my way to you.”

and you wonder if it’s the alcohol, you wonder if it’s the darkness gifted by the moonless night, the prickling light of a hundred thousand stars winking above in the velvet sky.

you nod, raising your glass in quiet acceptance of his words, of this solemn vow that you know he’d never make without the intention of honoring it until time itself has breathed its last.

you clink your glass against his.

“happy birthday.”

zoro laughs, shaking his head, “can’t believe you’re making me celebrate two months early.”

“we can throw another party when its your actual birthday.”

“yeah — just promise me you won’t get kidnapped again.”

you laugh, shaking your head, “as long as you promise that if i do… you’ll be there to find me.”

zoro raises his glass to his lips, “i’ll drink to that.”

you toss your own drink back, feel the burn of it work it’s way down your throat, the fire settling in the pit of your stomach as zoro tugs you by the hand back to the heart of the party, where nami screams and throws her arms round you, pulling you into a suffocating hug and sanji nearly trips over trying to refill your glass.

zoro grins, laughing as luffy wobbles and nearly smashes into the main mast. he lets sanji refill his drink; he lets luffy pull him into a unwilling sea shanty, everyone swaying left and right with the uneven rhythm of the drowsy sea.

and he realizes, not for the first time, though it still sometimes comes as a surprise — that there’s no place he’d rather be. because you see, for zoro home is both a place and a person — the place is here with his crew around him, the ocean beneath them, the world sprawled out like a map at their feet.

and the person… he looks up across the raucous merry-making to catch your eye, to catch a breath of your bright, bell-like laughter — he’s never been more sure of anything else in his entire life that the person… is you.

opla!zoro requests r open LOL (literally idk if i will write anyone else but him at this point but EY if u got a req....)

#dira333 #one piece #one piece live action #opla zoro #opla roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #x reader #opla #one piece netflix #opla zoro x reader #one piece live action x you #one piece live action x reader #roronoa zoro fluff #one piece fluff #opla fluff #roronoa zoro imagines #roronoa zoro scenarios #floofy floof floof #oh look it's not smut LOL #im obsessed with opla and im making it everyone elses problem #perchance to dream

[aquagirl1978]

Can you post some Chev sequel spoilers pls pls pls? I've been looking everywhere for some? Like your favorite points, plot twists or any Gil and Chev things?

Thank you in advance 💛🖤

Anon....I am so sorry for taking forever to get to these asks. I read both ends of his sequel in 36 hours and then couldn't process a thing afterwards 😭

I can scream for a while about this, but I'll try to keep this under a novel's length lol

MAJOR SPOILERS ABOUT GILBERT'S MAIN ROUTE / CHEVALIER'S SEQUEL ROUTE BELOW:

Alright, you asked about Gil and Cheva things, so here it goes.

There is so much Gilbert in his sequel. So much that it starts to feel like Comte's route when it becomes the Vlad show (if you read IkeVamp). And I guess, like Comte and Vlad, they can't shake that friendship that was there since their youth.

In Cheva's sequel, Cheva and Emma go to Obsidian (along with Leon, Yves, Cyran and Lucien - wow that's a mouthful) because of...well, things that happen in the prequel that are barely even important here. Gilbert spends a bit of time with Emma - for obvious reasons, if you read his route, and Chevalier spends some time digging around Obsidian Castle.

One thing that will be nice for players who don't read Cheva's events is they will see his emotional development that was lacking in his route. You will see a Chevalier who is free to be affectionate with Emma in front of his brothers (to which Yves and Leon were thoroughly disturbed). His love for Emma is on full display....and guess who is witnessing all of this.

When the routes split, they deal with the a similar conflict, but one puts the problem solving on Emma, the other puts it on Chevalier. And it's interesting to see how they both handle it - which is they handle it the same way. Chevalier puts all his trust and faith in Emma - and this love is something Gilbert ends up being jealous of.

My favorite saddest part of Chevalier's sequel comes towards the end of his Dramatic Route. Chevalier is put in a terrible, awful, horrible situation, one where we truly see how mad Gilbert is - did you think you saw his madness already? Guess what, you didn't. Anyway, after all the horrible things Gilbert has done to Chevalier (which Leon saved him from!) Chevalier asks Emma and Leon to leave the room.

Gilbert and Chevalier have a heart to heart chat, best that these two can. Gilbert admits that he has known about Emma for some time now (cue shocked Chevalier). He tells him he is in love with her and he had wanted to save her from being tainted by royalty. They are only engaged, and there was still hope for her. He then adds that despite all of Gilbert's obstacles, their love for one another won out and neither betrayed the other. Can these two hug it out now?

Chevalier also had figured out Gilbert is sick and dying. He tells him to get himself better and that Obsidian needs him. Obsidian is nothing without him. This is after Gilbert tried to kill him and even shot him with his gun. That just shows the deep (and weird and twisted) bond these two share. And I think it also shows immense emotional growth for Chevalier.

#ugh....i wrote a small book #sorry for how long this ended up #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri spoilers #chevalier michel #ikepri chevalier #ikepri chevalier spoilers #gilbert von obsidian #ikepri gilbert #ikepri gilbert spoilers #ikepri jp #ikepri jp spoilers

[akutasoda]

i loveddd that enemies troupe with chuuya fic!!

so, can i ask for the one bed troupe with chuuya? if you don’t what it is, it’s pretty much where two people have to share one singular bed due to some random reason. anywayssss, same enemies troupe pls hehe also they fight for who sleeps on the floor but they decide to just put pillows in between themselves.

BUT reader tends to grab, hug, and sleep on anything and everything she can get her hands on whilst asleep. (pillows, sheets, CHUUYA😻😻, and so.)

and

THEY WAKE UP IN EACHOTHERS ARMS BUT CHUUYA WAKES UP FIRST

the wall between us

synopsis - after being sent on a long mission with your enemy, you find out the room you're staying in has one bed

includes - chuuya

warnings - fem!reader(but not really specified), fluff, enemies to lovers, wc - 485

a/n: i'm so happy that you enjoyed! i kind if imagined it as sort of a prequel to that do i hope you dont mind

if there was one person you didn't wabt to be paired up with for a long distance mission was chuuya. literally anyone else seemed like a better choice. but you weren't really willing to argue with mori and decided just to get it over and done with.

you didn't understand what was so dangerous that it required two executives. and what made it even worse was that it was out of yokohama so you and chuuya would be gone for a too long for your liking. and it also meant finding accommodation near the area which according to mori had already been arranged.

so eventually reaching the accommodation you went ahead and went to your room before chuuya could even figure out where to go. you had assumed that you both had separate rooms seeing as when you entered your room there was only one bed and the fact that it would be the obvious option.

but unfortunately not too long after you had got into your room, chuuya appeared in the doorway and in which chaos ensued. you two started bickering like children about getting out of each other's room before realisation started to dawn. so before you two ended up actually probably destroying the room chuuya had phoned back in.

before looking at you with the most annoyed/shocked face you wished you could take a picture of. and that's when you two found out. you had to share a room. a room with one bed. with no other rooms available.

'you can sleep on the floor' that was the first thing he told you before barging past you and looking around the room. 'excuse me? i think you should sleep on the floor i got here first' you snarked. and yet again you two got into another argument.

eventually, due to it getting late, you two had simply decided to use the spare pillows to build a makeshift wall along the middle of the bed. and left it at that to get ready for bed.

what you hadn't told him was that you often in your sleep grabbed and higged whatever you could find. normally you had extra pillows (or plushies) to grab for that reason. but you just hoped that you wouldn't reach for him. that was part of the reason that you suggested the pillow wall.

but unbeknownst to either of you, during the night you had found yourself looking for something to grab on too. and as if it were a cruel prank the pillow wall had been broken by fidgeting and movement so instead you arms wrapped around him. enticed by the warmth you nuzzled even closer. and eventually chuuya had too been enticed by the warmth and cuddled into you.

chuuya had woken up first and immediately had the reddest face. in the morning the only thing exchanged were sarcastic comments and heavily red faces and very few looks. you both swore to never speak of that again.

#x reader #bsd x reader #bsd x female reader #bsd fluff #bsd chuuya #chuuya x reader #chuuya x fem!reader

[jebewonmorelike]

Devil by the Whiteboard

wc: 4.2k (so i was way off lmao) pronouns: none used; n/a warnings: MEAN!hanbin he is not nice so be forewarned but the ending suggests he can possibly be fixed maybe but no promises; being alone with a mean person in a hallway; light swears; angst but only towards the end; i wrote that they go to an academy but it could be a university it doesn't change the story summary: booksmart!reader is ready to finally win the scholastic decathlon, but a series of coincidental unfortunate events that couldn't possibly have anything to do with studentbodypresident!hanbin threaten to ruin their chances once more. ~masterlist~ ♡ ~kofi (no pressure at all)~ guys i did it, i finished my masterpiece. i hope you like it. academic play on the title of the txt song, i know-- clever. the scholastic decathlon is inspired by the one in high school musical. also pls don't make fun of me for not knowing how science or chemistry works, i was literally advance in science but my chem teacher in high school was on academic probation for being such a bad teacher and we all nearly failed our regional exams so. anyway pls excuse this or lightly roast me in the tags or comments. i hope you enjoy mean!shanbin... this one might need a part 2... or a prequel. or both. I'M SO EXCITED I FINISHED THIS OMFG I HOPE YOU LOVE IT!

(part two— “i didn’t think you had it in you”)

It's 7 P.M. on a Friday and there's nowhere in the world you'd rather be than at the Regional Scholastic Decathlon Finals. You're about to partake in your favorite extracurricular activity: more academics. There's only one thing you wish you could change...

"I'm so honored to be competing as a team leader in the Regional Scholastic Decathlon Finals," Hanbin says into the handheld microphone. "And I'm even more honored to be competing against who I believe to be the most worthy opponents."

You fight the urge to gag at the Student Body President standing next to you on the makeshift stage.

"And you know each other well, I've been told," the announcer adds with a laugh. "You and (Y/N) are something of academic rivals, yes?"

Hanbin laughs, smile lines on his cheeks only adding to his innocent, clean-cut image. "In the most respectful way. Wouldn't you agree, (Y/N)?"

There are, in truth, very few things you'd agree less with. Coming from a private academy for gifted students, there were several different Scholastic Decathlon teams at your school. The Green Team, the Red Team and the Yellow Team had all already been eliminated this semester, which left the Blue Team (led by Hanbin) and the Pink Team (led by you).

There had also been a new Purple Team formed at the beginning of this year, but they were disbanded when the headmaster found out the "experiments" they were conducting in the science labs were a bit unorthodox.

You honestly weren't sure how much of a "worthy opponent" the Pink Team was at this rate. The Blue Team had won Regionals for three semesters straight and it didn't seem like their streak would end any time soon...

Not with Sung Hanbin on their side.

You glance at the walking, talking cinnamon roll standing next to you and wish fervently that all his teeth would fall out. "Right. Respectful," you chime quietly into your own microphone.

"And (Y/N)! It seems this is always where the Pink Team meets its demise under your leadership," the announcer notes, a bit too happily if you're being honest. "What makes you think you can beat Hanbin this time?"

The audience of family, friends, and teachers laughs awkwardly at the dig of a question. You swallow nervously, taking a deep breath to steady yourself before you answer.

You and Hanbin were total opposites, both competing for the tile of top student since your first year at the academy. He was friendly, outgoing-- a networker, even. When the election for Student Body President came around each year, there weren't any votes cast for anyone except Sung Hanbin (and you knew that for a fact since you were the one counting them). You were more of a behind-the-scenes overachiever. Acing every class, developing plans and putting them into action, and keeping your head down in the hallways to avoid any unwanted social interaction.

Though President Hanbin had been asked to recite a speech for Teacher's Appreciation Week, it was Secretary (Y/N) who had stayed up until the wee hours of the morning writing it.

"I don't think I can beat Hanbin," you say finally. "But I do think the Pink Team can beat the Blue Team. I think that's what you meant to ask, right?"

There's a moment of uncomfortable silence before Hanbin grins, extending his hand for you to shake. "I couldn't agree more. This event is about our teams, not us. Every team member has worked hard to prove their abilities tonight."

You watch as the audience absolutely melts at the handsome boy's charming smile and his words of camaraderie that were merely a more attractive repackaging of your previous reply. You pull your hand back from his as quickly as possible.

The announcer smiles in admiration at the boy to his right. “You are entirely correct, Hanbin. My mistake. And what a wonderful sentiment for you to share with us.”

It barely even phases you anymore: the hold Hanbin could have on people. Maybe you’d have been captivated too, if you weren’t the one person who--.

“(Y/N)?” The announcer prompts, his tone indicating that this isn’t the first time he called your name. “Any words for your team?”

“Oh,” you mumble, mentally shaking off the embarrassment of daydreaming during a regional competition. "Let's do our best! No matter the outcome, though we will strive for a good one, I'm incredibly proud of the work my amazing team has done so far this year and you all should be as well. Fighting!"

"That's just swell," the announcer replies rather unenthusiastically. "Hanbin?"

Hanbin nods, smiling graciously at the announcer and the crowd. "We've put in so much time and effort this semester and I truly believe our labor of love has blossomed into a winning fruit. And, even on the chance that we don't take this win, I will still be so proud of that fruit that is my amazing team. Fighting!"

The audience applauds and the scream sitting in your throat is now desperately trying to claw its way out. Instead, you just smile.

"Hanbin has such a way with words, doesn't he?" The announcer muses to you.

"He does," you agree politely, muttering under your breath, "If that 'way' is stealing them."

"Then let's get this Regional Final started!" The announcer's words are met with applause as you rejoin your team behind your table.

"We've got this," your teammate Maria encourages, patting you on the back gently. "It's our turn to win!"

You nod, smiling at your team and giving them two thumbs up. "Let's win this! Fighting!"

The first subject of the Super Relay is mathematics, an event where each team's members must rotate in a line to solve a new equation while racing against both their opponent and the clock. As the team leader, you are last in line as you will have the least amount of time left on the clock to solve your equation.

Unfortunately, Sung Hanbin is also at the end of the Blue Team's line. While you're better at economics, history, literature, and geography, Hanbin has a slight leg up on you in the math and science departments. But you had been studying overtime and, even if you didn't manage to beat his time in this round, you were confident you could follow closely enough behind that your team would not be hurting for points.

As soon as both teams are set in their positions, the announcer raises one arm. "On your marks, get set..."

"Go!" He signals, lowering his arm as Maria rushes to the shared whiteboard.

Her equation flashes on the screen and you exhale with relief. Maria was the weakest at maths on your team, so she always went first in relays so the other four team members could make up the time. This equation is fairly straightforward and in her wheelhouse, so you're able to relax for awhile.

Each team member finishes their equation, placing their markers on the whiteboard shelf and joining the end of the line until it's finally your turn to solve. David throws his marker down too harshly and it falls to the ground, rolling to the other team's side.

Hanbin is now racing up to the whiteboard for his team, but on his way he bends down and reaches under the chair that your team's marker has rolled under. After a moment, he resurfaces; marker in hand as he smiles at you sweetly, holding it out to you as you run up to the whiteboard.

"I think you might need this," he jokes politely. You give him a nod and tear off the cap as you quickly memorize your equation, smiling to yourself as you realize you've practiced this exact problem in a workbook just last week.

"And look at this sportsmanship from Sung Hanbin!" The announcer commends. "He's the Student Body President for a reason, folks."

You put your marker to the board, attempting to copy your equation as you ignore the adoring audience's endless mumbling about Hanbin. As you write, however, you suddenly realize that the marker in your hand isn't producing any ink.

Panic flows through you as you scribble it desperately against the whiteboard trying to get the ink flowing again, but your efforts are fruitless. You turn to the announcer in a frenzy.

"Please, my marker isn't working!" You exclaim, looking to the judges' table for assistance.

"It worked fine for the previous team member," the announcer contests, watching as you show him the lack of ink. "But, yes, it seems to be out of ink."

He walks to the judges table as your heart sits in your stomach, terrified that some fluke could completely ruin your team's chances of finally beating the Blue Team. You glance over at Hanbin, who, much to your surprise, is looking back at you concernedly.

A judge brings you another approved marker and you resume solving your equation frantically, despite the judge relaying that you would have ten seconds added to your permitted time due to the mishap.

After about 45 seconds, you check Hanbin's progress and your spirit is renewed when you see how quickly you've caught up to him. You're now only two lines behind him in the equation and you can tell Hanbin is caught off guard by your speed.

After another thirty seconds, Hanbin steps back from the whiteboard and nods as he double checks his math. He circles his answer and lays his marker down on the shelf, running to the stop clock and hitting his team's timer.

The audience cheers at the Blue Team leader's probable victory, but you don't let it throw you. Another nine seconds and your answer is circled on the board as you run to the buzzer and stop the clock. Your team surrounds you excitedly, praising you for your focus during the stressful situation and your noticeably quick solving of the equation.

After the judges finalize the results of the mathematics portion of the Super Relay, they hand the announcer a script card. "The results are in! The winner of the mathematics Super Relay is... The Pink Team!"

Your team starts to cheer, jumping up and down ecstatically around you as you remain absolutely shocked at the unexpected win.

You watch as the announcer's eyebrows furrow confusedly, rereading the script card to check if the result is correct.. "Huh. Mathematics is usually where the Pink Team has the most trouble, but with the additional ten seconds added to their time clock... The Pink Team wins by just 0.45 seconds."

You can't help but notice that the announcer looks concerned by the results, but before you can analyze him further you're pulled into your team's celebration. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Hanbin chewing his lip nervously at the Blue Team's defeat.

~

You're halfway through the Science portion of the Super Relay when your beaker begins to boil. You watch as it bubbles furiously when it's merely supposed to be simmering on the hotplate.

You hover your hand over the hotplate, panic turning into confusion when you feel a low amount of heat that couldn't possibly be boiling the solution in this beaker. Unfortunately the alternative to a hotplate turned up too high was much worse...

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," you whisper, taking the beaker off of your hotplate with your gloved hands. As expected, the beaker continues to bubble over even after being removed from heat and you stare at the mixture in horror.

Where had you messed up?

