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norrisleclercf1 · 2 years

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Mistakes Can Cost You

Pairing: F1 x Reader, Slight Mick x Reader

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Jules crash mentioned, angst, suggestion of death, grief, crash, hospital, ICU, incorrect race timeline, Suzuka, FIA, etc. READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION

Synopsis: Mistakes can cost you, but they also teach everyone how fast things can change, and sometimes let’s you see what’s there and not right with what you love.

“Okay, Y/n, Sainz has crashed; they're bringing out a safety car. Be careful.” Your radio team clicks off, and you shake your head.

“This is fucking ridiculous; red flag the damn race; it's so hard to see anything!” You tell your ream, furious that FIA cared more about getting that finish than the driver's safety.

“We know, but be careful.” Your team repeats, not wanting to add more fuel to the fire.

You scuff and head around the corner; you don't know what went wrong. You didn't even see the damn thing. Hitting the gas slightly, you see a flash before slamming on your brakes. “FUCK!” you yell before feeling yourself become crushed.

No one knew what happened all that they all got called back to the paddock immediately, the other drivers that passed by couldn't even see your crash. “What the hell happened?” Sebastian asks as the other drivers gather in a media room, with no media.

“Oh God.” Lance’s voice strangled and reaches everyone as they turned to the TV. Finally, noticing what the camera was covering.

“Is her car....oh god she's trapped under the crane.” Lewis whispers, covering his mouth, the others staring at the screen as it captures everyone and the medics scrambling not sure what to do.

“Is she okay?” Charles asks to some of the workers in the room. “DAMMIT! IS SHE OKAY?” Charles yells, making the workers jump and run out of room to find out any information.

“This can't be happening, not again not here, not during this weather, not again.” Charles pleads as Carlos and Pierre lead him to sit down as he starts to tremble. “She’ll be okay, she will be.” Pierre whispers to no one, more so just saying the words to comfort himself.

“They can't contact her, she's still trapped underneath, and they have no way of knowing if she's seriously injured; they're working slow not to cause any more damage and because of the rain.” Some worker reports to them after 20 minutes before leaving the room.

“Is she going to die?” Mick asks quietly to Seb, who is sitting next to the young German. Mick and you had become close due to your relative age, but also, you both enjoyed the same things, and Mick and ton just became close.

“I don't know, buddy,” Seb whispers back, pulling the young boy closer to him, wanting to give him some semblance of comfort. Mick just leans in close to Sebastian’s hold sending silent prays for you to come out okay.

“What the fuck was a crane doing out on the tracks anyway? Especially in this weather?” George yells at the TV feeling utterly useless in that moment, watching the replay of the crash.

“Guys.” Angela, Lewis's friend, announces as she enters the room. “What's wrong?” Lewis jumps up, the others crowding around her.

“She.... she's out of the car, but it's...bad.... awful...prepare yourselves.” She mumbles before walking out leaving the guys to stare after her.

“No.” Charles sobs sitting down, sobs racking his body, trying to curl in on himself as everyone cries and prays for the best.

It was the pain that woke you up, the pain of your entire body being on fire. But you knew realistically you weren't in any pain; you couldn't be. You'd woken up three days ago, and the pain medication you were on was enough to knock a damn Bull Elephant off its feet. Sadly you were in the ICU and weren't allowed any visitors; how badly you wanted to see the boys and hold them somehow. You didn't care that 5 of your ribs were broken, a shattered right hand, a head injury with a concussion, and a collapsed lung that they performed surgery on to repair.

Your favorite nurse walks in smiling and sits down next to you. “Hey sweetie, feeling a little better?” She asks, already knowing you probably weren't.

“Hurts,” you grumble, and she nods her head, pushing some hair out of your face.

“Some people are here to see you; I snuck them in.” She smiles, and you see bright red in the corner of your eye; without meaning to, your heart rate picks up quickly as you start to cry seeing Charles and Carlos.

“Princess,” Carlos whispers and sits down next to you while Charles stands at the door, his entire face stained from crying.

“You need to stop crying; you're causing yourself so much pain,” Carlos whispers, kissing your forehead.

You close your eyes and smile slightly; your fave is bruised all over, and any facial expressions make the pain worse. “Charlie.” You mumble, twitching a finger his way. Charles looks up at you, fresh tears falling on his side as he stumbles his way into a seat next to your bed.

“We thought we lost you.” He cries, careful not to put any weight on your body, his head buried into the bed.

“I'm okay; I need an extra couple of months to heal, and ill be back out on the track.” you joke, but the boys nod their heads, not wanting to argue.

“Well, looks like we weren't the first ones, Kid.” Sebastian's face fills the doorway with bright blue eyes and blonde hair behind him.

“Hye,” Mick whispers as they both fill the room, pulling up two more chairs.

The four of them stayed with you for most of the day before visiting hours were over. But you were happy to have the company, even if it was for a little while.

The FIA had issued a formal apology but tried to throw some of the blame on you for excessive speed under a safety car. That was very short-lived when the other drivers, teams, and fans became enraged at the thought of them blaming you.

It's been a couple of months, but you were finally on your feet again and able to travel, but you still couldn't drive yet, not due to injury, but you did need some time to heal completely, and the team allowed you just that. You decided it was time to show your face again to the public after some private time, and you chose to do that at COTA. It was appropriate as everything was more relaxed now since Max had won the championship.

Walking into the paddock, of course, people stared and pointed, but you were determined to visit your rock during the entire healing process. “Roscoe!” You tell happily, seeing Lewis’s dog.

Lewis let you take care of Roscoe while you healed, knowing that you'd been home alone and would want the company. Roscoe loved being with you and barked loudly, letting Lewis and the other drivers turn to see Roscoe run for you as you got on your knees to give the boy some love.

“Oh, yellow, my old friend.” You mumble into his fur, kissing his head and giving him the best pets.

“Love the dog more, alright.” Lewis jokes, making you look up. You stand and brush off your knees before kissing Lewis’s cheek as well. “He kept me company; I have to love on him first.” Shrugging your shoulders and giving everyone else a hello.

“I'd love to chat with everyone, but I have to do some interviews.” “Are you serious? All they're going to ask about is the crash.” Lance spits, knowing the main topic for weeks has been you, the crash, and the FIA statement.

“I know, but it's time to get it over with, and I want to support you all without the cloud over my head.” You shuffle your weight, a slight wince from the healing of your ribs, but no one points it out.

“She's right; we're all going to hate this, but it's time,” Seb says and kisses your forehead. He's always been a father figure to you young drivers, and at times overprotective, and if he could help join you and make the reporters behave and not push. But this was your healing process, and you needed to do it alone.

Heading to the media pit, you stop short with your assistant, who stands with you, not saying anything, as they knew you could handle this. “Okay, let's do this.” whispered no one in particular.

“Y/n, y/n! What’s it like surviving death, and not only that but in a crash that was just like Jules Bianchi?” One reporter asks, making you cringe.

“I want to make this very...very....very clear. What happened to Jules and me should've never happened in the first place. And I never want people to compare the two ever again. His family deserves respect when on the topic of his death, and by doing that, im never going to talk about what happened to him and me in the same sentence. Next question.”

“Y/n, will you still be able to race even after the reports of your injuries are released?” Some girl asks.

“Yes, I was allowed to race here at COTA, but...I deemed it too early and needed some more time, but if my team allows it, ill be more than happy to race in Mexico and hopefully win.” You laugh, making the others laugh.

“Is it true that FIA is deciding whether to give you a penalty for the crash?”

“I sure hope not. The race never should've happened, not in those conditions. And the FIA never told anyone the crane was on track. There's also proof that Nando passed the crane TWICE and never once knew it was there. If anything, the FIA should receive a penalty for what they did and for being very inconsistent and unsafe in their rulings.” Everyone stares at you, having never seen a driver call out the FIA so bluntly.

“Y/n, how are you and Mick?” you turn and face the reporter and can't help the blush that covers your face making everyone laugh and smile at you.

It was no secret that Mick was beside you through everything and was always posting little updates for your fans about you, but your friendship was turning into something more that you weren't sure just what yet.

“It's going well, we're close friends, and Sebastian has known us both since kids, but we grew up together, and having them both as a crutch as I healed helped a lot.” you directed the question but still answered it slightly.

“If that's all, I should get going and see everyone before the race.” you laugh and walk off quickly, going to the Haas paddock and seeing that familiar blonde hair.

“So, we're just good friends, hmm?” He asks, not even turning around from the screen.

You huff and shake your head before letting your hands travel up his back, making his tense form relax. “Yes, we are gold friends, just friends who are a little more.” Kissing his back, he turns around, checking you over, making sure you're okay.

“You handled the first question well.” He praises kissing your lips gently.

“Thanks; I knew mistakes could cost me, but I needed to get that over with.” He nods his head before watching you closely.

“Callin, the FIA out was ballsy.” You drop by the head, knowing that would be a problem.

“But, you were right; trying to lay blame on you was horrible; if they come after you, I'll deal with it. Seb will, but you know what I mean.” He makes you giggle and lean up, kissing his cheek.

“Go, race, cowboy, oh, and mistakes can cost you.” You giggle, making him roll his eyes as he gets ready.

“I'll kick your ass in Mexico; it'll be alright.” He laughs as you roll your eyes.

“Be careful.” in a severe tone, Mick looks down at you and stops knowing since the crash; you hate any of them being in one.

“Always.” He bumps your foreheads together before heading to the car.

Watching them all get in the the car, your heart clenches, but you knew they were the best of the best; they'd all be okay, and so would you.

