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#dare i say best season? not even out yet and best season?
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soy lago
masterlist
lando x carlos (carlando) (2.6k words)
summary: since carlos left for ferrari, lando has spent the last four seasons trying to move on. but then the world learns that carlos might end up anywhere next year, and lando dares to let himself hope...and puts some of those hopes down on paper.
warnings: plenty of ✨angst✨
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soy lago
Sweaty, exhausted, and covered in stubborn pieces of green and yellow crepe clinging to the sticky champagne on his race suit, Lando does his very best to stand up straight, holding his P3 trophy with stiff arms. He doesn’t smile; it’s hard enough as it is remaining upright. Then he feels an arm around him. He knows its owner is clad in red—although once upon a time, he wore papaya orange. And the feeling of that arm is what lets him scrape together the will to put on some semblance of a smile as the cameras flash, capturing Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, and Lando Norris in their podium photograph of the 2024 Australian Grand Prix.
Dear Carlos,
I’ve always been rubbish with words—hell, I showed a million people on Youtube that it took me three tries to spell “heights”, in English, no less. So it shouldn’t surprise you that, when they told me I needed to go on camera and speak Italian, I downloaded Duolingo and didn’t open another app for a week straight. Never mind that it was one single sentence. I could not mess this up.
Ai nostri amici della Scuderia Ferrari ed ai loro tifosi.
I could say it in my sleep.
And yet, when the camera started staring into my soul, I still managed to fuck it up. On the very first word. They asked me later, you know, if I wanted them to edit it out…but when I watched it again it seemed right somehow. Because the truth is, they could’ve asked me to say “to our friends at Scuderia Ferrari and the famous tifosi” in plain English, and it still would have been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say. So I figured it’d at least be honest.
When I joined F1 my rookie season, you had already raced for four. Two other teams. McLaren was not your whole past. At Melbourne, the season opener, I already knew by the way your eyes sparkled so hungrily talking to the press, that it would not be your future either. But for me, it was all I had, my precarious shot at making it in F1. I had something to prove.
So why was I so nervous when they stuck a camera in front of us to play that stupid game of ‘Would You Rather’? I can’t even rewatch that video now, because I already know I’ll cringe seeing myself slowly dismantling the sole of my shoe with my fingernails, hardly even able to make eye contact with you. You had a reputation of charming every teammate you got with—I won’t pretend like I didn’t scour the internet for every video you filmed with Max with Toro Rosso. You made Max Verstappen giggle like a little girl on video. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that happen to me.
But at the Chinese GP, after Kvyat crashed me out, you came up to me in the paddock. “Wanna go on a walk?” you asked. As if you’d seen me crying in the garage. There was a little lake, a pond really, near the track, and I don’t know how many laps we must have taken around it. What I do know is that you pointed to the water, told me that in Spanish, it’s called “el lago”. And that you stopped me from feeling like I didn’t belong, didn’t deserve to be in F1.
I had a lot of retirements that first season. And after each one, I knew I’d hear your voice, or see a text on my phone, or once, a little paper airplane in my driver’s room. Every time, the words were the same. And every time, I wanted it more. I just didn’t want to admit to myself that at some point, it became less about debriefing the race failures and more about the person I had an excuse to see off the track. Away from the cameras. Away from everybody else.
On the flight back to London, Lando scrolls through headline after headline, all pondering the next move for the triumphant Spaniard. Red Bull, Red Bull, Mercedes, Red Bull, Kick Sauber—Lando chuckles at that one—Red Bull, McLaren, Mercedes, Red Bull…
The speculation about McLaren is clearly a joke. And yet, it makes Lando’s breath catch in his throat…fuck, if Max Verstappen can DNF on Lap 2, give Ferrari a 1-2 podium with Lando in 3rd after the team told Oscar to give it up for him…clearly, crazier things have happened in F1.
The pandemic hurt, a lot. It’s all a blur now, logging onto my computer day after day, gaming with George and Alex and Charles to pass the time, refreshing Instagram in case you posted a story from Madrid. Until one day, the first day of May, the phone rang. You told me you were in Woking, that you were going to be at the MTC but you’d explain later. And then, those five magical words.
“Wanna go on a walk?”
Maybe we were all a little crazy during lockdown. Let’s just call it that. How else do you explain the fact that I spent twenty minutes picking a pair of jeans after spending four months in sweatpants, another twenty picking a shirt that wasn’t bright orange? What excuse do I have for dumping every beanie I owned onto my bed, cursing myself for shaving my hair off, even if it was to raise money for COVID? It was a miracle I made it to the MTC at all.
You were already outside by the time I skidded into the parking lot. The sun was low in the sky, not quite setting, turning the lake lavender, cotton candy, papaya. You faced the lake, just a dark silhouette against the colors. Suddenly, it felt hard to breathe. I just knew you were going to say something…big. I wanted to tell you so many things, how I’d been counting down the days until lockdown would be over, how not a day went by that I didn’t wonder what you were doing, how you had become someone that I could never be close enough to. You made me greedy.
I knew something was wrong when you saw me and smiled. It was happy…but not the smile I knew. This smile was tainted, as if someone had poured a single drop of vinegar into a glass of milk, and you could taste it starting to curdle just a bit.
“Lando,” you said. Another red flag. Normally, you drew out the “o” in my name in a tantalizing singsong. “My muppet friend, I have something to tell you. Something exciting.”
I wished time would stop right then. I didn’t want to hear what exciting thing you had to tell me. But no amount of wishing could stop what came next.
“Ferrari. They offered me a contract. Two years in their fastest car…I cannot believe it, my muppet friend. I will race for them in 2021.”
The sun hadn’t set yet, but there were stars in your eyes. Stars that I had seen since your—our—very first race with McLaren. Carlos Sainz, destined for champions, for greatness. There would not be room for slow cars, midfield teams; there would not be room for Lando Norris. And I knew this from day one. So why, looking at the stars that filled your eyes, did mine start to fill with tears?
I smiled in the hopes you’d think I was simply overcome with happiness on your behalf. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” you asked.
I had wanted so badly to find the words that would’ve made your journey all the way from Spain to see me worth it. But even if I had them, all of those words were useless now. And in the moment, I could only think of one thing.
“Soy lago,” I said. You furrowed your brows in confusion. “I am lake?” you laughed. “Your Spanish has always been terrible.”
Then I told you that my tears could fill the very lake we were looking at. Watched the realization dawn on your face. Heard you call after me as I ran back to my car, so you wouldn’t have to see any more of those tears.
In his room in the MTC, Lando sits, clicking his pen compulsively. Balls of crumpled-up paper surround him, ghosts of past attempts at penning a letter worthy of its reader. He curses his messy penmanship, curses his inability to spell anything remotely non-phonetic correctly. He resorts to writing in pencil, then painstakingly tracing each letter over with ink. By the time he’s finished, the sun has begun its descent towards the horizon. Just in time, he thinks.
Later, I texted you my congratulations, assured you how happy I was for you, how much you deserved it. I meant it. But maybe you sensed that something was up, because even when the new season started and we no longer shared a garage, you kept sending me texts after every race. Each one was the same: “Wanna go on a walk?”
I couldn’t tell you if it was an act of self-preservation, because of how badly it hurt to see you with Charles at Ferrari, or if I wanted to feel the twisted, bitter satisfaction from knowing that I got to reject you after you left me. Either way, the excuses were simple enough. Meetings with Mark. Last-minute training sessions at the gym. And my favorite—dinner with Danny Ric, my new Carlos Sainz.
Come to think of it, I never did end up getting dinner with Danny while we were teammates.
When I did show up, I’d make sure to tell you about how charismatic Danny was, how good the banter was, how hard we made each other laugh off-track. Only later did I realize that everything I was saying was what I would see in your C2 videos with Charles, which I followed with a level of manic compulsion that scared even me.
Eventually, the texts stopped coming. I thought I’d feel…relieved, or at least like I was moving on. And maybe I tried to tell myself I felt that way, but in reality, everything was just empty. I couldn’t have all of you, and I was so greedy that I chose rather to have none of you at all.
Lando searches his contacts for a name that doesn’t exist. Carlos Sainz: Not found, his phone tells him infuriatingly. With an exasperated sigh, he starts to swipe. And stops short, realizing that he had saved Carlos under Chili.
His thumb hovers uncertainly over the keyboard. He presses send.
Me Wanna go on a walk?
Time, teammates, and races passed, and as you got used to seeing yourself in red, I got used to being a Formula 1 driver, then a team leader as Oscar came in. I buried us deeper and deeper with each passing season and perfected the art of a casual hug on the podium, a cheerful clap on the back if we happened to pass each other on the paddock. I had only just come to terms with the realization that we would likely never be the same again when I woke up on the first day of February, 2024, to the news that Lewis would be taking your seat at Ferrari next year. Leaving the question of what color you would wear, if not red, open to every shade of the rainbow.
Then the dreams started.
When you came off a surgery hardly two weeks ago and snatched P1 at Melbourne, I dreamt that I walked into the motorhome, saw someone wearing a papaya cap with his back turned to me. And I knew it wasn’t Oscar, because those broad shoulders, the shock of hair that even a cap couldn’t contain, could only belong to a certain Spanish driver I knew so well, once upon a time.
You turned around, just like I knew you would. Smiled in a way I haven’t seen in four years. “Landooo…my muppet friend,” you crooned, drawing out the “o” the way you always used to do. You wrapped your arms around me…you always did have such strong arms.
“Chili. I should have done this long ago,” I told you, before the kiss…
A little gray bubble appears on the screen. Three dots, pulsing to the time of Lando’s pounding heart. Then:
Chili Can’t today 😞 dinner with Charles!! celebrating that Ferrari podium 🥳🇮🇹 But maybe some other time!
He stares at the messages. A minute passes, then two. He gently folds up the note, tucking it into his pocket as he stands and walks out of the MTC.
Lando looks out over the manmade lake in front of the building. The sunset reflected in it has uniformly turned it the exact shade of his hoodie. There will be no lavender, no cotton candy pink tonight.
He tugs the letter out of his pocket, unfolds it, and reads it one last time. A weary sigh. Carefully refolds it. A little airplane takes shape in Lando’s hands.
Four years of pushing you, thoughts of you, my feelings for you away, all gone with one headline. I hated myself for falling again so easily, but nobody can deny how addictive the feeling of hope is. Carlos, Chili, I had so many regrets, and maybe this is a sign that I should stop living with them from now on.
And if there’s one thing I regretted the most through all this, it’s not that I didn’t ask you to stay that evening at the MTC. It’s that I didn’t give you enough reason not to leave in the first place. Didn’t tell you what you meant to me when I could, didn’t try to make you see that there could be something here…something bigger maybe even than racing itself.
I don’t know if you’ll be wearing papaya, or navy, or (god forbid) highlighter green next year, but it doesn’t matter. I should have done this long ago, but that doesn’t matter either. All that matters is that you know how important you are, and have always been, to me. Know how the best podium celebrations and the fizziest champagne paled in comparison to the little blue bubbles of texts from you on my phone. Know that my trophies sit on a shelf collecting dust, but the paper airplane you made me never leaves my sight.
You are the stars in my eyes. In my wildest dreams, you’ll give me the chance to convince you that I can be that for you too. Teammates or not.
But until then…
In one fluid motion, he sends the plane sailing into the air, watches it catch the breeze until, robbed of its lift, it skims the surface of the lake, sending ripples emanating from where it first made contact with the water.
The plane bobs gently in the lake until it soaks up too much water to stay afloat. Lando watches it list gradually to the side, slowly disappearing from view as the paper disintegrates.
He turns and walks away from the lake.
Soy lago.
—Lando
notes: saw carlos explain lando’s comment on carlos’ mclaren → ferrari announcement post back in 2020 and have been unwell since also, yes, the mclaren building (mtc) does have a lake and boy the sunset does do it a lot of favors… easter eggs: lando not being able to spell, the damned ferrari video (where lando actually did have to start over and it RUINED ME), Would You Rather
more fics here! thanks for reading as always :)
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eternalwyrm · 2 years
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of all things. of all things so far that they could’ve made baby colin robinson. they made him a fucking theatre kid.
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adultbabystories · 5 months
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“But I tried, I tried,” you cried while facing the corner.
“I don’t want to wear diapers anymore!” you pleaded but didn’t dare to turn around.
“I know you tried buddy, but these wet shorts and undies are of your making,” Daddy said in a calm tone.
Today you woke up dry. It was the third night in a row you woke up dry. It’s been months since you and Daddy started to engage in ABDL. At some point, you lose bladder control. Not fully, but you had very little control anymore. You wetted most nights and sometimes had day accidents. In this time you discovered how submissive you can be, and how dominant Daddy can be. You became his dependent boy, and he became your all-mighty Daddy. It’s not clear if you gave away all your adult privileges, or he took them away. But you had none.
“But Daddy, please no, I haven’t had an accident in three days,” you begged.
“I knew, and we tried potty training you, but I don’t think you’re ready,” he said.
Lately, you asked Daddy more than a few times to take a break from ABDL. You liked it of course, but you needed a break. You needed your adult clothes, phone, TV shows, friends, boxers briefs. You need to swear. You needed to fight with Daddy. Now when you are “arguing” with him, he calls it a tantrum and manhandles you straight to submission.
“But Daddy, I don’t need a night diaper during the day, please,” the tears kept rolling down your cheeks.
“Those aren’t night diapers my sweet boy, those are your normal diapers from now on. You proved to me you’re not yet ready to be potty trained,” he said as he rose your wet shorts and undies.
After you woke up dry, Daddy put out kiddy underwear for you, saying it’s time for his boy to show Daddy how he grew up to be a big boy. You were so happy that things were going your own way. At some point, Daddy even handed you a cup of orange juice. You were so excited to drink from a cup again, after months of bottle drinking at home. The orange juice had a metallic taste, maybe it was the end of the season you thought, and just drank it all.
An hour later, you wetted yourself in the middle of the living room. You wanted to be potty trained so badly and Daddy was on your side. Now you are facing the corner wearing a thick diaper.
“Too bad, not a big boy yet,” Daddy said and smiled. --------------------------- @bilbng86 really tried his best.
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rafeandonlyrafe · 27 days
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best friends dad part three
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words: 900
warnings: 18+ only!, extreme age gap, cheating, semi public sex?, kind of caught, p in v sex, unprotected sex, daddy kink
part one / part two / part three
“what were you doing in there again?” your friend stares at you, like she knows the truth but her mind won't let her accept it.
“in where?” you question, looking at your nails like her probing doesn't bother you, like it isn't clear of her suspicion growing, asking about the incident that happened last week.
“in the bathroom. with my dad.” she clarifies.
“oh, i told you already, didn't i?” you scrunch your brows together, like she's the weird one for asking. “i got a splinter in my foot and he was helping get it out.”
you're not sure it's the best story, but it's the first one you came up with when she caught you, rafes cum flooding inside you despite his daughter just feet away, separated by a thin wooden door.
“okay.” she mumbles. 
you know despite her questions that she wouldn't dare accuse you or flat out ask if you're fucking her father. you've been through too much together, and she's far too naive.
it's why you're not worried about slipping out of her room when she falls asleep that night, sharing a bed like you always do for your sleepovers.
hallway. you message rafe. you remember the first time you got his number, it was middle school softball season. you would occasionally text him asking for rides home when he picked up his daughter.
rafe is out of his room in a second, a panicked look on his face.
“she could have been awake.” he whispers, eyes wide.
“but she wasn't.” you roll your eyes, not sure what the dramatics are about when his wife didn't see the text.
“what do you want? i told you we can't keep doing this, we almost got caught.”
“i want you to fuck me.” you pull your pajama shorts down your legs, showing rafe that you're wearing nothing underneath. “right here in this hallway.”
“god, this is so fucking wrong.” rafe shakes his head, voice still a whisper as he pulls his cock out from his pants, not disrobing as much as you out of fear of getting caught.
“you say that every time.” you roll your eyes. “yet still cum inside me.”
“shut up.” rafe grunts, pushing you against the wall, your best friends room on the other side, a fact rafe knows too well as he tries his best to be quiet.
rafe picks you up easily, your legs wrapping around his waist as his already hard cock lines up with your entrance. truth is, he is constantly half hard when he knows you're over, just waiting for you to entice him into sex.
“when was the last time you fucked someone like this, huh?” you smirk as rafe pushes inside of you, your walls being stretched by his length.
“was it when your wife was my age?” you ask. truth is, you don't even know when rafe and his wife met and if it was that young, but you love the way he fucks you faster every time you bring up his marriage.
“your pussy-” rafe grunts out, struggling to keep himself quiet. “your pussy is so fucking good.”
“mhm.” you nod. “and your cock is perfect, daddy. love having you inside me.”
rafe shoves his head into your shoulder to hold back his moans as his hips rock into yours, your nails pressing into his back over his shirt, hoping you leave marks he has to stammer to explain to his wife.
you wonder what it would take for them to divorce. what his wife's reaction would be if she caught you in the act. would it be enough to break up the family?
“touch my clit.” you command. rafe quickly listens, moving his hands from holding your hips up to wrapping one around your waist, the other moving between your legs, rubbing his thumb over your clit.
“that's so good, daddy. gonna cum for me?”
“yeah, close.” rafe warns, his cock pulsing inside of you.
“good.” you smile. “cum inside me. fill up my tight young pussy.”
rafe presses his mouth further into your skin as he moans, cum pumping inside of you in a steady stream, triggering your own orgasm as his warmth spreads, not as quiet with your moans as his thumb continues to stroke your clit through your high.
“fucking hell, that was too risky.” rafe shakes his head. “we can't keep fucking like this.”