You look around at the different tubes on your table, reading the labels of each vial carefully to see if you'd poured in the wrong liquid by mistake. You check each empty tube, verifying that they were in fact the liquids you had thought they were.

But there's one label that catches your eye in particular. The side of it is sticking up slightly and, cautiously, you peel it off to reveal another label underneath.

Glycerin.

Thankfully it wouldn't kill you, but it was a huge nuisance. You'd have to remake the solution and, as you glance at the time clock, you realize your prospects of finishing are hopeless.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1...

Hanbin hits his team's buzzer in the knick of time, the crowd erupting into applause for the school's golden boy. You chew your cheek, willing yourself not to cry as your team members begin to comfort you. Just as you compose yourself, you hear shouts coming from the other side of the room.

"(Y/N) couldn't even finish the experiment!" One of the younger Blue Team members taunts, smirking at you. "Pink Team is going down!"

"Maybe they should consider appointing a new leader," another Blue Team member jeers. "(Y/N) is clearly--."

"That's not very kind, Ilsung," Hanbin interrupts, placing a hand on the shoulder of both of the younger team members sternly. "Everyone here is trying their best and, unfortunately, mistakes are very easy to make under pressure."

"I didn't make a mistake. The--," you start to correct, but Hanbin has already stepped up onto his metaphorical soapbox once more.

"Whether we are winners in the competition or not, we are the losing team if we don't treat our opponents with the respect they deserve," Hanbin concludes, turning back to face the audience.

"Once again, Sung Hanbin proves his humility and kindness," the announcer coos as Hanbin shakes his head to politely deflect the compliment with a smile. "Exactly what we'd expect from the Fall Regional Scholastic Decathlon champion."

"What!?" You exclaim. "He didn't even win yet!"

"Anyway," the announcer continues as the judges hand him the results, "the winner of the science portion of the Super Relay is... The Blue Team! Obviously!"

You laugh hopelessly. "Obviously, he said."

"It's alright," David reassures. "Double the points in the final Humanities portion. The Blue Team has nothing on us!"

You nod, smiling reluctantly. "You're right. We can still win this! I believe in all of you. Let's do this!"

~

Pink Team is ahead 44 to 36 when you finally step up to the podium to answer your set of twenty humanities questions. Hanbin steps up to his podium, picking up his buzzer and breathing deeply in preparation for the upcoming questions in his weakest area.

You pick up your buzzer, placing your thumb on the trigger comfortably so that it doesn't cramp when you press it rapidly.

"Good luck," Hanbin says, smiling at you cutely.

"Yeah," you manage to reply without throwing up. "You too."

You fire off the five economics questions easily, hitting the buzzer a full second before Hanbin each time. You're on a roll and you don't have any intentions of slowing down.

"Now we'll move onto literature," the announcer prompts, rearranging his script cards.

"One second, please," Hanbin calls suddenly, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. "This is embarrassing but I think there's something in my shoe. Can I be allowed to remove it?"

The judges look at each other momentarily before nodding. "Quickly," one agrees.

Hanbin bends down, untying his shoelace and shaking out his shoe. You look out at the audience, who are all both visibly and audibly fawning over how adorable the Blue Team leader is.

"So endearing, that Sung Hanbin," the announcer remarks fondly.

Hanbin finally hops back up to his feet, nodding at the judges and the audience respectfully. "Please forgive me for the delay."

"No worries at all. Let's jump right back into it then," the announcer segways. "Question six: What is the name of the collection of 85 articles written by Alexander Hamilton, John Jay—.”

You smile as you press your buzzer, but confusion sweeps over you when Hanbin’s buzzer sounds first.

“The Federalist Papers,” he answers, but you can hear a bit of uncertainty in his voice.

“Correct,” the announcer says. “Question seven: Name the correct order of the three cantos of The Divine Com—.”

You press your buzzer, Hanbin’s buzzer ringing out again.

“Inferno, Purgatorio, Paradiso,” the Blue Team leader answers correctly again.

You go through five more questions like this— knowing the answer to them all immediately only to somehow be beaten by Hanbin’s buzzer.

“Um, excuse me?” You ask before the start of the history round. “I think… I think there’s something wrong with my buzzer!"

The announcer turns to the judges who allow the complaint with a nod. "Please test your buzzer several times," the judge on the end requests, gesturing for you to proceed.

You press the button on your buzzer and hear it ring. You press it once more and it rings again. The third time you press it, your cheeks heat up with utter embarrassment. You could've sworn it wasn't working just a moment ago...

You smile uncomfortably. "I'm sorry," you apologize quickly, mortified as your bottom lip tucks between your lips shyly.

"It's okay," Hanbin answers, smile lines appearing on his perfect cheeks. "I know this last section is usually not my best, but I promise it's just because I've been studying so hard. I would be thrown off guard too!"

The audience laughs at his humorous compassion, your error only making way for another opportunity to boost Hanbin's morale. You swear you feel yourself shrinking down, down, down to the size of an ant as Hanbin gets every last point in the final round of the Super Relay.

You pressed the buzzer in the middle of every question.

"It's okay, (Y/N)," Maria says, resting her head on your shoulder. "I'm sure all of that stuff with the marker just threw you off. That wasn't your fault."

You shake your head, completely perplexed by how this had happened and now also beginning to questioning your sanity. "I was pressing the buzzer," you assert, fighting off another round of tears welling up in your eyes as the adrenaline of the competition wheres off.

"I pressed the buzzer every time."

~

"We'll get 'em next semester, (Y/N)!" David encourages. "And they'll never see it coming."

You force yourself to smile, not wanting to to show the team your real emotions. Had you really not been pressing the buzzer? Were you actually going crazy?

"Mm," you agree quietly. "Pink Team: Spring Regional Scholastic Decathlon Champions! We'll make it happen!"

Your team all puts their hands into the circle, shouting, "1, 2, 3: Pink Team on Top!" After saying your temporary goodbyes, you walk through the empty hallway behind the gym and hang your lab coat up on the designated rack. As you secure your lab coat on the hook, you hear a mumbling coming from around the corner.

"Here's five hundred," you hear a familiar voice say as you tiptoe quietly to the end of the hall. "I'll get you the other half by Monday."

"Are you kidding me? You said you'd have it in full! Should've known the kid that was paying me to help him cheat in a Scholastic Decathlon would end up screwing me."

You peak your head out slowly around the corner, taking care not to make any loud sounds that might get you caught.

"Guess that's on you then. By Monday."

As the two men start to go their separate ways, you duck back behind the wall and try to control the rampant beating of your heart. You desperately attempt to silence your breathing as you hear one set of footsteps approach, closing your eyes and exhaling with relief when they continue down the hallway and past your hiding spot in the adjacent corridor.

With your hands over your eyes, you rub your face as tension bubbles to the surface. "Oh my god," you squeak out as the interaction you just witnessed sinks in.

Suddenly, something slams down above your head on the locker you're leaning against and rips you from your thought spiral.

"I'm glad you're finally starting to see my appeal," Hanbin says with a smirk, both hands pressed firmly against the locker on either side of your head. "But I think god might be a bit too much, even by my standards."

You swallow nervously, having had the displeasure of being confronted by Hanbin like this numerous times before. You look around to check if by some miracle there's anyone still lingering in the hallway that's witnessing this.

"Just me," Hanbin seemingly reads your mind. "That's not a problem, is it?"

"Y-you--... You..." He tilts his head expectantly, waiting for you to stop tripping over your own tongue. "You cheated?"

"Oh," Hanbin coos mockingly. "Did I?"

You nod, feeling your bottom lip shake. "You paid that announcer to give you all the answers."

"What?" He asks, face scrunching up in confusion. "He didn't give me the--... You think I, the reigning Regional Champion, need someone to give me the answers? Come on, (Y/N), I know you're smarter than that."

You blink back at him silently, watching as his face lights up in amusement.

"Do you actually have that little self-confidence?" He asks, shaking his head at you in amazement. "You really think your marker just happened to stop working right when it was your turn to solve? Or that the glycerin tube was just coincidentally mislabeled?"

Your lips part as Hanbin pieces the truth together for you.

"You and I both know you pressed that buzzer first every single time," he says earnestly, pouting at you sadly. "Are you really that insecure that you'd believe you were going crazy before you'd believe that I'd rigged your buzzer while I was fixing my shoe?"

"You... you..." You attempt to protest, but once again your stammering proves why you're always just Hanbin's ghostwriter.

His eyebrows furrow in concern and it's unnervingly genuine. "Seriously, (Y/N)? Now you're kind of just making me sad."

The patronizing from Hanbin is the last straw. He can steal your words, he can call you names, he can even sabotage your efforts...

But the moment Sung Hanbin begins to pity you is the moment you can no longer just stand there and take it.

"I'm gonna tell everybody," you threaten, but your voice comes out far too soft and shaky for him to take it seriously.

"I'm sure you are," he mocks, smirking at you. "I'm sure this time you won't just suck it up like you always do."

You lean forward, your face now just a couple inches from Hanbin's and you swear you see just the smallest flash of panic in his eyes at your action. "You're right," you agree. "You're always right, Hanbin."

He stares back at you, unmoving.

"That's why I'm so disappointed," you admit, sentiment suddenly shifting. "It wasn't my lack of confidence that made the possibility that you cheated unfathomable to me. It was honestly that, even after everything we've been through, I've always thought a bit more of you than that."

Hanbin leans back, hands falling to his sides as he continues to frown at you.

"I really don't like you, Hanbin, and I don't like always being in your shadow, but the truth is: you make a much better leader than I would," you confess, everything you've wanted to say now flowing freely out of your mouth. "And up until tonight, I thought that if I had to stand in a shadow, at least it was of someone who on some level deserved to be casting one."

Hanbin just blinks, his lips parting slightly as you study him. When he continues to refuse to react, you turn on your heels and begin to walk back down the hallway in the direction that you'd come from. You're halfway to the doors when Hanbin's voice suddenly rings out behind you:

"Join my team next semester."

You turn around quickly, one eyebrow raised in shock. "What!?"

"You heard me," he replies calmly.

"That's--... That's ridiculous! And your team is full anyway."

"Not for you, it's not," Hanbin quips, walking up to you.

"But--... But--."

"Come on, (Y/N). You just said it yourself: you were never meant to be a leader," Hanbin says as he stops in front of you. "But you're smarter than me. That's why I needed to set you back. There was no way I could've beaten you fair and square this time and you know it."

You stare at him wordlessly, wondering what you did in your past life to have to suffer the acquaintanceship of such an infuriating man.

"Even being thrown off by your stupid marker, you knew that equation like the back of your hand," he continues definitively. "If you had spoken up about the mislabeled tube. If you had trusted yourself about the buzzer..."

"But you knew I wouldn't."

He nods. "So join my team. Anyways, I... I could really use you," he says, a sheepish look on his face that you've never seen him wear around you before. "Blue Team is always able to win Regionals because I know how to beat the Pink Team-- I know how to beat you. But we always lose at Sectionals because the smartest person at our school was on the team we just beat."

You bite your lip, chewing on Hanbin's words as you feel both intensely offended and unfortunately flattered. But you could never let him know the latter. "What about anything that I just said makes you think I would join the team of some cheating asshole?"

To your surprise, he just laughs. "I've never heard you swear before. It's kind of..." He clears his throat, trailing off before he finishes his sentence. "If I'm being honest, your sudden display of willpower is kind of throwing me."

"Well I hope it throws you into another dimension, you self-righteous prick," you respond, turning back around furiously and continuing to walk down the hallway towards the exit doors-- shaking your head at the audacity of the boy called Sung Hanbin.

"Then can I pitch an alternative?" Hanbin calls as your fingers grip the door handle.

You pause, not realizing the mistake you've made as Hanbin's voice ricochets off the walls of the gym hallway:

"Go out with me."

#zerobaseone x reader #zerobaseone #zerobaseone hanbin #sung hanbin #shanbin #sung hanbin drabbles #sung hanbin imagines #zerobaseone fics #zerobaseone imagines #zerobaseone drabbles #boys planet imagines #boys planet drabbles #boys planet #zb1 #zb1 angst #zb1 fluff #zb1 fics #zb1 imagines #zb1 drabbles #zb1 x reader #sung hanbin x reader #sung hanbin fics #shanbin imagines #shanbin drabbles #shanbin x reader #bp999 #bp #boys planet x reader #zb1 hanbin #kpop

[corazondebeskar-reads]

Fic Recs - Din Djarin

Fic recs featuring Din Djarin as a main character.

Key: 🏴 = dark, 💕 = fluff, ⛓ = rough/bdsm elements, 💀 = dead dove do not eat

Mind the warnings, and please read responsibly. you control your own media consumption.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

All Fic Recs | Star Wars Fic Recs

Series

Best Kept Secret by @lincolndjarin (complete)

summary: Married off to a prince on a planet that you hate? New husband doesn't know you, and doesn't want to know you? New husband gifts you a personal Mandalorian body guard as a wedding present? Mandalorian is a wiseass who won't leave you alone? Lucky you.

Significant (original) and Offer (prequel) by @softlyspector

summary: Din has been calling you riduur for months. You finally find out what it means, and get a little more than you bargained for.

unearthed by @grippingbeskar (ongoing)

summary: you are the new leader of your planet, but you lack an army. lucky for you, a new king has also recently ascended the throne. does anyone smell a royal wedding???

Something More Series by @amiedala (ongoing)

summary: Meeting the Mandalorian was like colliding into the rest of your life at a moment’s notice. Like oh, there you are. It was both jarring and familiar at the same time, like stepping into a minute with no intentions and stepping out of it in deja-vu. You had always been told you made too much out of everything, that you blew up every circumstance to fit some kind of grand destiny, some huge significance. If anyone asked, you’d swear up and down this was different. It was different. The Mandalorian sweeping you off your feet and out of your back alley haunts and narrow escapes was something kismet. Something cosmic. Something more.

🏴 apotheosis by @beskarandblasters

summary: Din Djarin is a force-sensitive bounty hunter, working for the remnants of the Empire. He's on the hunt for you, an ex-rebel spy who has key information; the location where Luke Skywalker is building his Jedi training academy. But when you're captured, you're not going to give up the location easily. Din will have to utilize “alternative methods” to turn you over to the dark side.

One Shots

River by @psychedelic-ink

summary: din likes it when you cry for him.

Leading Blindly by @pascalispretty

summary: A young Mandalorian seeks relief for the first time at a Canto Bight brothel.

🏴⛓ hunted by @clareguilty (one shot)

summary: you are captured by the Mandalorian

⛓ kinktober 2023 - day 3: spanking by @darthglitterfanfiction (one shot)

summary: brat reader ft. restraints and spanking

⛓ acting out by @cool-iguana (one shot)

summary: You thought it would be fun to tease Din on the comm link while he was hunting for a bounty, expecting it not to take too long. But it takes longer than you thought - and it turns out your distractions were partly why it took so long. Mando’s back now though, and he’s not happy…

Kinktober Day 9 - Gloryhole by @softpascalito

summary: Din just wants some quick pleasure. You just want to enjoy your job for once. Both of you get more than you bargained for.

pain for pleasure by @spacegay-official

summary: (aka "Din Djarin has a piercing kink send tweet")

A Good Friend to Have & Back for More by @beskarandblasters (& her boyfriend David)

summary: You and your friend work at a brothel on Coruscant, while work is slow she reveals that she owes a debt to a loan shark who is willing to pay out a bounty to anyone who brings her in. When a Mandalorian shows up at the brothel you do everything you can think of to distract the bounty hunter and buy her time to escape.

oral fixation by @beskarandblasters

summary: Din eats pussy for the first time.

[I can't believe I don't have any?? pls rec me your faves]

#din djarin x reader #din djarin fic recs #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fic recs #come and get y'all smut

[it-was-funeral-grey]

And away (Al Haitham x F!Reader)

Prequel Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Extra 1 Masterlist

Summary: now that all that's settled, it's time to head back to vimara village. (all hail imaginary kaveh)

Warnings: mentions of medicine, the meat industry and its processes, economics macro and micro, boat travel, awkwardness, denial, internal battles, vulgarities, mild injuries (sprained ankle), carrying, mentions of sanitary pads, ect, spying on friends .

Word count: <4.3k words

Inspired by: Telephone - Waterparks

"I know we only just met, so why do I feel invested?"

Author's note: i had to dig out all my economics knowledge for this lol. i still almost failed econs so just pretend that i make total sense for the sake of the story pls. Also, i may come back and mass re edit this.

Thank you for all the lovely comments for part 3! it really made my day! i'm sorry if this part isnt as good as the rest! I tried

Please give criticism! Also, if i missed any warnings, do tell me so i can add them!

Out of all the issues Al Haitham has to deal with, Port Ormos is the most pressing and the source of many other problems.

No trade means no business. No business means no jobs. No jobs mean no work, which means no income for both Sumeru and the people. And especially since Port Ormos is Sumeru's main port, national income has taken a hard hit. Akademiya economists have been sending him report after report about their concerns about Sumeru's economic forecast. It does not look good.

In addition, no trade means that Sumeru doesn't get new resources anymore. While Sumeru is mostly self-sufficient food-wise, many resources still cannot be obtained locally- or are mostly imported. And since Port Ormos is both Sumeru's largest and main port, lots of imports are not coming in anymore.

For example, there's currently a national shortage of cold medicines, which Sumeru usually imports from Snezhnaya. Particularly during monsoon seasons, cases of colds, dengue fever and the flu increase amongst the population. But Snezhnayan traders and businesses have pulled away from Sumeru after the Akademiya scandal. Bimarstan had gotten so desperate for cold medicine that it had begun asking locals to donate their leftover medicine. To ease the burden on the Bimarstan, Al Haitham had ordered Amurta to help mass manufacture medicines. However, this is only a stopgap measure. He needs to find a way to solve the root cause of the problem.

Furthermore, inflation has been a growing issue. The situation isn't so bad in Sumeru city, as its tiny port is still running- albeit not as smoothly or vibrantly as it used to. But in other parts of Sumeru, it's a whole different story. 