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ithebookhoarder · 1 year

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🎄Spending the holidays with Matt (Matt Murdock x Reader)

A/N: It’s officially the festive season and for some reason my inspiration has returned with a vengeance. Apologies for my absence the past few weeks, but I am back. Keep your eyes peeled for some more festive content in the coming days - oh, and happy holidays to everyone celebrating this time of year!

Warnings: N/A

Masterlist

So Matt may not be that festive by nature, but you can bet he’s willing to indulge every one of your whims when it comes to the holidays.

Honestly, it makes a nice change to have someone to spend it with. It gives him a reason not to spend the entire evening out on patrol, knowing you are back at home, watching an endless marathon of Christmas movies whilst you wait up for him.

He wouldn’t care if you want to decorate the apartment or the office as he can’t really see it anyway so he isn’t bothered by flashing lights or reams of tinsel. As long as it makes you happy, then it’s worth it.

He may pretend he’s above it, but he enjoys the happiness he can feel radiating off of you. Well, that’s his reasoning for his festive cheer even if you have your own theories.

After all, the Devil of Hell’s kitchen is more like Santa than the Grinch - or so you point out one night: ‘I’m just saying, Matty. You run around at night, wearing a red suit, looking for people who have been naughty to punish them, and by default reward people who have been nice-’

‘-I swear to god-’

‘Should I start leaving out cookies for you? Maybe some milk? I-’

Needless to say, he quickly tackles you onto the bed and puts a stop to that line of reasoning.

Matt would almost die with joy if he came home to smell the warm scent of you baking in the kitchen at any point. The mixture of ginger, cinnamon, and freshly baked cookies is heavenly. Almost as heavenly as the soft hum of your voice whenever he catches you singing along to your Christmas playlist.

He’d never say, but it’s enough to warm his ‘cold Scrooge-like heart’ - as Foggy calls it. He’s often stood just outside the front door, listening to you, too afraid to enter incase you stopped.

You have a fairly decent voice, which he appreciates.

Not naming names but Matt wanted to jump out the window when he caught you and Foggy duetting ‘All I want for Xmas is you’ with the radio in the office. Foggy is many things but a singer is not one of them. Luckily, Matt loves him too much to say. He just grins and laughs the whole way through, only able to imagine the ridiculous expressions you must be doing as you dance about the space.

Speaking of singing and dancing and festive cheer, you can bet you’d all make your way to Josie’s at some point, for Christmas drinks with the gang before everyone goes their separate ways for the big day.

Jessica makes a brief appearance, just long enough to down a glass of whiskey, as does Clare when she get off shift from the hospital.

It’s safe to say you all come out the bar a little worse for wear, even Matt, which is a nice surprise. It isn’t very often you get to see your boyfriend grinning like a small child, carefree, and drunkenly trying to pull you under the mistletoe - ‘cause it’s tradition’

When it comes to gifts, Matt would know exactly what to get you - that man has been gathering intel all year long and is ready to surprise you as it’s one of the rare opportunities he gets to show you how much you mean to him.

He’d probably drag either Foggy or Karen along with him to pick it up, just to make sure he gets it right.

When he gives it you better be prepared for a ‘sorry if this gift looks like it was wrapped by a blind man joke’ - which is insane as he still somehow manages to wrap it beautifully (which is incredibly unfair considering wrapping gifts is like the hardest thing ever).

Also. Matt may be blind but he can hear everything. It’s a nightmare. He can hear it when you try to silently cut wrapping paper, or when the gifts you’re hiding under the bed rustle when you put another one under there.

You have to banish him from the place if you even hope of trying to wrap them without him guessing what it is.

He’s good though and would never open them, knowing how much it means to you to surprise him on the big day.

You also decide to do something for him, offering to attend mass with him at the nearby church, knowing how much it means to him to go.

Sitting there together, nestled in the pew, it’s hard not to enjoy the carols and the peace that seems to radiate from Matt. That in itself is worth more than any material gift you can give him.

#marvel #masterlist #christmas #matt murdock x reader #Matt Murdock #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #Matthew Murdock #Daredevil #daredevil x reader #marvel daredevil #thesilentmage #ithebookhoarder #christmas headcanons #marvel headcanons #foggy nelson #karen page #jessica jones #charlie cox

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aniron48 · 3 months

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24. just really needed a hug sort of hug for 00leiter would be amazing if inspiration strikes! 🥰

Alex, mi vida! Thank you for always inspiring and indulging my deep-seated need for 00leiter, and thank you for this prompt. 🥰 Your wish is my command, my friend! It's here, continuing below the cut, as well as on ao3:

sometimes it takes the night to fall

“My mother wanted me to go to law school,” Felix says. His tone is measured, and this, this, is something he’s going to include in his annual performance review at the Agency, which his supervisor signs every year without reading a word: Agent Leiter is calm and measured, even when he is soaking wet, covered in pink feathers, and holding a flash drive with the plans for a chemical weapon designed to take out half of Europe, circumstances which Agent Leiter would have avoided entirely had his MI6 counterpart not been a fucking asshole.

“‘You’ll make good money, son,’ she would tell me,” Felix says. He pulls his Glock out of his holster, pointing it toward the floor to let the water drain from the barrel. “‘You’ll wear nice suits.’ But no, I knew better. I didn’t want to take the motherfucking bar exam.”

“You wear nice suits now, Felix,” Bond drawls, looking him up and down, and Felix is either going to punch or kiss that look off his face, but he hasn’t decided which, yet.

“Normally, I would agree with you, James,” Felix says. Measuredly, again, because he’s a goddamn station chief for the CIA. “But right now, my nice suit looks like it survived simultaneous explosions at a poultry farm and a Pepto-Bismol factory.”

Felix had had plans for their mission in Prague, plans which involved a timeline, and coordinates on a map, and the judicious use of SIGINT. James Bond had had instincts, and even if those instincts had been accurate, as far as identifying the Belarusian middleman they were looking for went, his methods left a lot to be desired, seeing as they primarily involved a chase through a crowded craft fair in the center of town, followed by what could charitably be called hijacking a bachelorette cruise in order to chase said middleman down the Vltava River. And now here they were, on a deserted dock in a decidedly seedy part of town, mercifully free of bachelorettes, but with an unconscious henchman tied to an oil barrel behind them, waiting for the ride that would take them not to their warm, comfortable hotel room near Karluv Most, but to the U.S. Embassy, where Felix could hand off the hard drive and then spend the rest of the night filling out the ream of paperwork required after the sort of nuclear-grade shitshow James Bond tended to leave behind him on a good night.

“I think I know what you need, Felix,” Bond says, and the way his mouth turns up at the corner can’t mean anything good.

“What I need,” Felix says, “is not to be picking penis-shaped confetti out of my beard.”

“No,” Bond says, stepping closer, and if the British exfil team doesn’t get there soon, Felix is going to paddle to the Embassy on a goddamn inflatable canoe, “No, that’s not it.”

He brings a hand to the back of Felix’s head, drawing him in close. “Why don’t you start by putting your arm around my waist.”

They’re Felix’s own words from years ago, directed back at him with Bond’s characteristically lethal precision. Not long after the events in Bolivia, Felix had flown into London for the memorial service of another MI6 colleague who had died in the line of duty. Later, after everyone else had left, he’d joined Bond where he stood in the back of the church, stiff with grief and the bone-deep chill of the British winter.

“She drowned, you know,” Bond had said, his tone conversational. “004, I mean. She deserved better. It’s a terrible way to go.”

Bond and Felix had been lovers for mere weeks at that point, if that designation even applied to the handful of hours they’d stolen in South American hotel rooms and, on one memorable occasion, the lost luggage room of a train station in the middle of nowhere. But Felix wasn’t an idiot. He’d been in Venice when Vesper died. Even then, he’d known Bond well enough to know what wounds would be fatal to him, if left untreated.

“It is,” Felix had said. He hadn’t dared to say much of anything else. “I’m sorry for your loss, James.”

“It’s England’s loss,” Bond had said. He’d already begun to go distant around the edges, all of the lines of his body tensed for a fight. Felix had wanted nothing more than to demand Bond come back with him to his hotel room, to fuck him fast and merciless until all the tension bled from his body, until he was easy and louche again, unspooled against the Egyptian cotton sheets. But his first instinct with Bond wasn’t always the right one, back then, and he’d looked at Bond in silence for a long moment before making his decision.

“Come here,” he’d said. “I’m going to give you a hug.”

Bond had looked at Felix like he’d just suggested they piss in the baptismal font. “A what?”

“A hug, Bond. Jesus Christ. Come here.” He’d pulled Bond in by the lapel of his expensive wool coat. “You start by putting your arm around my waist, like that. Then you put your other arm around my shoulders. Like this, asshole. And then—” Felix had squeezed with all his might. “Then you hold on tight.”

They are here, now, tonight—and by “here” Felix means Prague, means the dock, means covered in dirty river water and the detritus of phallus-shaped souvenirs, but he also means so much more than that—in no small part because all those years ago, his own instincts had been right when he’d taken James Bond in his arms in an empty church, and so as angry as he is, he’s powerless to deny James this, now. He gives in to the inevitable and steps into the embrace, dropping his head against James’s neck.

“I hate you,” he says, but there’s no longer any heat in it. “This was the worst night of my career.”

“The ladies liked it,” Bond says.

“The ‘ladies’ thought we were strippers. One of them threw her drink on me when I refused to take my shirt off.”

“The night is still young,” Bond points out. Felix refuses to turn his head to look at him, on principle, but he can feel Bond’s smile against his cheek.

“Fuck you and your entire country,” Felix says. “I’m glad we threw your fucking tea in the harbor.” But his head is still on Bond’s shoulder, and his arms are around his waist, and he’ll stay that way until the sound of a distant motor signals that their ride is near, and the night moves on around them.