“you'll keep coming for me every time i call. you're mine.” you tell rafe as he slowly lowers you, making sure you don't wobble as he sets your feet back firmly on the floor.
“im yours.” rafe says sadly, tucking his cock back into his pants while you pull your shorts back on, knowing you're about to ruin them with cum.
“now give me a kiss goodnight, daddy.” you pucker your lips, rafe pressing a chaste kiss against them. you don't wait to see him go back into his shared bedroom with his wife as you sneak back into his daughters room.
as you lay down back next to her in bed, your eyes adjust to the low light, suddenly haunting your movements when you realize she's awake and staring at you, a hurt look in her eyes.
she knows.
you continue your actions, letting out a sigh of relief when she doesn't say anything. doesn't confess. doesn't get mad, simply rolls over so her back is to you.
you smirk to yourself. she may know, but she won't tell.
taglist: @urfavnoirette @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @bratetteprincess @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @die4niyahhh @mysticallystilinski @https-luvvia @aerangi @folklorsweet
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totallyhextra · 5 months
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People? In MY computer?? It's more likely than you think!
The following is a fanvertisment and is not connected to the show. ****Yet.*** *Also yes, this is the fourth time I'm posting this because TUMBLR WONT LET ME EDIT SPELLING MISTAKES!
ANYWAY,
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Once upon a time, back in 1987, Dire Straits put out this music video for “Money for Nothing”, which, as you know, was a song about wanting my MTV. 
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The video was made by two guys (Gavin Blair and Ian Pearson) on a very moody computer. After the video went out, these two guys went to a pub:
Ian: “Hey, we should make a whole show like this!”
Gavin: “Dude, making three minutes almost killed us.”
And so it was decided!🎉
The two guys were joined by two other guys (Phil Mitchell and John Grace) and created the Hub, which then became Mainframe Entertainment. They got even more people, and then they all holed up in this hotel.
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They were mad lads with a dream: a whole cgi animated show, and they made it happen a whole year before Toy Story!
Behold! ReBoot!
(Yes that fever dream was real)
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Now before I get any of this:
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Let me lay this down. If you can’t with the animation of the first season because it was CUTTING EDGE IN 1994, you can close your eyes and listen to it. ReBoot wasn’t just a CGI gimmick. The characters are fully developed, the voice actors are peerless, the plot is sharp, and there’s so many easter eggs that you’ll never find them all.
Never
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(And yes the episode "Bad Bob" was the actual catalyst for Fury Road. Look it up)
ReBoot is about what life is like in a computer (in the 90s, because it was the 90s) called Mainframe (because of course it is). People are sprites, the guys that look like 1s and 0s are binomes (which represent 1s and 0s). Bad guys are viruses, and the good guy is a Guardian named Bob, who is a certified cinnamon roll.
In the first season the eps are light and self-contained, mainly because there was constant friction between the Mainframe studios and the Board of Standards and Practices.
They still got away with some pretty dark stuff, like Megabyte (virus) making Enzo (the kid) watch his dog get sliced open (dog got away, obviously) , Dot (sprite) have a hallucinatory breakdown, and the fridge horror of realizing the thousands of worm things (nulls) that plunged off a bridge to their death were actually people.
And Hex's (virus
best girl) scary face single-handedly traumatized an entire generation. 🙂
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But busting through a window was a no go, because WhAt If tHe cHiLdReN dID iT tOo?
Anyway, halfway through the second season, ABC cut them loose, so they were like, fuck it, we’re going to start going hard. The story shifted from episodic to arcs and things start to get serious.
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Third season the show moved to YTV in Canada, which gave no fucks about shielding the innocent children.
So it got DARK
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How dark?
The UK refused to show the entire season, so the audience there had to wait until pirated copies made it across the pond to see how it ended.
Also by 1997, the animation was gorgeous. (Best example of third season animation I could think of that didn't have spoilers)
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The show was green-lit for a fourth season on Cartoon Network, but halfway through production Warner Bros took over and the same fucking thing happened.
Because Mainframe was halfway done, they decided not to scrap all of it, but knowing they wouldn't be able to finish it correctly, Mainframe stripped anything that would hint at Season Four's true ending, then left what remained on a cliff-hanger of angst.
FOR 22 YEARS
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(It's also why the last four eps of season four seem to make no sense)
And so it was.
Other crap happened, the soul left Mainframe, and its animated corpse spat out “The Guardian Code” in 2018. 
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But never say die! The year is (almost) 2024, 30 years later. ReBoot shall rise from the dead, because here come the documentary!!
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Do you dare see what you’ve been missing?
What the (UK) government doesn’t want you to know?? 
Then come on down to ReBoot!
We got:
Magnificent bastards with sexy voices!
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(Tony Jay at his best)
Kickass women who could probably crush your head with their thighs and you’d enjoy it!
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Innuendos in a kid's show!
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💗 This adorable cinnamon roll!! 💗
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Insane third season glow-ups!
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YOUR NEW GOD
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These guys!
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(Gay roller-skating binome is my boi. I named him Jerry)
Nonstop cultural refs (You'll never find them all. Never.)
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(There are literally videos dedicated to trying)
So many computer puns!
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Body Horror!
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Existential Crisis!
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HAVE I MENTIONED YOUR NEW GOD?
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This is it, folks! The real thing, the gem hidden in the moose-filled forests of Canadia!🌲🌲🌲
Take a trip inside a mid-90’s computer!
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See the World Wide Web! (omg):
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Witness the original purple Gamecubes that randomly fall from the sky when the owner of the computer (OUR GOOD LORD THE USER) wants to play a game. If it lands on people and they lose, they dissolve into mindless energy leeches, fated to tormented by their former bretheren for all of eternity.
Just like in real life! 🙃
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So watch the eps! They on YouTube!
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I think they're on Pluto, Hulu, Sling, and Tubi too! Also DVDs for people who have the patience to wait for them!
WATCH! BELIEVE! SUFFER THE SOUL-CRUSHING RAGE OF THE SEASON 4 CLIFF-HANGER!* (come on, its fun!)*
HYPE THE DOC!
The more people hype, the better the chances of actually getting it finished.
NOW SHARE THIS WITH EVERYONE!
And now I will leave you with this screenshot from the ep "Painted Windows", where dicks can clearly be seen drawn upon the wall behind the fleeing anthropomorphized television.
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(PS: If you heard the clown pic at the top of the page in your head, you're welcome)
IMPORTANT UPDATE
This message is now approved by Gavin Blair! He's an awesome guy. Show him some love on TWITTER (fuck you musk) at @TheRealMrSweary Also, if you want to share this with non-tumblr friends, here is my attempt at a webpage version:
theseventhstarprojects.com/REBOOT.html
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muddyorbsblr · 5 months
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bigger than the whole sky [rtc what if…?]
'relinquish the crown' masterlist See my full list of works here!
BE WARNED SPOILERS FOR THE LOKI SEASON 2 FINALE AHEAD
Summary: What if…you'd broken Frigga's memory spell without Loki? | Your search for your husband leads you to a peculiar void beyond the Nine Realms, to a place that vaguely resembles the Tree of Life that you'd only read about in historical texts.
Pairing: Loki x Reader
Word Count: 3.3k
Warnings: angst with no happy ending in sight; this is in the RTC universe so…themes of incest if you squint; Loki S2 finale spoilers; slight violence in the beginning [let me know if i missed anything!]
Things to be aware of: gonna repeat it again…Loki S2 finale spoilers ahead; no prior reading of RTC is required to suffer enjoy reading this story
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"I will ask you one final time, you sadistic hedonist," you panted, taking a moment to lean on Stormbreaker while the eccentric tyrannical leader of Sakaar laid bleeding on the ground. One hand clutched his abdomen where you'd struck him, the other gingerly held his broken nose.
This wasn't something that you enjoyed doing, putting others through pain. But knowing Loki's history with this Grandmaster long before you two had met was easing your worry somehow that you were doing something reprehensible. There were pains that your beloved, even after all the time you'd known each other prior to your betrothal and marriage, were not quite ready to share with you.
His time in Sakaar was among those pains.
That knowledge alone was enough to get you to stop catching your breath, marching over to the Grandmaster and pinning him to the ground with the end of your battle axe's handle.
"Where is Loki?"
"Lady, I already told you back in the viewing box, I haven't seen your u--Agh!" You pressed Stormbreaker's handle harder against a tender spot on his shoulder, his body visibly showing signs of surrender before he started tapping on the floor. "Alright I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he whined.
"Shall we try this again, then?" He did his best to nod his head, sighing heavily. "Where did you last see him?"
"I swear to you on my Champion's grave it's been millions of years for me here in Sakaar," he choked out, still audibly struggling to draw in his breath. "It was a time he didn't even know you yet. You probably hadn't even been born."
"So you truly bear no knowledge of my husband's whereabouts?"
"Your hus--I thought he was--"
"Mind your words, charlatan god." He let out another groan of pure agony as you pressed harder on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry I'm sorry! I--I really don't know where he is, Your Highness, I don't--"
"Then what use are you to me," you said darkly, another corner of your soul feeling ass if the lights had gone out. Another dead end.
You took a dagger out with your free hand, the Grandmaster's pleas of mercy sounding muffled as they fell on your dulled ears. Nothing he had to say could spare him now; to you, he was no longer a lead, a well lit path that could perhaps point you to where Loki had been all this time.
Now he was simply a shadow of your husband's past. Something so dark that he didn't even dare let you know about it.
Despair began to seep into your veins, a single question overtaking all other remotely coherent thought. Would you ever find him? Would you ever get to apologize? To tell him how you felt? How you'd always felt?
Before you could strike, a loud crack resounded throughout the Grandmaster's suite, coming from a glowing green portal that appeared in the center of the room.
"I would probably take that call, if I were you," the Grandmaster quipped, exhaling a large sigh of relief when you removed the weight of Stormbreaker off of him as you stepped toward the portal. Once the threshold had begun to close after you stepped through, he let out a final sentiment. "Please say hello to your husband for me when you find him."
That was more than enough for you to decide throwing your dagger into the small opening that remained, hitting the smug anachronistic bastard on his uninjured shoulder.
Then the portal finally closed, leaving you in a place you couldn't quite describe. All you knew was that it felt like a place you should never have been allowed access to. A place that should be beyond you. Beyond anyone.
Winding, glowing vines surrounded you, each of them looked and sounded as if they were teeming with a life of its own. If you listened carefully you could hear voices. Your voices. Infinite iterations of them. But one rang clearer than every other in the entire space.
"Did I do something that angered the Norns so fiercely that they condemned me to love a man I could never have?"
"I know what it feels like to kiss him. To touch him. To be desired by him. And it's ripping me apart to know that I will never know that again."
"The people will look at this union and see it for what it is. Sinful. Shameful!"
You tried to block the memories out of your mind, of you begging your grandmother Queen Frigga to lock your memories away. Of arguing with your grandfather Odin and with your father Thor because they were signing your life away to marry Loki. Of the harsh words you spat at them all behind closed doors.
Of the day the lock on your mind finally broke, after finding your journals prior to the spell being cast chronicling how you'd fallen for the god despite your better judgment. The head-splitting agony of your memories reconciling and finding their place back in your mind.
An agony suffered in your lonesome while Loki was away on assignment.
You scrambled desperately to think of anything else, to follow along the path of the vines and hear something other than your own mistakes being echoed back at you. These desperate attempts made you realize that the vines converged in a structure that eerily resembled an image that you'd only learned about in your youth.
"Yggdrasil?" you whispered in awe, your feet bringing you closer still until you found a parting just large enough for one to squeeze through.
Once you'd finally freed yourself from the winding vines, all air left your lungs at the sight that greeted you. A golden throne at the heart of the tree. All the vines anchored to the man -- or God, rather -- seated in it.
Loki.
"You've left quite a trail of bodies in your wake throughout this quest of yours, little Princess," he spoke, not moving even a fraction from where he sat.
He gave you a soft smile, tears beginning to form in his eyes as he stared at you. As if he couldn't believe you were here with him.
"It's been too long, my darling wife."
You'd rehearsed time and time again throughout your search for your husband what you would say to him once you'd been reunited. You would tell him how wrong you were for how you behaved throughout your betrothal, your marriage. And you would abandon every shred of your pride and beg for his forgiveness. You would tell him you loved him, that you'd always loved him.
And that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him.
Yet somehow you could form none of those words. Instead you finally felt your body succumb to the tiredness brought about by the centuries you'd spent searching and laying waste to every imaginable corner of the Nine Realms and beyond for even the slightest shred of a clue as to where he could have been.
Instead you sunk to your knees, the tears streaming down your face as you stumbled over your words. "I remember everything. I had to find you. Tell you that I'm--"
"I know you are, my love. I watched you on the day the spell broke, the day you finally remembered. I wanted so desperately to come home to you. To not let you have to endure that pain alone."
"Why didn't you?" you blurted out, staring at all the vines he held in his hands. "What are all these?"
"Timelines," he answered you simply, giving you a minuscule shrug of his shoulders. "In every single one, there is an iteration of you and me. Some circumstances may differ, minor details. But at the heart of each of them, we live a life together. We find each other, fall in love. In some we even start a family."
"A family," you repeated breathlessly. The knowledge that each vine -- each timeline -- that was anchored to him held a variation of you and him, of your story, began to eat away at you, flooding you with guilt.
How wretched did you have to be that in your timeline you'd rejected him? Foolishly pushed him away with every mistake you made until finally it took you centuries to find him again?
"What happened?" you finally spoke after what felt like hours. "How did you get--"
"That is quite the long and harrowing tale, darling. In truth, it was a cavalcade of miscalculations and bad judgment calls, failed attempts of trying to save all these lives until I realized that the result would always stay the same if the equation contained the same variables."
"And what was that result?"
"Annihiliation," he answered you simply, giving you a misty eyed look. "Every single strand of time that I hold safe now would have been obliterated on sight. I know it. I've seen it. I've seen you disintegrate before me too many times than I wish to count. The device that once held them stable could no longer scale for an infinite number of possibilities, and letting countless timelines die in the name of the survival of a few was…unacceptable. The only thing that could carry a burden that great was--"
"A god," you finished, the words fighting you their entire way out, nearly choking you on the weight of them. The question that you wished to raise crippled you with its answer's implications. For you and your timeline specifically. "What happens if you let go?"
"It dies. Slowly. Drifts away until it eventually turns to ash." He began to make a motion, as if to approach you, until ultimately he decided against it. "This was the only way. It remains the only way. I must stay, and keep them safe. Watch our lives play out in derivatives of what ifs."
The selfish question that danced at the tip of your tongue plagued you with even more guilt. But what about my timeline? What about our life together? "There has to be another way," you grumbled, stubbornly shaking your head as if you were once again a toddler, refusing to accept the world for being what it was rather than what you wished it would be. "I could stay with you. I could stay and we can find a way together."
Your heart splintered watching him shake his head at you. "My beautiful headstrong wife," he breathed out, his tone filled with both fondness and heartbreak. "I can't in my good conscience let you abandon your life just so you could stay here with me. That would be too selfish, even for me. What would you have here?"
"You! I would have you. All these centuries I've spent in a desperate scramble to find you and tell you that I lo--" You found yourself completely choking on the words now, never having to articulate them before. "That I love you. That I've always loved you and I want us to start our lives together. I refuse to accept that after all this time I have to let you go. You can't make me."
"Asgard needs you, its future Queen."
"And I need you!" Your voice finally broke, sobs that you'd fought inside starting to bubble up. "It isn't fair that you hold all these different tellings of our story in your hands, but your story, yours and mine, ends in us apart. That you spend your days here, watching our life play out somewhere and somewhen else, and you're alone. Please don't send me away, husband," you began to beg. "Don't make me leave you. Let me stay."
He let out a sharp exhale, a tear escaping his eye, rolling down his cheek. "I've longed for the day I would hear you call me that," he sighed, a rueful smile gracing the handsome features that you were bereft of for centuries. "Truly I didn't think I would ever see you again, Y/N. My Y/N. I never thought that I would have you before me, and I hear those words you would only say in dreams with my own ears. Thank you, my dear heart. You have given me a gift in this quest of yours, in having a final moment with the woman I love…" More tears rolled down his cheeks when his smile widened before finishing his sentiment. "And the woman that loves me."
Your sobs filled the endless space, your body collapsing onto the ground as your grief overtook you. The notion of grieving for the living never seemed sensical to you until now. Now that the man, the god, you loved was calling this the last time you would ever see each other.
And you knew in your heart that with the power he wielded now, he could make that your reality without even lifting a finger. He could push you out of this void and back into any timeline of his choosing just as easily as he pulled you out of Sakaar.
The feel of familiar large hands pulling you up to your feet startled you, only having the briefest moment to look at your husband before he pulled you into a crushing embrace. You didn't think twice before wrapping your arms around him, holding him as close as you could and sobbing into his shoulder before realizing…
If his hands were on you, then why were the vines still in place?
"Loki," you sobbed. "Husband, please. No illusions."
"I can't hold you," he said, choking back his own sobs now. "I couldn't watch you break like this and do nothing." The duplicate he cast to hold you disappeared from your hold in a flash of green. "I've done it before against all my better judgment, I refuse to do it again."
"Then don't." Against your own better judgment, you stomped your foot, like a bratty child being told you had to go home. Which was almost precisely what this was. "If this is where you are and where you will remain, then this is where I wish to stay. With the god that owns my heart. With my husband." You blinked rapidly to expel the tears that blurred your vision before uttering the words that splintered at your heart even more. "I was made to be yours. You said that."
"And I yours," he finished, averting his gaze, letting his own tears drop to the fabric of  his trousers. "In every timeline. We must take solace in knowing that among these infinite tales, one is ours. What could have been ours."