Everything is connected in a way. Just because Sumeru isn't reliant on imports for food doesn't mean food prices are not affected by the lack of other resources. For example, to produce fowl meat, you'll need a few things:

Either machinery (mostly from Fontaine) or workers to slaughter the fowl.

Appropriate packaging to pack the fowl meat.

Transport to carry your produce to marketplaces throughout Sumeru.

In this case, most issues lie with step one. Most farmers in Sumeru had taken to using Fontaine machinery to mass slaughter poultry. It was much cheaper than hiring workers and way more efficient. The only trade-off was that these machines ran on a specific type of oil that only is sold in Fontaine. So, manufacturers would sell the oil alongside it. 

But now, Fontaine traders and businesses are gradually pulling away from Sumeru. That means a lesser supply of oil, which means a decrease in the supply of fowl since machines are not able or cost more to run. A shortage means that prices go up. People buy less or cannot afford fowl at all. Farmers make less money, which prevents them from hiring more workers (or results in them letting go of workers if they don't use machinery) to increase the fowl supply. A case of cost-push inflation, similar to other case studies Al Haitham has read up on.

This is just one example out of many. The inflation and unemployment rate are growing. Adding everything up, including the current political climate, Sumeru is becoming less and less attractive to traders and businesses, causing them to pull away, worsening the Sumeru economy. It's a vicious cycle that Al Haitham needs to break.

If Al Haitham had to list all the issues Port Ormos has caused him, he'd be able to write himself all the way to an economic degree. Which he'll be able to sign off, now that he thinks about it. He's the Acting Grand Sage. He'll announce his own name. Present the degree to himself. Shake his own hand.

But anyway, the main point is that if he's able to revitalise Port Ormos, many other issues will resolve themselves. He had finally had a lucky break that Thursday and was free to head to Port Ormos to speak to the trade supervisors. But then, of course, stuff happened, and he wasn't able to do all that.

Which is why he's heading back to Vimara village again today. He specifically worked through the entire night in his cold office, wet clothes clinging uncomfortably on his body just so he could make time today for this. This time, he's going to make sure he speaks to the trade supervisors and settle this once and for all. He's ready to negotiate to hell and back to ensure the port reopens.

No surprises today, he'll make sure of it.

"Oh! You're heading back to Vimara Village?"

Well. Never mind, then.

The rising heat only hits the moment he walks out of the tavern. 

Treasures Street is empty tonight because of the heavy rain. Shops have closed early- the only exception being the tavern. But even so, Al Haitham feels too exposed. He doesn't feel cold anymore. The heat blooming in his cheeks and all over him makes sure of that.

Al Haitham quickens his pace. There's still a long walk to the Akademiya. The faster he gets there, the more time he'll have to finish whatever he has to do. 

The faster he gets there, the less time he'll have to think about what just happened.

Let's review. 

First of all, he fainted. Presumably right in front or around her house- so that's how she found him. Fine. He can't fault himself for that. He had been running on less than three hours of sleep that week. The cherry on top had been that four-hour trek he had to do on top of that. He was exhausted. The human body has its limits. 

But then he woke up and bawled his eyes out like a baby. In front of her. A total stranger. She pushed a bowl of the best meal he ever had (and his only meal in two days) into his face, and he cried. He cried so much that he passed out. Again. Until the following evening. 

It takes a lot of willpower from Al Haitham to not squat down and cringe in the middle of the street. 

Archons, he's pathetic. 

His cheeks burn, and he instinctively moves a hand to cover his face. The movement is accompanied by a crumpling sound, which reminds him of the snack he was given before he left the tavern. 

Taking cover under Menakeri's Treasure Shop, he removes the neatly bundled wrap from its paper bag. The rain isn't letting up. He couldn't be more drenched, but thankfully, the wrap is still dry- courtesy of the paper bag he took from Lambad's counter.

The wrap is still warm, and he curses when the rainwater on his hand seeps into the napkins. Removing it quickly, he holds the wrap in his hands. 

Wait. What's he going to do with the wrap?

He should throw it away. It's a terrible waste of food, but he can't afford to eat and feel sleepy later. He has to finish everything and then some, so he'll be free to head back to Vimara village tomorrow.

She held out the bundle with trembling hands.

The wrap suddenly feels heavy. Looking around, he spots a rubbish bin just a step away outside the shop.

She had left her warm, comfortable spot just to make sure he had something to eat.

He should really get going. Throw it away. And then leave for the Akademiya. But his feet refuse to move.

"They're worried about you, you know?"

Why don't you worry about yourself instead?

"Oh! You're heading back to Vimara Village?"

You weren't expecting to see the Acting Grand Sage again. Much less on the ferry Cyno had arranged to bring you back to Vimara village. 

If the Acting Grand Sage was surprised, he hid it well. Slowly turning to face you, he coolly leans against the railings of the small, wooden ferry. But the piercing sound of creaking wood jolts him back up almost immediately.

"Yes." he hastily answers, turning around to check on the railing, pushing it back and forth, then squatting down and repeating the action.

A curt answer. What are you supposed to say to that? You can't even hum in agreement or find an opening to make small talk before you politely excuse yourself to take a seat inside. 

The only sound filling the air now is the creaking of wood as he scrutinises the railing. You're not sure what he's checking for- it's just a loose railing, but you admire the dedication nonetheless. A minute passes. 

An alternative course of action is to simply walk towards the seating area without saying anything else. But he's blocking the entrance. Taking a step forward, you shift closer to gauge how much space you have to move through it.

Nope. No way to pass through at all. His large build completely obstructs the entrance. There's no way to pass without saying anything, and you're not sure what you can say that isn't awkward. 

"Uh, excuse me. I'm just going to pass- yeah, oh- you don't need to stand, just- sorry."

Yeah, say that, and proceed to simmer in uncomfortable silence with him in the seating area for the next hour and a half. 

"...You're also heading back to the village?" there's another creak of wood as he shifts it from left to right now.

"Ah! Yes," you reply, eager to stave off the growing awkwardness. "I, uh, live there." 

He stiffens at your answer and brushes a hand over his face. You see his shoulders slacken as he sighs.

Did...you say something wrong?

If you did, he doesn't comment on it. Finally standing up, he's turning around and-

"I'm just going to head in first!" you blurt out, taking the opportunity to rush past him into the seating area.

But of course, just as you finally get into the seating area, the ship suddenly rocks, throwing you off balance and onto the hard floor.

Al Haitham's face is on fire. It must be because of the new soap he used this morning. Kaveh had pestered him for money to buy that brand, and he had finally caved. Yes, this is all Kaveh's fault.

No, he is not blushing. Why would he be? He isn't ill or feverish. Neither is he embarrassed.

It's just the soap. A mild allergic reaction, perhaps. But he isn't allergic to anything. Perhaps he should book an appointment at Bimarstan to confirm that. Allergies are dangerous.

Why can't he turn around?

There's a loud, rhythmic pulsing in his ear, which strangely is in phase with the beating of his heart. Is that his heartbeat he's hearing? Why is it so loud? And so fast? Also, why is his heart beating so hard?

He knows the answer. He just doesn't want to admit it.

Al Haitham is not embarrassed. Why should he be? It matters not what she thinks of him. She isn't causing him any trouble. She isn't someone he needs to work with. If anything, she is just another person now. She doesn't affect him or his life. To think about her is meaningless. It serves no purpose.

He doesn't care about her. She means nothing. She's just another stranger. 

Oh, so this is about her, Kaveh's voice rings in his head. You're too embarrassed to face her! 

Great. Now imaginary Kaveh is here. But, thankfully, logic is Kaveh's worst enemy. 

And Al Haitham has a lot of logic.

Ok then, Kaveh, Al Haitham shifts the railing with more vigour. Let's say I am embarrassed. 

You are!

Then what would I be embarrassed about?

Well, about the whole fainting incident! You made a fool of yourself right in front of a total stranger!

So? I'm only a human being. My body has limits that I'm not ashamed of.

You know that's not what I'm talking about.

Oh? Whatever do you mean?

About the whole crying and-

Nope. Al Haitham immediately cuts his internal debate with imaginary Kaveh short. He is not going to think about that now. But of course, you can never stop racing thoughts. Particularly ones provided by imaginary Kaveh.

Don't wanna think about it?

I've already gone through that with myself yesterday.

And what did you find out? That you-

That it was simply tears of relief, Al Haitham lies. In regards to getting good food and rest. A natural human response.

Ha! Yeah right-

Imaginary Kaveh is interrupted once again by the sound of shifting behind Al Haitham. It must be her. Waiting for him to say something back.

Well? Turn around and talk to her!

Why should I?

Unbelievable! Not even going to thank her for helping you?

He knows he should. He wants to. But his voice isn't working. Plus, he can't even turn to face her.

I wonder why.

It's because I'm inspecting the railing. Boats in Sumeru must pass the Sumeru Maritime Port Authorities' safety check, and one of the basic-

It's just a loose railing, and you know it! You're fiddling with it as an excuse to not-

More shifting behind him. What is she trying to do? A quick glance to his left tells him the answer.

Hey, you idiot fungus. You're blocking the entrance to the seating area!

Shit, Kaveh is right. Imaginary Kaveh, that is.

Stand up and move!

Wait. But wouldn't it be weird to just stand up and move? Without saying anything else? That would imply that Al Haitham was paying attention to her but not speaking back. Wouldn't that be strange? Rude, even?

Oh, worrying about weirding her out? And since when have you ever cared about niceties?

Shit, imaginary Kaveh is right. Again. This isn't like him. At all.

Ugh! If you're not going to move, at least say something! You're making her feel uncomfortable!

Say what?! Why don't you suggest something helpful for once?

I don't know? It's your conversation! Not mine! Just ask something! Anything! Before this whole situation becomes too awkward beyond repair!

In a haste, much to imaginary Kaveh and Al Haitham's absolute horror, Al Haitham's mouth decides to go off on its own and ask the most stupid, brain-dead question.

"...You're also heading back to the village?" 

Oh, Archons.

Al Haitham shifts the railing from left to right. Maybe if he does that enough, by some scientific principle that he has not come across yet, it'll be like a lever, and time would rewind and-

When I said to ask anything, I meant something like "Slept well last night?" or "Were the toiletries I bought for you sufficient?" not whatever you just asked.

"Ah! Yes," she replies. "I, uh, live there." 

Great. Now she thinks you're an idiot, you idiot.

What kind of question is that? The answer is obvious. So obvious, that Al Haitham feels the need to redeem himself. A prickling sensation on his face spreads from his cheeks all the way up to the tips of his ears, and Al Haitham uses a hand to try to rub it away.

Archons, even asking what her name is would have been a better question than that!

Enough yapping! How can I fix this?

Al Haitham can't believe he's asking Kaveh, even if in imaginary form, for help. But desperate times call for desperate measures. And Kaveh-like problems require Kaveh-like solutions.

Well, start off by actually turning around to talk to her! Even imaginary Kaveh is surprised by his request for advice. Ask her what her name is! That sounds like a good way to kick-start a less awkward conversation. And save this whole interaction.

But I don't want a conversation. I-

Do you want her to feel even more uncomfortable than she probably already is?

With a deep sigh, Al Haitham tries to compose himself. Willing away the heat in his face, he stands back up. His knees ache a little, but he ignores the pain as he turns to face her but-

"I'm just going to head in first!"

And there she goes, bolting towards the now unobstructed entrance, leaving Al Haitham alone on the deck, momentarily stunned by her sudden departure.

She's barely two steps into the seating area when the ship rocks. Al Haitham catches his balance with practised elegance, but unfortunately, the same could not be said for her.

With a loud thud, she crashes into the ground as the boat begins to turn.

"Are you alright?" all earlier thoughts disappear from Al Haitham's mind as worry fills the gaps. Rushing over, he kneels at her side, watching her as she turns around with a hiss.

"It's fine." she winces, turning over before extending both legs.

"Your left ankle is starting to swell," Al Haitham mutters, comparing the size of her ankles through the straps of her sandals. "A sprained ankle."

"Well," She shifts to sit upwards. Leaning over, she takes a closer look at her ankle. "It doesn't look as bad as it feels."

"It may soon if we don't take care of it," Al Haitham shifts closer to her ankle. "May I?"

When she nods, he gently removes her footwear. Looking around the seating area, he frowns as he realises the absence of a first aid kit. That means no cold compresses or bandages.

"We'll have to elevate it," Al Haitham mutters. "Let's move closer to the benches."

"Ah, ok," she kicks her right leg inwards she pushes her weight onto it as she tries to stand. "Well-"

The boat wobbles, and she nearly falls again. , Al Haitham catches hold of her arm, steadying her.

"That isn't going to work," Al Haitham states before she could thank him. "Sit back down."

She does so, giving him a questioning look. Gently moving her legs so that her knees are outstretched and bent, he hooks an arm under her knee and uses the other to support her back as he stands.

"Woah!" her arms begin to flail.

"Calm down," Al Haitham moves his face away from a hand that nearly hits him. "Just- put that arm here."

"Where?"

"Shoulder," he huffs as he bounces her to secure his hold around her. "Hold on."

The boat rocks, but the Acting Grand Sage doesn't seem worried about falling. In fact, he walks on as if he's on flat ground. All while carrying you.

He gently places you down on the floor next to the nearest metal bench before kneeling next to you again.

"I'm just going to put your leg up here," he assists your ankle up on the bench. "Leave your ankle like this."

"Thank you," you murmur. "I'm sorry for the trouble."

He sighs, heading back towards the entrance to retrieve your sandals. You can't look at him as he walks back to you.

This is so embarrassing.

It was bad enough that things were already so awkward. Oh, Archons. You've already made a faux pas earlier at the deck. Now with this? He must be furious.

Then, in a move that proceeded to stun you- and honestly scare you a little he sits down.

On the floor.

All the benches around, and he chooses to sit on the floor with you.

"No need to thank me." the Acting Grand Sage releases another sigh as he relaxes his shoulders, leaning on the side of the bench beside yours.

He then pulls out a book from somewhere behind his cape and begins to read.

"Would you…prefer to sit on the bench? I'm sure it's much more comfortable there."

"It's a metal bench. It'll feel just as hard as the floor."

Again, another curt response.

Biting your lip in shame, you feel a heat roll up your cheek.

"Acting Grand Sage, I just want to apologise for-"

"Al Haitham."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"My name," he shuts his book, turning his head to face you now. "It's less of a mouthful compared to that. And you are?"

Name. Yes. You can give that.

You tell him your name, trying your hardest to keep your voice as stable as possible. You really don't want to embarrass yourself further.

He repeats your name with an almost contemplative tone. He said it softly, compared to the surrounding noises of the ship. But it's the only sound that fills your ears.

"You have nothing to apologise for," the Acting Grand Sage- no, Al Haitham says. With yet another sigh, he continues. "It's actually me who has to apologise."

"What do you mean?" you frown. You don't recall him doing anything wrong.

"I," he pauses, placing his book aside as his hand rubs against the back of his neck. "I'm sorry if I've made you feel uncomfortable."

He shifts slightly, fidgeting with the ends of his cape.

"I also have to apologise for getting you into this mess," he goes on. "And for not thanking you for helping me back then."

"There's no need to thank me for that!" you answer. "And there's no need to apologise as well. Everyone has been kind to me. This was all a misunderstanding."

And just like that, the awkwardness is gone. Instead, a soothing silence envelopes the space between the two of you. You finally get the courage to glance at him, and now that you're relaxed, you notice something a little strange about his attire.

He isn't wearing anything different than yesterday. But the cape-

His cape!

"I passed your cape to Cyno when I got to the hostel," you say, voice laced with worry. "Did you get it?"

That cape looked expensive. But more importantly, you don't think you'd be able to show your face to anyone ever again if you lost the Acting Grand Sage's cape.

"I did," you let out a sigh of relief. "Cyno passed it to me yesterday."

"Did you work through the night?" you ask.

"Yes. I managed to finish everything by dawn, so I went back home to rest before heading out again."

"At dawn? So you did work through the night then!" you huff. "You have to take care of yourself! If not, you'll pass out again."

"I was well rested after I fell asleep at your place."

"You did not fall asleep. You passed out!"

"Well, it was rest either way."

"Then, did you at least eat the wrap we gave you?"

He stills. Suddenly, the chatty vibe between the two of you had disappeared.

"I," he breaks the stillness. "I ate a little bit of it. On the way back to the Akademiya."

He looks a little guilty, but you let it go.

"I'll take your word for it."

Another silence fills the air. You wiggle the toes on your left foot. It aches, but not as much as before, thankfully. But it'll still be a pain to deal with on the walk back home.

"Did you rest well last night?" he asks, breaking the silence again.

"I did," you recall, thinking about that room you were given. "Do all Akademiya students live in rooms like that? Everything was provided!"

You had thought a student hostel would have only the bare essentials, like a bed, wardrobe and a desk. But in the room you were led to, everything you could have possibly needed was there. Soaps, room slippers, sanitary pads and tampons, and even snacks!

"…Yes," he stretches his neck. "I'm glad you got a good night's rest."

"You should get one too, you know?" you say, turning to face him. "Your friends are worried about you."

And they really are. To the rest of Sumeru, he may just be a temporary authority figure. But to Kaveh, he's his housemate and closest friend. And to Cyno, he's his rival and fellow comrade.

"I know they are," he shares. "But we all have jobs to do."

He looks up, out of the window, far out into the blue sky. It's a sunny day today.

"We should be back at the village in about an hour's time."

"Well, why don't you go get some rest then? I'll wake you when we arrive."

"Thank you." He gives your ankle one last look, making sure nothing got worse. Leaning his head back onto the side of the metal bench, he closes his eyes.

You pray to the Dendro Archon to make his dreams sweet as you watch sleep take him away.

"Did you get it?"

"I think so?"

"Oh, it's blurry! Let me try!"

"Kaveh, wait! Don't lean on that or-"

For an architect, Kaveh is surprisingly terrible at guessing the relative structural integrity of objects. This is why the boxes Kaveh thought were stable (and then proceeded to lean on) come falling down, much to Cyno's dismay.

Naturally, the shopkeeper was furious about Kaveh destroying a whole batch of new wares. Kaveh had racked up quite the bill (which Cyno feels will end up being paid for by Al Haitham), but-

"But it's all worth it. Look!" he gloats, showing Cyno the printed picture.