#prompt fills #one shot #my fic #sometimes it takes the night to fall #james bond #felix leiter #00leiter #fluff

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ml-nolan · 4 months

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Chapter 13 of Someone to Build Me Up is live

Patreon | Ream | Kindle Vella

His lips are even softer than they look, hiding a wicked tongue that traces the inside of my upper lip and turns every nerve in my spinal column to flashing neon.

He pulls back a few inches, face glowing with the pride of a conqueror. “Acceptable?”

I might be letting him drive here, doing my best to make him feel safe, but here's the thing. Well, two things, actually. One, he made the first move. Two, I am extremely competitive.

So I wrestle the eye contact away until I'm sure that I'm the one holding his gaze captive. "I don't know," I say. "I think I need more data."

------

You can read the first three chapters free on any of these platforms. Quick summary:

Reeling from a breakup, English professor Zack Carter is trying to pull himself together for his sister's wedding. His recovery includes hiring sexy, snarky, and multi-talented Marcus Berens as his personal trainer. When Zack finds out his ex has chosen his former bully as her wedding date, Marcus agrees to play the role of Zack's boyfriend. But despite a shared love of theater, neither of them are good at pretending their feelings are just an act.

#gay romance #mm romance #i can't believe it's not dreamling #fake dating trope #open door romance #first kiss #because you know #you've gotta make your *act* look *real*#lgbtq romance #romance serials #writers on patreon #writers on ream #kindle vella #kindle vella romance #ml nolan

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jerry-hornes-foot · 2 years

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Heyy!! Not sure if you’re taking requests at the moment (if not just ignore this) I wanted to ask for a Steve Harrington x Female Reader smut Oneshot. Maybe something where Steve and Reader are like enemies, reader is always really bratty and one time he just fucks the shit out of her, in the end they agree on being enemies with benefits? Maybe also some degrading, humiliating and chocking? Also just if you’re comfortable with all of that!!<3

Okay so uh this was meant to be a quick little blurb but it was so fucking hot I got a bit carried away. Wasn't sure who you wanted to be getting degraded/humiliated/choked for this one but the idea of dom Steve in this was driving me insane so I hope it's okay that uts the reader on the receiving end!! Thanks so much for this 💖💖

2609 words

18+ only

Smut

Steve Harrington x Female Reader

Tags: dom/sub; dom!steve; sub!reader; hate fucking; rough sex; no safe words; no aftercare; hair pulling; choking; humiliation; degradation; blow jobs; fingering; cum eating; penetrative sex; pet names; slut (reader); good girl (reader); offensive language

The truck door slams shut behind you as you hoist the box of decorations up to your chest and start towards the door of Family Video. The little bell jingles as you swing the door open, and for just a moment you think things might not be so bad when you spot Robin Buckley standing alone at the counter. You smile slightly, waving as well as you can with your arms full. Dumping the stuff on the floor you start to rifle through it, sorting out the things you'll need first. You lose your train of thought almost immediately as you hear Robin shouting through to someone in the back room. Holding your breath you turn to look, even the sight of Keith would be a relief at this point. Even he would be better than having to deal with-

"Woah, hey! Where do you think you're going?"

Steve Harrington.

"I told you." Robin replies, hurrying to put her jacket on. "They're playing Solaris at The Hawk tonight, this is literally the only night it's on."

"You can't just leave me here with-" Steve cuts himself off as he flashes his eyes over to you and catches you eavesdropping. You turn away quickly and busy yourself with a length of bunting. "What do we even need this stupid window thing for anyway?"

"I dunno I think it's to do with that Hawkins Day thing." Robin says as she hurries to the door. "You'll be fine okay, I already counted the float for you."

"Robin, wait! Robin!"

The silence in the room weighs heavy all of a sudden as the door rattles behind Robin as she races out. Pulling a brightly coloured 'Hawkins Day' poster from the box you sense eyes boring into the back of your head. Turning to look again Steve is leaning on the counter staring at you, that infuriatingly smug smile plastered on his face.

"Can I help you?"

"Who me? No, no, you carry on. I've got all night, not like I have a life or anything." He replies sarcastically, rolling lazily over the counter and wandering over to the door to flip the sign and lock up.

"I don't want to be here any more than you do Harrington." You say, sourly. "I won't be long."

You set to work decorating the window with brightly coloured posters, bunting, and tinsel. Steve wanders around behind you completing little tasks here and there, huffing loudly every now and then to make sure you know you're keeping him. The window in Melvald's only took you half an hour, but you slow down intentionally to annoy Steve. The thought of being stuck with him after hours like this hadn't even crossed you mind when you took this job, it was meant to be a bit of easy money, but this was making you question if it was worth your time. Eventually Steve disappears into the store room leaving you in peace. It doesn't last though, as you're lifting another ream of bunting to attach it to the window you pull a strip off tape only to realise the roll has finished. Composing yourself to avoid starting a fight you head into the back to search for some more.

The store room is even smaller than you expected. It's more of a cupboard than a room. Steve is standing in the centre sorting through a box of promotional stickers. You stand silently in the doorway waiting for him to finish so you can get in.

"I'm gonna be here a while just tell me what you need." He says without looking up at you.

"Tape."

Steve lifts a roll of masking tape from the shelf and thrusts it towards you, eyes still fixed on the box of stickers.

"Clear tape, dickhead, it's for the window."

His head snaps up so that his eyes meet with yours. He shakes his head at you, mouth hanging open slightly as though he can't understand what you've said. You can't help but think he wouldn't irritate you so much if he weren't so arrogant. Pushing in in next to him you start rifling through the contents of the shelves.

"I'll get it myself then." You make an attempt to push past him to get to what you need. "Excuse me." You say, not bothering to hide your annoyance.

Steve doesn't move, instead he just let's out a smug little laugh that makes your blood boil. Squeezing in front of him you lean over his shoulder to look for what you need. The space is so small the two of you are pressed together, you would be face to face if you weren't leaning over to rifle through the stationary.

"What's your problem?"

"What's yours?" You snap back.

"I don't have a problem," Steve says with a laugh. "You're the one pushing in here, helping yourself to all our shit."

The two of you are so close that you can feel Steve's dick starting to swell in his jeans, pressed against your thigh. Your eyes flash down for a second then flash back up to meet his,

"You don't seem to mind it, Harrington." You let a smile play on your lips, reflecting Steve's smugness back at him.

He leans closer, his face barely centimetres from yours.

"What, you think I'd want to fuck you?"

The smug tone in his voice makes the heat rush under your skin once more, but this time it's much further south.

"You know, if I thought you had it in you I think I'd let you." You push your knee up into his crotch and grind against him a little.

"If I didn't know better I'd think you wanted me to do it"

"Oh Steve, I'd like to see you try." You lift your hand up and go to move his fringe out of his face, but before your fingers can make contact with his hair his hand flies up and grips your wrist so tightly you can feel it starting to bruise.

"I hate to say it," he sneers "but I think you'd look pretty fucking good hanging off the end of my dick."

Steve's hands tangle in your hair and spin you harshly back into the doorway. You grit your teeth as your knees hit the hard floor as he pushes you down. You stare up at him as he unbuttons his jeans, trying your best to hide how embarrassingly eager you are. When he pulls his cock out you make a point of raising an eyebrow at him before wrapping your lips around his shaft and pushing your head forward to pull his length into your mouth. As you slide your head back and forth you feel slight sense of vindication as Steve fails to hide a groan with a cocky laugh. You duck your head in close to his torso, trying to pull as much of his dick into your mouth as you can.

"You know," says Steve, "I'd have done this much sooner if I'd known it'd be this easy to get you to shut the fuck up."

You go to lift your head to make a snide comment back, but a firm hand on the back of your head pushes you back down onto his cock. Gripping the backs of Steve's thighs you start to suck a little harder, letting your nails dig into the backs of his legs. He let's out a heavy grunt as your tongue rolls expertly up the underside of his dick. Running your nails down the backs of Steve's thighs you earn another thick groan,

"Mmph, fuck, I knew that bratty mouth had to be good for something."

Sliding your hands upwards, you let your hand fly down and land a firm smack on Steve's ass. In an instant Steve's fist tightens in your hair, pulling you roughly away from him so he can stare down at you,

"Big mistake."

Steve drags you back out into the store by your hair and throws you up against the counter, spinning you around to face him. His eyes stare intensely into yours. You have to take a second to snap yourself back to reality as you, just for a moment, let yourself get lost in his deep brown eyes. One of Steve's hands grips your throat roughly as the other deftly unbuttons your jeans, his hand slipping down and rubbing your clit through your underwear.

"Jesus." He pants. "You're so wet for me it's almost embarrassing."

You make an attempt to reply, but he slips your underwear aside and pushes one finger up against your clit, knocking the air from your lungs. Your whole body is burning for his touch. Even now you feel like punching that self-satisfied grin off hus face, and yet somehow at the same time, you'd give anything to feel his cock inside you. Two of Steve's fingers push up inside you, his thumb taking over circling your clit, making your legs quiver.

"Now," he tilts his head and smiles innocently at you, pulling his fingers out of you and sliding them into his mouth to taste you before locking eyes with you again. "Are you ready to say you're sorry?"

You laugh at him, trying your very best to keep your breathing steady as you do. Steve's hand tightens around your throat,

"I can stop right now, I don't need this anywhere near as badly as you do. If you want me to fuck you, you've got to beg me for it."

"If you don't think you're up to it, Harri-" Another tight squeeze of Steve's hand shuts you up.

"Ah ah ah. I said beg."