"What should be ours," you insisted. You made your way over to him, placing your hand on the side of his face. He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch, the sight breaking your heart further. "Our story deserves its bliss-laden epilogue, too."
"Not at the cost of everyone else's. Deep down you know this to be true."
"That does not mean I accept it," you grumbled. "Let me stay."
"You know that I can't. I will not subject you to live out the rest of your days here. Without friends nor family, and only a husband that cannot even hold you as company."
"But at least you would have someone to hold you," you argued, throwing your arms around him and letting your tears flow once more. "I can't just leave you here all on your own. You can't make me." You knew that he damn right could.
"My love," he sighed, turning his head to press a kiss to your temple. "I wish for you to live a long, and fulfilled life. You've lost so much time in your search for me only for it to end like this. I can give you those centuries back, as a final gift. Reverse the clock, undo the toll it took on you. Let this be the final token of my affection. My fealty. My undying vow."
"Let me keep my memories," you pleaded, already feeling that this would truly be your final moments with him. You did not need to turn your gaze to know that the portal leading back to Asgard was there, waiting for you. Perhaps he would simply nudge you through with his mind, knowing that you would refuse to leave. "Let me keep my remnants of you if that is all that I can leave this place with."
He nodded once. "Very well, little Princess. When you walk through the portal only the physical years will be stripped away. Live well, and remember always that I love you. My heart will only ever belong to you. Until the end of time."
"I love you," you choked out through your tears. "Husband." Your heart ached at the sight of his tears, not bothering to fight back the urge to kiss them away. "I will miss you desperately and always. In every step that I must take in this life without you."
"You will always have me by your side," he swore. "When you feel a presence you cannot see, in gentle breezes within a still room. I will always be there."
You continued to wipe his tears away, the god constantly kissing at your palms. Seemingly refusing to let you go, too.
"May I kiss you?" you asked, barely audibly, your voice unable to even completely form the words. "One last time?"
He gave you a small nod, and you leaned in to press your lips to his, trying to pour out your years of lost time and the future that you were doomed to lose in just a few short moments into that single kiss. You could feel that when he kissed you back, he did so with both all the love he'd never been able to give you before, and the love that he would never be able to bestow in the future.
It was a kiss of finality. A kiss of goodbye. A bittersweet final page in the story of you and Loki.
I love you more than words can ever say, his voice echoed in your mind. Goodbye, my love. My fated. My darling wife.
When you pulled away he was gone. And you'd been returned to your shared chambers back in Asgard. As he promised, the physical toll the centuries-long search had taken on your body were gone. No more scars from miscalculated skirmishes. No more bruises from Sakaar.
No more physical reminders of what you'd endured trying to reunite with the love your life.
All that remained were the memories of those years, and your time in his domain beyond the Realms.
"Goodbye, my darling husband. My love. My Loki," you whispered into the quiet of your marital chambers, sinking to your knees once more and letting out a shriek of pure agony, the sobs swiftly returning and wracking your entire body as you lay pathetically on the floor.
"Y/N??"
The sound of your mother Lady Sif's voice provided little comfort, but it felt like a familiar balm. "Mother," you said weakly, unmoving from your spot on the ground even as she rushed to you, cradling you in her lap.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?" She stroked your hair while your tears soaked her sleep dress. You felt her wave someone over, and moments later you felt your grandmother Queen Frigga's presence in the room with you.
"I lost. I lost and I know not what to do now," you managed to say through your tears.
"What did you lose, Daughter?"
You'd briefly considered explaining your journey, from breaking the spell, to your journey through the centuries, to Loki's domain beyond the reach of space and time. To relay what had become of your husband.
Ultimately the words were beyond you due to your grief.
"Everything," you answered her, holding on to her tight as if you were a child again. This would be the only semblance of comfort you would have. "I lost everything."
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A/N: I had to after that finale had me processing and feeling the big sad all day, I promise I'm working on 2 other stories based on the finale that have kinda better endings.
Also I sobbed throughout writing this entire thing, just for the record.
Now here's the song to add to the vibe:
'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @superficialdomina @anukulee @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog
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intynidad · 5 months
Note
yayayayayayayya!
Imagine a Soldier, a DILF,Huge, muscular, and so intimidating! But there are a few drawbacks.. He is VERY possessive and overprotective! (Yandere)
He can’t see you with another man! Or even the thought of a man breathing in your direction is enough for him to throw a sharpened knife at his head.. Even women are rivals to him.. He is a MaleWife! I’m his free time he wants to take care of you! like imagine the pink frills and bows but with camouflage pants and dog tags..
And the way he looks at you.. with so much adoration and love.. Even after transforming into a beast a few moments ago and glaring at the one who dared to even look at his sweet darling!
Scary dog privileges!! A huge almost 7 foot man stalking behind you with a preditorial gaze.. Sending death glares at anyone who passes near you..
you don’t know how he is so stealthyfor being so huge..
Has a huge and muscular body! So he has huge hands and arms.. With lots of bulging veins!
(Imagine grabbing his moobies after a hard day of work.. He would moan and whimper like a bitch in heat.. a string of Thank yous coming out his mouth..)
I imagine he has a hidden piercing probably on his tongue.. but no one knows.. except you.. but isn’t noticeable because he wears a balaclava at work!
Petnames!: Darling, Sweethear, Angel, My love, Princess, Lovely
It took some time but i really like how it came out owo
I got a little lazy on the end but is still good
TW: yandere behavior, description of violence(not towards reader), use of pet names (sugar cube and darling), female oriented reader ??? Tell me if i miss anything owo
Enjoy !
War was not kind to anyone.
First, your father was drafted to fight on the front lines. He tried to write every time he could, but one day, you and your mother stopped getting any letters. That's when you knew it - that your father was dead.
Your now-widowed mother was absolutely heartbroken. You tried to initiate a conversation, saying, -"Hello, Mom,"- but were only met with silence. This is how things have been going since the news of your father. It’s been a lonely and difficult time for your family.
You often found yourself staring out of the window, watching the seasons change. The world outside seemed to carry on as if nothing had happened, while inside your home, there was a void that couldn't be filled.
You saw how the war started to consume your little neighborhood, first your father, then your mother, and now your friends.
"I can't believe it," you said with a shaky voice. "You can't leave me."
You clutched the small phone in your hands while the other person on the line gave a low chuckle, full of sadness. "I know, I know. It's not like I want to."
"Dylan, please," you begged, your voice choked with a sob. "You're sick. You can't go to fight."
"I can't just stay still while the war consumes our lives, sugar cube," Dylan replied with determination. "Listen, I'm going to do everything I can to stay in contact, but I refuse to stay still while our enemies burn our homes and kill our people."
You understood his sentiment, but the fear of losing yet another person you loved was overwhelming. The war had taken so much from you already, and you didn't want to lose Dylan as well.
"Dylan, promise me you'll be safe. Promise me you'll come back," you pleaded.
"I promise I'll do my best, sugar cube," Dylan said softly. "And I promise we'll be together again when this nightmare is over."
As the call ended, you clutched the phone tightly, tears streaming down your face, thinking of the destiny of one of your closest friends. With your vision blurry, that's when you saw it:
[Be the hero of our heroes!]
[Become a war nurse and help today!]
——-
The training was fairly easy, but the hardest part was saying goodbye to your mother. It wasn't because of the response she gave you, but rather the lack of it. The war had taken so much from her, and you leaving to join the medical corps was another sacrifice she had to bear in silence.
After three months of training and preparation, you reached your destination - the front lines. Well, it wasn't exactly the front lines where bullets flew, but it was a place where you felt like you were helping. The makeshift field hospital was a hive of activity, with wounded soldiers being brought in, and the dedicated medical team doing their best to save lives and ease suffering.
Your heart swelled with a mix of fear and determination as you donned your nurse's uniform. You had a newfound respect for the doctors and nurses who worked tirelessly in these conditions, and now, you were one of them.
Every day, you encounter injured soldiers, each with their own story of bravery and sacrifice. You offered comfort, administered care, and listened to their fears and hopes. It was a harsh environment, but the camaraderie and shared purpose among the medical staff gave you strength.
As you continued your work on the front lines, you knew that this was where you were meant to be, where you could honor your father's memory, support your friends, and be a beacon of hope in the darkness of war.
That was until one particularly slow day. Well, as slow as it could be in a war hospital. You were preparing some medical supplies for the medics to take to their respective camps when a superior of yours called you.
-"Y/N! Could you come over and take care of this new patient? I'm kinda busy right now,"- the woman said in a calm tone.
-"Sure, just send them back here, and I'll take care of them,"- you responded.
Her tone was pretty chill, so it was probably just a bruise or maybe a cold. You were preparing some medicine and band-aids when you felt a small tap on your shoulder.
-"I'm sorry to keep you waiting; please have a sea-" When you turned around, you were shocked to see a man - no, a practical giant - towering over you.
The soldier was immense, with a rugged face that bore the scars of battle. He had a stern, almost intimidating expression, and it was clear that he had seen his fair share of combat. As he hunched down to enter the tent, you couldn't help but feel a mix of awe and trepidation.
-“Captain Samuel Reynolds, a pleasure to make your acquaintance"- he said in a deep, gravelly voice. His uniform was tattered and stained, and he clutched his side in obvious pain.
-"Y/N,"- you replied, trying to regain your composure. You quickly gestured for him to sit on one of the makeshift beds. As he eased himself down, it became apparent that he was wounded, a bandage around his abdomen stained with blood.
-"I heard you're the best nurse in this place,"- he said, his voice filled with both gratitude and a touch of humor.
You blushed at the compliment. The reality was that you were just doing your best, like all the others in the medical corps. You started to assess his injuries, trying to hide your nervousness as you worked to remove the soiled bandage.
-"You've been through quite a lot,"- you commented as you cleaned the wound.
Samuel winced, but he nodded. -"The front lines aren't a picnic, that's for sure. But I've seen worse."
As you stitched up his wound and administered medication, you couldn't help but feel watched as his gaze practically pierced through you. But you continued to do your work, focused on providing the best care you could.
-"Okay, that should do for the bleeding, Mr. Reynolds. Let me go grab some bandages and some painkillers for you,"- you said.
His response caught you off guard, -"...why?"- Samuel said, almost confused about your reasoning.
-"Because, um, you are hurt?"- You stammered, wondering if you had said something wrong.
-"Thanks for the offer, sweetheart, but this pain won't kill me. Plus, there are some other people around that probably need those painkillers and bandages more than me,"- Samuel said matter-of-factly. He expected it to be the end of the conversation. You would probably tell him okay and assign him a bed, and that would be the end of it.
But you surprised him with your firm resolve. -"No,"- you said.
-"Thanks, so I will be going to my bed, then,"- Samuel was more than confused when he registered your words.
-"Wait, what?"- he asked.
-"I'm sorry, Captain, but with all due respect, I will not allow you to do that,"- you said firmly.
-"Do what?"- Samuel was clearly taken aback.
-"I'm sorry, but as long as you are here, I'm in charge of you, and I won't let any of my patients go suffering when they can perfectly take some rest and medication,"- you said, giving him a small, determined smile. It was clear that you weren't going to back down.
Samuel's eyes met yours, and he seemed to be processing your words. His tough exterior had met its match in your unwavering dedication to your patients' well-being.
As you delicately applied pressure to his wounds to wrap them up in bandages, Samuel couldn't help but feel his heart skip a beat. The way your hands worked so skillfully and delicately had a calming effect, and he found himself strangely drawn to your touch. It was as if your care had the power to make his pain vanish.
However, the sensation of your fingers on his skin made him nervous. His heart raced, and he couldn't quite understand why he felt this way. Samuel, a battle-hardened captain, suddenly felt a wave of discomfort.
-"I'm sorry, but are you okay?"- you asked, looking into his eyes as you reached your hand to his forehead. -"You're a little bit hot."
-"I'm f-fine,"- he stammered, full of shame. How was it possible that he was suddenly stuttering? What was happening to him?
Samuel couldn't quite comprehend the mix of emotions he was experiencing. Here he was, a soldier used to facing danger and making difficult decisions, and yet in this moment, your caring presence and gentle touch had him feeling vulnerable in a way he had never felt before.
A couple of weeks passed, and you continued to care for him. It didn't take much time for Samuel to realize that he was in love. A cold-blooded soldier had become completely enamored by a tiny (in comparison to him) nurse. He couldn't help but follow you with his gaze as you waltzed around the hospital, tending to the wounded and offering comfort with your warm smile.
He felt a profound happiness with you in his life. The war, which had taken so much from him, had also given him something unexpected – love.
One day, when his wounds were practically all healed up, he went for a run around the hospital perimeters. Part of it was to use some of the energy he had built up during his recovery, but deep down, he also wanted to make sure you were safe.
During his run, he stumbled upon a small river with water lilies floating on its surface. They were small in comparison to his massive hands, delicate and beautiful, just like you. Samuel found himself captivated by their fragility and elegance.
He decided then and there. He would confess his feelings to you when the sun went down. Those lilies, a symbol of the tenderness he had discovered in the midst of war, would be his gift to you. They represented the love that had grown in his heart, unexpected and pure, just like the delicate blossoms on the river.
He advanced with a spark to his feet, feeling his heart sincronice to each step he took.
At the entrance of your “office” (it was just a big tent but you liked to call it that) , he called out to you, -"Um, Miss Y/N, are you there?"- He couldn't help but feel a certain nervousness in his voice. It was an unfamiliar feeling for him, like he was a teenager again, not a battle-hardened soldier.
When he didn’t hear anything he decided to just enter and wait for you.
It was weird. You usually would check for medical supplies and then come back to your tent to put on your uniform and THEN start the day…not like he had your whole schedule memorized of anything.
He started to worry. Maybe you had been distracted or were in some kind of danger. The concern for your well-being began to overshadow his initial nervousness. He scanned the tent, looking for any signs of where you might be or if there was trouble.
He bolted to his feet again running to the “hospital”, full with worry.
When he got there he asked to another nurse if they had see you
-“oh, Y/N. O boy let me tell´ya. They been all lovely dovey with somebody on the back”-
-…what- Samuel felt his heart freeze
The nurse continued without noticing -“ya’ apparently it was an old friend of them. Let me tell’ya boy. The moment that guy enter she almost fainted of happiness. She was like “omg its been so long and””-
Samuel stopped listening half way through. He didn’t care about that guy.
He cared about you.
Who was this guy
How do you know him
He was dangerous?
Was he an enemy ?
He walked with a heavy step. Until he hear a small voice sniffling.
Samuel froze. It was you.
-“aww don’t worry sugar cube. I’m alright told ya’”- a voice he didn’t recognize talked to you
He cringed at the nickname the stranger gave you. Sugar cube
Yes you were sweet and all of that but he had no right to call you that.
-im sorry Dylan is just that *sob* the tears don’t stop- you responded
Dylan huh…where did he heard that name before.
He peeked a little and what he saw made his blood boil.
You were there with tears staining your beautiful face. And that disgusting man was kissing them away. Like he had any right to do that.
He continued to observe in silence.
He saw how this man sat you on his lap while kissing you.
At this point the lilies were long forgotten crushed to mere crumbs into his hands.
And when he saw Dylan slowly caress your leg he couldn’t stand there any longer.
He opened the curtain that separated you three and walked with a heavy step.
-“may i know what you are doing, soldier?”- his voice low and authoritative
Dylan that was not paying attention, bolted his head toward him and with super speed put you down on his side
-S-Sir i'm sorry is- Dylan tried to explain himself while he brushed up his uniform
-“I don’t want to hear it,soldier. Identify yourself and your section”-
-“Dylan Ramirez sir. I just got transfer to site 2-A sir.”-
Ah. That where he knew him. He was a new transfer to HIS section.
-why are you in this stablishment and not reporting to me of your arrival- samuel said with maybe a little to much volume
-“i wanted to say hello to nurse Y/N sir. She is an old friend sir.”-
Friend…he didn’t believe that bullcrap
-i want you out and to run 10 laps around the perimeter.NOW-
And with that Dylan rise to his feet and run towards the exit.
You that were looking at the whole exchange. Felt slightly intimidated. Like the first time you met Samuel. He been so nice with you that you forgot that he is a high rank in the troops.
When your two sights encounter you couldn’t help but look to the ground.
-“are you alright?”- say Samuel on a voice much, much softer than the one he used with Dylan.
You didn’t say anything.
-“is just that…I heard you cry and got worried”- that was partially the truth but he was sure you wouldn’t mind.
-“yea i apologize for the whole scene…Mr Samuel”- you said with a hint of shame on your voice
-“you don’t have to apologize for anything,darling. Is just we are going tomorrow to the front lines again and maybe im a little nervous”- another half truth but alas it was for the best.
-“can i ask you to do something for me?”- you said, still looking at the ground
Oh if only you knew what he would do for you
-whatever you need-
-Please take care of Dylan on the front lines. He is a very important person to me-
Why. Why he was such an important person to you?.
Why does he had that he didn’t?
Why you looked at them without fear and when you looked at him your gaze was on the ground?
Why
Why
WHY
-“sure. Ill make sure Dylan is taken care of”- samuel say after a moment
-“thank you”- you said with a small smile
…..
He still though of that small interaction. He almost felt a hint of guilt for breaking his promise. Almost
He choose Dylan as his second in command to investigate a supposedly abandoned enemy base. That way they could maybe find supplies or a hint to end this war.
He had done this dozens of times.
The feeling of the bone breaking and the warmth of the blood on his hands. But the adrenaline on his veins this time made it a little different. Almost like if it was more personal.
If he had to compare Dylan to an animal it would probably be a deer of some kind.