"Well, would you look at that? Told you this was a good idea!" Kaveh continues.

Well, Archons be damned.

Cyno isn't one who would usually follow Kaveh's pranks or ploys. But if it's going to keep producing results like this, he may consider calling Tighnari to join in on the fun.

"Told you I would be able to get them on the same boat," Cyno smirks, handing the photo back to Kaveh for safekeeping. "What now?"

"Now, we wait," Kaveh takes one last look at the photo, admiring their handiwork before shutting it together with the kamera inside his briefcase. "And when he comes back, oh, it will be fun."

Little did these two know what they have started.

Join the Taglist!

#al haitam x reader #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham genshin impact #alhaitham #al haitham #genshin x reader #genshin impact #hereandnow

[nahoney22]

Hey! Hope you’re enjoying the new season!

So, who are your top ten clones. GO!

this is gonna be tough and I won’t lie, I can’t pick 10 so it may be top 12 lmao

But, here’s my top 10(12) 😆

10th. Cody - Handsome dude and did break my heart in the prequels. Good soldier, sassy, and would return my lightsaber. 😊 hope he’s safe.

9th. Waxer - my first love and first heartbreak of TCW. Absolute sweetie and would be a great dad. I miss him 💔

8th. Joint at 8th place is Dogma and Fox - two slight controversial characters for some but absolute angels to me. Love writing for Dogma and Foxiyo until I die is what I say. Would smash.

7th. Wrecker - tricky placement. Cute. Handsome. Looks like a cinnamon roll, is a cinnamon roll and could kill me. Bit too loud for me sometimes though. Would cuddle 🤗

6th. Hunter - my type on paper to a T. Handsome and kinda but also moody. Coolest tattoo. Some choices are questionable but a morally good guy imo. Would brush his hair for him ❤️

5th. Wolffe - bark fucking bark. Or howl maybe. Handsome, moody, and a proper son to my favourite Jedi Plo. I need to and have to write/read more fics about him (open to recommendations pls)

4th. Rex - because how can there ever be a top 10 list without him? An OG. A legend. Sweet and a great leader and loyal to a fault. Again, would like to read or write more about him in fics. I’m not into blondes but for him? Yes.

3rd. Fives - oh my beloved fives. The nightmares are finally over. I have never hyperventilated over a characters death before until his. A legend, handsome and funny. I miss him a lot and wish there were more callbacks to him. Nobody would ever know if it wasn’t for him.

2nd. A hard spot to place but for me Echo and Crosshair are joint here. Two big personalities but very different and complex. I do think Echo is my favourite character to write about out of anyone and Crosshair is just… Crosshair. I like a bad guy but also a grey character in my eyes. Would give them both a kiss on the head and a cookie. 🍪

1st. Tech. Tech. Tech. Tech. Surprise surprise. A personal comfort character for me who I miss alot. Could not rewatch the show because of his death and I miss his big stupid brown eyes 😭 handsome, has the coolest gear, would marry. Either love him or hate him. For me, it’s love and beyond.

There you go 😆 again, this is just my personal favourites and I’m sorry if someone you hate is up there or if someone you love isn’t. It was a difficult choice.

Curios to see everyone else’s so feel free to RB and give me your top 10… or 12… or more! Reasons not necessary 😊

Thanks for the ask!

#the bad batch #star wars #clone wars #this was fun #but difficult #love all clones #tbb

[holewithinahole]

The Spirit's in It | Egon Spengler x nb!reader [1/3]

Summary: “I didn’t know psychology doctors also specialized in particle physics, is all.”

What you meant as a light joke to relax him did quite the opposite. He straightens, righting up his glasses one more pointless time. “I have a degree in nuclear engineering,” he states before walking out, leaving you confused and feeling like you’ve spent the entire time offending him unintentionally.

Warnings: dubious science, non-native writer, non-beta'd

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Ao3 Link

Woopsies, I'm back to plaster my insecurities on fictional characters. This work is part of a two-part series which follows the events of the Ghostbusters primary canon. The first part, set during the first movie, will be cut in 3 smaller bits for Tumblr. When all parts will be posted, I'll upload it on Ao3. The parts are all written, so it'll be released soon enough.

I just want to do a little disclaimer. Usually my 'reader' characters are very loosely characterized so anyone can project on them. However, this reader might not fit everyone? I'm sorry about that. Overall, if you're autistic, on the aro/ace spectrum or just a tiny bit ND, you might feel more connection to the reader lmao.

Ah! Also, the science sucks, pls ignore. It can be read as a prequel to It's always the quiet ones, btw.

Summer, 1984

This is a good song, you think, the beat intense enough to distract the back of your brain as you write down the last advancements of your research. You’ve spent the entire month of July reading books and other scientists’ papers, but not managing – until now – to sit down and order the large number of notes you piled up. Running on the pure energy of your hyper-focused state, a dozen cups of coffee and a single chocolate bar, you definitely didn’t notice the man stepping into your lab, not until you randomly glanced up and met the disconcerted gaze of an unknown guest.

“Excuse me?” he mouths out.

You straighten in your chair so quickly your back snap.

“Ah! Yes! Sorry, what is it?” you stammer, taking out your headphones with shaky hands and fumbling with your Walkman.

The man stands at the entrance of the lab, strangely stiff, seemingly assessing his next course of action before taking exactly four steps toward your desk.

“I would like to borrow a soldering iron.” He rights his glasses up his long nose.

The first thing you take note of is the low modulation of his voice; an unusual pitch that seems to vibrate directly out of his chest. The second is his wide, rigid build. From your chair, he towers over you, and your neck is starting to hurt from stretching uncomfortably (it might just be your overall terrible posture.)

You’ve been staring a little too long so you clear your throat and get up. “And you are? Not that I’m unwilling to lend you a soldering iron but I can’t just give my tools to strangers–”

“Dr. Spengler, I work at the psychology pole of this university,” he interrupts.

He looks at you like you’ve got a stain right in the middle of your forehead. You glance away.

“Psychology? What do you intend to solder? A loose neuron?” You stand up, cracking up a joke nervously.

“I assure you I don’t conduct any dangerous experiments on unwilling subjects.”

Despite the tension, it’s the ‘unwilling’ that does it for you and you let out a chuckle. Finally meeting his eyes, the light frown he adorns is either one of incomprehension or irritation, making you drop the smile immediately.

“Uh–” you croak out before you decide better not to say anything. You both end up looking awkwardly at each other, and time seems to be stretching to amplify your discomfort – and probably his as well. It feels like orbiting a black hole while he’s rushing through the universe at 18.5 miles a second.

Smart enough to be a researcher, stupid enough to ruin a simple conversation.

Fingers fidgety, you walk away to rummage through your closets, taking out the tool and handing it to him. “I do intend to have it back soon, Dr. Spengler.”

There’s a slight hesitation in his hand before he takes it, nodding curtly. In your defense, you do try to smile, even if it’s an uptight, embarrassing attempt. Oddly enough, he doesn’t leave, staring at the iron for a couple of seconds.

Abruptly, he clears his throat, looking intently at your face. “I’m improving a prototype that detects the presence of paranormal entities and directs me to them using a boron-trifluoride counter tube and a platinum electrode.” He doesn’t even take a breath. “A component of the rate meter I installed seems to be defective, and the cable of my soldering iron broke while I was working.”

He comes to a sudden stop, mouth half-opened but doesn’t resume his explanation. At a loss on how to react –and surely gaping at him considering you weren’t expecting to be slapped across the face by a presentation on neutron detectors, you whisper a small: “I see.”

A nervous twitch at the corner of his mouth makes your stomach drop.

“Uh, I mean; you can borrow mine!” You let out a tiny laugh. “I didn’t know psychology doctors also specialized in particle physics, is all.”

What you meant as a light joke to relax him did quite the opposite. He straightens, righting up his glasses one more pointless time. “I have a degree in nuclear engineering,” he states before walking out, leaving you confused and feeling like you’ve spent the entire time offending him unintentionally.

Ground control to Major Tom, your circuit’s dead, there’s something wrong, screams your forgotten Walkman.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dr. Spengler didn’t come back to your lab after your disastrous first meeting. He did return the iron, though. You simply found it on your desk one morning at seven o'clock, electric cable neatly wrapped around the handle.

You were secretly hoping for the doctor to come back to your lab to hand the iron back, so you could have apologized and asked more about his work, about his degrees… anything really. You had planned the interaction at least thirty times, going through a series of ice-breaking sentences that all relied on the fact that he would be back. He had preferred to avoid you, which couldn’t compel you to go see him yourself. Clearly, you had left a bad impression, and anxiety wouldn’t let you go look for him to apologize.

In the meantime, intrigued by his academic history, you started going through published papers by Dr. Egon – you quickly learned – Spengler. And if you thought you couldn’t get more curious about this mystery of a man, you browsing through numerous seemingly random articles – like ‘Quantum tunneling in anastomosis formations and nuclear exchanges’ – made you raise many eyebrows. Your fascination reached new heights with his brilliant article on ionizing radiation, written in M.I.T. no less. Egon Spengler had become the person you wished to chat with the most yet the most inaccessible.

You can think of a million questions to ask him, a million conversations to have. Why ionizing radiations? Did he have an interest in cosmic particles? Were his studies on gamma radiation related to his microbiology degree? How did he end up working in the psychology aisle of Columbia? Could ectoplasms really be quantified as a network of negatively charged particles?

Your life became filled with thoughts of the doctor, so you blamed it all on professional curiosity and you pushed yourself back into your work. Labs have been deserted by most researchers, preferring to treat themselves to a well-earned vacation. Nothing you can’t agree with in essence but previously attempted vacations had instilled a strong feeling of dread in you: you showed yourself incapable of not visualizing the amount of unfinished work. It’s not as bad as it sounds, really, to be work-obsessed; you love your work. Summer in Columbia is peaceful, solitary but also desperately unstimulating. Researching alone is undoubtedly slower, especially in your field, and knowing there’s an ideal candidate for some great brainstorming a few buildings away is nerve-wracking.

After an entire month going by with no new interaction with Dr. Spengler – not even sighting him at the corner of a corridor, the awkwardness that made him run away fuels your guilt. However, the opportunity of meeting again with Dr. Spengler comes unexpectedly. It comes with a mandatory meeting with the dean of the academy.

“You’ve been summoned as well, uh?”

You snap out of your social distancing trance. “Sorry?”

Next to you stands another professor with an easygoing smile and a relaxed stance. “Dean Yaeger. He likes to summon us like he’s royalty,” he jokes followed by a low staccato of a laugh.

“Oh,” you pointlessly say. “Yeah, he tends to do that.”

He offers his hand, showing another pearly-white-toothed smile. “I’m Dr. Ray Stantz, department of psychology.”

You offer your name back as you shake his hand. “Department of Physics.”

“Neat.” Dr. Stantz grins. “You should drop by our aisle sometimes. Spengs has a degree in physics; I’m sure you’ll get along well.”

“Who?”

“Dr. Egon Spengler, my colleague and friend.”

“Oh.” How you despise idle chatting. “I know him. He came to my lab to borrow a soldering iron about a month ago.”

“Venkman – our other colleague, forced him to go ask; he was so grumpy after being stopped in the middle of his experiment.” Dr. Stantz sure does enjoy making conversation. “He returned it, right?”

You have the impression he already knows the answer. “Yes, he did.”

“What field of physics do you specialize in by the way?” he asks excitedly. You have to say his jolly attitude is endearing, slowly getting you more at ease.

“High-energy physics.”

“That’s amazing, man. ‘actually wish I knew more about it. You should definitely swing by our lab soon. You can take a look at what we’ve–”

“Ah. Dr. Stantz.” Dean Yeager has the most distasteful expression on his face. “You may come in.”

Dr. Stantz gives you an apologetic look as Yaeger nods at you. You remain standing in front of the door, anxiety spiking up. Now you have no other choice than to go, or it’ll be rude, right?

Shit.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It took you more than a week of conditioning to get your ass moving, leading you, once more, in front of a closed door. You have to say, this part of the psychology department is far from what you’ve imagined. You wonder what Dr. Stantz, Dr. Venkman, and Dr. Spengler did to offend Dean Yaeger to the point of being located in the university equivalent of a demilitarized zone. No wonder they need to borrow equipment from the physics department. The bright red ‘Burn in hell Venkman’ tagged on the door isn’t the most welcoming sight either.

You reluctantly raise your hand and knock four times. The shuffling you hear inside almost makes you run away. But thankfully – or miserably you’re still unsure about that one, an unknown man opens the door. Dr. Venkman, you guess.

A lazy smile stretches on his face. “Can I help you?” There’s a low edge to his voice, something that’s intended and practiced.

You try not to come out as too appalled. “I’m looking for Dr. Spengler.”

Dr. Venkman raises an eyebrow, and you immediately chastise yourself. At that moment, you see Dr. Spengler popping his head behind him and you lose your train of thought… and your words. “Uh, Dr. Stantz told me to–”

Dr. Venkman opens his eyes almost comically wide, pivoting slowly between Dr. Spengler and yourself. “Aaal-right. You know what; I have to meet up with Veronica of the literature department so– I’ll leave you guys to it.” He claps obnoxiously on his friend’s shoulder before departing, sliding past you while whistling some tune.

You watch him go, slightly distracted when Dr. Spengler grabs your attention again. “Dr. Stantz isn’t here today.”

“Ah, I see…” No wait–

“He’ll be here tomorrow at 8 am.” He angles his body towards the inside of the room like he’s wanting to go back to what he was previously doing.

“Actually,” you force out, heart at the edge of your lips. “I wanted to apologize to you.”

Only the small widening of his eyes behind his frames indicates his surprise because his voice remains soft-spoken. “Apologize for?”

Better to be honest than invent a stupid excuse he’ll probably spot immediately. “Yes, I clearly made you uncomfortable last time. I was only trying to idle-chat, but I’m terrible at it.”

“What makes you think you made me uncomfortable?” Dr. Spengler asks.

A few seconds pass. “…because I went out of my way by questioning whether or not you had the knowledge to speak about particle physics?”

“Did you?” You realize he’s probably genuinely asking, not as a way to rile you up but as a way to understand. Somehow, it calms your nerves. Just a little.

“No,” you say. “I’m sorry… you just looked upset when you left.”

He faces you completely this time, taking his time to answer. “Then I’m the one apologizing. I was grateful for your help, but I failed to show it.”

Some part of you wonders if it’s entirely true. You brush it off. “It’s alright. I guess we’re not good at understanding social cues, uh?”

He seems to be pondering something. “I’ve been told that before.”

You chuckle. There’s a tension off his shoulders, and you thank Dr. Stantz internally.

“I’m actually working on a prototype of particle thrower. Your input would be appreciated.”

“A what?!”

#egon spengler x reader #egon spengler #ghostbusters imagine #ghostbusters #ghostbusters reader insert #non binary reader

[halloweenhoneylover]

slow going

summary: things have been weird between reader and steve and they’re trying to figure out how to not be weird (steve harrington x fem!reader)

word count: 10.2k (holy shit)

warnings: fluff, angst, smut (fingering, fem receiving oral, penetrative sex) (don’t read if you’re under 18!!!!!)

author’s note: still trying to get a handle on steve’s character, but i’m too obsessed w him to not write anything. i apologize in advance for the excessive use of run-on sentences and polysyndeton, but i don’t apologize for establishing steve as the king of consent. also first time writing smut pls be nice!!!!

if you’d like you can read the prequel to this, here

The tinkling of chimes alerted Steve to the presence of a new patron in Family Video. It had been a long evening of little action, no hordes of teenage boys wreaking havoc or families perusing for weekly movie nights. Likely it was due to the massive storm that had rolled in, rain pouring down in sheets and thunder that seemed to shake the foundations. June rain always came heavy like Genesis and rebirth in Hawkins. But the town was unfortunately unable to boast of the most state of the art infrastructure, and driving on those roads in this kind of weather was a perilous task that few braved. Steve was not excited to drive home at the end of his shift in an hour if this kind of weather persisted, but he didn’t mind the lack of customers; it offered some peace and quiet to log rentals and categorize incoming tapes. 

The sound of the door opening drew his attention away from the computer, ready to launch into his corporate-mandated greeting, but the words died in his throat at the sight of a long-time friend and short-term stranger dripping on the store’s welcome mat. 

“[Y/N],” he murmurs gently, unsure of how to acknowledge your unexpected appearance.

“Hi, Steve.” A small smile rests on your lips, feeling coy and unfamiliar under his gaze. A relatively new feeling with Steve. 

Determined to disperse the tension that had solidified almost instantaneously, he shakes his head and forces congeniality. “Dude, you’re soaking. Did you walk here?”

Still recovering from the sight of him, you stammer slightly, “Uh, no. I—uh, I biked.”

“You biked?”

As if only just realizing you were totally wet to the bone, you look down at your jacket sleeves sheepishly. “Yeah, I thought the storm was dying down.” You meet his gaze again. “It wasn’t.”

Steve can’t help himself when he barks out a laugh. Faced with the ridiculousness of the situation, you can’t help yourself when you join him, giggles pouring out of you. And for a moment, you both forget that things have been really weird between the two of you and that neither of you know how to act around each other now, and you laugh for a moment, and it’s like old times. It’s like you never confessed your feelings, and it’s like he never left you on that curb alone. But memories of that chilly night in March seep back in, and the laughter dies. Things aren’t right between you, but it’s a little warmer than before. 

“Well, is there anything I can help you with this fine evening?” Steve’s eyes are friendly, but his mind races with questions of why you came in tonight, and his veins are flooded with nostalgia and something else that he can’t really put finger on, but it feels eerily like regret. 

“Maybe. Do you guys have Alien?”

The look he gives you is withering. “With the amount of times you’ve rented this movie, you probably could’ve bought it five times over.”

A mischievous grin paints your features. “Yeah, but there’s something fun about watching you get mad at the money I’ve wasted every time I rent it.”