You glare at him for a second, but before you can attempt another snide remark, Steve pushes his hand back down your jeans, cupping you with his full hand, pushing up firmly against you to stop you being able to grind into him. Gritting your teeth you stare up at him. He cocks an eyebrow at you and you feel your hands tighten into fists by your side. You'd like to tell him to shove it up his ass, and you would if it weren't for how badly you wanted him to shove it up yours.

"Alright." You hiss. "I'm begging."

"Begging for what?"

"You know what." You spit. "You've got a huge cock and I want you to fucking ruin me with it, okay? Is that what you want me to say? I don't even care what you do to me, I just need to feel that cock inside me."

The cruel smile on Steve's face widens, dipping his hand back into your jeans his fingers push your underwear aside once more, drawing a soft moan from you as he starts stroking you again.

"Alright, alright." He says, releasing the grip of his other hand on your throat and tilting your chin up to look at him. "Don't cream your pants."

Sliding your arms over the counter you grip the inner edge of it as Steve thrusts into you. His fist tightens in your hair again tugging your head back so he can whisper in your ear,

"I knew you were a little slut the day I met you, you know that?" Steve bucks his hips sharply making you groan and grip the counter a little tighter. "You think you're so much better than me don't you? I've never even known why you've got such a problem with me. And yet, here you are, begging me to ruin this tight little cunt."

You moan again as Steve makes another harsh thrust. Heat burns in your cheeks, the way he's talking down to you is only making you hornier. Tensing around his dick you hear him grunt behind you. Suddenly you feel his hand sliding around over your hip, then his fingertips are against your clit once more, expertly rolling over it as he continues rhythmically pumping in and out of you. Little shocks of pleasure race down the insides of your legs.

"That all you got, Harrington?" You manage to choke out, desperate to rile him up a little more.

In an instant he kicks up his speed, jackhammering into you, somehow managing to keep a steady motion on your clit. You give up on trying to keep your moans to a minimum and let out a gutteral scream. Your legs are starting to shake and it's becoming a challenge to hold yourself up. Until now you'd never considered how strong Steve must be, but he's managing to use his free arm to wrap around you and keep bouncing you on his dick as your legs give way. Am orgasm rips through you without warning, another loud cry rasping your throat. As your body collapses Steve let's you drop to your knees, carefully turning you as you lower to the ground so that your facing him.

"Where do you want it?" He asks firmly.

Without replying you let your jaw fall open, tilting your head back and pushing your tongue out for him. Steve smiles, taking his cock in his hand and pumping it, the tip just barely brushing your bottom lip.

"I have to say," He mumbles between ragged breaths, "I never expected you to be so f- ah fuck... so fucking filthy."

His hand starts to stroke a little faster, you watch his face contort a little as hot ropes of cum sprays onto your tongue. Even the taste of him is making you giddy. Swallowing, you open your mouth again to show him it's empty.

"Good girl."

You get yourself cleaned up in the employee bathroom, Steve does the same after you're done. While you wait for him to come back you're left alone with your thoughts. It's hard to explain what came over you, if someone had mentioned the idea of you fucking Steve Harrington only a few hours ago it would have made you laugh. But there was something about letting him treat you like that, hearing that venom drip from his tongue, that even now is sending aftershocks shooting over your skin. Steve reappears from the bathroom, tucking his polo into his jeans and sweeping his hair out of his face.

"I hate to say it, Harrington, but that was pretty good."

Steve raises an eyebrow at you, "You weren't so bad yourself."

He helps you tape the last of the decorations to the window. It's late and you both half-ass it, but it's the last one you need to do so you don't particularly care. Neither of you talk much while you work, but it doesn't feel awkward like it normally does. The silence feels comfortable, almost safe.

When you both finally leave Steve locks the door behind you both, spinning the keys around his finger and staring at you, a mischievous grin plastered on his face.

"You sound good when you moan." He says, matter-of-factly. "I wish I'd gotten to hear more."

You smile back at him,

"I'll try to be a little louder next time."

"I'd like that."

Steve heads over to his car and you return to the truck. As he opens the door you shout after him,

"Hey, Harrington!" He turns his head back towards you. "Don't think this means we're friends."

He grins and winks at you, then climbs into the car and drives off down the road out of view. For the first time in your life you find yourself actually looking forward to the next time you'll get to see Steve Harrington. In the meantime, you've got plenty of time to think about what you're going to do to him when you do.

#answered #writing requests #steve harrington fan fiction #steve x reader #steve harrington smut #stranger things #dom!steve #jerryhorneskink

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qvid-pro-qvo · 2 years

Note

Macheresin, where we have a role reversal of coyote going into g-loc. Like the entire dagger Squad watches as Jake gets reamed out by Javy for refusing treatment, and it ends up with them screaming their feelings for each other in front of everybody and their mother.

maverick’s on the radar, and jake finds his teeth grinding.

“we need this guy off our ass,” he mutters, but phoenix’s voice is clear in his helmet.

“we keep going. finish the mission.”

so they do. they follow the path, they swerve and juke and spin. inversion, laser goes dead, so jake fires. misses.

“goddammit,” he snaps, and feels his rage fuel his flying, feels the incline go a little too steep, feels his chest start to cave in.

and that’s when it all goes south.

jake’s eyes are staring into the sun, and yet everything goes black. he fights and he fights and he fights but soon it just doesn’t matter. his hands go slack on the stick, and then his body goes limp, and the last thing he hears before he’s out is maverick’s voice chirping away.

one beat. two beat. three beat.

pull up, pull up! pull up, pull up! pull up, pull up!

“hangman! c’mon, hangman! hangman!”

suddenly a flood of colors, of his senses, of ringing in his ears. his eyes go wide, he sees the mountain, and with the reflexes that only training and skill can manage, he pulls up. straightens out. his heart is pounding and his eyes are still blurry, and as he gasps for breath he hears phoenix’s voice, then bob’s, then mav’s, and then the voices become words.

“hangman? you all right?” maverick asks. there’s worry, fear, all of it.

“i’m — i’m good,” he coughs out. tries not to think about anything but landing this thing. if his hands shake, he can’t afford to notice. “i’m good, guys. let’s go home.”

—

he repeats it all the way home, and soon it’s the only thing he can say. good. good. fine. thanks. everyone asks, even the people who never gave a shit before. he supposes it could’ve been any of them, but it was him, and the embarrassment chokes his airway just as good as the g-force did.

so he nods and brushes off any concern, and he’s halfway to telling the nurse sent to fetch him that he’s just fine when the storm comes rolling in behind him.

“hangman.”

jake knows that voice. almost missed it in the air, when he came back to himself. but he doesn’t turn to face javy, just smiles sweetly at the woman before him.

“i’m all right. i’ll nod off early tonight, promise.”

“hangman,” javy repeats, but the nurse looks half to breaking.

“you really should be kept under observation,” she tells him, and she sounds solemn. concerned. it makes his teeth grind. “i at least need some vitals.”

jake doesn’t think that’s a good idea. he’s sure his heart rate alone would warrant a hospital visit he doesn’t need. “i’m fine,” he says, again, like he’s done over and over until he’s blue in the face —

“jake.”

this time it’s not just javy’s voice, it’s his hand. he’s whirled around, so quick he’s dizzy with it, and when his vision clears there’s an expression on his best friend’s features he can’t quite read. unfamiliar territory.

“coyote,” he says, flashing a too-sharp grin. he almost misses the way the nurse reaches for his arm with a cuff in her grip because he’s so focused on his front. but his body jerks away from her, toward machado, almost falling into him. “hey, watch it, i’m not staying.”

“like hell you’re not,” javy says fiercely, and then he’s grabbing the cuff himself. “you’re getting looked at.”

the look is still there. jake concludes it must be anger, because his brows are so furrowed he sees every line between them. has the urge to rub them away.

“javy,” he says again, keeps his smile to make it somewhat convincing. “get the stick out your ass. i’m okay. i flew back home. with a perfect landing, if i do say so myself.”

but if anything, it seems to make javy more furious. his jaw sets, twitches, and jake feels guilt, that embarrassment rise up in his chest, makes his cheeks flush with it.

“don’t play with me, jake.” the tone offers no place for argument. “you’re not going anywhere until a doctor signs you out, and that’s —“

“what? an order?” jake snaps, because he feels so small. compared to a mountain, he’s a bug on a windshield. “fuck off, okay? i’m perfectly capable of handling this mission, i’m not letting them baby me —“

“baby you?! you almost died, jake!”

javy’s voice cracks with it, shatters, takes jake’s heart along with it. there are looks from everyone milling about, and they’re not being subtle about anything. but jake sees no one else in the room. and then that looks reads so much clearer, because now jake can see every line, every furrow, every worry.

every fear.

it’s fear, in his best friend’s eyes. fear he caused.

he feels sick.

“you almost died,” javy repeats. gentler. but jake thinks in that moment, that javy must feel small, too, because while jake was a bug in flight, javy was a million miles away on the ground. “i almost — i almost lost you, you realize that? i was seconds from hearing you crash-land, and all i could think was that i was losing you and i couldn’t get in a plane fast enough to save you.”

“javy,” jake whispers, nausea swirling in his gut. his eyes must be shining, just like the man in front of him. “javy, i made it back. okay?

“but you almost didn’t. and i couldn’t do anything but listen, jake, you get that? i couldn’t do a damn thing. so please, i’m asking, hell, i’m begging you, let them make sure you’re all right.”

it’s then that javy grabs his hand. he’s ready to drag jake where he needs to go. against his will, god forbid. it’s then that he looks jake in his eyes, fear plain on his face, written all of it.

something more, between the lines.

“i can’t lose you,” javy tells him. “not like that. never like that.”

their hands are still interlocked. the grip is so tight, he knows he’ll feel it even after javy lets go.

but he doesn’t want javy to let go.