A frail and sickly one but still a deer
First it was a shoot to the leg. He screamed in pain as he fell to the ground but we both knew that nobody would come.
Then Samuel stepped on his hand with all his force. It made a crack that send a pleasant chill to his own spine.
The beating continued for a while. For too little time on Samuel’s opinion and if Dylan had the ability to speak he probably said it was for far too long.
But no one can really talk with a broken jaw and without a tongue.
When he came back to the base. Nobody question the story of an ambush.
Nobody question that fact that his knife was missing.
Why would they?
After all he was the first in command. He was the commander Samuel
But the acting when he came back to you was supreme. Maybe he should had been an actor instead of a soldier but anyway.
You cried and screamed and punched the air.
It did broke his heart that you looked so sad. But don’t worry he would be here for you as long as you need him
And you wouldn’t need anybody else.
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Pt 0 good omens i make predictions for season 3 after watching three episodes of S1
[WARNING THESE PROPHECIES ARE BY THE GOOD OMENS MASCOT AND KNOWN MESSENGER OF APOLLO AND SO CLEARLY 100% LEGIT STAY IF YOU DARE *OMINOUS TREMBLING*]
First, because I am a messenger of Apollo, I am compelled to write cryptic verse before I explain it to you, so take what the Voice of Delphi speaks to me:
When the anticipated arrives
An embrace is born, the love shall thrive
The angel will repay his demon's kiss
A bird will sing, a child will be missed
Heaven recedes like an evening tide
Led with pen by a wordsmith-guide
The home on earth more holy than above
Pain will strike, the panacea is love.
Now, because we are not in ancient Greece and I am not as cruel as you, I will explain as best as I can. You wanted to know if we will find salvation in season 3. Like Edgar Allan Poe, you asked me, is there, is there balm in Gilead (season 3)? Unlike the raven I will not say nevermore, but here:
We all know Crowley and Aziraphale will get together, but I'd advise you that the smell of angst is in the air. I say this as both prophet and writer, but for the story to end happily and still keep us suckers glued, it will drag Aziraphale and Crowley through the dirt to get there. You will get the happy ending, but at an emotional price that even season 2 did not prepare you for.
The fucking apocalypse plotline is going sneak in again, I smell it like ice on mountain air and fungus in a moist cave. Mostly the fungus metaphor.
Aziraphale will kiss Crowley first in this season. It is only fair.
There will be a hug. An Aziraphale-Crowley hug. Who hugs whom? Delphi has not spoken to me of that in detail, but a wee little nightingale told me it is a possibility they will both fall into the hug and we will know they needed it like they needed breathing and it wasn't planned but it was inevitable. The whole fandom can then sleep again.
I expect at least two more ineffable husbands breakups. But you guys survived season 2 (I haven't yet. If I die, can someone reblog this with 'he told us so!' when season 3 finally comes out?) so I have faith in you, war veterans.
Crowley will know, finally, that he is more than forgiven. He is loved. Aziraphale will know, finally, that the real heaven was the home he found with Crowley. Heaven and god will retreat. It's okay, guys, it'll take time but it will happen.
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As promised, my commentary on Hunter.... to the people that like him, im sorry.
Spoiler warnings and the like, this is pretty negative aside from like maybe three sentences?? Feel free to leave you're own opinions on this too ofc !!! >:)
I dont like Hunter.
Actually, that's not entirely true, I liked him in TCW season 7, when he was that silly man who fucked droids around the place, took no shit, and loved his brothers. I like the Hunter who, not putting this nicely, had a personality.
This is not a dig on him as a character, it's a dig on how he was handled, writing wise
Listen, I totally get that the "rugged-man-adopts-a-star-child" trope is popular, and I do LOVE that trope, really I do- I just don't really think it was done that well here? It's bothered me since s1 of the Bad Batch, and I don't think it's going to get any better this season....
My only real problem with the writing inconsistency of Hunter being an older brother of three to "Omega this, Omega that" and while I agree childcare is SUPER difficult at the best of times, Hunter had four brothers who were equally capable of taking care of Omega, too. It just never sat right with me that taking care of her became his ENTIRE personality
Hes a soldier, who despite being completely out of his element, had a routine he strictly followed for the whole war. Yet he seemed to completely forget about that ?? Stressed or not stressed, that worn in routines and LIFELONG LESSONS should not have left his head as quickly as they seemed to.
The most obvious and frustrating example of the oversimplification of Hunter's character is with Crosshair. I cannot even BEGIN to describe my anger when it comes to Hunter and Crosshair. It mainly stems from the way he just FORGETS his brother is with the Empire. Conveniently never bringing it up unless someone else did it first.
As the oldest sibling and squad leader, I personally think Hunter should have been the one to bring him up. It should not have had to be specifically mentioned by another character for Hunter to discuss it. He loves his brothers, he loved Crosshair, broody or not, he should have brought it up AT LEAST once, imo.
We also see this complete disregard for Crosshair AGAIN in s3, now that we have seen Hunter looking for Omega and not ONCE mentioning Crosshair. Has he forgotten that they were originally going to find Crosshair??? That they never actually FOUND their brother ??????? Annoyed me so much, tbh.
What else annoyed me was the singular language he used during the whole episode. "She's part of our squad." "Hemlock took SOMEONE from us." He's completely and utterly disregarding the OTHER TWO SIBLINGS that the Empire took away from him !!!!! It genuinely frustrates me so much.
I know I'm DEFINITELY nit-picking here, but even when Hunter looked to Tech's goggles, it was in a "He should've been here to do this." Way, not a "He should be here." Way. That's his brother, who died looking for another that Hunter has forgotten.
Hunter's tunnel vision is probably one my least favourite things about the Bad Batch, if I dare even MENTION that- and I love this show. It means so much to me, but I just can't handle this particular part of it...
I have so SO much anger directed towards the treatment of Hunter by the writers. I want the Hunter who was devoted to his WHOLE family, who fought for ALL of them, who would have NEVER allowed Crosshair to leave in the first place. Give me that Hunter back.
(Saying this- I do not mind Hunter and Omega's father/daughter and brother/sister relationship !!! I do really enjoy it- in small amounts. The fact that Hunter became nearly an extention of Omega really just- threw me off his whole character, really)
I specifically pick to ignore this when I'm making anything. Hunter has been a sergeant of three idiots(named endearingly) for the entirety of the war. One child who wanders around should not have taken up 100% of Hunter's attention, ESPECIALLY when he was surrounded and supported. It just bothers me, idk
Anyway, thats my rant !!! Back to some positives soon, promise !! I just had to get this off my chest, it's been BOTHERING me.
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starshipsofstarlord · 10 months
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Little Rascal
The pack discovers that Peter has a life that he cares about hidden in Beacon Hills. A wife and a son that they have never before met (1.4k)
Warnings - fluff, pet names, dad!Peter, brief mention of murder and sex, Peter’s secret little life, threats, season 4 based yet loosely different with how Peter goes about working with Scott, deadpool
peter hale masterlist main masterlist more teen wolf
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To say that Peter was glad to be home, away from all of the chaos that he contributed within the McCall pack, was a dangerous understatement. He hates being away from his own little world, for he cared for those he had in it, and he was a whole different person whilst he was there.
Home, it was the first time in a long duration of such where he felt as though he could call a place that. But it wasn’t just the environment, it was also those that lived in it alongside him, he loved the mundane aspects, how he could relax on the sofa and not have to worry about the ghosts that were in his scorned past.
“Honey Bee.” Peter called out to his sentimental lover; the only one he could love other than his troublesome young son. The dismissive clatter of dishes reached his ears as they were placed in the kitchen basin, and his love came to stand before him as he was seated on the couch, a tiny monster of his own creation clasped with his arms around his mothers legs.
“Yes darling?” She spoke softly to him, combing through her son’s dark locks with her maternal fingers, and the sight made the big bad wolf smile a real smile, one of happy content. Y/N’s head was cocked to the side as she enquired on why he called for her presence, and the man stood, untangling his child from around his wife’s legs and brought him up into his arms.
Taryn was weightless, yet he weighed down Peter’s heart heavy with loving adoration. He could not wait until he and Y/N procreated another little critter that would run around their home just the same as the one he held did. It was the best thing to ever happen to him, being a father.
He had not watched Malia grow up, and that was nothing short of a shame, but now he had the chance to do better and be there as he was more than well aware of the ever encompassing presence of his youngest child.
“I-“ before he could speak on what he had planned, there was an ever so stiff knock rattling on the front door to his secret haven. A derelict sigh made the man roll his tortured eyes as he steadied Taryn more securely upon his hip, pressing a firm peck to his wife’s temple before stepping towards the entrance to their home and unlocking the barrier that protected all that he cared for to onlooking eyes.
And there on the other side was formidably confused pack members, of which he occasionally aided, his only surviving nephew included. His arm propped more securely around his son as he glared with lack of impression, bemused about his unexpected visitors.
They shouldn’t have been here, he hadn’t even let them know the whereabouts of his address, and thus they must have tracked his scent to here. “Can I help you?” The old alpha scowled, his expression creasing even more when Derek dared to take a step closer. “That’s your son.” His raven haired nephew stated, picking up on the boy’s familiar scent.
“You have a kid, other than Malia?” Stiles retorted, feeling rather glad that his werecoyote girlfriend had not accompanied them to their destination. Scott too was rather surprised, he had expected that Peter had nothing driving his life other than a blood lust for power, however it appeared that they had all been wrong. There was a piece of him that was surprisingly human, and it was something that none of them had ever expected to uncover.
After all he had done, perhaps he had committed his wrong doings for another reason than vengeance; he was protecting his own little pack. “Peter, we need your help.” Scott stated with his soft alpha demeanour, understanding if he were unwilling to give his aid at this particular time. He had never been a fan of Peter, not after changing him to be a werewolf against his will, and especially not after threatening the lives of those he cared about, but he had to admit, he conditioned a heart felt feeling for the man. It wasn’t quite happiness, but it wasn’t not happiness either.
“I guess you’ve caught me in a good mood.” It was something the pack members had rarely witnessed, Peter was hardly generous, but he wanted to try and be a good example for his son. “Come on in - but don’t make yourselves at home. I’d prefer for this to not take too long.”
At least his blunt honesty wasn’t peculiar behaviour, and thus with wary footsteps Stiles was forced by Scott’s hand upon the back of his shoulder to enter the home of Peter Hale. “What’s your kid’s name?” Derek asked, curious about his newly discovered cousin. The kid shyly bowed his head, his locks falling before his eyes as Peter placed him like a feather on the floor.
Taryn was preferable to remain in Peter’s shadow. Tucking his hands around his father’s legs as he adapted to the strangers that his father had invited inside. Without hesitancy, despite the company he had, Peter crouch’s down and comforted his son. “It’s okay, you can introduce yourself. These are… some friends of mine.” He’d have rather proclaimed them as acquaintances however that would unsettle Taryn, and it wasn’t exactly the truth.
“My name is Taryn.” The spawn of Scott’s first enemy quietly spoke, making his father proud for doing so. “Why don’t you go to your room son, I’ll be right in after talking to my friends.” The boy needn’t be told twice, he was shy, especially around the rare amount of strangers he had met, and so he gladly trotted off down the hallway, giddy for his ‘daddy’s friends’ leave.
Peter stood up straighter and cleared his throat. “What is it that you needed from me?” His stoic demeanour returned as he expectedly awaited an answer to those that brought constant chaos into his now calm life. “Perhaps to know who would have a child with you, the mass murderer that went around the town killing only for it all to be blamed on a mountain lion.” Stiles scoffed, shocked that someone would willingly procreate with such a monster.
“That would be me.” A voice startled the sarcastic boy, one of feminine grace and beauty which astounded Stiles whom was gasping at the sight of the goddess like creature that stalked in the room before them. “Do we have a problem here darling, or do I need to rip a tongue or two out to bring some quiet back to our home?” Her eyebrows raised as she glowered upon the folk that were crowded in the entryway, looking to her husband for confirmation.
“It’s fine Y/N.” It wasn’t very often that Peter called her by her name, however he was on edge for the seriousness that was contorting the faces of the pack members. “But what I am wanting to know is what isn’t fine, since I assume that’s what you lot were going to tell me.” Derek inhaled through his nose as Scott stepped closer, understanding that the threat was far larger to Peter than he had earlier anticipated.
“There’s a dead pool for supernatural creatures. They are going to try and kill us for money, your money in fact. And I’m willing to bet your family are on the other parts of the list; so, are you willing to help us protect our kind, or will you run, like you always do? I’d understand if you did the latter, I never knew you had a son and a…”
“Wife.” Y/N finished the sentence for Scott, crossing her arms as she stood closer to her husband. “If you need help, you have mine, I will do anything to protect my son.” It was unexpected however Derek nodded in appreciation for her words. Peter weaved his fingers through hers as he ogled worryingly at his beauty, and he was the beast, a beast that was to be hunted and fighting for the life of his family.
“Our son.” He spoke humbly, becoming protective as he thought of all he had to lose. “Just tell us what you want us to do Scott, but remember, our priority is Taryn, his life is more important than any other to us. I will not save a life if it means risking his, but we will do our best.”
“I understand.” Scott said harmlessly, for the first time gracing his maker with a smile. None of this would have tied the alpha up in this mess if Peter had never bitten him, however there was nothing for him to do that would erase that past. “And thank you, I’m glad that we’re on the same side when it comes to this.”
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cod-dump · 5 months
Text
Welcome Home (teen!ghost au)
———
Simon knew something was up. John was talking on the phone a lot with Mrs. Laswell and he kept looking at the spare bedroom. It was two little things, really, but it sparked a memory. Something he did before he sat down Simon about opening their home to another boy, Kyle.
Simon couldn’t be certain that’s what was happening. He was too nervous to ask, wasn’t sure what assuming such a thing would do. So he kept quiet, just watching his father closely. He didn’t say anything to Kyle. He didn’t notice, didn’t care, so why say something? There wasn’t anything determining it… that they could be getting a new sibling. At least a temporary one.
“What’s with the face?”
Simon blinked, refocusing on his homework before he looked up at Kyle who was sitting across from him.
“What?”
“You’re thinking hard… is it the algebra?”
Simon huffs, “Numbers and letters don’t belong together.”
“How dare you try to keep them apart.”
Simon snorts, Kyle setting his pen aside to stretch. Nik was lurking outside, Simon could see him leaning on his SUV through the window. He’s also been on the phone a lot…
“You’re making that face again…”
Simon shakes his head, putting his pen down and getting out of his chair, “Too many numbers. I need a break.”
Kyle stared at him concerned, Simon choosing to ignore him as he left the kitchen. He chose to step outside, taking a breath of the cool evening air before he sat down on the steps of the porch. The season was changing, everything cooling down and the leaves changing color. Simon loved this time of year.
“Homework getting your ass?”
“I haven’t admitted defeat yet.”
Nik chuckles before he walks over and sits next to him, groaning as he does. Simon wanted to ask, wanted to know if what he thought was happening was in fact happening. Nik would know, he knew all kinds of things, but he liked messing around and may not even tell Simon anything remotely useful. So he didn’t ask and just relaxed outside for a bit before he went back inside to finish his homework. A few days would pass without Simon thinking much on his father and Nik’s behavior.
Then him and Kyle would be sat down in the kitchen to talk.
“Boys, you remember Farah, right?”
Simon’s heart picked up hearing her name.
“Remember- Dad, she visited us for Christmas last year!”
John smiles, “How could I forget.”
“Haven’t really heard from her since February, though… Is she okay?”
Simon loved Farah. She was a couple years older than him and was basically his sister by this point. She had lived in the neighborhood since Simon was taken in by John but she ended up moving shortly after Kyle was adopted. She was his best friend before he met Ale and the Los Vaqueros. They somewhat kept in touch but the texts came by fewer and fewer to the point they were basically just them reminding each other that they’re alive.
“She’s been… having issues at home…”
Simon clenched his fists, swallowing. She was never very open about her home life and her family always appeared picture perfect. He chalked up any thoughts that he had about something going on to just him overthinking…
“How would you two feel about her staying with us for awhile?”
They both of course were more than fine with her staying. Simon immediately offered to help clean up the spare bedroom, he wanted everything to be welcoming for Farah.
“Just move the stuff in there to the garage, alright? We’ll deal with it later.”
Simon wasn’t sure what was going on and he was content with probably never getting the full story of what was going on while Farah stayed with them. Simon grabbed Kyle and took him with him to help set up the spare bedroom. He knew that getting it ready quicker didn’t mean Fran was going to get here sooner, but he was excited.
-
Kyle was teasing him for practically sitting at the door waiting for Nik and John to come back with Farah. Simon just glared at him while he texted Johnny. He had told him basically everything about what was happening and it turns out Kyle was doing the same. He was pretty much a part of this even though he has been at his gran’s house for the past week.
“We should have a group chat.”
Simon turned and looked at Kyle who was also on his phone, “What?”
“A group chat with Johnny… though I don’t want to see you two role play or whatever-“
Kyle was pelted in the face by one of the couch pillows. Simon was immediately smacked in the face with the same pillow before Kyle lunged at him. They were quick to end up on the floor considering they had already wrecked one couch (the silence that surrounded their father was something they would like to not experience again). So they were on the floor, Kyle trying to overpower and pin Simon while Simon was trying to pry him off of him. Normally there was someone to referee but—
The sound of a car door shutting gave Simon a boost of strength which allowed him to shove Kyle off of him. Kyle was sprawled on the floor as Simon ran to the door and peeked out the window next to it. The moment he saw Farah he swung the door open and ran out. The girl had a solid ten seconds to notice Simon after he shouted her name before he all but tackled her into a fierce hug. She instinctively hugged him back, squeezing his shoulders with an equal amount of desperation. it’s been so long since they had last seen each other and they were both afraid the other would disappear the moment they parted.