He rolls his eyes at that and hops over the counter to steer you to the sci-fi section. Sure, you know where it is, you’ve been here countless times, but he has to do his due diligence as an upstanding employee of Family Video, right? “I’m not mad, I just know you’re smart, and it’s a shame to see you neglect those brain cells every time you do something stupid like rent your favorite movie instead of buy it.” 

He pulls the familiar VHS case from the shelf and hands it to you, but you’re grinning up at him, and he feels something inside him shudder pleasantly. He chalks it up to the two and a half months he went without seeing you. And the thought of those months clouds his mind, and he clears his throat, curiosity getting the better of him. 

“How have you gone almost three months without seeing this movie? Did you betray the Family Video name and rent it from the library?”

The way he says it, it sounds like a joke, but the fact that he had acknowledged your friendship hiatus dampens your mood greatly, and something like shame shines in your eyes. “No, I could never betray FV, heh. Just—uh—Ben didn’t really like sci-fi.”

Deep down, Steve feels his ribs crack and his stomach drop at the mention of Ben, your new boyfriend. Robin had let it slip sometime mid-April that you were seeing someone, and while he played it off very cool and unaffected, Steve had felt abandoned. Something he hadn’t expected to feel and definitely wasn’t allowed to feel when he had abandoned you first. He had known Ben in high school; they were on the swim team together. He was a sweet enough guy and maybe good-looking, but Steve never paid enough attention to much outside of himself to notice, but he sure was paying attention now. 

“Ben didn’t like sci-fi,” he echoes faintly. 

You swallow harshly, uncomfortable. “Yeah. I guess I didn’t want to like, push my interests onto him, or something like that.” You spout an awkward laugh to cover the weird moment of unanticipated vulnerability, but Steve’s eyes only soften with a glint of something you perceive as pity which you hate. “But um, we kinda broke things off, so….”

Steve’s eyebrows raise and his eyes search yours. “Oh. Uh, I’m—I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, thanks,” you muster weakly.

He clears his throat again before ducking around you back to the desk. “Let’s get you checked out then.”

It’s silent as he clicks away at the computer, and the quiet is unbearable. Your hands clutch the counter, and you look anywhere in the store but Steve. He sneaks a glance at you. You seem to be glowing in the orange neon light of the FV sign behind him, skin shiny with rainwater, and he’s always known you were pretty, but there’s something about seeing you for the first time in months, and it churns in his gut. He hits a button before handing you the tape.

“How much do I owe you?”

He swipes his hand noncommittally and shakes his head. “Nothing. This one’s on me.”

“Steve—”

“No, no, I insist.” He looks at you with sincerity and a terribly remorseful smile, and it silences you instantly. You wonder why he looks sorry. 

“Okay.” It’s a near whisper. 

Despite some tether to Steve that urges you to stay, to muddle through whatever weirdness resides between you, you start towards the door with a wave.

“Oh shit,” he says in a way that is too loud for all of the moments that preceded it. “It’s still pouring, and you biked. Do you want a ride?”

You hesitate a moment. “What time does your shift end?”

He glances at the clock on the wall before waving it off. “I’m supposed to get off at 10, but this place is a ghost town. Nobody came in hours before you, and I highly doubt anyone is gonna come by later in this shitstorm.”

You shift a little, your clothes waterlogged and heavy on your body. “I don’t want you to get in trouble….”

He scoffs, “There’s no way Keith’ll find out, unless you tell him.” And then he looks at you very seriously, but you can see the joke simmering behind the umber of his eyes. “[Y/N/N], are you gonna snitch on me?”

It’s your turn to scoff. 

“See, there you go. I’ll be fine! Let me just grab my keys, and we can head out.” 

He heads into a backroom, and you wait, clutching Alien close to your chest. Excitement bubbles in your chest, and then a weird discomfort leaks in when you become aware of the excitement. Excited for proximity, excited for closeness with Steve. I’m excited to see Steve because he is a dear friend who I have not seen in a long time, and I have missed him as a friend. 

While cementing your new mantra, Steve bursts from the back with his keys dangling from his pointer finger and a vigor that you don’t quite understand. On the wall behind the desk, he flicks a switch and the illuminated Pretty in Pink poster on the wall and the neon Family Video lettering go dark. He jogs towards the door, opening it and gesturing you out politely, and you helplessly watch his mania, slightly confused but mostly entertained. “M’lady,” he sing-songs with the cheekiest grin. 

Your face morphs into one of bemused disgust, and you stare at him as you walk out of the store. “You’ve been hanging out with Robin and Dustin too much.”

He shrugs casually. “They’re pretty much all I have now that—” he stops himself and grimaces with the knowledge of his slip-up. He doesn’t have to finish the sentence for you to know that it ends with now that we don’t hang out. 

Guilt echoes in the cavity of your chest painfully, but you don’t really want to go back to painful silence, so you say, “They’re good company, though.” You smile at him, and he smiles back, but neither of you really feel it. 

And maybe because you’re a masochist, you continue with a forced light tone, “You used to be on dates all the time. Is the female population of Hawkins not also good company still?”

He looks out to where the rain is still heaving with an unreadable expression. “I don’t—I don’t really go on many dates anymore.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I don’t know. Just got tired of it. None of them….” Steve tries to think of something to say that won’t give him away entirely because he can’t say none of them were you. That wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t be fair to you, who had laid your heavily guarded heart on full display for him on that crumbling asphalt, an offer that he had wrapped up nicely and handed right back. “None of them were right for me, I guess.”

You nod solemnly. “I hope you find your right one, Stevie.”

He looks down at you with a wounded expression and wide eyes, and you cannot understand why he looks like that, but you persist anyway. “I really do.”

The silence that follows is filled with mourning. Mourning for missed opportunities and the fickleness of chance. The air is thick, and neither can bring themselves to break it. 

So, Steve nods, and with a gentle hand on your elbow, he ushers you to his car. You both scramble to find refuge from the rain, fumbling with the door handles, and by the time you’re sitting in the front seat, you’re both panting with the frantic effort. 

“We can get your bike tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

He starts the car, and you expect him to pull away into the night, but instead, he sits with the engine running, staring straight ahead. Your brows knit with concern “Steve? Are you o—”

“Did you ever think Ben was your right one?”

The question shocks you into laughter, which has him frowning in confusion. “I don’t know.” You ponder for a moment. “I really don’t know! It was only a couple months, I don’t think you’re supposed to know after that long. He was cute and smart. He thought I was pretty, maybe.” The insecurity tacked on the end makes something in him buckle, wondering how someone could not be completely and utterly convinced that you are one of the prettiest people alive. “I don’t know. He was nice to me.” Your voice is feeble, and Steve can’t help the shame that floods his brain, thinking of the time that he most definitely wasn’t nice to you. And while he feels completely incapacitated, he nods slowly and puts the car in reverse. 

He stretches a hand behind your headrest to see out the back as he reverses, but his closeness makes you ache as you stare up the length of his strong arm to his handsome face concentrated on driving. He takes his hand back to set the lever to drive, and you want to grab it, keep it close, set it on your thigh, your waist, your cheek, anything, but you remain still. 

You drive in silence for a minute or two, listening to the rain and the beat of the windshield wipers before Steve summons the courage from somewhere he can’t understand and says, “Do you want to come over?”

It’s the second time tonight that he’s really shocked you, and he registers your shock before backpedaling. “You don’t have to, it’s just I live closer than you do, and I have some dry clothes you could borrow.” He grips the steering wheel for support before continuing. “And we haven’t seen each other in a while. I thought it’d be nice.” His breath is short, feels like he’s working really hard to reclaim everything that belongs in his lungs. “Plus, we could watch your movie. Sigourney Weaver’s hot.” He’s about to cringe, and then you laugh, and he wishes that was his only job, to make you laugh.

“Yeah, she is,” you murmur pensively. Steve can see you thinking, and his chest feels like it’s about to burst with the desperate hope flowering inside. You offer him another small smile before it widens graciously, and you nod your head. 

“Yeah, that sounds fun.”

—

The sound of your footsteps upstairs jolts Steve with pangs of familiarity. He’s sitting on his kitchen counter, losing his mind, because it’s been a long while since you’ve been in his house, and he wants to make sure that you’ll come back sooner rather than later. Next to his head, the microwave hums and casts a honey-colored light on his face as the kernels inside it begin to burst. And before he knows it, it’s beeping, and your socked feet are padding down the stairs.

Grabbing a bowl, he pours the popcorn in and turns his head to see you lean against the doorframe. Your still damp hair has been pushed out of your eyes, and you’re wearing an old Hawkins High basketball sweatshirt of his and a pair of shorts he’d long forgotten about. You look clean and somewhat revived after shedding your previous outfit, and he feels like you fit here, smiling and gentle, wearing his clothes. 

“Thanks for letting me change.”

“Of course, you were starting to look like a drowned cat.”

You chuckle again, and he has to tamp down the soaring of his heart at the sound. 

“I was starting to feel like one too.”

You cast a few glances around the room, the home still so familiar but seeming somehow different this time around. Wordlessly, Steve grabs the bowl of popcorn and jerks his head towards the door to the basement, signaling you to go ahead. You snag the rented VHS from the counter, push open the door, and start trundling down the stairs. “How many times do you think this’ll be for you?” you call up after him.

“What do you mean?” He rounds the couch, setting down the popcorn and instinctively catching the VHS you toss his way.

Settling into the well-worn leather of the couch’s corner, you rest your legs on an ottoman pushed up against the couch. “How many times do you think you’ll have seen this movie now?”

He’s kneeling to put in the tape as he shakes his head with a tender smile and answers, “Hard to say. You made me watch this at least once a month for a year and half, but I’m bad at math, so I don’t know how many that is.” He doesn’t realize his teasing lands sourly, and when he turns to look at you again, you’ve crossed your arms defensively and retreated further into the couch with a sullen, thoughtful look. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that. You didn’t make me; I really like Alien. You know, hot Sigourney Weaver.” He tries his joke again, but it doesn’t elicit the same reaction the second time around. You’re worrying your lip between your teeth, and he wishes you would stop because you have a bad habit of biting until you bleed. 

Finally, you look up at him with big sorrowful eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Confused, Steve collapses onto the couch next to you, and his eyes search yours, all wide and shiny. “For what?”

Before he’s done looking, your eyes shift away, and he feels a little hollow without you looking at him. “I don’t know,” you whisper. “Being a bad friend, I guess. Forcing you to like all the stuff I like, being overbearing.” A beat. “We’re not very alike, are we?”

When your eyes meet his again, there are tears pooling at your waterline, and he feels his chest imploding at the sight, wishing with all his might for you to stop crying, especially when you did nothing wrong. “No, we’re not, but that doesn’t really matter. That’s what friends do: they watch their movies and listen to their music and go to their basketball games. I like things because you like them, and you’re my friend. It’s not overbearing, it’s love, ya know, it’s contagious.”

He’s seen the face you’re wearing before: all vast and exposed and defenseless, every emotion swimming plainly beneath your lashes, and your jaw tilting up like you want to be kissed, and you’re watching him like your life depends on it. He saw it on that night in March when he denied you, and now he thinks that he could never deny you anything if he tried, wonders how he ever denied you before. Slowly, he presses forward, gingerly nudging his nose into yours, silently asking permission. You close your eyes, and your lips part ever so slightly, so he closes the distance and kisses you. 

It’s a homecoming with fluttering confetti. He moves slowly, the world suspended, and he brings a hand to your jaw, sturdy and lithe underneath his fingertips. He only realizes it’s all he’s ever wanted until it’s happening and he never wants it to stop. And with this realization, he deepens the kiss and pushes into your mouth gently like he wants to consume you because he does. The desperation on his tongue is evident, and a giddy moan rumbles in your chest, a sound he eagerly swallows. The hand on your cheek skims down the skin of your neck, the fall of your shoulder, and finds its home on the curve of your waist. Steve’s above you, holding you, and it’s a dream come true, so when he pulls himself away, gazing down at you with soft, dark eyes, to whisper are you sure?, your answer is a wheezing please.

Something feral inhabits him with the desperation in your voice, and he’s licking at your jaw, mouthing at your pulsepoint until that something overcomes him, and he bites your neck, a heady groan erupting viciously from your throat. He’s got an elbow propped by your head to give himself leverage, and his other hand is roaming, squeezing, gripping your hip like he’s afraid this is his last chance to touch you and he has to know what every soft part of you feels like. 

“Steve.” Your voice falters under the weight of your desire. 

“Steve.” It’s not a question or a command, just another way of confirming that the man over you is real and is touching you like he wants you. 

His one hand finds the edge of your sweatshirt, and he breaks away once again to look you in the eye. “Can I?”

You nod dumbly, and he sits up, allowing both of his hands to find the hem and tug it over you. It’s mostly a successful venture until something gets caught, and everything is out but your head. Muffled slightly comes, “Steve, wait, I’m stuck.” It slightly clears the haze of lust that permeated the basement, and Steve can’t help but laugh. “Nooo, don’t laugh,” you chide but the unmistakable beginnings of a giggle fray the edges of your seriousness. “Steve, help me!” Peals of laughter collect like shiny curls of ribbon while he finally pulls the sweatshirt over your head, and you both remember that you are friends, good ones at that, who like each other and make each other laugh, and it’s perfectly happy. 

It takes a minute for insecurity to catch up to you in this state, but it’s perennially punctual, and while you’re still smiling, you cross your arms. “Don’t do that, let me look at you.” Your hopes of hiding are dashed as Steve tenderly wrests your arms apart, and he looks at you like you’re beautiful, and with the appraising look in his eyes, you finally feel it. He stares at your body for a long time, longer than you ever thought someone would want to look, and he traces a single finger down the skin above your rib cage. “You really are something else,” he murmurs. 

You can’t help but press, “In a good way?”

He smiles wide at that. “In the best way.”

He takes both hands to your face, leaning down to kiss you because he can’t not kiss you anymore. His hands make their way to your waist again, and you don’t feel bad about it. His fingertips press into your skin and press up your body until they meet the elastic of your bra. When his eyes meet yours this time, he doesn’t have to ask, and you’re nodding vehemently. Arching your back to grant him access, he slips a single hand to the clasp, which he undoes expertly. He leans back to take the bra with him, but you hold it to your chest. 

Searching your eyes for insecurity, he only finds prickly, teasing suspicion.

“You’re kind of a pro at that. One-handed.”

It’s his turn to be sheepish, and he doesn’t really know what to say.

“Have you gotten a lot of practice with that? Take all your girls down here and impress them with that move?”

Leaning back on his heels on the ottoman, he grins down at you all laid out and cheeky, having finally claimed the upper hand. “So it was impressive?”

You shrug coyly, but the way your lips curl is anything but. “Maybe! Who’s to say? Really it lets me know that you, Steve Harrington, are a total womanizer.” He looks to the side away from you with a smile and a blush that is unfamiliar to you, and it makes your heart squeeze. “I’m willing to let it slide…for a price.”

His eyebrows lift incredulously, and he shifts his gaze back to you. “How steep are we talking?”

You pretend to contemplate it very seriously with a pensive finger tapping your lips in thought before you gasp theatrically. “I think you need to take your shirt off.”

His laughter spills out, your giggles accompanying soon after. He shrugs with the biggest, most smug grin on his lips and grabs the hem of his sweater. “Well if fair is fair….” And it’s over his head in a second, revealing his broad, tanned chest, and you don’t mean to, but you heave a quick intake of breath because while you’ve seen this before at his pool, at the lake, you’ve never seen it in this context. A context where you’re allowed to touch. 

So you do. Mirroring his earlier touches, you reach out and trail a couple fingers down his hard stomach, fingertips tracing down and brushing the happy little trail of hair that collects at the bottom. He watches you fondly, granting you this moment of appreciation after being allowed it himself. “Stevie,” you whisper. “You’re so pretty.”

“I’m pretty?” His smile cannot be contained. You’ve got the moon in your eyes, and he can’t really believe it’s there while you’re looking at him.

“Yeah.”

“I’d argue you’re prettier.”

“It’s not a competition.”

He chuckles again at that, taking your hand feather-soft in both of his and bringing it up to his face. He delicately places kisses on each fingertip and on your palm before curling your fingers in and pressing your closed hand against his face. 

It burns the tip of his tongue, churns in his stomach. I love you. 

But he doesn’t say it. He can’t explain why, but he doesn’t. Though he thinks that if you’re any good at reading him (which you are), you would be able to see it written plainly across his face, see it in the way he looks at you. 

And maybe you do see it because you gently pull your hand away and grab the straps of your bra resting loosely on your chest. You’ve always been made up of walls and defensiveness and toughness, protecting a soft, pink inside. All heady eye contact and heavy breath, you slowly pull the garment away from your chest, and Steve thinks it’s a metaphor. Then, he can’t believe he’s thinking about metaphors and English class while the girl of his dreams is taking off her bra in front of him, but nonetheless, to him it’s a metaphor for crumbling walls and vulnerability because he can see it in your eyes. You look scared. Like at any moment he might decide he doesn’t want you anymore, and he’ll leave you soft and pink and bleeding. Guilt curdles in his stomach because he knows he’s done that before, but he vows to make you know that he’ll never do it again. 

So, he reaches out, his arms strong and sure, and he runs his hands down your sides to hold your hips firmly and lets his gaze run wild over the soft expanse of you. He lets you steal his breath as he holds you down and looks at you. His eyebrows are furrowed and his head shaking when he whispers, “You’re not real.”

Your eyebrows pinch in silent questioning.

“You’re not real,” he repeats. “There’s no way. You can’t be real. This has to be a dream. You are a dream.”

“Steve,” you chide, but the smile pulling at your lips is unmistakable as your insides twist and curl joyously. “You’re being cheesy.”

“No, I’m not, [Y/N/N]. I’m just telling the truth.” He starts to grin because you’re laughing again. “I’ve got to be sleeping because there’s no way you look like this, and you’re letting me touch you.”

“Steve!” Your admonishment falls flat under the peals of your laughter. 

“I’m being serious!”

“Okay, weirdo.”

Holding your waist, Steve leans forward to lay wet kisses on your collarbone. “I’m a serious guy.”

You run a hand over his head to hold his neck fondly. “I know you are. Super serious guy.”