“okay,” jake finally says. glances to the cuff still in javy’s other hand. “okay. fine. but — but you put it on.”

javy’s gaze drifts past him, jake’s sure to the nurse. and she must nod, or something, because javy’s using one hand to wrap the thing around his upper arm, the hand still in his grip pulling him to the couch so they can sit side by side.

the nurse takes his vitals. declares his blood pressure is through the roof, his heart rate is way too high. “i do have to recommend observation to the doctors,” she tells them. “for one night, settle your system.”

and jake wants to rebel, wants to fight it, but javy’s look haunts him. that fear, that pain.

“okay,” he says quietly. “one night.”

it’s clear javy’s relieved. he’s finally smiling, almost triumphant. but their hands still haven’t dropped from each other, and as the nurse calls in her findings jake squeezes his fingers to pull his gaze back to him.

“please stay,” he asks his best friend, his closest companion, the only person he’s loved like this. “i can’t — i can’t lose you either.”

it’s a big ask. a night away from a bed, a night of bad sleep and shittier food than normal. but javy doesn’t hesitate.

“i’m not going anywhere.”

#macheresin #jake seresin x javy machado #jake seresin #javy machado #hangman #coyote #jake hangman seresin #javy coyote machado #my fic #my writing #prompt fill #qvo ships tgm #top gun: maverick #tgm #sorry i couldn’t quite get the screaming in but i hope this works!#they know they love each other and they kiss in the hospital room (after jake passes out once the adrenaline rush dissipates)

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spookyrobbins · 2 years

Note

I love your latest fic! The way you described Arizona's panic attack was so realistic. Just perfect. And I can't wait for the soulmate fic. Could you post a sneak peek or a synopsis?

i'm glad you enjoyed!

here's a little snippet (from both povs!)

(there's also this snippet i posted a while back!)

6 June 2006

Chicago, Illinois

Spinning her grandmother’s ring on her pointer finger, Arizona waited. It felt like it had been hours, when according to her watch, it had only been four minutes. Four agonizing minutes, waiting for her board examiner to wave her in.

One by one others had begun to enter their exams.

This would determine her future. She had offers from Johns Hopkins, Columbia and Seattle Grace. Her parents desperately wanted her to stay on the East Coast. Nick told her to go to Seattle. She could have a fresh start there. It was one of the best programs in the country, top-ranked, the whole nine yards. But New York would be fun too. She loved Johns Hopkins, but there was zero mobility for her there at the moment.

On a whim, she scribbled a note to her soulmate on her palm.

I could do with a bit a luck right about now

A small four leaf clover appeared on her wrist next to her other good luck charm. Arizona grinned down at it.

“Robbins? Robbins?”

1 December 2007

Seattle, Washington

“I hate peds.”

Callie glanced up from her drink to greet Erica, who had all but thrown herself into the booth across from her. “Hi to you too.”

“They’re always so perky and happy and playing games. It’s so… so irritating.” Callie finished the last dregs of her drink. “I’ll go order us some more drinks.”

Callie chuckled, watching Erica fight her way through the crowd of doctors. With one finger, she scooped out an ice cube. Under the dim lights of Joe’s, only the faintest remnants of the note her soulmate had written could be seen. She was almost positive he did something with children, but for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what it was.

She traced over the letters of the small tattoo at the crease of her wrist. Someday, she’d get to ask what it meant. A few weeks ago, she had been fixing up a 10 year old girl who had stolen her older brother’s bike and the girl had been thrilled by the tattoo. Apparently, it was her favourite movie and the peds person who had been in had promised she could watch it in her room after her surgery.

“So, like I was saying, peds people are the worst. They smile too much. And this one, God, she’s been a pain in my ass since residency. I got reamed out by a department head because I didn’t want to give an intern, that’s right, an intern time off. But she just flashed her stupid dimples and he bent over backwards.”

“This was when you were chief resident?”

“Yep. Freakin’ upstart.” Erica narrowed her eyes, leaning in to look closer at Callie’s wrist. “You have a tattoo? How did I not know this?”

In a fit of self-consciousness, Callie closed her fingers over her wrist for a moment before revealing it to Erica. “It’s not mine, really. It’s my soulmate’s. He got it a few years ago.” She shrugged. “I have no idea why, but I normally wear a watch so it’s not visible.”

“Kind of dorky, isn’t it? So you don’t know who he is?” A flicker of something unidentifiable crossed Erica’s face. Callie shook her head.

“You?”

“No. We don’t… we don’t interact much.” Erica fixed her gaze on something over Callie’s shoulder, a sneer pulling at her lips. “And there she is, Cinderella, herself.”

“Want me to go yell at her or something?” Callie asked with a laugh, taking a long sip of her drink. She turned to look at who Erica was talking about, but Joe was in the middle of clearing a table, blocking her view.

“No, it’s fine. I just hope I don’t have any more peds patients. She’s a fine surgeon, wasted on kids, but I don’t think she could handle anything more intense.” Callie hummed and nodded along. “Anyway, tell me about your day.”

“Eh, it wasn’t anything to write home about. All pretty standard procedures.”

“That’s what you get for doing carpentry.” Erica laughed and Callie laughed with her, but something twisted at her. She hated when people reduced ortho to carpentry. She made people walk and she gave people their lives back and let the kid who wanted to go to the Olympics make it back for his season. “Oh, there Cinderella goes.” She waved a vague hand.

Callie twisted in her seat, but only caught a brief glimpse of blonde hair, at least assuming that was who Erica meant.

#soulmate brainrot

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7r0773r · 6 months

Text

Phantom Pain Wings by Kim Hyesoon, translated by Don Mee Choi

Bird's Repetition

All the stories bird tells perched on the treetop are about me Nothing about the rumors of my lies, my thefts and such but something ordinary like how I was born and died Bird talks only about me even when I tell it to stop or change the topic It's always the same story like the sound of the high heels of the woman, walking around in the same pair all her life This is why I have a bird that I want to break

Like a poet who buys a ream of A4 paper and crumples the sheets one by one and tosses them I have a bird I want to break When I crumple up my poems that are like the family members inside a mirror in front of me I can hear the stories of fluttering birds "You were born and died" Then I say, You scissormouths and go buy a paper shredder to shred every poetry book of mine But later, when I opened up the shredder a flock of birds was sitting inside, talking about me as if reading line by line Moreover, each bird had a different face and the hens talked about me even while sitting on their eggs They didn't care to fly off Instead, they clustered under the peanut tree and talked about me like peanuts under the ground So, I said to them, enough of telling the same old story of how I was born and died How about something else? For instance, how about the fact that I always wear the same high heels to work and back but when I'm under the same tree at the same park I always dance a waltz And do several movements of embracing the moon But they replied, You were born inside bird Not opposite of that You died inside bird Not opposite of that You were born and died

***

Farewell First

Bird and bird conversed. They conversed on the treetop, on the rooftop with a lightning rod between them. It was freezing that day. Body was inside a toasty-warm room, crying for no apparent reason. Birds' conversation had no body in it. Birds stared at each other like two hands that fell from my body.

Bird begins with farewell first, so what do farewell and farewell talk about when they meet? Bird once started trembling inside my body. Bird may have even fluttered. Bird said, Future doesn't exist since farewell has already begun. Bird and bird pecked on Future and conversed amiably.

The monk who had attained nirvana was always beneath the same tree, and bird always perched on the head of the same monk.

Bird and body said they knew about each other's existence. The day I was so sick, I saw one bird falling from the sky.

Body said that sometimes it can feel bird's visit. Today, bird took my body to the darkest canyon. Body screamed silently, broke into a cold sweat, and flash opened its eyes. Bird left.

On Friday night, traffic came to a halt, so I was stuck in my car on the bridge over the Han River. After the eye surgery, Mommy was alone in bed, her eyes bandaged. Bird flew over to her first and stroked her eyelids.

At that moment, Mommy said she had called out my name.

***

Monster

I have two legs that can make the five thousand migratory birds landing on a reservoir take flight again I have smelly holes that can make all the dogs of our country howl in the middle of the night

On my face, I have two bellows with bleeding landscapes inside them

I have breaths that can burn out like candles exiting the cosmos one door at a time

A pigeon flies into my windshield A big thud yet the pigeon flies off

I unzip the long zipper that runs up my back and pull out the monster It wiggles out My car overflows

I hold on to the steering wheel with my zipper still undone

A child runs out to the main road to catch a red balloon and the child's mommy runs out to catch her child and a white rat as big as a house bolts out of her mouth

and the white rat swells up, blooming translucent and when the rat's gigantic pistil and stamen soar up to the sky and when the rat becomes so huge that it reaches the edges of troposphere, stratosphere the sound of mommy's wails

Earth is like a lone squealing rat

I have a virus that can bury alive a million pigs into one hole in the ground I have ten fingers that can topple a thousand statues of Buddha's disciples into the hole I have

***

Pointed Handwriting

I poured the goldfish into a puddle from the fishbowl I was holding

I looked around to see if I could throw out anything else Throw away my cat? No, I shouldn't throw out any living things from my house

There's a dense forest in the middle of my house When I lift up a piece of cloth each tree gives off the smell of its genitals

The day my child didn't come home, I went into the forest

I went into the music hall to listen to the symphony, but even before the orchestra began playing, a Steinway piano hopped around the stage like a three-legged horse. The wind instruments stuck out their beaks like flamingos; it's pointless to say anything about the cellos. I yelled out, Pull that child out from the frozen puddle! My throat kept screaming and my heart was like a pitch-black forest. The graves inside the forest hit me. They slapped my face. The immense forest with its genitals exposed hit me.