“Si, stop suffocating the girl and help get her things!” There was amusement in his dad’s voice, an undeniable fondness.
Simon gave an extra squeeze before he set Farah down, noticing the drying tear tracks as he steps away from her. He noted it before he ran to the back of the SUV to grab a box. His eagerness made Nik laugh and remind him to be careful. Kyle came out to greet Farah, them sharing a less emotional hug and something more casual and definitely awkward. Farah had always been Ghost’s friend that Kyle somewhat knew, he hoped that didn’t stir anything up while she was staying with them.
-
They had piled everything into the spare, now Farah’s, bedroom. Simon had so much to say, so much to ask, but he could tell Farah was drained. There was this look in her eye, something Simon had once when he was first picked up by Mrs. Laswell taken in by John. It went away with time, so he hopes Farah would come around to being her old self again.
“I need to wash some clothes… and make my bed… Fuck, I need a nap,” Farah took the shirt she fished out of a box and threw it at the growing pile near the closet.
“I can do your laundry while you nap.”
Farah sighed, “You don’t have to, Si. Your dad is already doing so much by picking me up and letting me stay here.”
“Hey, he’s doing it because he wants to. And I want to do your laundry so you can take a nap. You need it.”
Farah gave him a glare with no heat behind it, “You saying I look bad?”
“You look tired.”
Farah huffs and leans against Simon, slumping her full weight against him, “I am… can you do the laundry later?”
“Why not now?”
“I… I don’t want to be alone…”
Oh. Simon frowned, the urge to do something to comfort Farah making his hands twitch. He wasn’t sure what she’s been through and he wasn’t going to ask. So he decided to sit with Farah as she napped, her hand gripping his shirt as she fell asleep.
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randomshyperson · 4 months
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Messy Hearts - [HS Challenge]
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Summary: When your unhealthy habits grow out of control, your girlfriend finally brings you an ultimatum. [Requested]
Warnings: angst with a hopeful ending, explicit mentions of unhealthy coping mechanisms, depression and grieving, end of an established relationship, innuendos at the end but nothing explicit | Words: 1.709k
General Masterlist | Wattpad | AO3 | Holiday Season Masterlist
-&-
A deal is a deal.
So when Wanda arrives home from an exhausting 12-hour mission only to find that you've barely moved from the same place she said goodbye to when she left, there's a broken agreement and irritation exploding in her chest.
The room is dark and stuffy and you haven't even noticed her yet. Completely focused on the electronic game in front of you, which seems to be in full swing judging by the commands you give into the microphone and the rapid movement of your fingers on the controller.
Wanda pulls the curtains open and you squirm like a vampire.
"Jesus Christ, what... Wanda!" But your complaint is completely ignored - your girlfriend makes a simple movement with her fingers and all the wires are disconnected at once, scarlet sparks vanishing into thin air for a moment. With the screen black and the connection interrupted, you let out an indignant exclamation and get to your feet. "W-what? Why?"
She crosses her arms. "Are you serious? Do you even dare to ask? Did you at least drink any water in the last few hours?"
With an indignant grumble, you threw the controller down on the table and glared at her, ignoring her question as you rebutted; "That's so disrespectful of you! I was ranking and now I have to start all over again-"
"Oh, but you won't!" she interrupted in the same tone. "Go eat something and take a shower. We've been over this, Y/N! We have an agreement-"
You huffed, turning your back on her. Wanda saw red and followed you at a brisk pace across the room to the bathroom.
"I don't want to talk to you, just leave." You retorted with your back turned, but as you tried to open the bathroom door, the handle remained stuck and you only had the choice of facing the angry witch behind you.
"Are you really going to act like I'm the wrong one here? After you've been playing non-stop for 12 hours?"
With an annoyed sigh, you cross your arms defensively. "That's not your problem, you're my girlfriend, not my mother."
"Wow." She raises her hands in a defeated but hurt look and you flinch. 
"Wanda, I didn't mean to-"
"No, do whatever you want." She interrupts you, pulling away when you try to touch her. "I'm tired of this. I'm tired of taking care of you when you clearly want to carry on with this  self-destructive lifestyle bullshit you decide for yourself." She turns around suddenly, only to throw the golden ring in your face. You catch the item just before it slips to the floor, and Wanda storms out of the room.
Instead of heading for the bathroom, you return to your chair with an irritated sigh.
Less than ten minutes later, you're back online and the voices of Kate Bishop and Peter Parker are asking you about your sudden disappearance.
"Wanda dumped me again." You comment, that despite holding the control stick, your fingers were twirling the matching ring. 
Kate is the first to speak: "Do you want to know my opinion on the matter or are you going to be grumpy if we take Wanda's side?"
You chuckle briefly, trying to control the urge to cry. No matter how many times this happens, it hurts just the same each one.
"Shoot, Bishop." You grumble.
Your longtime friend pauses as if gathering her courage to speak. "We love you because you're our best friend and all, but honey, Wanda is doing holy work here." Kate comments. "If I had to babysit my girl to make sure Yelena was functioning like a human being, I'd have severe stress problems. But I think I'd do it anyway because I love her and she can always count on me. You know what I'm trying to say, right? Wanda works as a superhero full time and when she should have some peace, she still has to monitor whether her girlfriend is eating. It's not an easy situation, and I think you should try harder for that girl." 
You sighed. "Wow, Kate, you've really made your point now." 
"I love you but you needed to hear this."
Peter murmurs in agreement before adding: "We're here for you, always. Just sort things out with your girl first."
You left the ring on the table, and thanked the other two, muttering that you'd take care of everything before turning off the computer.
But Wanda needed some time to let off steam, so instead of looking for her now, you stopped resisting the urge to sleep.
-&-
The two of you have been through worse. Wanda knew this, just as she knew that there was no place for anyone else in her heart, not really, not in the same way.
You were undeniably the most important person in her life. Her best friend, her teammate. The person who helped her deal with the loss of Pietro, and the person who has stood by her side without hesitation ever since. 
But while you pulled Wanda out of self-destructive grief with surreal ease to create warm moments that made her hopeful again, Wanda failed to do the same for you.
Because your sister Natasha was gone, along with half of the Original Avengers, and with them, a part of you was buried too.
Even if the Tower remained standing, and the compound and the Team, now bearing the title of Young Avengers, had been rebuilt, part of you didn't stand up with them.
And Wanda has tried everything, between the exhausting routine of being one of the few Avengers still active, she kept trying to get you out of your room, feed you, and make sure you didn't join Natasha of your own free will.
It was difficult, but for you, Wanda didn't hesitate to do it at any time.
And yet, perhaps because Thanos stole five years off your maturity, you were still fighting like teenagers. Arguing and throwing rings even though in your hearts, the will was to go on forever.
Wanda couldn't relax after the discussion. She only slept because she was exhausted from work, and was lucky enough to be dismissed the next day. Perhaps Sam already knew about the break-up, she imagined so, from the way he looked at her when he commented that he was going to rearrange the demands among the others.
Then Wanda retired to her own room with a breakfast tray that she barely touched. 
A knock during the fifth episode of the sitcom she chose to watch to distract herself made Wanda look at the door. She wasn't surprised to see you, but she was certainly pleased to realize that you had just stepped out of the shower, and were also carrying a tray with enough lunch for the two of you.
"Hey."
Wanda could be resentful too. Stubborn. She just grumbled back, without smiling. You didn't mind, closing the door with your foot and moving slowly across the room. You left the tray on one of the tables and approached the bed.
"Can we talk?" You ventured. Wanda sighed, without taking her attention away from the TV show.
"I'm listening."
You smiled briefly, putting your hands in your pockets. You continued to stand in the room, even though your (ex) girlfriend was pretending you weren't there.
"I spoke to Bucky earlier today." You begin. "I got his therapist's phone number, I'll start next week." Wanda looks at you in surprise, but you sigh heavily and look away. "I did what you asked too. Shower and food. And I put my computer and video game away in their boxes."
"You didn't have to." She interrupts, but you chuckle sadly.
"I did." You insist. "And there's something else. Something you're not going to like."
Wanda frowned, turning her body completely towards you. The forgotten TV show next to her.
You swallowed dryly before taking courage. "I'm in a really bad place right now, and I... don't want to take you with me." You say. "So I think, at least until I feel better, this time it's going to be serious. This time, we... should stay apart."
Wanda could feel her throat closing with the urge to cry. She could see the tears in your eyes too. But she also knew that everything you said was true and that you meant it.
So all she could do was sigh and get up to go towards you, to wrap her arms around your shoulders. "I love you." She whispered as you slipped your arms around her. "I'll always love you."
"I'm sorry for being rude and mean last night-"
"Shh, it's okay." She hugs you tighter, tightening her embrace. Why did it seem like forever since she'd hugged you like this? This was so incredible. "Now say it back, please."
You chuckle shyly but nod. "I love you, Wanda Maximoff."
She broke down to smile at you. "And don't you forget." She warns in a casual tone, sharing a short chuckle with you.
Still holding her, you rest your foreheads on hers and rub your noses together affectionately. "I never want to be away from you." You confess with a sigh, and Wanda sniffles softly.
With a tearful voice, she nods. "The feeling is incredibly mutual, darling. Even when you're being a total pain in the ass." Wanda is trying to joke because you're hurting and she loves you and wants you to get real help and not feel so serious about the break-up. This is temporary. You'll get better, and she'll marry you one day like she always dreamed she would.
But you don't laugh, instead, you put a gentle distance between your faces. Wanda almost thinks it's a new argument brewing, but when she meets your gaze, she understands that it's something else.
The tension in the room emerges with the blink of your dilated irises.
"My therapy doesn't start until next week." You comment. "We don't need to be apart right now..."
"You're such a dork." She snorts back an incredulous laugh, before grabbing your shirt collar. "Who says we can't have sex without commitment?"
"Jesus." You reply in the same playful tone, muffling Wanda's laughter with your mouth.
Yeah, you both missed that.
329 notes · View notes
magicfootballstuff · 10 months
Text
Superstar (patri guijarro x reader)
Summary: Even big players get nervous before big finals. Patri is no exception to that.
———
You never fall asleep straight away the night before a big match and tonight is no different.
Football doesn’t get much bigger than tomorrow. Your first Champions League final in front of a sold out crowd, a chance to win the most prestigious trophy in club football.
You’re not nervous. At least not yet. Nor is it excitement that keeps you awake. More the anticipation of such a huge game. You’re going to have to be at your absolute best tomorrow, to play football like you’ve never played it before. 
With that thought, you’re just starting to wonder if maybe you are nervous after all, when your phone lights up on the nightstand beside your bed. You prop yourself up onto one elbow to peer at the screen and see an incoming call from a number saved in your contacts as nothing more than ‘❤️’, and you reach for the phone to answer.
“I can’t sleep,” your girlfriend says as soon as you pick up.
Rolling onto your back with your phone held up to your ear, you reply, “So you decided you’d wake me up too?”
“Your phone is always on silent. I knew you wouldn’t answer unless you were still awake too.”
Though there’s a hint of teasing in Patri’s voice, her tone is familiar and soothing, and you have no doubt that if you stayed on the line and just let Patri talk, you’d find that sleep isn’t so hard to succumb to after all.
“So, do you want to talk about what’s on your mind or do you want me to distract you?” you ask Patri.
“Depends what kind of distraction you’re offering,” Patri replies, her voice low enough to cause a stirring deep in your gut.
“Patricia,” you warn her, before the conversation can descend into complete filth.
“Sorry,” Patri apologises, her voice back to normal. “But I don’t think I’ve ever been nervous like this before a match. Excited-nervous, yes. But not scared-nervous.”
“What are you scared of?” you ask.
“I just keep replaying last year’s final over and over again. That feeling when the final whistle went, when we knew we’d lost, I don’t want to ever feel like that again.”
“Then don’t lose,” you say, as if it’s that simple.
“That’s easy for you to say. You’ve never played in a Champions League final before.”
“No, you’re right,” you admit.
This is your first season with Barcelona, having only signed for them last summer. But you know that the Champions League is all they strive for. They talk about it more than any individual match, more than winning the league. For them, winning the Champions League is the only option. To lose would be the ultimate failure.
You’ve heard them talk about last year’s final. The further the team has progressed through the competition this year, the more they talk about it, and the more you’ve come to realise how much that loss affected them mentally. Not just to lose, but to lose the way that they did, after being heralded as the favourites. You don’t know exactly what they felt that day when they didn’t win, but you hope you never find out.
“How did you feel when you lost last year?” you dare to ask, knowing that it’s a question that risks opening old wounds, but one that you think you need to ask.
“Like a failure,” Patri answers straight away. “Like I wasn’t good enough. Like I’d let everyone down - the team, my family, the fans.”
“And how did it feel the year before, when you beat Chelsea in the final?” you ask as a follow up.
“The best feeling in the world.” You can hear the smile in Patri’s voice as she recounts what you know to be the best day of her life. “I felt invincible. I felt so much love for this team, so proud to be culé.”
“The fact that you’re so scared of repeating last year is a good thing, no?” you ask.
“I guess so,” Patri hums.
“Because you can channel that pain into success tomorrow,” you continue. “It’s not that you didn’t fight to win last year, but now you have an extra reason to want to win.”
“I think if we lose tomorrow, it might break me,” Patri confesses. “I’m not sure I’ll ever recover.”
“You will,” you promise her. “You recovered from last year. Going through something like that makes you stronger. If we lose tomorrow, we come back fighting even harder next year. But I don’t think we’re going to lose. I don’t think you’re going to let that happen. We’re taking that trophy back to Barcelona, I can feel it.”
“I really hope you’re right.”
“I’m usually right,” you tease her, to lighten the conversation, and Patri jumps at the chance to change the subject.
“Come to my room,” Patri practically purrs down the phone.
It’s tempting. The worst thing about away games is having to sleep apart from your girlfriend, but everyone gets assigned their own rooms for a reason and out of all the couples on the team, you don’t want to be the ones who get told off for breaking the rules right before such a big game.
“I can’t,” you remind her. “You know I’ll get in trouble if I get caught.”
“Then don’t get caught,” Patri says in a mocking voice, and you wonder if she’s making fun of the way you told her to simply not lose tomorrow’s Champions League final. When you still hesitate, she tries to tempt you by adding, “You don’t win Champions League finals by playing safe.”
“You also don’t win Champions League finals by staying up all night before the match with your girlfriend instead of sleeping,” you counter.
Patri doesn’t say anything, but you hear some noises on the other end of the line, some rustling, some heavy breathing, followed by the distinctive sound of a door being closed.
“Patri?” you ask, worried that your girlfriend is in the process of doing something that will get you both in a lot of trouble. “Patri, what are you doing?” 
“Coming down to see you,” she whispers, confirming your theory, and you picture her creeping along the hallway of the floor above, sneaking past the rooms where your teammates and the Barcelona staff sleep. “What was your room number again?”
“Patri…” you groan.
“I’m already on my way. Don’t make me knock on every door until I find you. That would definitely get us in trouble.”
“It’d get you in trouble,” you point out, denying all accountability for your girlfriend’s misbehaviour. “I’m fast asleep in my bed.” You pause, then add, “In room 314.”
“Yes,” Patri hisses. “Thank you baby. See you in a second.”
She hangs up the phone, leaving you to expect her imminent arrival. You flick on one of the bedside lamps to bathe your hotel room in a soft orange glow, then peel back the covers to get out of bed. Your room is a bit of a mess but you gather the clothes strewn around and toss them into your open suitcase, then hang the damp towel that was on the floor over the back of a chair to dry.
No sooner have you finished making the room look semi-presentable, do you hear a couple of gentle taps on the door.
Your heart does a little flip in your chest as you open the door to see Patri standing out in the hallway in her pyjamas, a big grin on her face as she greets you.
“Hi,” she says.
“Come in,” you say, ushering her inside. “Quick, before anyone sees you.”
Patri steps past you and launches herself onto your bed, arms spread wide and face pressed into the pillow your own head was laying against just a couple of minutes ago.
“Please, make yourself at home,” you say sarcastically, as you close the door behind her.
Patri rolls over onto her back and tucks her legs under the covers, before tapping the vacant spot on the mattress beside her.
“Plenty of room for two,” she tells you, raising her eyebrows in an invitation.
You climb into bed beside her, flicking off the lamp to shroud the room in darkness again, and pulls the covers up over you as Patri nestles against your chest, her arm draped across your waist.
“How are you feeling?” you ask her, bringing one hand up to the back of her head and stroking your fingers through her hair.
“Better now,” she murmurs. “I always feel better when I’m with you.”
“Then it’s a good job I’ll be on the pitch with you tomorrow,” you joke, and Patri hums in agreement.
Maybe that’s why you’re not nervous. It could be naivety, not yet fully understanding the enormity of tomorrow’s task. But it’s also a comfort to know that you get to do it with Patri, to experience days like tomorrow with the most important person in your life. If you win, you get to celebrate together, and if you lose, you have each other to lean on for support.
“In all seriousness, you know I’ve always got you,” you promise Patri. “Whatever the outcome tomorrow, you’re always making me proud. You’ll always be my number one.”
Patri says nothing, her breathing steady and the weight of her warm body against yours the comfort that you needed when you were first trying to find sleep earlier in the night before Patri’s phone call.
“But I think you’re gonna do something special tomorrow,” you continue. “I can feel it. My superstar is going to show the world why she deserves to be called the best in the world.”