The teasing subsides as his mouth laves lower on your chest, from the hollow of your neck to your sternum to the gentle curve of your breast. He can feel the rise and fall of your ribs as your breath gets deeper, shakier. His lips are soft until his teeth are not, and you cry out. “Sorry, baby.” If you weren’t breathless before, you definitely were now after the pet name, and he continues his kisses with smug lips. He switches sides, kissing and licking and sucking, and once he starts using his teeth again, you know there will be purplish spots to look forward to. 

His hands with minds of their own have found purchase on your hips, mindlessly fingering the hem of your shorts. It tickles a little, but you are somewhat preoccupied with his mouth’s business that you can’t find it in yourself to reprimand him, but it doesn’t stop you from squirming slightly. One finger boldly slips over the short’s elastic, and he glances up at you from under his weirdly luscious boyish eyelashes. “May I?”

A breathless laugh. “What manners you have.”

His eyes remained trained on yours, waiting, your answer not sufficing, and the seriousness in his eyes almost sucks the levity from the room. You want to spend hours considering his thoughtfulness, his care, but you don’t have hours, so you nod and whisper, “Yes. Steve, please.”

He’s kissing you again, and his hand is making its way down your shorts. When a solitary finger runs the damp gusset of your underwear, you rasp in a gust of air. He chases your lips for a chaste peck. “Are you still wet from the rain, or are you just happy to see me?” He breathes a laugh into your mouth which opens into a brilliant giggle. 

You don’t have the time to come up with a witty response before he’s rubbing that finger along you again. There’s nothing precise about it, but the pressure alone is enough to leave you panting. Steve, thoughtful as ever, kisses your neck again, leaving your mouth free to choke down air. By the time his hand is moving again, the cotton of your underwear is nearly soaked. He snaps the elastic of your underwear against your stomach, eliciting a pitchy whine he’s never heard before but would like to hear again. His fingers slide underneath the waistband, and you’re completely mindless with his hand against the real thing. He cups your mound, just holding you for a minute, and you think it’s comforting until you feel something down there gush, and you’re mortified by the wet that must have doused his fingers. Steve notices you shift uncomfortably, so he looks up to your face where your embarrassment is written plain in the heat of your cheeks. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, in fact it’s extremely hot, so Steve pulls his hand from your shorts and pins you down with his gaze while he brings his shiny fingers to his lips and sucks two in his mouth. Maybe it’s unprofessional, but your jaw drops, and you gawk, still holding eye contact. He pulls his fingers out with a soft pop.

“You taste good.”

The whiny moan you let out sounds like something from those movies in the back of Family Video, and Steve can’t help but smile to himself as he slots his hands down your shorts again. He slips his middle finger into your folds where the slick hasn’t stopped accumulating, and he gently runs it from clit to opening where he teases slightly. Any semblance of control over the noises you’re making has been lost, and you’re glad, for once, that his parents are never home. He expertly collects some of the wet to grease little circles on your swollen clit, and his mouth is on your chest again, his tongue about as wet as your pussy. You’re not sure it can get any better until his middle finger slides down to your entrance and his thumb finds home on your clit. The pad of his thumb is moving up and down while his middle finger carefully pushes into you. He curls his finger inside you, and you never knew Steve was so dexterous, but you’d never be caught complaining now. His touch is gentle but purposeful, knowing exactly where to stroke to find the soft spot inside that drives you wild. When he feels your cunt is no longer gripping his finger so tightly, blooming with arousal, he presses a second finger in, a move that has you keening into a throw pillow on the couch. 

Your mouth is open in a silent scream, jaw tight. He notices this and brings his unoccupied hand to tenderly tuck stray strands of hair behind your ears. He then cups your cheek, his thumb swiping fondly over hot skin. His fingers are still moving, but he’s whispering now, “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you.” Maybe it’s the heat he’s stirring up in your lower half, or maybe it’s the plain affection in his tone, but tears spring to your eyes.

“Steve, please.” It’s a plaintive susurration, and he knows what you need, pressing his lips to yours. It starts soft and reassuring but turns into a devouring. Your hungry lips seem to be the only thing capable of expressing the ache in your chest. 

You would have been content to stay there forever, but the heat in your gut is becoming increasingly hard to ignore, and after a particularly strong stroke of his thumb against your clit, you’re crying out again, more urgently this time. 

“Pretty girl,” he says against your open mouth, noses pressing into each other. “You can let go, I’ve got you.” His fingers continue their ministrations until a deep gasp, and he knows you’re there. Your breath is hot on his face, your moans hotter, and he smiles to himself, not smug but sentimental as all hell. He works you through it because he’s a gentleman and because he needs a moment to recover himself after becoming conscious of the slick of your cum collecting in his hand. 

Your eyes are closed with a blissful smile pinching your cheeks when you have finally revived enough to speak. “I’d heard you were good, Harrington, but I didn’t know you were that good.” 

“Was always getting ready for you.” It’s partially a joke, and it’s partially not. 

Luckily, you only hear the joke and laugh, so he doesn’t have to confront the very real part of him that becomes aware of the not-joke’s implications. He can’t really think about that right now, so instead, he carefully retrieves his hand from between your thighs, wipes it clean on his jeans, and places long strokes up and down your bare arm as your breath finally settles.  

When you open your eyes, Steve is carefully tracing your body with his gaze, his shoulder and chest pressed up against your side, but he grins when he sees you looking at him. “Do you wanna keep going?”

Nerves dance lightly in your chest, but they’re good nerves, so you nod with a matching twist of your lips. 

His eyebrows raise. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, hold on.” He removes himself from your side, and the loss is devastating. You weren’t really aware of how much heat he was generating against you until he was gone. Grabbing a nearby pillow, you hold it to your chest to maintain a decency that doesn’t really matter anymore and twist to see over the back of the couch where Steve has gone to a closet that you had previously known as VHS tape storage. He stretches up to the top shelf, and you no longer try to dampen the warmth in your stomach at the sight of his freckled back rippling with muscles. He gets down a box and pulls out a condom, and you scoff in disbelief. “You’re telling me the VHS closet has doubled as the condom closet this whole time?” 

He shrugs. “You can’t reach the top shelf.”

“Oh my god.” But your incredulity has dissolved into laughter once again, and his grin is absolutely shit-eating as he replaces the box on the shelf and rounds the couch. He stands, inspecting you sprawled on the couch and ottoman.

“Yeah, this won’t do. Hold on.” 

You yelp as he grabs you by the knees and reorient you so you’re laying on the couch length-wise. He seems pleased to manhandle you and to see how breathless you are after doing so. “Much better.”

He crawls onto the couch, and you heave your legs apart so he can settle in between them on his knees. “Eager much?” he quips lightheartedly, but he can see the flash of self-doubt in your eyes, the fear that maybe you were doing too much, wanting too much. He places a hand on your calf and skims up and down. “No, me too.” He swallows funny before venturing into touchy-feely. “I don’t think you know how much I’ve wanted this.” There’s a whisper of confusion on your face that disperses as fast as it came, and you smile softly. 

He notices the pillow still covering your chest and reaches to tug the corner. “Can I have this?”

You let go of the pillow, and you feel bare, the cold of the basement no longer mitigated by Steve’s proximate warmth, causing your nipples to harden. His gaze is openly obsessive, ravenous and the pillow in his hand forgotten. “I don’t think this view will ever get old.”

“You’re gonna catch flies.”

He whips back into shape with your teasing and remembers the pillow. Sticking the condom in his pocket to free up a hand, he sneaks the hand under your hips. “Lift.” You do as he says, and he slides the pillow under you, canting your hips up to him. His hands attach to your waist and slide to your hips, once again fiddling with the waistband of your shorts. With furrowed brows, he glances over the shorts (his shorts) and looks up at you with concern. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but the lending period on these bad boys has elapsed.”

With a roll of your eyes, you stare back unamused. “Steve, I know you are not using a Family Video script as dirty talk right now.”

Despite your protests, he persists with the bit. “I really am sorry, ma’am, but with your permission, I need to take these back.”

“Okay, yeah fine alright.” You sigh and let your head loll to the side.

“Alright?” he asks, a shade more serious.

You meet his eyes and nod. “Alright.”

“Alright!” And with renewed enthusiasm, he tugs the shorts over your hips and down your legs, tossing them to the side. “And because I believe in equality,” he says while standing. “I’ll also do you the honors.” Proud as ever, Steve slides his pants down his legs, leaving him in boxers. Chuckling, you clap lightly and give a little whoop! He bows like a dork.

He starts toward you but quickly stops, mumbling an oh shit as he drops to the ground and searches his jeans’ pockets. Triumphantly, he pulls out the condom he nearly forgot, and you snort. “My hero.”

He comes back and settles between your legs on his knees again, setting the condom on the nearby ottoman. His attention zeroes in on your underwear, and his fingers are greedy, petting down your lower stomach and finding the waistband. He sees how shiny the inside of your thighs are and how soaked the fabric is, and his suave persona falters, baser instincts making something in his stomach tighten. “We really made a mess down here, didn’t we?” You flush and let out a nervous giggle. His gaze tracks to your eyes, asking the silent question. You nod. 

He pulls the cotton down your legs slowly, reverence in his gaze, in his hands. A shuddering breath from both of you. Once free of your legs, your underwear is tossed aside. You’re not really sure what’s going to happen next, but he picks up your leg, lifting it to his lips. Locking eyes with you, he presses chaste kisses to your ankle, up your calf. He sets your foot down, knee bent a little, and stretches out, laying down on the rest of the couch. He continues his line of kisses, brushing his lips against the inside of your knee tenderly, and it makes you shiver. Your chest is heaving with heavy breaths, your fingers gripping the leather of the couch. Giving your other leg its proper due, he laves wet, open-mouthed kisses to your inner thigh, growing closer and closer to where you want him most. He’s nearly there when he decides to nip the soft skin of your thigh, his teeth sharp but his tongue soothing. He noses against the plush of your skin affectionately, and something about it makes you want to cry. Then he’s where you need him, and instead of touching you, he’s breathing in deep through his nose. He’s smelling you, and you want to cry for a very different reason.

“Steve, please.” Begging sounds unfamiliar on your tongue, but he doesn’t mind it one bit. He hoists your legs over his broad shoulders, one hand wrapped around the expanse of your thigh and the other holding your hip in place. He purses his lips and blows a quick burst of cold air to your wet center that has you whining before licking into the velvet of your sopping folds. His kisses are ravenous, starved. He knows how to eat pussy with skill and dexterity, but at the moment, he’s more concerned with getting his mouth on as much of you as possible, and you don’t seem to mind, mewling helplessly. After a long stripe up the length of you, something in you cracks, and your fingers twist in his hair to hold yourself together, and lightheaded, he thinks that he would never leave his place between your thighs if you gave him the opportunity. 

Finally satisfied that he’s tasted as much of you as possible, his movements become more specific, sucking your clit in between kitten licks, and it seems like you like it because your cunt is weeping, slick pouring out of you and onto his face. You tug on his hair, and it’s his turn to moan voraciously. 

“Stevie, baby—” If you were going to say anything else, the words are lost as a groan rips from your chest, Steve diving back into you with a hunger he’s not sure will ever be sated. He’s licking into you, and your stomach is jumping with the pure pleasure, your blood boiling. When he comes back to your clit, kissing gently, it happens all at once, unexpected, and you’re gushing again. Thighs closing around his head, Steve laps at the wetness flowing out of you, taking until there’s nothing left to give. He’s too much, and you’re too sensitive, and you’re crying out, but he doesn’t relent until the heel of your hand presses against his forehead, pushing him away.

You’re out of breath but manage to quip, “Eager much?”

He huffs out a laugh, leaning his head against your thigh and slick gleaming on his face. You sit like that for a minute, letting your breathing slow and him nestling into the warmth of your legs. When he checks in on you, your eyes are closed and your breathing deep but an ever present smile on your lips. “D’you wanna go to bed?”

You chuckle. “Stevie, we didn’t come this far to stop now.”

“But we can, though.” His brow furrows, and he looks at you seriously. “We can stop whenever you want.”

You can’t help but smile at his concern, and you grapple for his hand. You intertwine your fingers with his. “Thank you, Stevie. But if you’re down, I would absolutely love to have sex with you right now.”

He grins. “Yeah, alright.” 

Reluctantly pushing himself out from between your legs, he moves to a sitting position, lifting his hips to take off his boxers. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you watch him with a goofy grin, stupidly excited just to have fun and feel good with him. He slips his underwear off, his cock springing up and leaking precum. 

“Woah.”

He grabs the condom from the ottoman. “What?”

“Just—confronted by the man, the myth, the legend.”

He swats weakly at your leg with the back of his hand. “Shut up.”

He rips the condom open, rolling it on with practiced ease. “What! You’ve been the talk of the town for a while, King Steve, and I just gotta say you’re living up to your reputation.” 

Rolling his eyes, he shifts back onto his knees on the couch, but when he looks at you, he can tell your disguising your nerves with teasing. He softens, running a hand down your leg. “We’ll go slow.” You meet his gaze and smile gratefully. 

Shuffling up close to you, he leans over you to kiss you. It’s gentle and says everything he can never say to you out loud. Your hands lift to his jaw, holding him to you, not letting him break away, but he’d never leave if you wanted him to stay. You pull away for a moment, foreheads still pressed together. “I’m ready if you’re ready,” you whisper. 

He nods with a smile, running a hand over your head to land on your neck while placing a peck on your hairline. The small dose of affection has your heart racing and butterflies stirring in your stomach ruthlessly, and you lay back, giddy. He sits back on his knees and takes a second to let the immensity of this moment weigh on his shoulders, on his heart. You’re otherworldly laying soft and pliant, hips tilted up, presented to him. One hand grabs your hip, thumb massaging into the fullness of flesh there, and the other takes your knee and hikes against his hip, palm skimming down the abundance of your thigh. His grip on you is tight as if the tighter he holds, the more real this moment is, the longer he can hold onto it, and when you’re looking up at him like he hung all the stars in the sky, it knocks the wind right out of him. “You’ve got to be a real life angel, [Y/N/N].” His words make your eyebrows pinch, and you’ve lost count of the amount of times tears have sprung to your eyes this evening.

He keeps a steadying hand on your hip but takes the other to hold himself while he lines himself up with your entrance. One last glance up to you for a silent nod of permission, and he begins to press into you. It’s ever so slow, but he’s girthy, so you’re already letting your head loll while moans pour out of you thick and unhurried like hot syrup. Steve’s wrangling his own feelings at how tight and wet you are, and he has to get himself together so he doesn’t blow before the real thing has even started. He’s only a few inches in when he hears a hiss of pain and an ouch! His stomach lurches with guilt and worry, and he stops moving immediately and looks to where your face is scrunched up. “Are you okay?”

You nod vehemently, eyes still squeezed shut. “Yeah, I just—ah—I’ve never done this before with someone so….”

“Yeah, I know.” His hands are back at your hips, thumbs working the muscles there to relax you and ease any discomfort. 

“You know?” you chuckle breathlessly. “That’s a little presumptuous of you.”

“Sorry, baby.”

“S’okay, Stevie baby.” The pet name is said jokingly, but his heart squeezes, so he squeezes your hips. He laughs, full of mirth, and it makes you laugh too, and he can feel you start to relax, the tension in your body dissipating. 

“Do you wanna stop?”

“No, I think I’m good, you can keep going.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

The slide in is easier now, and you’re tight now only because you’re clenching in pleasure. “Ohhh,” and it’s like you’ve only just realized that this actually feels really good. A second more and Steve is fully sheathed in you, and you’re both groaning relentlessly. He doesn’t move, letting you get acclimated to the feeling of being full. 

“You feel so good,” he pants, head thrown back and Adam’s apple bobbing. “You feel so good.”

“Steve, baby, please move.” At your behest, he’s pulling out slowly still, and it sounds obscene and wet because your slick is incessant, and Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever love a pussy as much as he loves yours. Your whine is coming from deep in your throat with the loss of his thickness in you, but it explodes into a girlish wail as he starts pushing back in again. Fully seated in you, he readjusts, resting an elbow by the side of your head and sliding an arm beneath your back. Melting into his embrace, you throw your arms around his shoulders to feel the warm, freckled expanse of his back. Like this, it’s all skin on skin and breathing each other’s breath, and if you could crawl inside his skin, you would. His hips begin a faster rhythm, pistoning steadily into your wet heat which is getting hotter and wetter by the moment. It’s all curling pleasure, and you don’t mean to, but your fingernails dig into the muscle of his shoulders. Everything in you is trembling, so you bury your face in his neck, where he smells like cologne and sweat. 

“Steve!” It’s muffled by salty skin.

“I know, baby, you’re doing so well.” His praise rips a whine from you. “Taking me so well, pretty girl.”

He wants to kiss you, but your mouth is hidden, so he does the next best thing: mouth wetly at your neck, bite the spot below your ear, suck bruises into the well of your collarbone. You respond with a bite to his shoulder, and it almost makes him want to laugh. Your cunt has grown tighter again, and he knows you’re close but that something has to change to get you there. His hot breath washes against the shell of your ear. “Hold on.” 

Holding you tight to his chest with the arm already underneath your back, he pulls you both into a sitting position, you on his lap. He knows he’ll be able to get deeper this way, and he can tell you’re already feeling it by the way you’re mewling sweet nothings. “Stevie baby, I feel you in my stomach.”

“I know, I know.” Your eyes are squeezed shut, this time in unfathomable pleasure, and he studies your face. The sweat that seems to make you glow, your swollen, kiss-bitten lips, the lashes that rest so delicately on the apples of your cheeks. With tender fingers, he pushes the hair out of your eyes again, tucking strands behind your ears, smoothing what can’t be tamed back into the mess of your hair. Your eyes flutter open, and the brown of his eyes shines with incredible fondness in the dim light of the basement. Your shaky fingers push a few errant locks behind his ears, and he laughs at the reciprocated gesture. Your hands find home at his jaw, bringing his mouth to yours. These kisses are slow but not gentle, and you’re licking into his mouth, and he’s licking into yours. His hands settle on your hips once again, and your surprised gasp yawns into a gaping moan as he holds you up and then drops you down onto his cock, his tip bumping your cervix. 