I released a lizard

I released it daily, it slapped me, I paid it tribute The lizard prostrated next to a puddle like a stinky rock I released my beloved friends, teachers, and family Then I didn't look back

Someone asked me, Are you calling farewell a forest? When rain falls like a long, long letter inside my room sad things happen and a forest begins to form, I answered

***

Straitjacket

On my first day of school the smell of my teacher's breath On my wedding day the smell of the officiant's breath The smell from writing that offends women

The same smell as this outfit

I've recorded my perpetual departures but I always return to the inside of my outfit when captured

It's criminal to tie up a tornado It's catastrophic to lock up a liquid that has reached the boiling point

I don't cry even when you label me as a rightist, leftist, modernist, pro-Japanese, and every name of illnesses You can have my nose dribble and phlegm instead

How can you say to the fish that the fish net is its outfit? How can you say to the fish that the fried outfit is its coat? When I'm in this outfit I feel as if I'm inside a radio It feels as if every citizen is paying attention to what I'm saying

I'll apologize since every citizen is waiting for my apology I'll apologize for the rest of my life and from now on everything that comes out of my mouth will be red apples

Why does apple (I) need to apologize to apple (you)? Apple (you) and apple (I) are apologies (for what)?

The outfit with strapped hands and strapped sleeves

A single outfit

The smell of my heart stabbed by my hands automatically poised to pray The smell of the ethnic minority woman's hand, divvying up a freshly caught pig with the group sitting in a circle

In the room light baptizes through a powerful lens But no one can enter the room dressed

Even the birds must take off their feathers The fish must take off their scales Trees, too, naturally In my room everything is nude

When my old leather gloves stretch toward me a whiff of toilet My outfit reeks of sweat

Hit me Hit me The bird has already flown away

What you have hit is just a void wearing an outfit

It's bright inside my outfit!

#book quotes #kim hyesoon

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

I absolutely love your fics!!! Thank you for sharing your talent with the world. If you're interested, do you think you could write a fic where Finn gets injured in a game against Tampa? O'Hara brothers ftw ♥️♥️♥️

Ohohohoho yes. It's 'missing your big brother so you write siblings' hours, and all of you are trapped in here with me. Combined with prompts for cubs hurt comfort/ poly love (@hi-im-phoenix) and distraction hurt/ comfort for AJ. Sorry about your manager <3 SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for bone inJuries

The crowd was roaring. Finn couldn’t catch his breath. His arm was on fire.

Something like a sob broke free in his chest, but he could do little more than hiccup in pain and fear from his place laying flat on his back atop the unforgiving ice. He couldn’t move his fingers. His elbow throbbed. Everything in between just hurt.

“—fuck is wrong with you?” an angry voice shouted, followed by a flash of blue and white shoving at the man whose late hit had left him suspended in shock. Finn didn’t know if it had been on purpose, but he didn’t really care anymore as a tear tracked down to his ear. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from the bright lights overhead.

A hand cradled one side of his jaw, warm and clammy on his cold skin. “Talk to me, mon amour, what’s wrong?”

“Lo,” he croaked, swallowing hard. “I’m okay. ‘m okay, promise. I’m okay.”

“Out of my way!” The blue and white blob pushed closer before kneeling next to him. A helmet hit the ice, followed by a glove; heavy hands settled on his shoulders, and the one on his face disappeared. “Finn? Finn, look at me.”

Finn’s chest hitched once, twice, hard. His head was pounding, and everything hurt. He may have been able to reassure Logan, but he had never been able to hide from his brother. “Alex.”

“Hey, buddy,” he soothed as Finn finally regained enough breath to gasp around his tears. “No, no, shhh. You’re gonna be just fine, yeah? Can you tell me what happened?”

“Hurts,” he choked out, squeezing his eyes shut. The pain had reached his shoulder and every movement was agony. “It hurts, it hurts—Alex, it hurts.”

“What hurts?”

He could hear people calling for medics. His friends, his family. But Alex stayed right there next to him, holding his good hand and brushing his tears away. “My arm,” Finn said, feeling as pathetic as he ever had. “Alex, it hurts so bad.”

“Can you wiggle your fingers for me?” Finn sobbed again as he shook his head and saw the encouraging smile slide of Alex’s face. “That’s alright, buddy, just take some deep breaths.”

“I don’t wanna be out,” Finn blubbered. “I gotta play.”

Alex gave his hand a light squeeze. “It’s not that bad, Fish. Deep breaths.”

He managed a handful—and admittedly felt a little better—but the alarms in his head were still blaring when Remus arrived with the medic, all but carrying him across the ice to get to Finn. He had a smudge of a bruise beneath his eye, but the worry creasing his brow overtook anything else. “I’m good, Loops,” Finn panted as the medic sat next to him. “Totally cool.”

“28, I’m going to need you to make some room,” the medic ordered. Fear spiked in Finn’s heart when he met Alex’s gaze, but he found only determination looking back.

“I’m not leaving,” Alex said simply.

The medic glanced down. “Can you stand?”

“I think so?” Finn said hesitantly, trying to get cool air back into his lungs. “It’s—I think I broke my arm. Everything else is okay.”

“What’s your pain level?”

“Eight. And a half,” he added. Alex frowned.

“Let’s get you off this ice, yeah?” The medic patted him gently on the shoulder. “O’Hara, can you get him up?”

“Keep that one close,” Alex murmured, sliding his arm under Finn’s shoulders. He clenched his teeth around a cry of pain as his bad arm was jostled, but Alex was strong and steady, and within a few seconds he was on his feet. “Easy does it, bud. I’ve got you.”

“Fucking shit,” Finn wheezed as he tried to close his hand. The fear and adrenaline had faded, but involuntary tears sprang to his eyes anyway. Alex held him upright without faltering despite his wobbly legs; they made it to the bench in a blur of movement that made Finn dizzy.

“We can take him from here,” the medic said to Alex.

“I’ll be fine,” Finn said, cutting him off just as he opened his mouth. “Go play. Your boys need you.”

Alex pressed his lips together in obvious frustration, but tapped their helmets together and skated back to his own bench. Finn let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes for a moment. “O’Hara?”

“I’m good,” he assured the medic.

“If you feel like you need to throw up, let me know.”

“No. No, I’m good. Just hurts.”

He caught a glimpse of the clock as they headed down the tunnel—ten minutes left in the period. Finn steeled himself for a long stretch of being alone in a medical room and tried to focus on something over than the unbearable heat and throbbing in his arm.

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

Leo traced the edge of the splint with a deep-set frown, but said nothing. His other thumb ran in gentle lines up and down Finn’s waist, kept there by Logan’s side pressing close. “You’re sure you’re alright?” Logan asked softly as he placed a kiss on the corner of Finn’s mouth.

“I promise.” They had barely traded ten words—both had shown up the second the game ended, stripping off their pads and skates in the entrance to the medical room before sandwiching Finn between them. Leo had been unusually quiet. They had won the game; from what Finn saw on the television in the corner of the room, Alex had reamed out the guy that hit Finn with a vengeance. Tampa had been disjointed, and the Lions swept in as a cohesive pack, out for blood.

“I was worried about you,” Leo said at last, resting his temple on Finn’s shoulder. He sighed, then shifted impossibly closer. “Couldn’t get through the crowd.”

“I thought Talker and Loops were gonna kill that guy after he hit you,” Logan said with a shake of his head. “Looks like Alex did it for him.”

“What, you didn’t get into your shining armor for me?” Finn teased, nuzzling his nose against Logan’s cheek to draw even a slight smile from him.

“Maybe next time.”

“No,” Leo mumbled, linking his fingers with Finn’s purple ones and lifting them to his lips for a brief kiss. It was a clean break, but would still take weeks to heal. Big blue eyes landed on him, melting his heart like they always did. “No ‘next times’, okay?”

“Aw, Knutty,” Finn said, barely above a whisper. He wrapped one arm around each of them and held them tight, soaking in the feeling of having both crushed against him. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

Logan tucked his face into Finn’s neck. “Nothing to be sorry for, mon rouge. We’re just glad you’re alright.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” a voice said from the door. Alex shifted his weight back and forth, twisting his baseball cap in his hands like he always did when he was nervous. Finn didn’t hesitate before extracting himself from the cuddle pile and crossing the room; Alex met him halfway and engulfed him in a hug. A shudder ran through him under Finn’s palms. “Jesus, Finn, you scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry,” Finn mumbled into his hoodie, letting himself be cocooned by distilled safety. Even out of his skates, Alex had a good two inches on him, and he had always been the broader of the two—Finn suddenly felt about six years old, as if he had just skinned his knee on the sidewalk.

“What’s the diagnosis?”

“Closed break, clean fracture. I’ll be out for a month or two.” He stepped back and swiped a hand under his nose, then tilted his head toward Leo and Logan with a wry smile. “But I’ve got these two to look after me.”

Alex scanned his face for a moment; his mouth dipped on one side. “I called mom and dad, told ‘em you’re okay. You should tell them yourself, though. They were freaking out.”

“I will,” Finn promised.

The worry creasing his brow didn’t diminish as he wrapped Finn in his arms again, holding him tight. “Keep me updated, yeah? If I don’t hear from you, I’ll get the captain on your ass, and he won’t be as nice about it as I will.”

“Deal.”

“Knutty, Lo, drive safe. If he tries to pull some stupid shit, I’m counting on your survival skills to stop it.”

“Survival skills?” Leo half-laughed.

Alex pulled away and raised his eyebrows. “They don’t call me Hurricane O’Hara for nothing.”

His eyes flickered back to Finn, who was horrified to see slight redness around the rims despite the teasing in his voice. “Alex,” he said softly. “I’m okay, I swear.”

“I know.” His voice was gruff, but it poorly hid a sniffle as he bumped their foreheads together. “But I’m your brother. It’s my job to worry about you. I hate that one of my guys was at fault here.”