Patri would normally have one of two reactions to you hyping her up like this - either to preen and play up to your words, or to pretend to get shy and act like she isn’t worthy of your praise. But when she does neither, you glance down at her to look for the reason for her silence, and are met by the sight of your girlfriend fast asleep on your chest, eyes closed and a picture of peace on her face. 
You slowly stop playing with her hair, but press a tender kiss to the top of her head instead.
“Sweet dreams, my superstar. Tomorrow we win the Champions League.”
451 notes · View notes
mlbigbang · 3 months
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2023 Marichat & Ladrien Fic Rec List
It’s the end of the year which means it’s finally time for the ML Big Bang’s yearly fic rec lists! We’re really excited to bring you our contributors’ favourite fics started this year to supply you with plenty of reading material while you’re waiting for the Big Bang fics’ publication in January.
Boulangérella by @aidanchaser
Once upon a time, magic was wild. The two princes of the kingdom have been tasked with choosing their brides by the end of their 21st birthday celebrations. Crown Prince Adrien Agreste will have to choose between a woman who can protect his kingdom, a woman offering the power to wake his sleeping mother, and the woman he has loved and admired for the past year. Then there's also the seamstress that he is suddenly falling for. By the time he realizes he doesn't have the power to choose at all, it may be too late.
It's a creative Cendrillon retelling with the kwamis as fay, Adrien as the kingdom's prince and most wanted thief, and Marinette as the seamstess and superhero partner stealing Adrien's heart twice over.
Scary, like a little black purring kitten by @h-sunnywet-d
The calendar just turned into October, and Chat Noir has to make sure that his Good Friend Marinette appreciates the new season wholeheartadly. It sure won't backfire on the long run.
Just An Ordinary Girl by @kasienda
Chat Noir and the other heroes are in a bit of trouble, and Ladybug wanted just one weekend off! But luckily they know someone who can help. Someone who is just an ordinary girl…
you will never sleep alone (i'll love you) by @ladyofthenoodle
Marinette had saved up for months to be able to afford this vacation. Not only that, but she’d spent months trying to convince herself that it was okay to even take a vacation, that Monarch was really and truly gone. Which was why Tikki was at home with Alya, so that Marinette could actually relax and enjoy the plush amenities the hotel had to offer, such as a bed that looked like it cost five times her monthly salary. Or, she would be able to enjoy it, if she wasn’t standing in the middle of the villa she’d booked over a month ago, fighting for the bed with freaking Chat Noir, of all people.
May I introduce myself, Your Highness? by @chocoluckchipz
Whether picking up a stray animal off the streets or saving a dying child at the market, Adrien had always strived to be the best version of himself. Truly, he would've been the perfect candidate to be snatched up by a kwami, were he an orphan, dying somewhere remote after a short life full of nothing but suffering and misery. Yet as it stood, the sole heir to the French throne had little to complain about. Apart from, perhaps, a complete absence of a love life. That is until a mysterious girl, wandering around his gardens at night, catches his attention.
This fic has it all - Ladrien, royalty, fairy tale elements, magic and disguises! It's an enthralling read and one of my absolute favorite fics from 2023.
The Perfect Date by @peachcitt
“I dare you to ask this special someone on the date you just described.” “I totally will,” Adrien says with confidence, looking into the camera and nodding resolutely. “Scout’s honor.” He holds up the kitten as if swearing an oath. There is a space of silence. “Right now,” Hanna says. Adrien stares at her. “I’m daring you to ask that person out right now,” she says. or adrien has a little slip up during a live interview, and ladybug hears. for the golden hour zine!!
reserved by @luckyyoyo
“Don’t you think,” he coughed, a blush creeping up his cheeks, “this kind of thing should be.. reserved for my girlfriend?” He gestured to their poses. A squeak came from her mouth and her knees buckled, but surprisingly still had no struggle keeping Adrien up. “You know, you could always be my girlfriend.” Ladybug, saviour of Paris and local damsel-in-distress Adrien Agreste, suggests he gets a fake girlfriend to ward off his zombie fans. While lovingly holding him in her arms, of course. Adrien, far too comfortable in her arms, suggests it could be her. Introducing your superheroine pretend-girlfriend to your strict, uninterested father is a bit harder than Adrien realises.
Displaced by @kasienda
Adrien loosened his tie and dropped his suit jacket unceremoniously across the back of the sofa that was already cluttered with unopened boxes, mail, and unfolded laundry. He really should have listened to Nino and hired a maid or cleaning person of some sort. But well, he still had a secret to keep, and keeping that secret was more important to him than ever. He moved to his bedroom on autopilot without turning on the light, intending to collapse into bed immediately. But when he tried to slip into his space, he found it was already occupied. He flipped his phone flashlight on towards the ceiling to light the room in a soft glow. In his wife’s place, Ladybug lay sprawled diagonally across the bed.
here comes the rush before we touch (come a little closer) by @ladyofthenoodle
When an akuma attacks during Adrien Agreste's beach themed photoshoot on a dreary day in Paris, Ladybug is on the scene immediately. Unfortunately, with a glimpse of Adrien's alluring abdomen and without her partner, it's not long before she's hit, and Adrien with her—but maybe Ladybug can afford a little vacation with the boy she loves. He's certainly not complaining.
On Borrowed Time by @miabrown007
The life of Paris’ Golden Boy is all shine and glamour; blindingly bright smiles, neverending parties, bargaining for just a shard of time for being happy. But that’s alright; Adrien has long given up the false hope that someone will get it. That is precisely why it’s a spectacle when she does, when she barges in like a hurricane in crimson and turns his life upside down. Heaven knows, it’s time for the wind of change.
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uglypastels · 2 years
Text
Heaven and Hell // (Stranger Things) S.H. x reader x E.M. smut
requests: @ami-is-hungry -- Omgg okay- hear me out-- So, we're at a party y'know we have been dating Steve for aaa few months, and we're not really into parties like that so we invite our best friend Eddie the hot Munson. Steve gets jealous and boom threesome?? jkjk unless 😩✨
@ anon: PLEASE CAN WE GET A THREESOME W EDDIE AND STEVE!! I BEG YOU I NEED IT SO BAD
a/n: you ask and you shall receive!! I had a lot of fun writing this and thank you both for sending in the request as I really needed it to get back into the writing game- also saying that I haven´t written anything in ages and I haven´t written any ST stuff since... season 2 came out??? so I might be a bit rusty. none the less, I hope you enjoy!! Also, in my mind, Eddie´s closest friends (aka reader) call him Munchy, so yeah, that will be coming back in any other fics i write i think. Also plot might be a bit iffy, but let´s be real, no one is here for that.
Please support your local content creators with reblogs and comments <3
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word count: 6022
warning: jealous boyfriend!steve, female reader, drugs, drinking, smut (characters are 18+, minors DNI!) -- mmf threesome, blindfold, sex under influence, unprotected sex (no-no), oral (f/m receiving), hair pulling, one ¨slut¨, face sitting, cum stuff. no specific dom/sub dynamic but Eddie kinda takes charge, it just kind of happened.
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Big black shape with eyes of fire Telling people their desire - Black Sabbath
‘Oh god, what is Munson doing here?’ Steve muttered into your ear. You sat next to your boyfriend, practically on his lap and entangled in his limbs, while sipping some stale beer from a red solo cup. Then, at the sound of your friend’s name, your head spun in the direction of the door, where you could see his uncombed mop of hair stick out above the masses of hairspray and gel. 
‘I invited him,’ you said matter-of-factly, waving Eddie over. Steve’s eyes bulged in confusion. 
‘What? You… invited Eddie the Freak Munson? Why?’ 
‘Because he’s my friend and now, besides you, the only person I can actually stand in this shithole.’ You got up from the couch to hug Eddie. His arm wrapped themselves around you in a tight and warm embrace that felt nothing but like homely comfort to you. It was a gift which he was very generous with to others.
‘I’m so happy you could make it, Munchy.’ You said mid-hug, squeezing him a little bit tighter. 
‘You know I can never say no to that gorgeous smile, M’lady. And the number of people I could score a deal with here, I’ll be able to feast for weeks!’ With his arm still around your shoulder, he looked in search of a new investment, someone looking for a good time. Then you also noticed he was carrying his, to say the least, iconic black toolbox under his arm. 
‘Alright, let’s break this up, shall we?’ Steve got up from his seat, popping his head between you and Eddie, pushing you slightly apart. ‘Let’s not get too comfortable, yeah, Munson?’ 
‘Don’t worry, Harrington, I’d never dare steal this lady from you.’ Eddie’s smirk didn’t go unnoticed by you or your boyfriend, which probably wasn’t helping the situation. You had known for a long time how jealous and overprotective Steve could get– well, you had heard about it from the girls he had dated in the past, yet never had experienced it first-hand yourself, as you had never found yourself in a situation where Steve would have felt threatened. Indeed, you had never expected this to finally happen with your best friend. The idea alone was ridiculous. 
‘Yeah, well, we’ll see about that, ok?’ Steve grabbed you in an embrace, stating his position clear to everyone, specifically Eddie. 
‘Whatever, man.’ Eddie rolled his eyes, then looked at you, ‘you’re still up for it later?’
‘Mhm, totally.’
‘Later? What’s up later?’ Steve, already feeling three steps behind, looked at you for clarity, so you explained it. 
‘Was going to go outside for a bit, smoke some of Eddie’s good stuff… you can join, of course. If you’d like to.’ 
‘Sure.’ Steve didn’t even hesitate. He glared quickly over at Eddie, who giggled behind his hand at the thought of Steve Harrington smoking a joint for, what probably would be, his first time. He told you he’s meet you out back later after he’d make some sales with the people on the part. So, already looking forward to catching some fresh air, you took Steve by the hand and led him out to the backyard. It was surprisingly empty, with most party-goers still inside the house. You found two declining garden chairs and pushed them into a far corner of the garden, where you would be less likely to be disturbed.
Steve sat down on one chair, and you were ready to sit on the other, but he grabbed you by your hips and pulled you down to sit on his lap. 
‘Hey there, sailor,’ you kissed his cheek. 
‘I’d really prefer for you to not call me that anymore.’ 
‘Hmm, I know but “sailor” is so much better than “home video man”,’ you giggled. 
‘Oh god, stop.’ Steve groaned, but you kept coming up with job titles to call him, even when he started leaving sloppy kisses across your exposed skin.
‘Rental boy?’ He kissed your neck. ‘Hmm, I can’t come up with anything better. So, sailor, it’s.’ Steve’s mouth moved down to your collarbone, which peaked out of your shirt. 
You weren’t sure how far you would have taken it on that garden chair if it wasn’t for the voice you heard behind you. 
‘Don’t mind me, you two,’ followed by a flicker of a lighter and an orange spark of light. 
‘Shit. Eddie, sorry.’ You pulled away from Steve and wanted to get up to face Eddie, but Steve had different plans, keeping you fastly seated on top of him. With his arms around you, you had nowhere to go. 
‘No, it’s fine. I had voyeurism on my try-out list anyway,’ he put a neatly rolled up joint between his lips, flicking the lighter on again. The flame lit up his face as he hid it from your vision with his hands, needing to protect it from the soft wind blowing around you. The flame caught on and burned the tip of the joint. It already had a strong smell, but the smoke that Eddie blew out only made it spread out faster and with more intensity. 
‘You’re disgusting,’ you laughed and watched Eddie let himself fall onto the other chair next to you. He then winked as he took a long drag of the joint. 
He exhaled and was finally able to speak. ‘Mmm, you know it, baby, whoo!’ The smoke came out with his words, and he cheered for the effect it already had on him. You didn’t want to miss out on any more of it and took the joint out of his hand. Steve had not said a word yet, but you felt his eyes on you as your lips touched the rolled-up paper. The smoke filled your lungs quickly, slightly painfully, with the overcoming burning sensation that you had grown to love so bitterly. 
Not wanting to let the smoke out, you couldn’t talk, just hum to get Steve’s attention. 
‘What?’ He tried to ask, but you were quicker with pressing your lips onto him. Like that, you let the smoke travel between you. Knowing it would be the only way for Steve to get high and not pester you with complaints afterwards, it was a strategy. 
‘Oh shit,’ he coughed after you let go. ‘That is disgusting.’ 
‘Just let it do its magic, Harrington,’ Eddie put his arm behind his head as he looked at the dark sky above you. The stars were mostly hidden behind even darker clouds, but some shined through. Steve coughed a little bit more. 
‘Shit, Steve, I’ll go get you some water.’ You would get up, but Steve didn’t let you go. 
‘No, I’m fine, y/n. It’s fine.’ 
‘Ok, then I’m gonna get myself some water.’ You pulled his hands away from your waist and got up, quickly striding back inside. You found some water bottles in the fridge in the kitchen, grabbed three, and walked just as quickly back. With the only two people you were interested in talking to sitting outside, you had no business staying in the room. You wanted to get out of there before some drunken asshole started to talk you up, or someone would spill their drink on you. 
You managed exactly that and got back outside to find the most unusual image. Steve and Eddie passed the joint between themselves, giggling like two school girls. 
‘What did I miss?’ you asked curiously, handing them their own ice-cold water bottle. Steve immediately started drinking his, but Eddie filled you in on the last few minutes. 
‘We were just talking.’
‘About?’ You decided to sit on the ground. The freshly cut grass smelled so much better than the grass being smoked up by the three of you. 
‘You.’ Steve said, which made you raise an eyebrow, so he added: ‘and how pretty you are.’ It really took him that fast to be out of it, huh? You couldn’t help but laugh. There was no way those two idiots had just spent the previous five minutes gushing about you. Well, maybe Steve, but why would Eddie…
‘No, it’s true,’ Eddie said, nodding lightly and handing you what was still left of the joint. ‘You’re like… insanely hot.’
‘Dude!’ Steve said, ‘that’s still my girlfriend you’re talking about.’ 
‘Yeah, believe me, I know.’ Eddie kept his head up on his knuckles. You couldn’t tell if the hazy smile came from the drugs or something else. You also started to feel that “insanely hot” comment slightly too literally as your face heated up. Hearing Steve compliment you as he does was still something you weren’t wholly grown used to, but now Eddie was sitting next to you, looking at you the way he does with those big brown eyes of his, not to mention the weed was hitting all the right spots… you were getting dizzy. 
Or maybe you had inhaled it for too long because suddenly, you were coughing. Finally, one of them unscrewed the cap of your bottle, and you downed the contents. 
‘Fuck- thanks,’ by your own voice, you had still gone a bit sore, but at least you weren’t choking on smoke any longer. 
‘Are you ok?’ It was Eddie who asked; he had come off the chair to sit on the ground next to you, his hand on your shoulder. His face was full of concern. Steve had the same expression on his features, just a few feet away. And then he registered Eddie’s position next to you, and some anger overtook him. 
‘You see she’s fine, Munson. Back off.’
‘I’m not doing anything, man.’ Eddie laughed, and his words were echoed by you: ‘he’s not doing anything, Steve. Calm down.’ 
‘I want to but it’s really hard to do when this guy wants to fuck you this bad.’ 
‘Woah! Woah! Woah! Take a step down Harrington!’ Then, as if you were burning up, Eddie jumped up and stepped back. ‘No one– there is nothing– No.’ 
‘We’re just friends.’ You went in to defend your best friend. Here it was; Steve’s jealous side was showing its true colours. 
‘I believe you, y/n.’ Steve said, ‘it’s the Freak that I don’t trust.’ 
‘Steve,’ you weren’t enjoying where this was headed and wanted to break it off before it would go too far and someone would get seriously upset. But Steve’s words didn’t have that effect on Eddie, apparently. He laughed, actually. 
‘No, it’s alright, y/n. I get it. I would be jealous too if I had a girlfriend like you, an unmatched ego without any skill to please a woman.’ 
Steve didn’t hesitate, nor did he waste a second to get up and press himself up against Eddie. They were ready to fight, you could tell as you were trying to pry yourself between them and keep whatever was happening in check. 
‘Guys–’ you tried, but it all fell on deaf ears. There was only one other thing you thought of, but it felt ridiculous to say out loud, and it had a significant chance of making things even worse than they were, but the drugs were working their natural magic on you, and your verbal filter was shut off for the moment. So, you said that slightly intrusive thought when it popped up in your brain. 
‘So prove it!’ You shouted while both of them were yelling something vague about being really good in bed. Those three words coming from your mouth were enough for them to halt their silly fight and look at you dumbfounded. 
‘What are you talking about?’ Steve asked. 
‘You’re both trying to outdo the other and you’re both saying how great you fuck, so… prove it. Both of you. Fuck me.’ 
‘No way.’ ‘Okay.’ 
They glared at each other at the sound of the other one’s answers. 
‘What do you mean, “okay”?’ Steve said. 
‘What, are you too pussy Harrington?’ Eddie was probably taking a greater enjoyment out of annoying Steve than he would have by having sex with you. He had a shit-eating grin on his face, and it only grew in size as he got under your boyfriend’s nerves. 
‘Seriously, cut it out.’ 
‘I’m just following the lady’s orders, man! Can’t say no to lady!’ 
Steve looked at you, then at Eddie. Then back at you. He sighed slowly and wildly exaggerated before rubbing the bridge of his nose. ‘What exactly did you have in mind, y/n?’ 
‘I– hadn’t actually thought that far ahead,’ you admitted, ‘just thought… you guys could figure it out. So play nice and fair, and all that, figure out your own problems amongst each other. 
‘And what? You would just be… doing what, exactly?’ 
‘Enjoying myself.’ you couldn’t keep back the smile on your face. How ridiculous it sounded; you kind of wanted it to happen now. Steve and Eddie were standing in front of you, looking at you with most likely very similar thoughts running through all your heads. Or, you hoped that while you were thinking of what they could do to you, they were thinking of what they would do to you. 