And with that, you’re back into it. Your thighs quiver as you try to keep pace with his thrusts. Everything between your thighs is slippery and fast, and all you can do is hold his shoulders for support. You’re already so pent up, and the heat is stirring in your stomach, and you know you won’t last long. A particularly deep thrust has you clenching, and he holds your hips down for a moment, spearing into you before resuming his pace. 

You’re babbling mindlessly, trying to repay his good dirty talk, but it’s mostly incoherent groans and various iterations of so big, so good, so deep. It’s hard to think when he’s fucking you like his life depends on it. Another hard thrust, you’re crying out, and something about the way your voice stretched thin, he knows you’re close.

“Come on, pretty girl. You’re doing so good, you can come for me, I know you can.”

One hand leaves your hip to find your clit, giving quick back and forth strokes that have you buckling. 

“Steve.” It’s urgent, and he knows you’re right there. One more stroke, and you’re collapsing in his neck, his hips slowing but not stopping.

“There you go, I’ve got you.” The hand on your hip slides around your back to pull you closer. You’re inconsolable, whining endlessly into his skin. Your breathing starts to slow, but a gasp interrupts the gradual descent. You pry yourself from his skin and look him in the eye. “You haven’t come.”

“You’re tired.” He shakes his head nonchalantly, but the way his chest heaves with stuttering breaths gives him away. 

He should know by now that you’re stubborn and won’t let this slide. You’re shaking your head emphatically. “Not too tired.”

He’s about to protest when you reach behind you, setting your hands on his knees and your chest puffing out, and the sight of your tits presented proudly in his face is enough to silence him wholly. With great effort, you lift up your hips and slam them down, and he’s already shuddering. Despite your exhaustion, you find a moderate rhythm, grinding into him on the downbeat. His hands find your waist, and he can’t tear his eyes away from the way your tits bounce with the rise and fall of your hips. You can tell he’s close because the muscles in his lower stomach are jumping, so you swirl your hips experimentally, and that’s all he needs. He grunts with a jerk of his hips into you, spilling into the condom, and his head falls into the valley of your chest, murmuring softly prettiest baby and angel and perfect.

He’s hugging your waist and pressing kisses to your chest which is already littered with purple and red bruises, and you bring your hands to the sides of his head, smoothing his hairline at his temple with your thumbs. Nestling your nose into the mess of his hair, you press kisses to the crown of his head. It’s his turn to bury his face in your neck, and it gives you a chance to look down his back. Remorse crumples beneath your ribs as you see the red lines of your nails sweeping down the length of his spine, so you turn away, pressing your face to the back of his head and stretching your arms to wrap about his neck. It’s a well-deserved moment of quiet, just the hushed sounds of breath evening out. For as much as his mind was racing earlier in the evening, Steve’s brain is finally quiet, content. Your head, on the other hand, is quite full, but the loudest thought is just that it feels so good to be held!!!! To be held by him!!!!

Neither of you wants to pull away, but after a couple minutes, the dampness still trickling out of you demands attention. With your legs still wrapped around him, he turns to lay you back down on the couch, and he hangs over you, propped up on one arm. Knowing you’re going to be sensitive, he looks you in the eye. You nod. Slowly but surely, he starts to pull out of you and in the process, pulls a groan from you. He pauses halfway through, “You alright?” You’re nodding again but you also grab his wrist to steady yourself. Your grip tightens as he finishes pulling out, and you’re both panting, mourning the loss of fullness and warmth and closeness. He dips his head to plant a kiss on your knee. “I’ll go grab a washcloth, yeah?”

He stands and grabs his underwear from the floor. 

“Hey, can you toss me the sweatshirt?” You point to the first discarded piece of clothing, and he throws it back to you. You tug it over your head while he swiftly removes the condom and ties it off before slipping into his boxers. Rounding the couch to go upstairs, he leans down to kiss your forehead, and the simple affection seems somehow much more intimate than everything that preceded it. 

“Be back in a sec.”

—

Steve’s padding his way down the stairs, so you know he found socks somewhere upstairs. He makes a show of hopping over the back of the couch to sit at your feet. You’re hugging a pillow to your chest, knees bent and pressed together. With a slow hand, he pries your legs apart and presents the washcloth to you with a smile which you return halfheartedly. He’s ever so gentle, wiping carefully to remove all the stickiness from between your thighs. Once satisfied with his work, he sets the cloth aside on the end table. “And because I think you’re really gonna wanna wash your underwear before you put it back on, I brought you these.” He pulls out a second pair of boxers. “Plus, I thought it’d be fun to match.”

He’s grinning at you, and you try to match his energy but fail, taking the boxers from him and slipping them on. “Thanks, Stevie.”

His arm rests on the back of the couch casually, but he watches you with furrowed brows and great concern. He waits for you to explain yourself, and when you don’t, he begins to prod, “You okay?”

Swallowed in his sweatshirt, you tighten the pillow against your chest, trying to shore up all of your defenses before proceeding. You stare at the ceiling. “I have a question, but I don’t know how to ask it.”

He shakes his head, eyes trained on you. “You know you can ask me anything.”

You swallow harshly, and you still can’t meet his gaze. “Was—was this just an easy way for you to get off?”

He wasn’t sure where you were going to go with your question, but he finds himself thoroughly unprepared for what you do ask. “What?”

“Was I just…an easy fuck? I know you said you hadn’t really been on dates recently, and I don’t know, I just thought maybe you saw me as an easy target ‘cuz you already knew I liked you.”

His mind is reeling from your accusation, and he wants to be mad but only finds himself deflated and at a loss for words when he sees the scared look in your eye. He can see you going over everything he did, everything he said that night in your brain, searching for sincerity. His mouth is open as he searches for something to say. 

“No,” he whispers. “No way.” Much more firm. 

“Then, why did you do it?” You sit up to demand more. “Why now? Because you were very clear before that you didn’t want me the way I wanted you when you walked away without saying anything when I told you I was in love with you!” Embarrassment blooms at your outburst, so the next words come out quiet. “What am I supposed to think?”

“That I’m a jerk,” he replies weakly. “That I’m a stupid jerk who doesn’t know how to understand his feelings, let alone talk about them.”

Your eyes are wide. “I don’t feel bad for you.”

“You shouldn’t.” He huffs a humorless laugh. “I guess I just kept thinking about how things would change between us, and I didn’t want anything to change. Not that I didn’t like you like that, but I thought it’d be so much easier to lose you if we went for it. Then I went and lost you anyway….” He trails off, empty eyes trained at the floor. “I just didn’t know how to tell you any of that, I didn’t have the words. So I left.” 

The silence that follows is physically painful, and when he finally musters the courage to raise his gaze to you, you’re already staring back at him with an unreadable expression. 

“No offense, Steve, but that’s stupid as fuck.”

Of course, you know how to make him laugh after the terrifying, impossible task of sharing his feelings, and it feels good to laugh with you about it because it had made him sick with guilt for months. 

“It’s hard to talk about your feelings, I get it, but dude, there are better solutions than walking away from someone and then avoiding them for literal months.”

He runs his hands over his face. “I know, I know. But you make me stupid.” 

“You do stupid just fine on your own.” 

He’s glad you’re smiling again. 

“I do really like you,” he confesses with the ghost of a grin.

“As a friend?” you tease with a raised eyebrow.

“As way more than a friend.” He wants to say it, wants to say the word sitting on the tip of his tongue so badly, but everything in his body is refusing. So he looks at you with these big, round, adoring eyes, and he hopes you get it. You smile like you understand. 

“Okay, just checking.”

“And I think we should go for it.”

This genuinely surprises you, and while you’re not one to say no to what you want, you have to make sure he means it. “Really?”

“Really. The last two months sucked without you. All that you never know what you had ‘til it’s gone shit.” And he can’t tell you he loves you, so instead he says, “If I could spend the rest of my life with you, I would. No question.”

This makes you laugh, but he knows it’s not a joke. “Alright, slow your roll, lover boy.” The mirth fades slightly from your face, and he can tell what’s coming next is hard for you to say out loud. “I’m glad you’re all ready to go, but—” A deep breath. “But I need you to know that you hurt me.”

He’s nodding. “I know. And I’m sorry.”

The apology is genuine.

“I forgive you.” You mean it too. “But it just means that we’ll have to take it slow. If you’re okay with that.”

His hand seeks out yours, finding it on your knee. He squeezes tightly. 

“I’d wait for you forever.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington #major apology to everyone who had to read this without italics i forget they don't transfer during the Great Google Docs Copy Paste

[crunchyfield]

What is Minecraft's gravitational constant value ?

This post is a follow up to this one, in which we found out Minecraft's acceleration due to gravity value :

When I say gravitational constant, I imply the one regarding players because it depends on the acceleration due to gravity which itself depends on entities in Minecraft (otherwise it's mostly inconsistant).

I'm not gonna lie this topic is way harder than its prequel, and I DID NOT see anything on the internet (not to say there isn't anything) talking about it (so if you wanna argue on smth pls source what your saying).. actually nobody really searched for Minecraft's gravitational constant value.

So here we are looking into that.

First of all, one thing to know is that a Minecraft world spreads over 30 million blocks in each direction of the orthonormal basis (here I'm referring to absolute distances) in 2 dimensions (in every direction except in altitude) :

From this we can calculate the area from a square-like perspective :

Now most people assume Minecraft´s earth to be a cubic planet but this would mean that a player falling from a certain height get a different falling time depending on the place you are (on corners especially).

After testing it out, I ended up noticing a player's falling time is approximately the same regardless of the place you fall from (from a given height) which only means one thing, Minecraft earth is a spherical planet (might sound very odd to you but it is indeed logical).

Besides, using the area we calculated and the sphere area formula, we can solve for the radius :

Since we have got both Minecraft earth's radius & Minecraft's acceleration due to gravity value, we can (re)try to use Newton's law of attraction :

Then after simplifying and solving for the gravitational constant with Newton's second law of motion, we still gotta figure out Minecraft's planet's density (as we can determine the volume, it's better to search for density rather than mass).

Unfortunately, substituting formulas in equations, making linear systems, the gravitational constant as well as the density always checked out :(

Even after introducing more formulas (like the kappa formula or the escape velocity formula) it couldn't be any more relevant :/

There seems to be something wrong but long after hours upon hours of researches (and dozen liters of sweat that could fulfill a whole swimming pool lol) I realised we could proceed by identification going back to this formula :

A product of 2 unknowns equals a constant (as g and the radius are known).. interesting...

Guess what, in order to proceed by identification, let's dispatch known parameters and constants as well :

Let's now see the numerical approximations of each physical quantities using real-world values beforehand :

Okay so what's important is to look at the scale order of the inverse of the radius, it's a 10^-7 order and it's pretty close to the actual universe's gravitational constant standing with a 10^-11 scale order.

So let us add a 10^3/10^3 in the following way :

We get to see that 1/(radius*10^3) has got (practically) a scale order of 10^-11.. we're steadily stepping towards the answer guys : )

I also want to point out g*10^3 and density p (rho) scale orders are even.

Which in fact means :

where :

If we break down π into sqrt(π) * sqrt(π) in this manner we get :

with :

Consequently, applying numerical values related to our real-life solar system & earth results in values infinitesimally nearing the actual approxs (it's demonstrated through relative gap calculations being less than 1 %) ;)

hence :

respective relative gaps :

Furthermore, since we study Minecraft's earth planet, we can use the previous final formulas to calculate approximations of both Minecraft's planet related gravitational constant value and density value (as Minecraft suggests a similar solar system to ours in which its earth belongs in) :

Okay we got what we wanted, but let me suggest you a quick understanding to check the coherence of our results.

Take a close a look at that formula identified from Newton's law of attraction, we know G (gravitational constant) tends to zero (its value is so small it´s almost zero: about 6.67*10^-11 m^3 • s^-2 • kg^-1) and the radius being a large number.In order to get a final value greater than 1, earth's mass have got to be really large & so the density.

In the case of Minecraft, as the radius is larger and we know the overall division value is approximately 3.23 greater than the real-life one which makes it obvious Minecraft earth's mass, density & volume are greater for sure.

So that's pretty much what we had to do to get an approx of Minecraft planet's related gravitational constant.

Sidenote: It's just a hypothesis, I wanted to make something plausible, cuz assuming our earth's properties to make calculations haven't really satisfied me and isn't correct to apply in a video game (plus people making these assumptions usually don't explain why they use them for a given case).

Also, I'm aware the units aren't possibly correct but all you need is a reference value which wouldn't change the results (1.0 {insert appropriate unit} ) with units making up for the wrong ones.

Edit: For sussy bakas, I solved the whole thing symbolically at first and only (purposefully) numerically displayed intermediate results to picture a significant value but didn't till the final results offline :p

#minecraft gravitational constant #gaming #deep thinking #video games #mineblr #mc #minecraft bedrock #bedrock edition #java edition #deep dive #deep thoughts #nintendo #sony #minecraft steve #minecraft #minecraft oc #science #physics #minecraft java #maths #math #gravitational constant #gravity #minecraft gravity #minecraft gravitation constant value #calculation

[deleahtarte]

BRO IM IN LOVE WITH UR KEVIN x BUTTERS FIC, CAN YOU PLS PLS PLS PLS SHARE SOME HEADCANONS ABOUT THE PAIRING WITH USSS PLSSSsS???? ex: how did they started hanging out more? how did they reliaze they where in love with each other? who propossed? how? whats their fav activity to do together? etc. IM DYING TO KNOWWW

OH MY GOD THANK YOU!! It’s always such a delight every time I see another kindred spirit that enjoys Kevin/Butters, wow 😭😭

I have a draft of the prequel of The Boy Who Drank From The Sun and Moon, which answered most of these questions so forgive me when I say this, but you’ll have to read it to find out!! But I’m going to do my best to answer what I can loosely without giving too much away, so here I go!!

1. They started hanging out more because after Kenny’s death, Butters was extremely sad. The main four checked in on him whenever they could but Butters let Kevin in more than anyone else cause he reminded Butters of Kenny. So truthfully, sadly, at first—Butters didn’t really see Kevin for Kevin, he just wanted Kenny and Kevin was the closest thing to it. That’s why he slept with Kevin in the fic, it led back to Kenny, for him.

2. Kevin. It was Kevin. Kevin proposed. They’re not married in the fic I wrote about them but in the future, I can easily imagine Kevin doing it outdoors, alone, and they are surrounded by a bunch of flowers and it’s all very romantic because like that man is a romantic deep down

3. Their favorite activity to do together would be playing board games. It’s random, but they both love it because every time Butters played when he was a child he got excluded and no one took him seriously, and Kevin just never played them…ever. So they have a night dedicated (a date night really) where they just bust out a random board game and go to town. They love it. When they grow old together, they’re playing board games.

Random things I think of;

A. Kevin grows facial hair very quick so Butters helps him shave it off all the time. He’s a pro now

B. Kevin has awful vision but he refuses to wear glasses (he’ll wear them around the house…sometimes.) so Butters usually has to read something out loud to him when it’s distant. Ex. A menu hung on the wall. A speed sign

C. Everything Kevin cooks somehow ends up oddly…spicy. It could be a dessert, and it will still have a tang of something spicy in it. Butters does not understand how this could be and once launches a full blown investigation to figure it out and still hasn’t come out with an answer. He thinks it’s sorcery and one of the many wonders of the world; Kevin doesn’t even notice it.

D. Kevin is insecure about their age gap, three years, Butters does not really give a darn. He wonders if Butters will leave him for a younger guy (it’s only three years bud 😭😭) so he tries when it comes to appearance. (If there is something all the McCormicks have in common, it’s that their insecure, despite pretending otherwise)

#Butters will always love Kenny and that’s okay

[totally-not-here-for-the-smut]

This stuff is LONG and complex, and I’m not a native speaker. Which means, it’s hell, WHY BRAIN GOT NO RIGHT WORDS DAMMIT, but it’s also cool bc I can’t really understand HOW bad it actually is, so I’m less self-demanding about the actual style quality than in my own stupidly demanding language. Let’s get to the content then. I’m so very sorry for my children’s book language-level.

Pls believe that I am, in fact, not a child.

Tw:death, sickness, angst

and this is-

Loved & Lost

A The Arcana prequel fanfic - part 1

When the plague came, it started robbing you right away- it took your aunt and, before eventually claiming your own life, your love.

The wise woman who had been your magic mentor was one of the first to fall ill, as if the pestilence were trying to thin out the ranks of those who could stop it. She felt right away this was not a normal illness. The sickness got slowly the best of her body, as if it wanted to seep unnoticed into the city. Your aunt's body withered a little bit each day, her skin slowly tinging red by the engorged veins, but it never managed to steal her wits until the very end. When she was at last bedridden, she had Asra call for you.

You didn't recall where you were at that time. Your magical training was long completed, and you were travelling the world, scavenging for rare spell components, old scrolls and lost magic to bring home to her and to her new apprentice. You got home just in time.

The woman who was a little sore as you kissed her goodbye all those weeks ago now seemed barely more tangible than a ghost - pale and trembling, her clothes hanging empty from her once proud and graceful shoulder. But her eyes, although now tinted in red, were sharp and stern as they had always been.

You did not show any pity for her -she would never have allowed you to-, but when she took you hand in hers her gentle touch unveiled her deepest nature.

"I'm leaving, child", she told you. "But I need the two of you to stay as much as you can".

She called Asra by her side with a nod.

"I have lived a long life. The time I gave it back has long passed, but now death is catching up to me. Spare your tears and magic for the victims to come" she turn her head to face your friend. His purple eyes were veiled in tears.

"Asra, you're a mage now, your training is almost done. In fact, my nephew took my place as your master some time ago already. She'll be more than capable to fill in the gaps in your knowledge. Soon, you'll be a mage, but" - her eyes went narrow- "I want you to remember that you were took from the streets. Someone cared for you, listened to you, taught you everyone you know. You will have to pass your care on to whoever will need it. This is why I taught you magic". Asra couldn't do anything but nod. His lips parted, pronouncing a promise so feeble you couldn't hear -but your aunt did, and a faint smile showed on her chapped lips.