Finn tried for a smile, socking him on the arm. “Six weeks, and I’ll be good as new.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” With a final survey of his face and a kiss to the top of his head, Alex headed back out into the hall with his shoulders up near his ears. Finn sighed; he hated it when Alex was upset, and even more when there was nothing he could do to fix it except wait. He didn’t know what he’d do if one of his teammates broke his brother.

“Fish?” Leo was smiling when he turned around. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“What kind?”

“The kind where I pull out all the sob story pity points on Cap’s soft heart and get us babysitting privileges for his incredibly fluffy dog after three months of constant begging.”

Finn’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”

“Make sure you look extra sad when we leave,” Logan advised. “We can’t lose this opportunity because you were too perky about a broken arm.”

“Quick, someone make me cry.”

Leo’s grin turned to horror. “What?”

“No!” Logan said at the same time.

“You guys are killing me here,” Finn groaned. “Just, like, hit me in the arm or something.”

“No!” they shouted in unison.

“You said I need to look sad!”

“I meant pout and sigh!” Logan pulled him over by the hem of his shirt in clear distress. “You’ve already cried too much tonight. No more.”

“Alright,” Finn agreed, already wracking his brain for any smidgen of drama skills he might have acquired over the years. Younger siblings were always the best actors, of course—he had given some Oscar-worthy performances to his mom when Alex got on his nerves as a kid—but Sirius was tough to fool. Maybe if he stayed quiet and didn’t risk opening his mouth they would get away with it.

Leo let out a slow exhale against his chest and snuggled closer before standing. “Come on, darlin,” he said with a kiss to Finn’s forehead. “Let’s get you settled. We’ll take a shower, have some dinner, and then we can put a movie on.”

“Mighty Ducks?” Finn asked hopefully.

Logan rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

#finn ohara #logan tremblay #alex ohara #leo knut #oknutzy #cubs #hurt/comfort #sweater weather #vaincre #my fic #fanfic #brothers #broken bones

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strawwritesfic · 2 years

Text

Peter Parker x Pregnant!Female!Stark!Reader: Where Gods Do Fear to Tread [Ch. 7]

Summary: The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry, the best laid plans of teenagers even more so.

Challenge: “9 Months” challenge by crackleviolet on Lunaescence Archive -- Bonus Two -- Teenage Pregnancy

Rating/Warnings/Tags: T (sexual references; two underage people having consensual sex off the page; teenage pregnancy; family drama; mixed families; teenage cruelty; discussion of abortion; discussion of adoption; foul language; crude humor; postpartum depression; Stark!Reader; Lila & Reader friendship)

Pairings: Peter Parker x Female!Reader; Tony/Pepper; Happy/May; Steve/Bucky; Clint/Laura; past!Tony/Reader’s Mom

Tag List: @imaginesfire, @plutoneu

Master List

Chapter 7: Kicks

One of things no one ever said during the hundreds of “don’t have sex or you’ll die” lessons you had to endure from fifth grade onward was that death would be among the least horrible consequences of doing the deed. They told you about single parenthood, warned you about abortion clinics, and did their best to terrify you with horrible pictures of sexually transmitted diseases—but clearly none of that had worked. Maybe, just maybe, if they’d talked a little bit about the truth of pregnancy, you would have listened. Probably not, but maybe, because sixth months in held enough misery that you almost wished you had died instead.

Heartburn. Hot flashes. Leg cramps. Dizziness. All of these you endured in relative silence. Whining about them did you very little good anyway. Doing so usually earned you another lecture from your dad…or thorough reaming out from Pepper, who couldn’t really help being so ticked off when she was about three months ahead of you.

The back pain you found a lot harder to shut up about. You couldn’t spend all your time in a warm bath, not with school and homework and long meetings about what adoption meant and even longer lectures from Nick Fury of all people about the dangers of casually sleeping with Enhanced.

The uncomfortable hospital waiting room chairs didn’t really help matters. They had wooden arms on each side and a beige-ish back and cushion. You used the word “cushion” for want of a better term. No matter which one you tried to sit in, you couldn’t stay comfortable in it for more than a few minutes at time. By the time Pepper had been in labor for six hours, you’d tried nearly every chair in the room, much to the consternation of every other person crammed in there with you that warm May afternoon. Probably they wondered what an unsupervised, massively pregnant teenager was doing loitering in there instead of at a gynecologist’s office somewhere.

For the fifteenth time that day, you pulled your phone out of your backpack to check for messages to distract yourself with. None were there. Obviously. Your dad was in the room with Pepper; the rest of the Avengers were answering some important distress call over in Siberia; and it wasn’t like you had any friends that were going to check on you after you’d left school at around ten that morning.

“Sorry I’m late. Did I miss anything?”

You looked up in shock both at the voice and the feeling of the chair next to yours moving. Peter himself had plunked himself down there. Wide eyed, you looked around the room for May or Happy at least, but no one was there.

“Happy’s going to pick up Aunt May,” Peter explained. “They’ll be here soon.”

“Guess they figured there’s not much trouble we could get into at a hospital,” you said with a weak smile.

Sure enough, Peter’s sudden arrival had every eye on you again, nurse and visitor alike. You tried not to blush at the feeling of all those eyes on you. Their disapproval couldn’t make you unpregnant, no matter how convenient that might have been.

“Right. So? I wanted to get here sooner, but Aunt May said I had to finish school for the day.”

“It’s fine, Peter. Pepper’s still in labor. I think. Guess Dad might just have decided not to tell me. Probably wouldn’t my aura rubbing off on Morgan’s right out of the womb,” you said, a little bitterly. Your baby sister’s arrival would take a lot of pressure off of you, but you also desperately missed your dad’s affection. What if having a new daughter made him willing to send you away now?

Peter seemed to read your mind as he wrapped one arm around your shoulders. “Mr. Stark wouldn’t do that. He loves you.”

“Maybe he did for a little bit.” You gave yourself a firm shake before changing the subject. “So, you were at school. They finally let you back after you gave Flash that black eye?”

“It was just a quick suspension,” he said, like it didn’t matter at all.

But it did. Though no one had told you outright, you were pretty sure that your dad had pulled a lot of strings to keep Peter at that school after his fight. A large donation had likely been made to Midtown High.

Peter hadn’t even used his full strength on Flash. If he had, Flash would have been turned into little more than goo splattered across that Audi. Fighting at school was still fighting at school, though, and if he hadn’t been throwing punches to protect your honor, you shuddered to think where Peter would have ended up.

You gazed at him, trying to will those horrible, uncharacteristic tears away. He seemed to notice, as he kissed your temple before he took his arm off your back so he could hold your hand.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m okay. I’m not the one going into my seventh hour of labor.”

“Is that normal?”

“I think so.” Again, you shifted in your seat and found no relief in your newest position. “No one’s been all that keen on giving me details, though. Mostly a lot of talk about my poor decision making skills.”

He let out a small laugh. “Yeah. I got a little bit of that from Director Fury, too.”

“It’s not funny,” you said, swatting him lightly on the shoulder.

“No. I guess it’s not.”

His eyes fell where they’d been falling a lot lately: the place where your hands connected. You felt his fingers contract momentarily around yours. What he was thinking when he did this, you didn’t know. Finding out wasn’t high on your priority list either.

“Lila sent me a card, though,” you said. “That was nice of her. And when it’s Natasha’s turn to babysit, she mostly leaves me alone.”

“Oh yeah?” Peter said absently.

“Yeah. Happy’s been great, too. I know he acts like I’m an enormous burden, but I’m starting to think it’s only an act. He bought me a milkshake a few days ago…”

Without Peter’s eyes on you, you found it difficult to gauge whether or not he had heard a word you said. The rest of the waiting room had; no one else there was speaking—at least, not as fast or as loud as you were. He didn’t look up, however, not even when you trailed off into an uneasy silence yourself. It seemed to magnify all the other tiny sounds in the room: a nurse at a desk turned a paper; a phone somewhere in the back rang; one of your fellow waiters unwrapped a granola bar.

“Peter?”

“Yeah.”

“Peter.” That time, you kicked his shoe with your closest foot.

He looked wildly up and around, only to relax when he saw that there wasn’t anyone in a giant mechanical rhinoceros suit headed straight for him. “Huh?”

You sighed. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Mostly. I just…”

You wondered then if he kept staring at your hands to avoid staring at your belly. His eyes drifted slowly over to the swell of it obvious even through your sweater (it might have been May, but your school wanted you to wear something a little less indecent than your usual button down). Then, just as slowly, he brought them back up to your face.

“You just what?” you asked around your suddenly thick tongue.

“Nothing. It’s…dumb. But you had your appointment earlier this week, right? You know what it—you know what we’re…you know what the baby is?”

Things between you and Peter had settled down since you’d gone to see him at school a few months before. You both texted most nights (knowing full well FRIDAY was keeping logs of every message sent); Happy and May had come over for a much less uneventful dinner (not a fun experience this time either); and sometimes you even got to talk to him after one of his training sessions (so long as Steve or Clint hung around; you didn’t exactly jump at the chance when it was your dad who volunteered). All the same, your relationship felt tenuous, like you were walking on a wire just to keep things casual. That was why you sounded so guarded when you answered:

“Yes.”

“Yeah?” Now that he’d broached the subject, he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off your baby bump. “And what is it?”

“Peter…”

“I just want to know. That’s all.”

He’d picked a good place to ask. If you blew up in the middle of the hospital, you’d probably get carted off to the psychiatric ward—or, worse, someone would go wrench your father away from the birth of his good daughter so he could yell at you some more for your bad behavior.