‘This is insane. Actually insane.’ Steve suddenly turned around and started talking to himself. ‘I can’t believe I’m— and you’re ok with this?’ he faced you and looked you dead in the eye. The lump in your throat went down slowly, but you nodded. 
‘Say it. I gotta hear you say it.’ 
‘Yes. I’m perfectly ok with it, Steve.’ You both looked at Eddie, who seemed, then confirmed, not to have a single issue with this plan. 
‘Ok,’ Steve let out another sigh. He was about to say something before changing his mind quickly. ‘Actually, no, can you give us a moment,’ he asked Eddie and then took you by the hand and led you a few feet away from where you were standing. It wasn’t the actual privacy, as Eddie could still most likely hear what you were talking about, more so the idea of privacy while you discussed everything. 
‘Right, so, seriously, what was you idea for this?’ 
‘I really had not thought you’d consider it, Steve,’ you laughed out of nerves, ‘I mostly just said it so you wouldn’t beat each other up. There’s no need for you to break your nose. Not again.’ That got a little smile out of Steve, but it faded with his next question:
‘This isn’t some weird scheme to just hook up with Eddie, is it?’
‘Now I want to punch you. No, Steve it really isn’t. I would have so many more and easier ways to hook up with him, and you wouldn’t even have had to know.’ 
‘Ok, well… wait, what?’ There had been a slight delay in Steve’s mind. You had already been walking back to the chairs when he let your words form entirely. You blew him a quick kiss.
 ‘Everything figured out there?’ Eddie asked when you came back. 
‘Mostly, I think.’ 
+++++++++
You were the first one that walked upstairs. Everyone knew Steve, and Eddie stood out in his own little way, so you were the most inconspicuous of the three of you. You looked around the upstairs corridor and searched for an unoccupied and reasonably clean room. It felt wrong to be scouting for a sex room in a stranger’s house, but the adrenaline and the weed were taking over your morals that night. 
The last room on the left had a made-up king-sized bed and a dresser in it; the unpersonal touch in the interior indicated to you that it was, in fact, a spare guest room, the best possible out of all them. 
You sat down at the edge of the bed, ignoring the nerves coming up inside. Should you get undressed or let them have that fun? Was sitting like that ok? Or maybe they expected a little show? You had no idea what to do. 
Then there was a soft knock on the other side of the room. Nervous, you jumped up to open the door yourself and, to your surprise, both men were standing in the corridor, even after you had decided it would be best for them to come in separately to not draw in any nosy bastards that were also at the party. 
‘We were thinking,’ Eddie said while stepping inside the room, already making you regret leaving the two of them alone for the second time that night. ‘And we want you to put this on.’ He showed you the bandana that he had hanging from his jeans. 
‘Don’t worry, it’s clean.’ He added and handed you the piece of material. It was soft and, indeed, looked clean.
‘What am I supposed to do with it, exactly?’ 
‘Nothing, really,’ Steve came up from behind you and took the bandana. He gently draped it in front of your eyes and tied it by the two ends behind your side. ‘It’s just for you too look pretty.’ His words send shivers down your spine. They wanted to blindfold you. Take away an entire sense for the night that would most likely end up in a lot of overstimulation. 
‘We thought this would make things a bit more fair,’ Eddie sounded much closer to you than initially, his words whispered right into your ear. ‘Besides, it would calm Harrington down knowing you’re not only with him for his boyish charm and looks.’ 
That pulled a laugh out of you that Steve probably took slightly personally. But if so, he didn’t let that be heard. His hands, for you’d recognise his touch at any time, moved over your body as he spoke. ‘We’ll undress you now, alright, sweetheart?’ 
‘O-ok.’ you didn’t know where the shake in your voice was coming from. 
‘And as we keep going, we’ll ask you how you feel, so it’s important you be honest with us, got it?’ Eddie was on your other side; you felt like your little Devil and Angel were talking to you, except both were absolutely filthy, and neither had much pureness in them planned for the night. 
‘Yes.’ 
‘Good girl. Keep it up just like this.’ 
You didn’t know if Eddie was talking about the blindfold or your willingness to give into them. Then, both of them took a step back from you. The light was dimmed in the room, so you couldn’t see anything from behind the blindfold even if you tried. With one sense taken away from you, you tried to focus on everything else, and you could hear them shuffle around a bit, but it wasn’t possible to figure out which one of them had positioned themselves on your left and which one on your right. 
A cold hand reached out for you, making you shiver from the suddenness. They moved slowly over your body before reaching for the buttons on your shirt. It was Steve’s shirt actually, an old one you borrowed before going to the party. You had been at his place, too lazy to head back to your own house to change. Never in a million years had you thought then that you would be being undressed by Steve and Eddie four hours later. The shirt was pulled off your arms, and you could hear it fall to the ground in a corner. It was thrown back there. Then either of them made a start on taking off your trousers. It was a slow, fumbly and awkward process, making you giggle as it went on, but the kisses he (whoever he in this scenario may have been) left down your leg as he pulled your jeans down made your laugh just that little bit shakier. 
You were left only in your underwear then. There were moments when you could have sworn it sounded like more clothes were coming off, but in the darkness, everything got more confusing, and you couldn’t be certain of anything. 
‘I really hope I’m not the only one getting naked,’ you asked nervously. They didn’t respond, verbally at least. Instead, they both took you by the hand and guided you forward. Then you felt it, two chests, skin soft and much warmer than the icy cold hands that had teased you earlier and were still holding on to you. But they let go soon after, leaving you to explore what was in front of you on your own. So you did; moving your hands up and down, you could feel both men had taken their shirts off. 
Your hands moved down, expecting some kind of layers, but nothing was left. A soft belly, a hip dip– ‘Oh god, I’m sorry,’ you pulled your hands away when you realised what you had just touched. 
‘It’s ok, baby,’ Steve reassured you. You took a deep breath, but it only got harder to breathe when Steve whispered his following words: ‘did you feel how hard I am for you?’ 
‘Yes,’ you whimpered. He was still standing there. Too far to actually be touching you, maybe just an inch or so, but you felt his presence near you. A warmth radiating off his body onto you. His breath on your shoulder. You wanted to look into his eyes, kiss him, but that wasn’t what the guys had planned, it seemed like, so you stayed put. 
‘Are you gonna fuck her, Harrington, or are we just gonna stand around?’ evidently, Eddie was getting restless. 
‘Way to ruin the surprise there, Munson,’ Steve groaned. Right. They didn’t want you to know who was doing what to you. That way, you’d be able to “judge” fairly. Without knowing who was doing what, you’d be able to say what felt better without feeling the need to be partial to either of them.
‘I’m sorry, was the surprise to bore your girlfriend to sleep? Is that the “freaky” shit you two are up to without me? Jesus,’ he sighed out the small curse. Then he, you assumed it was Eddie, at least, guided you over to the edge of the bed. You sat down on the mattress while the guys shuffled around a little bit, and the idea of them trying to figure out a position to stand in while naked was quite amusing to you. 
Then, Steve said from the other side of the room: ‘y/n, why don’t you lie down for us, baby.’ And so you did, already anticipating what would come next– and you could feel the anxiety through your entire body. Waiting for either of them to finally touch you. 
And one of them finally did. Soft and slow kisses on your thighs as hands kept you steady between him. He spread your legs gently but still let his lips trail over your legs, teasing you effortlessly. 
‘Please,’ you said after what felt like an eternity. ‘I need you.’ You hoped that by saying this, you would find out who your torturer was, but not a peep came out of either man. It was a confusing situation, not being able to see the man that was pleasuring you the way that “he” was. You wanted to be able to praise them, tell them properly how much you enjoyed it, and for selfish reasons, you wanted to see it happen. The image of one of those incredibly handsome men worshipping your body– but all you saw was pitch darkness. 
‘C’mon, please,’ you tried again, and it was slightly more successful this time. Your panties were pulled aside, and a little puff of air blew over your sensitive skin, hitting the nerves of your clit. And then their fingers, you still didn’t know whose fingers they were, but the feeling of them on you felt like a little piece of heaven. Maybe it was Steve, which wouldn’t surprise you– he always loved to take his time with you and use you as his little plaything– but perhaps had Eddie taken off his large rings to not give himself away too quickly. But, as much as you wanted to use logic to figure it out, it was too much. You couldn’t concentrate on figuring out who the person hovering above you was when their fingers were moving over your soaked slit. 
They moved faster, rubbing circles, then slowed down, and then moved deeper with each tender stroke until you felt him stretch out your walls. A moan escaped you, too loud for your own liking. Not ten minutes had gone by, and you were already giving them this kind of satisfaction… but how could you not when they fingerfucked you so well. He sped up with each moan you made. 
‘Oh my god,’ the heat that overtook your body could have come from plenty of reasons, but it was most likely the feeling of that perfect mouth between your legs. At this point, you didn’t even want to ruin the mystery, and instead of grabbing at their hair, you reached for a clump of the sheets to drag your nails over. 
Apparently, that disappointment in action was shared because the person taking care of you quickly reached for your hand and placed it on top of their head. Your fingers immediately rooted themselves in their soft hair. Soft, long… different from what you were used to…
‘Fuck, Eddie,’ you moaned and, being able to say his name, slightly untied the knot in your stomach. ‘I’m- ah, fuck.’ The blindfold had little effect now, so you pulled the material off your face with your free hand. The light in the room, still dim, wasn’t blinding but took a moment to get used to. But once you did, you were greeted with the gorgeous image of a pair of deep brown eyes looking up at you, his casual smirk temporarily occupied with your slit as he sucked on it, pulling another moan out of you. 
You looked around for Steve and didn’t need to search far, as he had taken a seat in the chair in the corner, his hand on his dick, and his head was thrown back. 
‘Steve,’ you called out your boyfriend’s name as casually as you could while another man was eating you out. He immediately met your gaze, surprised to see your eyes uncovered. He had probably made his way over to you in less than a second, perhaps thinking you were in pain or some other discomfort, ready to help. 
‘Babe–’ You didn’t let him finish his sentence. Instead, you opened your mouth and looked up at him as innocently as you could. 
‘You’re gonna be the death of me,’ Steve chuckled, getting on top of the bed. ‘Absolute menace.’ 
‘You know it,’ you winked, and at that moment, Eddie decided to insert his fingers back into you. You moaned, looking down at him in a bit of confusion. 
‘I’m feeling left out,’ he said with a faux pout. 
‘I’d never forget you, Eddie.’ the smile on your face was already becoming more and more sheepish, but the fire in your stomach was far from getting blown out. Precisely because of this, you got up on your knees, startling both of your men, and sat up. 
‘Something wrong?’ Eddie asked. 
‘Not at all,’ you patted the spot on the mattress next to you for him to sit, and as soon as he did, you kissed him. It felt very peculiar but not wrong in any way to kiss him. The fact that Steve was right behind you didn’t shoot any alarms either, unlike you had expected it to. It should have made you feel off that you were making out with Eddie, but the worries evaporated out of your mind once you felt Steve’s hands on you, and he started kissing your neck from behind. While you cupped Eddie’s cheek in one hand, your other moved down to stroke Steve’s length, and it didn’t take long for him to moan out against you. 
In the meantime, Eddie was growing harder by the second. Finally, when you looked down, you saw his dick against your leg, tip painfully red. 
‘Mmm, ok, how do we want to do this, boys?’ you straight up asked them, knowing they would have their own preference to what to do. Meanwhile, you just wanted that hollow feeling between your legs to go away, not really caring who would be the one to do it. 
‘I’m sure Harrington wouldn’t appreciate me using up your pussy the whole night,’ Eddie slapped his hand lightly over it, making you jump, which in turn made his smirk resurface. ‘Besides, I’ve sort of fallen in love with that mouth of yours.’ He took your lower lip between his teeth, pulling just the slightest bit before letting it go and saying, 'an’ I’m dying to find out what else it can do.’ 
You looked over at Steve, needing to be sure he was fine with it since he hadn’t said much. You made eye contact, and he smiled his lovely grin. 
‘Are you ok with this?’ He actually asked you, ignoring your unasked question to him. 
‘Absolutely.’ Your eagerness was undoubtedly high and didn’t go unnoticed. 
‘Alright, calm down there,’ Steve chuckled, slapping your ass playfully, ‘I don’t think you want to show Munson just how much of a slut you are, right of the bat.’ 
‘I think we’re way past that point,’ Eddie joined in, and you rolled your eyes at both of them, and not wanting to continue this teasing of yours, you decided to take small control of the situation. You got down on all fours without saying a word, facing Eddie. That shut them both up fairly quickly. 
Steve was the first to take action, putting his hands on your hips and aligning himself at your entrance. He loved to take his time going in, and while it usually killed you, you had a view to look at this time. The time that Steve took to tease you, you spent teasing Eddie. Fluttering your eyelashes every now and then at him with a sweet smile, biting your lip, all that dewy stuff guys drool over. You didn’t really have much experience with other guys, so you stuck your tongue out like Steve liked. It was just a bit too far to reach Eddie. Now, you would lie if you said you didn’t want him there and then, but sometimes waiting it out just a little bit could make things better. 
Eddie, in the meantime, started to clump up your hair in a makeshift ponytail. He was careful and very gentle, ensuring that he didn’t pull too hard (yet) on a loose strand of hair or didn’t lose any of it from his grip. 
‘Steve, please,’ you needed him to hurry up, already knowing that you were practically dripping for him. 
‘You heard the lady, Harrington. Get a move on.’ Eddie’s dark eyes were practically black at that moment, filled with the need for you. 
‘Don’t tell me what to do, Munson,’ Steve groaned, finally letting himself slide inside you. He did it in one swift move, stretching you out. And once that happened, he didn’t waste a second and started to move with all the strength he had in him, and through that, he managed to hit your deep spots with every thrust. His hands dug into your sides, and the way his hips met yours through his movements, you knew you’d get sore from it in the best way possible.
But Steve definitely, maybe purposefully, made it hard for you to stay up on your hands and keep your head up for Eddie.
It was like a chain reaction. First, Steve would thrust into you, and in all that ecstasy, you’d moan around Eddie’s cock, which would send all of those vibrations like electricity through his entire body. Then, either as a treat or punishment for it, he’d pull that ponytail he had worked so hard on to keep neat. He’d pull your hair, and you would tense and squeeze around his length. And just like that, in the perfect little circle of it all, Steve would respond with his pretty moans. 
‘Fuck baby, you’re doing so good,’ he panted, slowing down. Eddie, however, kept up his own rhythm. It was sloppy, and you couldn’t imagine it was attractive at how he made you drool, but he kept going, hitting the back of your throat. 
‘So… good,’ Eddie responded to Steve’s earlier statement. A tear rolled down your cheek, and he was quick to wipe it away with his thumb. He cursed under his breath when, once again, he managed to hit the back of your throat and make you gag. His grip on your hair tightened even more, and to add to it, Steve started to slow down his movements. Slow down, but he used all his energy to make you feel it with each move. Slow, but hard and precise. They were both close; you could feel it. 
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ Eddie, being new to your body and limits, pulled out. 
‘It’s fine, Eds,’ you smiled at him and opened your mouth again for him. He hesitated, looked at you, then at Steve, who must have given him some kind of green light that you couldn’t see from behind you. But it wasn’t enough for Eddie, who still looked for another confirmation in you. 
‘Come on, Eddie, I know you want to do it.’ You licked his tip, and it was almost enough for him to burst. Then, while Steve pushed out his last strong thrusts, Eddie spilt inside of you. Maybe it was what Steve had been trying to hold on for, as he didn’t come much later. It was by far the dirtiest moment in your life, being filled up by your boyfriend and best friend, taking in their cum like it was made for you. 
Finally, they slowed down to a moment of halt. Some of Eddie’s cum spilt out of your mouth, and the realisation hit you that you were in a stranger’s bed, who would probably not be very excited at the image of those strains on their covers. 
‘Ah shit, wait,’ Eddie moved away and jumped off the bed in the direction of what you presumed to be the bathroom. Steve then took on his usual “caring boyfriend” role and helped you lie down comfortably. 
‘Did you cum?’ Of course, those were the first words that came out of his mouth. 
‘Steve-’ 
‘Did you?’ 
‘Honestly, I don’t know. I was too occupied with the whole “two dicks inside of me” situation.’ That was probably the dumbest way you could have phrased it, but because of that same situation, you were too tired to think and sound more poetic. 
‘You didn’t, did you?’ His eyes saddened immediately at the idea of neither him nor Eddie actually managing their goal. But as quickly as the spark disappeared, another kind of glint emerged in his eyes. ‘C’mere.’ 
‘What?’ You looked and sounded confused as he tried to pull you up. 
‘Just hold onto the frame.’ He shuffled down the mattress to lie down. ‘I’m promising you, you’re not walking out of this room until you’ve come… at least twice.’ He wanted to make it up to you, clearly. 
You sat up like Steve told you to, laughing to yourself, with your legs on either side of his face. The sound of your laugh was already plenty of fuel for him to get going again, and it all started again with a kiss to your core. Steve wanted to prove a point, and he was sure as hell gonna do it well. 
‘Round two already?’ Eddie had just walked out of the bathroom, cold and wet towel in hand just for you and the sight that greeted him was of you sitting on Steve’s face. Something he had not prepared for but now would never want to forget. You tried to reply, but Steve was much too distracting. You were mid-moan when Steve said from between your legs: 
‘This is still round one, man.’ And Eddie didn’t need to hear another word. He was just as ready to make it up to you for the rest of the night. 