"Believe me, soon many will need it. But I know you'll both live up the cause. Now leave, I need to rest".

You didn't even take your travelling clothes off - you threw yourself into Asra's arms -now your apprentice's arms- to hold each other through the sorrowful night.

She died shortly after. Many vesuvian would have come to salute her, but you and Asra decided to do hold a more private gathering - you, him, and Faust. The snake was so torn that even her scales seemed to grey. She squeezed one last time your aunt's familiar, a pitch black crane called Hermes, who took flight as soon as the mage's funeral pyre was lit.

You kept your head high and your eyes on the flames, resisting the urge to bury your face on Asra's chest and cry your heart out. Instead, you held his hand tight, grounding yourself into the two things that mattered in that moment: Asra's love, and the promise you both made her - to stay and care for the city.

So, when the plague erupted in Vesuvia and Asra began insisting to leave, your fights became vicious.

✧

I want to really thank @wilson-artisan and @lovely-dove69 for their help as proofreaders. They un-dorked my writing a lot.

I feel that I must pay credit to various writers as well who inspired me: check bakuliwriter's "Hurt", that set ablaze my drama thirst. I can totally see it in the same timeline as this thing.

The other parts will be in te reblogs!

Navigate it from my masterlist

#the arcana #the arcana game #asra the magician #arcana #julian devorak #the arcana smut #arcana fanfic #asra smut #julian smut #julian devorak smut #julian x reader smut #arcana angst #the arcana angst #the arcana prequel #asra x reader smut

[elvisabutler]

could i possibly request more gun kink pls? 🙏🙏🙏

red brass

summary: elvis loves you or at least likes you. elvis learns things on the road. elvis likes to have the girl he likes try the new things he thinks he'll like with him. you allow it. fandom: elvis presley | elvis 2022 pairing: elvis presley x female reader rating: m word count: 3408 just i don't know what happens. i don't know why i write 3k gun kink fics. warnings: gun kink. use of a gun in penetrative ways. guns. implied masturbation ( m ). implied future oral ( f ). technically defined as masturbation or maybe fucking ( f ). dubious, and i mean very dubious consent. 50s era elvis being a little shit. infidelity ( elvis to the reader ). southern accents being mildly butchered. faintly erring toward a sub elvis, while also somehow being a dom elvis, it's nebulous honestly. me implying that texans love their guns a lil' too much. use of nicknames ( honey, darlin', baby. ) and 'vis. no use of y/n. i think that might be everything? author's note: hi anon, i know who you are and i love you. i hope you enjoy this fic that essentially is a prequel-ish, a spiritual prequel to gunmetal. and me basically going, i guess i'm gonna write 50s elvis with a gun kink. generally speaking i don't even know what has come over me with this, i'm just gonna take y'all along for a ride. watch me inevitably write army e or hollywood e with gun kink.

You know you can find a better guy, or at least you think you can, because there's something that makes men- little boys want to prove themselves after they find out you're with Elvis Presley. You're fairly certain that you could at least find a guy who would be there more often than Elvis is, you could find a guy who could take you out on regular dates and could eat dinner with your parents and- maybe even get married to you sooner rather than later. The problem is, you're never quite sure you want to find that guy, never quite certain if that sort of guy would be better than Elvis. For all Elvis is a selfish young man— the kind who will take take take from his girlfriends as much as he gives gives gives- he's also a good man. He's a better man than half the boys who sniff around you, the little hound dogs as you and Elvis like to call them. So it's always a whispered "honey, ya ain't gonna leave me are ya? gonna be comin' home soon and we'll have some fun. gonna show those dogs who they'd be fightin' wit' for ya."

Your friends think you're being silly, waiting on Elvis, thinking he's remaining faithful to you while on the road. Your mama thinks the same thing and god help you even Miss Gladys agrees. She loves her son, she does, but she knows- oh she knows how he's been calling her less and less and knows that can't mean a single good thing. Can't mean anything good for anyone involved. But when her little boy calls you or calls her he's always reassuring you both that the girls don't mean nothin'. He's jus' lonely and he can't take he can't take the love of his life or his mama wit' him so sometimes- sometimes there's a girl in the hotel. June says you shouldn't forgive him when he admits it the first time but you've never been like June, never been as strong as June is and maybe— maybe that's why Elvis liked you so much. You're not June but you're just close enough that he can still have her with the parts that don't fit his life removed. Selfish, but he's never claimed to be a saint, hell no one's ever claimed he's a saint.

The thing is- you've gotten used to him talking to you over the phone about things that don't always happen. Sometimes it's just about his dreams, about his plans for what he's gonna do the second he sees you. Sometimes it's plans for how he's gonna take you out on the next tour, he doesn't care how it looks, he misses ya widdle pussy and everyone already knows he's got a girl, it won't matter seeing ya on the tour. You're expecting tonight to be just the same, another night of promises he can't keep even though he'll be home tomorrow night for at least a week or two. Tonight, though, tonight, he surprises you.

"Baby? Ya- Whatcha got planned for tomorrow? Nothin' fancy right?" He murmurs into the phone, his breath hitching in a way you know doesn't mean anything good.

You hum softly, shifting in your bed a little. "Planned on jus' lettin' ya go home to ya parents, honey, why?"

"Wanna- Ya gonna think I'm crazy but wanna try somethin' wit' ya tomorrow night. Think you'll like it." He sounds excitable in a way that means you're gonna regret telling him no if you do. He'll every bit of the young man he is, the yittle boy who wants so much and now that he's got a taste of people saying yes, yes, yes, he doesn't necessarily want to hear no on something he truly wants. "Ya gonna say yes, ain't ya?"

A sigh leaves your lips as you debate with yourself, debate if you can chance saying no before settling on the a yes that's filled with such trepidation you worry he'll still want to argue with you. "'Course I am, darlin'. Tell me, 'Vis, whatcha plannin' on doin' wit' me. Gonna take me somewhere and have us play there? We gonna have fun in the car?"

The tone you manage is light and playful— or at least as close to it as you can manage before you hear Elvis's laugh. It's a laugh you've never heard from him and one that worries you. It sounds a little demonic if you were being perfectly honest, but you trust Elvis for the most part. He loves you and wouldn't purposefully hurt you and maybe it's just a mean idea. One he shouldn't be asking you but he's going to because he knows you're better than all those girls on the road.

"Ya ever played wit' ya daddy's guns, darlin'? Ever felt the metal on ya? It's cold on ya skin, ya know." He muses, like he's put it on his skin and a rush of jealousy rears its ugly head at the idea that maybe just maybe some other girl has gotten to see this. Or maybe he's done this to another girl. You almost miss his next words. "Bet it'd make your chest- make those pretty nipples of your stand right up. Be beggin' for me to suck on 'em."

Your pussy clenches at his words and you can't help how your breath catches. "You'd- I've never— What are ya sayin', Elvis Presley?"

Almost his full name because you're so taken aback by what he's saying. You're imagining this or he's playing a joke on you, trying to get some sort of rise with you. He wouldn't dream of saying this and honestly meaning it. Let alone telling you over the phone like this, it's almost as if he's warnin' you about this but— why? Why would he want to warn you about something like this.

"Honey, I— down here in Texas they— their girls are wild, ya know? Thought it was jus' the women but no it's girls your age too, ya know? Somethin' 'bout this air that makes 'em do things I ain't ever seen another girl do. And I was talkin' to someone 'bout the gun he had on his holster, prettiest thing I ever did see other than you, darlin'. Told me 'bout how his girlfriend— or maybe it was his fiancée played wit' it." Elvis's voice sounds simultaneously like he's nervous to bring this up to you while also taking on this certain element of delight. Certain pleasure in telling you about this person. "Inside of her."

"Inside of— Now I know you aren't— You mean inside her—" You cough, because you are not some wilting little girl. You are Elvis Presley's girlfriend and you can be a big girl about this. "You mean she put it inside of her vagina?" The last word is whispered almost as if you're scared your parents are going to hear or if it'll make it more real to say it out loud.

Elvis chuckles softly, more of a huff of a laugh than anything else before he responds back with any words. "She did. He said he watched her and said she— She liked it. Told 'im it was even better than when he fucked her."

The image of Elvis pumping his gun in and out of you like he would his cock has you dropping the phone for a second in pure shock. The way you can feel your arousal starting to pool between your legs has you biting your lips and shifting in your bed, your thighs gliding together as your breathing changes just slightly. You know Elvis can tell from how he growls into the phone. He may be a dumb yittle boy sometimes but he knows you just as well as you know him now. "You don't really want me to do that when you get home, do you 'Vis?"

"I think ya wanna do it for me, honey. Think if I was there I'd see ya looking like a damn cricket, sliding your legs together. Just one time, baby? One time and if we don't like it, I ain't ever gonna bring it up again. For me? For us?" He sounds so small when he asks, but you know better, it's him trying to charm you, trying to seem all innocent when you both know he hasn't been innocent since the first time he went on tour or the first time a girl batted her eyelashes and said hello.

Your only response is a simple okay before you move onto better topics. Less arousing topics.

Your parents are used to Elvis whisking you away for any number of things so when he comes home the next night, they don't bat an eyelash at him taking you with him to Graceland with promises about how you'll be in another room and his mama won't let him do anything untoward to you. Nevermind that when Miss Gladys sees you it's for the briefest of moments as her son whisks you up the stairs and has you pinned against the door, hands roaming every inch of your skin threatening to set it on fire as he kisses your lips and your neck. He's needy tonight and you don't know if it's because of what you promised him or if he missed you just that much. You feel a hard mass near his leg and you can't help but wonder if it's his cock or the gun because you haven't seen a holster or anything that shows off a gun. Despite your better judgment when he pulls away and you are nuzzling at his nose you give him a nervous grin and whisper a joke.

"That your gun, 'Vis? Or are ya jus' happy to see lil ole me?" A laugh escapes his lips at the same time one escapes yours before he moves to try and pull down your skirts.

"Lil' of both, honey," he practically coos at you when your skirt comes down and you're standing there in your half unbuttoned shirt and your underwear. "Wanna see ya naked for this. Get the full effect."

You bite your lip, your nervousness finally fully peeking through. It's not as if you've never been naked with Elvis, it's not as if he's never seen you completely laid bare underneath him or above him but this is different. Something about this makes you feel raw and exposed like a live wire. A shiver escapes you as Elvis tilts his head just a little bit. 

“Don’t— Ain’t nothin’ we haven’t shown each other, baby. I ain’t gonna hurt ya. Gonna make ya feel good. Gonna have ya feeling the hot and cold’s what they said,” his hands ghost over your waist before he slides his hands under your shirt to pull it off of you, kissing along the skin he’s exposing bit by bit. “Ya wanna take off my clothes, honey? That gonna make ya feel better? Give ya somethin’ to settle the shakes ya got like ya had the first time we did it in the Cadillac?”

Your hand clenches into a fist before you nod, moving to undo his belt with a speed that embarrasses you a little bit until you hear him laughing softly above you. He finds it endearing, your eagerness or your nervousness and somehow that settles something in you, makes this seem less terrifying. Elvis may have asked you something that’s a mighty strange request but he’s still your Elvis. He wouldn’t hurt you, not intentionally. It doesn’t take too long before you manage to get him out of all his clothes, watching as his muscles twitch under your touch and how the moment you step out of your undergarments his cock twitches so violently in the confines of his underwear he hisses when he gets to pull them off, cursing at his foreskin. The gun is sitting on the bed and you stare at it as Elvis moves behind you cupping your breasts and kissing along your neck slowly, trying to settle you like a scared animal. 

“It ain’t loaded, honey, just— this one time, ‘member? We jus’ gonna try it, see if those Texans know somethin’ we don’t.” His voice is low enough to be crooning at you and you feel your body lean up against him, relax up against him. “You get to do it, baby. Just, do what ya want with the gun.”

It takes you a minute or maybe five of just relaxing against him to get up the nerve to crawl on his bed and prop yourself on his pillows.The gun feels heavy in your hand but you’re pretty sure you’re just imagining it as you let the metal touch your neck— your overheated neck— and whimper at the coolness of it. Elvis settles himself at the end of the bed, eyes watching how your nipples are already pebbling before the gun even touches them. You let your legs fall open to give him a better view and you hear a grunt that has you looking up at your boyfriend’s lower lip between his teeth.

“Already gettin’ shiny down there. Glowin’ in the moonlight, darlin’. Wanna- Gonna taste all that later, if ya don’t leave it all over the bed.”

You clench around nothing at the words and Elvis reaches out to touch you before you shake your head, “no, wanna— you wanna see me play wit’ this. Wanna see me play wit’ this like they did. No- You don’t get to touch.” 

The funny thing is, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Elvis react as quick as he does in that moment. You don’t think you’ve ever seen your boyfriend respond to something you’ve told him to do as quick as he does in that exact moment. His hand goes directly to his own lap as he nods, whining just a little as he does and you have to bite back the soft giggle that threatens to escape you. The gun though, the sharp coolness of the metal helps you, helps distract you from giggling even if as the gun glides across your nipple you cry out almost in agony. Elvis had been right, they were practically begging to be sucked, to be warmed by his tongue and his mouth. Anything would be better than the bite of the metal, the brush of the barrel against them. Elvis doesn’t make a move though, you had told him not to touch and he was being good even as his hand strayed to his cock, playing with it, his thumb brushing over the tip as he pulled his foreskin back. 

Focusing on him made things worse and somehow better, made you wish you had told him he could touch, made you wish he would was moving the gun himself but he told you this was your call, you were in control of what happened with the gun. Small whimpers leave your lips as you try and keep your legs open, practically trying to grind on the air as you slide the gun down down down your torso. You stop just shy of your vagina, your hand shaking a little before you hear Elvis’s voice.

“Ya— Ya good, darlin’?” His question is asked a little shakily but it makes you realize you aren’t the only nervous one here, or maybe he’s just so turned on he can’t speak straight. It doesn’t matter, you don’t think, not with how it calms you just so. “Ya want my help? Want me to hold it for ya?”

“Please?” Your answer comes out rushed and so quiet that you feel the rush and heat of embarrassment as you shiver from it. You want to do this, but it’s not something you’ve ever done and it’s new. For both of you, you hope. Elvis moves closer to you, deciding that sitting next to you might be the best position for this so he can watch and still help you. You move to take your hand off the gun, thinking he wants complete control before he links your fingers together and places both your hands on the gun. You’re still in control with just a little help from him. 

You take your hand that’s not on the gun and use it you spread yourself open, making sure there’s enough of a glide from your arousal- a forgone conclusion you think- to help with the gun brushing against your cunt— your vagina— your whatever the two of you want to call it. As your fingers start to play with your clit you feel the brush of the metal finally sliding down and against your clit. A groan leaves your lips as you grind down automatically, craving something to finally give you some proper friction. It’s cold but it doesn’t have the same bite as it did against your nipples, no it’s almost as if the burning heat that keeps growing between your legs offsets it, allows the gun to be heated quicker than it ever would be outside of you. Elvis’s lips brush against the shell of your ear. “Ya ready baby? Ready to take it inside?”

A hum is all you can manage, too anxious and excited all at once to trust anything other than a whimper to leave your mouth if you open it. Elvis knows you though, knows you like the back of his hand or like his guitar and he pushes the gun inside you, slowly but surely, watching the barrel disappear in between your legs as you practically keen at the sensation. It’s the metal contrasting with your skin, with your arousal with everything. It feels like it shouldn’t be up there while feeling less filling than Elvis ever has been. You rock a little against it as part of it brushes against your clit or maybe that’s just yours and Elvis’s hands. At some point you shut your eyes, not because you didn’t want to watch, but because the sensation feels better when you don’t see it, it keeps you grounded in a way having your eyes open doesn’t. Elvis’s voice seems so far away even as you rock against the gun. Had this been what the women were talking about? Did they feel like this too? Powerful and yet stripped bare knowing what was between their legs sliding in and out of their most private parts? 

“Christ they weren’t lyin’ ya look fuckin’. Gonna hafta help me wit’ what’s ‘tween my legs, honey. Wanna taste ya after this- wanna have ya all night. Missed ya and now ya doin’ this? Fuckin’ perfect for me. Best girl I coulda asked for. Ya gonna— Ya hear how ya sound?” His words are slurred against your ear and you do hear yourself, hear how the gun squelches and squishes between your folds and you whine, your head turning trying to bury your head into Elvis’s shoulder even if it should be impossible. Your brain and your heart and your ears register him shushing you, telling you he’s gotcha, telling you how he wants to see you come like this and that does it. You clench around the barrel and a soundless scream leaves your mouth as your orgasm rips through you and leaves you shaking and twitching against Elvis. There’s a warmth next to your leg and you open your eyes to see Elvis’s own release against your leg as he flushes under your gaze. 

Almost as if he wants to distract you he starts to pull the gun out and you shut your eyes at the sensation before opening them back up again when you hear the pop of it being pulled completely out of you. It takes you and Elvis a few minutes after he tosses the gun to the side before you speak. 

“Can’t do that again tonight.” But perhaps another night, your mind thinks as you move to play with Elvis’s cock.

His hand moves to swat your hand away as he slinks down the bed and puts himself at eye level with your vagina. “Don’t want ya to,” he pauses, licking his lips as you allow your legs to fall open just a hair. “Gonna taste ya though. See if ya taste any different.”

You don't.

#elvis presley #elvis presley smut #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley x you #elvis presley x y/n #that's all the tags i'm doing. #ally writes #should've hid this one in my ao3.

[sapphic-haymaker]

Limbus Prequel Leviathan plus other ProjMoon side content.

A couple people asked me how to read Leviathan, the Limbus Company Prequel Comic/Novel. So i figured i’d make a post about it, Please note the English version is not fully translated.

First, go to Postype and make an account

Go to the settings button highlighted in Red.

Then tick this box, it basically says “I am an adult and can legally view adult content.”

Do that and you’re all set, you can find the English Leviathan comic here!

While you don’t have to sign in for them, you can also find the adorable comic Wonderlab Here and the novel Distortion Detective (pls read DD it’s very good it has awful older women in it) on the same site which are both amazing and highly recommended.

#Project Moon #Limbus Company