The End
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You Catch More Bees With Honey: Chapter 1
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Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader
Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe
Summary: Bradley Bradshaw, blindsided by a team he trusted like family has been traded to the San Diego Dogfighters. Across the country from the place he calls home, Bradley feels lost and betrayed. Not to mention the familiar faces and ghosts from his past that he now has to face every day at work. Bradley’s caught between wanting to show his former team the mistake they made in double-crossing him and wondering if it’s time to hang up his skates after one final season. You’re living your dream as the PR representative for the Dogfighters. When Coach Maverick made a bid to bring his godson to the team, you hadn’t batted an eye. Bradley was a good teammate, and a good player. Unfortunately, the Bradley that shows up in San Diego is nothing like your research suggested. He’s moody, irritable, aggressive, and angry, throwing a wrench in all your careful planning. What’s caused such a drastic change in him? And can you figure out how to help him before he makes a mistake you can’t fix?
Chapter CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, dead parents, mentions of major character death, mentions of drunkenness, mentions of alcohol consumption, nongraphic descriptions of sports violence, blood probably, angst, age gap (28 and 38), enemies to lovers, suggestive language, hockey inaccuracies etc. No use of Y/N.
Word Count: 3.5k
A/N: Aaaaand we’re off!!! If you want to get a better idea of Zam’s personal style (because I’m obsessed with it) you can check that out here!
Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter
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~~~~~
“BRADLEY! BRADSHAW!” The flush that started on Cyclone’s neck has crept up to encompass his whole face much like a glass filling with fruit punch. You fight the urge to check your phone for the time. He might actually break his record for the longest screaming session yet and there’s a pool in the staff room riding on it that would definitely cover those new heels you’d been eyeing. Next to you, Dare Mitchell, the head coach of the San Diego Dogfighters as of last month, blatantly checks her watch and if you weren’t already enamored with everything this woman did, you definitely were now.
Cyclone’s still yelling, but the two of you stopped listening a long time ago it seems as Dare stands before looking down at you. “Come on Zam, let’s go.” If you weren’t so good at maintaining a poker face you think your jaw might have dropped. You get to your feet and follow Dare as she marches towards the door of Cyclone’s office and he finally pauses his tirade and you glance at your phone. New record indeed. “I am NOT finished!” He snaps and Dare turns in the doorway to face him coolly.
“Beau you were finished the minute this stopped being a conversation. When you’re ready to resume said conversation, you know where to find us.” She doesn’t wait for him to respond before turning on her heel and walking off down the hallway and you’re right behind her. When the elevator doors finally close behind the two of you, you feel the obligation to say something. In your few months in San Diego, you haven’t met a lot of people with the balls to stand up to Beau Simpson. Until recently, the list began and ended with the Dogfighters’s Captain, Jake Seresin. Admittedly it only extended to when Cyclone was threatening his now-girlfriend Bugs, the assistant team physician but it was nice to see that at least someone was willing to do something about the man’s unchecked temper.
Now it included Dragon, the new goalie development coach who also happened to be Cyclone’s daughter. When she’d joined the staff, everyone had been apprehensive at best. One Simpson was already tough enough to handle but she’d surprised everyone by being congenial and even fun. She truly became one of the team, however, the day that she placed a crisp hundred dollar bill into the betting pool against her father’s temper. While Cyclone was a storm with no eye, Dragon was an eye that only seemed to blow into a storm when she stood toe to toe with her father. At least that was the word through the grapevine. Bugs had been going to drop off some paperwork in his office last week and said she’d been able to hear their shouting match from the other end of the hallway. Good for her.
The third entry was the woman standing next to you. Dare Mitchell was NHL royalty. She had been the league’s first female assistant coach and then head coach, going on to coach the Pittsburgh Penguins to no short of five Stanley Cup victories. Her nickname, Dare, stands for Definitive Authority on Rink Education, or Referee Ejection depending on who you ask. The fact that you were working alongside her still had you pinching yourself when you walked into work every morning. There’s definitely been a shift in the energy of the team since she took over the Head Coach title from Maverick after Game 3. This is just one of the many side effects and you can’t say you’re not grateful for the change.
There are unpopular whispers that Maverick asked Cyclone for the demotion himself but you know they're probably true. While Pete Mitchell is a talented hockey player, and he’s spent the years since his retirement coaching rec leagues, he’s not exactly on the level of the NHL. Why would he willingly pass the title to someone else, people ask. Well, it probably begins with the fact that she’s his wife. Dare and Pete Mitchell’s marriage is anything but common knowledge. In fact, the only people on the team that know are you, Bugs, Jake, and Maverick’s girlfriend, Penny. Sure they share a last name but Maverick’s been publically dating Penny Benjamin for the last few decades, so no one would even consider that he’s married to someone else entirely. According to Bugs and Jake, Maverick claims they separated amicably, not feeling the need to finalize a divorce but sometimes you see the way Dare stares at him when he’s not looking and wonder if that’s just his version of events.
“Thanks,” you say, awkwardly breaking the silence as the elevator travels back down to the ground floor. You never know how to talk to Dare, the temptation to make a fool of yourself by accidentally letting slip that you’re her biggest fan is a hazard you have to avoid every time you open your mouth. “Not many people are willing to stand up to Cyclone like that.”
She snorts, “It’s hard to take him seriously when every time I look at him, I just see the snot-nosed kid whose lunch money I used to steal.” You feel like you’ve been hit by a truck as you try to imagine Beau Simpson as a snot-nosed kid while also trying to process that Dare has known him for that long and used to steal his lunch money.
“You’ve known him that long?” You stammer as the elevator jolts to a halt and the two of you step out, walking side by side towards your respective offices.
“Beau and I grew up in the same town. We were never really friends but we were acquainted in the way that you know everyone in a town that small.” She shrugs. “He wasn’t always so full of hot air but maybe that’s why he is now. Needless to say, I have zero tolerance for childish tantrums in the workplace, regardless of who’s throwing them, my players or my colleagues.” You nod in agreement as you reach your office door. “And Zam? I think it might be in your best interest to have a word with Bradley Bradshaw.” The corner of her lips is teasing into the faintest hint of a smirk as you roll your eyes.
“You think?” She chuckles at that, before turning to continue to her own office.
Entering your office, you drop into your desk chair, letting out the frustrated groan you’ve been holding back all morning. You pull up Bradley Bradshaw’s profile on your computer and absently think that you should update the photo you have to his official Dogfighters’s headshot because he’s smiling in this photo and you’re pretty sure in the three months that you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him smile let alone show any expression of joy or even happiness. You jot down a note on your pink sticky note pad to update player photos. Heaving a huge sigh, you open the team portal and put in a request for a meeting with Bradley. One of the coaches will send him your way when he has a moment so in the meantime you read over his profile yet again. When Maverick first entertained the idea of trading for Bradley you hadn’t really batted an eye, even considering him a decent pick, all things considered, but now you wish you’d pushed back that day in the conference room because this man has been the beginning and end of all your problems ever since the season started. Sure you have other problems that you’re juggling. Despite your best efforts, Javy Machado continues to sleep with anything with tits, but right now it’s the least of your worries. You’re more concerned with the fact that Bradley Bradshaw’s almost spent more time in the penalty box this season than the rest of the team combined. He’s been irritable, to say the least, and while he used to play the role of enforcer more often, preferring to retaliate than provoke, ever since coming to San Diego he’s done nothing but pick fights on the ice. To the point that Cyclone’s yelling at you and Dare about it instead of Bradshaw himself. Dare because she’s his coach. You because this is doing disastrous things for the team’s reputation. Just because “fighter” is in the team name doesn’t mean it needs to be taken literally, apparently.
You don’t get it. Maverick asked for Bradley specifically, and he’s his godfather, you’d think Bradley would be ecstatic to be here. After all, his father died when he was just a kid. You’d assume that he and Maverick are close. You wonder if Dare knows anything about it. If things get dire enough you may have to ask her, even if she doesn’t know that you know about her and Maverick. Sighing, you click away from Bradley’s profile as you move on to other work while you wait for him to show, sparing a glance at the clock on the wall before picking up your phone to text the group chat labeled Cyclone Relief Fund. “19 minutes,” followed by a partying emoji. Mama’s getting a new pair of heels.
~~~~~
It’s a little after noon when there’s finally a knock on your door. You call for the knocker to enter and Bradley Bradshaw opens the door, taking a seat across from your desk. You fight an amused chuckle at the way his giant body dwarfs the petite pink armchair across from you. You have a feeling he won’t find it as funny as you do. He’s wearing a black Dogfighters’s tee that’s gripping his muscular arms for dear life over sweats, his curly hair still damp from the showers.
His whisky eyes are studying the space around you with curiosity mixed with thinly veiled disgust. You try to see it through his eyes. The boring white walls have been meticulously covered with adhesive wallpaper in a soft baby pink. Hanging on them is a carefully curated collection of art prints in matching white frames. Floating shelves on the wall are decorated with various tchotchkes in various shades of pink and white. A bright pink shag rug sits under your white wood desk, housing the pink faux leather desk chair you’re seated in and the plush pink armchair that Bradley’s spilling out of.
“Something wrong?” You ask when it’s been too long with him just blatantly ogling your decor.
“This looks like Barbie’s dream house.” He states, unamused, as his eyes come back to you.
“Actually I was going for more of an office or career Barbie than Malibu but it was probably on the vision board too.” You say, turning to your computer as you pull up the folder of articles that Cyclone sent you this morning. “Glad you like it.”
“I don’t.” His voice is flat and you peer up at him over the top of your screen. Your eyebrow twitches with annoyance at his blunt rudeness.
“Well if I ever get a suggestion box, I��ll make sure you’re the first to know, Bradshaw.” You snip as you turn the screen you’re looking at so that Bradley can see it. “So I think you can guess what you’re here to talk about. In the last fifteen games you’ve played, you’ve spent more time in the penalty box than any other player.”
He arches a dark brown eyebrow, “Hockey is a contact sport, honey.” Your eyebrow twitches again at the nickname.
“I’m sure the occasional bump is considered contact but throwing down your gloves to punch your opponent in the nose has very little to do with puck handling don’t you think?” Your voice is civil, and reasonable, as you pull up the video of Bradley’s fist making contact with the face of the Jets’s defenseman. That had handed him a five-minute major penalty for fighting.
“You’re not on the ice. Sometimes they’re asking for it.” You say a silent prayer for patience.
“You realize that you can get suspended for this right? You’re lucky you only have one instigator penalty so far out of all those fighting penalties.”
“I know that, honey. Three instigators earn you a two-game suspension, and it increases after that. I’ve read the rules.” You clench your jaw at how nonchalant he’s being about this. He’s got a smorgasbord of minor penalties, a couple of majors for general fighting, and one blatant instigator penalty. He’s on thin ice, pun intended.
“Regardless of the official NHL rules, what are you going to do if your coaches decide to bench you?” You raise an eyebrow at him and watch as he stiffens. It seems you’re finally a move ahead of him. You like it. “And given that Cyclone just yelled at me and Dare over the state of your performance? I’d say it’s bound to happen sooner rather than later.” His fists clench in his lap, but he doesn’t say anything. You decide to plow ahead while he’s not fighting every word coming out of your mouth.
“While your performance on the ice isn’t my department, how it reflects on the team is. Currently media outlets are describing you as a loose cannon and bordering on a danger to other players. If this keeps up, the team could be forced to bench you indefinitely or even let you go completely.” You purse your lips in a thin line. “I’m doing what I can in terms of damage control but we have to work together here. I can’t promise that you’re working on it if we don’t see any actual change.”
He snorts at that, sitting back as best he can. “You want some advice, honey? Stay out of it. It’s none of your business.” You clench a fist in your lap. Why does he insist on fighting with you?!
“Actually, it is. This is my job, Bradshaw. Just because you don’t feel like doing yours doesn’t mean I’m going to follow suit just because you want me to.” His honey eyes flash with warning but you don’t back down, meeting them with yours, steel in your gaze. “I didn’t get this job by letting people like you walk all over me, Bradshaw and I don’t intend on starting now.” Your fingers fly over the keyboard and you pull up some paparazzi photos from the last few weeks. “You’re getting drunk and causing trouble in public,” you click through photos of an intoxicated Bradley leaving a bar and getting into a shoving match with some guy. You sigh, fighting the urge to pinch your nose as a dull throbbing takes up residence in your temples.
Bradley just gives you a cold look. “What? So a man can’t go to a bar and have a drink anymore?” The throbbing intensifies and you fantasize about launching yourself over your desk and wrapping your perfectly manicured hands around his enormous neck.
“Look,” your voice is pure ice to hide the vitriol threatening to take over, “if you’re not going to change your behavior, at least do me a favor and be a train wreck in private from now on.” You could hear a pin drop as you barely hold back from spitting the words at Bradley. The two of you glare at each other, the white expanse of your desk a no-man’s-land between the wars in your eyes. “You’re free to go.” Your voice is the exact opposite of your face. It’s prim, proper, congenial. It matches the rest of your persona. Your bright butter-yellow suit makes you look like sunshine incarnate even as you burn underneath with the fury of a thousand suns. Bradley’s still glaring at you as he extricates himself from the armchair and stalks out the door without another word, letting the door slam behind him. You want to scream but the walls in the place are far too thin, so you do the next best thing, launching yourself out of your chair not bothering to push it back as you storm out of your office.
***
You barge into Bugs’s office and she looks up from whatever chart she’s currently perusing as you grab a handful of gummy bears from her candy dish and throw yourself into the chair across from her. She raises a single eyebrow at you but doesn’t say anything as you aggressively chew the green confections.
“I’d think you’d be happier since you just won the betting pool but what’s up?” She says finally when it’s obvious that you won’t be volunteering any information.
“Bradley. Bradshaw.” You spit as you pop another gummy bear into your mouth and her eyes soften in
understanding even as her mouth tightens into a tense line. You know she knows what you’re talking about, especially since she’s been the one patching him up. “Cyclone asked me to do something about him because he’s dragging the team through the mud, and you know what he said? He told me to stay out of it! As if this isn’t MY JOB! He doesn’t care about his reputation, he doesn’t care if he doesn’t get to play, I don’t get it! What’s got his panties in such a twist!” You’re fuming as you continue to shred through gummy bears. “This is an amazing opportunity! Why is he so eager to throw it away?”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to be here?” Bugs asks, brows furrowed in thought. “He did exclusively play for the Flyers for the last sixteen years.” You shake your head.
“That doesn’t make any sense. The Flyers have been trying to pawn him off to the highest bidder for the better part of the last two seasons.” Bugs’s eyes raise in surprise and you shrug. “He’s getting old and they would much rather have a good draft pick for rookie talent. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks and all that. At least that’s what their manager told me. When Maverick asked them for a trade they practically threw him at us, they couldn’t believe their luck.”
“Maverick asked to trade for Bradley?” She asks, confused. “Isn’t it usually the manager’s job to do that?”
You nod. “Normally, yeah, but Maverick asked for Bradley himself. Apparently, he’s his godson.” Bugs’s eyes widen in surprise.
“Bradley is Mav’s GODSON?!” You nod.
“It makes sense actually, given that he’s Nick Bradshaw’s son and all.” You watch the realization hit Bugs’s face.
“Oh my god, I never put it together.” She whispers. You can’t blame her. Bradshaw is a common enough last name and no one’s first instinct is to tie someone to a tragedy as well known as that of Nick “Goose” Bradshaw.
Nick “Goose” Bradshaw played for the Philadelphia Flyers back in the 80s, at the same time as Maverick. The two were best friends, inseparable on and off the ice. Nick Bradshaw got his nickname, Goose, because he was always sticking his neck out for Maverick and it ended in one of the most infamous hockey tragedies in NHL history.
While hockey is one of the most violent of the contact sports, it’s highly regulated to ensure that fatal injuries don’t occur due to fighting, but every now and then something slips through the cracks and that’s what happened in the case of Goose Bradshaw. Maverick got into an altercation on the ice and when another player tried to get involved, Goose tried to interfere to keep the numbers even, which resulted in him losing his helmet in the fray and being thrown into the boards, hitting his head. While the physician on duty deemed that Goose was fine, he sat out the rest of the game. Two days later he died of a brain hemorrhage, widowing his wife Carole and leaving his two-year-old son, Bradley Bradshaw, fatherless. The Bradshaw family disappeared from the public eye until Bradley caught the media’s attention when he joined the Penn State Nittany Lions in college as a left defenseman, following in his late father’s footsteps.
“So you’d think he’d be happy to be here, with Maverick.” You muse and Bugs nods, still frowning.
“Family doesn’t always get along, though,” she says with a shrug. You know she’s close with hers and you’re as close as you can be with yours. “But still why would he throw his whole career away like this? It doesn’t make sense.” She’s right, it doesn’t and so you’re left to ponder the enigma that is Bradley Bradshaw.
***
You’re still thinking about it as you get ready to leave for the night. Unsurprisingly, you’re the only one left. The sky has long since darkened outside, but you’re married to your job. You need to do the best you can to keep Cyclone off your back for long enough for Bradley to figure his shit out. You step into the arena proper, the lights are on as the Zamboni drives around, cleaning up the ice after practice so it’ll be perfect tomorrow morning. You gaze at the rink as the machine drives back and forth across the surface and your heart aches. A part of you longs to step back out onto the smooth surface and feel the cool air radiating off the rink kiss your cheeks just one more time. You aren’t sure when the tears filled your eyes but you blink them out as you whisper. “I miss you, Mom. I wish you were here. I wish you could see this. I’m in California now, and it’s so different from home, but you were right. As long as there’s ice, it’s not that different after all.”
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A/N: Aaaaaa a lot has happened there’s lots of intrigue (as always) If you haven’t checked out the series teaser, it’s technically a sneak peek at Chapter 2 👀
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