Truth be told, you didn’t really want to blowup at Peter anyway. You loved him, and you still felt plenty guilty over deciding to give the baby up for adoption (and reject his sort-of proposal) without asking him about it first. The only thing was that you worried about what giving him that information might do.

“It’s…the baby’s a girl,” you said quietly.

His eyes went as round and as huge as one of your dad’s largest serving platters.

“Is that bad?” you asked.

Seemingly unable to speak, Peter shook his head. Your free fingers crept almost unconsciously to your belly as you watched him. What was he so freaked out about? Either the baby was going to be a boy or a girl. What other options were there? He wasn’t the kind of guy to hope the baby was a stillborn, so that couldn’t be it.

Finally, Peter let out a long sigh. “Is she pretty?”

Your knee-jerk reaction was to remind him all babies looked the same before they were born—and usually for a while after that, too. You surprised yourself by saying instead, “Yeah. She’s beautiful.”

“Does she look like you or me?”

“Me. She’s got a real big head.”

Alarm bells went off in your head. What were you doing? This baby was growing inside you, sure, but you weren’t supposed to get attached. She was going to some nice family as soon as she could. You couldn’t talk like she was coming home with you. All the same, when Peter grinned, you grinned right along with him.

“You’re head’s not that big,” he said.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. You know, my mom tore when she had me.”

“T-tore?” All the blood drained from Peter’s face.

“Yeah. Around my head.”

“Is that…is that going to happen to you?”

“I don’t know. It’s a possibility.” One you had a lot of nightmares about, too. The way Peter looked away from you and licked his lips made you think he might start having nightmares about it himself.

“Being pregnant’s really hard, isn’t it?” he asked.

“It’s no walk in the park. But,” you said, when he continued to stare at his jean-clad knees, “if I had to have anyone’s baby, I’m glad it’s yours.”

“Really? Why?”

“Because you’re kind.”

“Tell that to Flash.”

“Punching Flash doesn’t count. I owe you for that one.”

“No, you don’t.” Your eyes met once more. Peter’s tongue flashed at the corner of his thin mouth. Butterflies erupted in your stomach before he could speak. “Listen, I was wondering—”

“Peter, don’t.”

“I was just wondering what you’d want to call her. If we were going to raise her. What would you want to name her?”

“But we’re not keeping her,” you said.

“I know. But just…if we were.”

A lot of things about this situation hurt. Mostly your body, obviously, but also a lot of relationships and your grades and your self-esteem. None of that really made you twinge as deeply inside as considering the name of the baby you’d hardly get to hold in your arms. Logically, you knew you’d made the right choice in not keeping her, in finding her a family that would keep her safe, in getting her into a home that would have room for nothing but love for her. Emotionally, you couldn’t pretend you hadn’t spent the past few days obsessively thinking over the very thing Peter was asking you.

“Bethany,” you whispered. Your fingers pressed against your bump as you closed your eyes. “I want to call her Bethany, after my mother.”

You breathed deeply in through your nose then out through your mouth, then repeated the process several times. Bucky had suggested that to you last time he’d been present for one of your fun little panic attacks. Oddly enough, it helped…though you assumed Bucky didn’t need it nearly as often to prevent himself from bursting into tears in public.

A warm weight pressed against your hand closest to Peter. Opening your eyes, you found he had placed his hand on top of yours and interlaced your fingers again. Tears sparkled in his warm brown eyes.

“I think that’s a beautiful name,” he said hoarsely.

“Y-You do?”

He nodded. “I think I’d want to call her May, too. After all Aunt May’s done for me, it just seems right.”

“Bethany May?” you suggested.

“Bethany May.”

“Parker or Stark?”

“Parker-Stark. What else?”

Even though everything about the scene throbbed like a healing bruise, you and Peter worked your ways into tearful smiles.

“Bethany May Parker-Stark,” you murmured.

Peter echoed the sentiment, his eyes misty. Then: “So we really can’t keep her?“ he asked.

Reality doused your modicum of happiness like a bucket of cold water tipped over an ember. "No. We can’t.”

“But—”

“But what, Peter? We’ve been over this a thousand times already.”

He lifted his shoulders, tensing for an argument…then let out a long sigh and leaned his head backward against his chair until he was staring up at the paneled ceiling. “I know. I guess it’s just that…I don’t even remember my parents. I don’t want our daughter to grow up like that, wondering about what we’re like.”

“I know the feeling.”

“You do?”

“Sure. My mom told me when I was really little who my dad was. I kept asking her to bring him in for career day at school. Obviously, she couldn’t do that. She probably only told me because she figured if I told anyone, they’d think I was playing pretend. I kinda thought she was playing pretend, too, when I got older.”

“But Mr. Stark is your dad. You knew that.”

“It sounded too good to be true. That’s part of why I ran off to see him. I knew Mom never told him about me before she died, and I just thought if he knew me, everything would be okay.” Which, contrary to everything the world taught, it had been. For a little while, at least. Until you got it into your head to have sex with your boyfriend.

“Do you think Bethany’ll ever do that? Run away to meet us?”

“She won’t have to. These people who are adopting her are really nice, Peter. They work for SHIELD. They promised me that if she wants to when she’s older—when we’re older—they won’t stop her from looking for us or making contact. Besides,” you went on, “Fury’s pretty sure she’s going to wind up with your abilities, and if she does, there’s no way she won’t figure out who her dad is.”

“You really think so?” said Peter, lips curling up into a smile he couldn’t quite allow.

“I do. Oh!”

Your sudden exclamation had Peter’s attention off the ceiling and right back on you. “What is it? What’s happening?”

“Nothing.” His serious expression caused you to giggle. It really was a good thing he wore a mask as Spider-Man; he was too cute to scare any crooks bare-faced like that. “I just think that she already knows you’re her father.”

Peter’s brow furrowed further still. Without explanation, you gently lifted the hand he had resting on top of yours, brought it inches from the fabric of your sweater, and let him go.

“Touch it,” you said.

“Huh?”

“Just do it. Quick! She doesn’t keep it up for very long.”

His confusion did not evaporate. Frowning, he did as he was told, with many glances back at your face. Did he think you were trying to trick him somehow? You held your breath. If she didn’t do it again right away…

He gasped as he felt that same popping popcorn-like sensation inside you. “Oh my God!” he said. “Is that her? Is-is she doing that?”

“She’s kicking!”

“I can’t bel—”

“Miss Stark.”

You and Peter froze at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. Your eyes remained locked on each other’s for several seconds, but the bubble of happiness had utterly burst. Embarrassed and reluctant, you looked over to see a frazzled-looking woman in scrubs standing with a clipboard only a few feet away.

“Yes?” You tried to use your most dignified tone. She didn’t look impressed.

“The baby’s been born and checked out. Your parents would like you to come in and see them now,” she said.

Both you and Peter rose in unison, his hand slipping away from your stomach and back down to your hand. Neither of you got more than a step away from your seats before the nurse shook her head.

“I’m sorry, sir, but only family is allowed in the room for now.”

Peter didn’t let you dawdle or argue. “That’s okay,” he said quickly. “Aunt May will be here soon. You go on ahead. We’ll catch up later.”

He was probably right. As much as you wanted him with you for this moment, rules were rules. You allowed Peter to pull you in for a quick kiss, then went off to follow the nurse to Pepper’s delivery room. When you got to the door leading to the hall, you turned to look at him one last time. He waved. You waved back.

The tears threatened to rush right to your eyes once again as you turned away. This time, you refused to let them free. You couldn’t cry when this was such a happy moment for your dad and Pepper. With a sniff, you rubbed the moisture accumulating on your lower lids away, after which you hurried after the still-moving nurse. What was there to cry about anyway, you wondered. At least someone was getting a happily ever after after all of this, even if that someone couldn’t be you.

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lemon-boy-stan · 2 years

Text

LO$ERS -> 33. “WATER RISING”

You landed on damp cobblestone as water dripped down on you. You were fifty feet underground, it was gloomy and dark in the cistern. A white light illuminated the tunnel as Soobin pulled out his phone, which you were surprised still had power, but you soon found that you wouldn't need his phone's torch.

A red light flashed throughout the darkness, casting ghostly shapes against your faces. Familiar looking bulbs screamed as they flickered on, and a grave feeling began to sink in your stomach.

The sign, bleeding red, bore large, blinding words. WELCOME TO BOB’S CIRCUS! Except the word Bob was crossed out with a dripping dark brown liquid that looked suspiciously like blood. Someone had written over the sign, so that it now read, WELCOME TO PENNYWISE’S CIRCUS!

Your heart began to thump in your chest. You felt the anxiety creep up on you, making the hairs on your neck tingle as things, events, began to mold into place.

Why the circus only came every twenty-seven years. Why so many kids went missing. Why the police had no traces of evidence.

You began to choke on your breath as more thoughts tumbled through your head, and soon, it was nothing but an avalanche of thoughts.

A warmth made its way into your hand, and instantly, you felt calm. You looked down first and then to the side before smiling, surprised to see Soobin next to you.

Yeonjun disappeared around the corner, and for a while, it was quiet, and you feared the worst. The only thing you could hear was water dripping from the ceiling. And then... "what the fuck!" Yeonjun's shrill voice echoed through the cistern, and you couldn't help but giggle as you manouvered with the rest of the group to find him.

Soobin let go of your hand, running over to see, but you could see it from here. It was gigantic. A massive tower, piled up high. A indmill was cut into the ceiling so that light could ream through it.

Red balloons floated in the air aimlessly, something else floating alongside them.

"The missing kids..." Kai whispered, making your stomach churn horribly. You saw them now, limp and lifeless in the cold dark air, skin pale and thin, eyes pearly white, bodies drained... you let out a choked sob as Yeonjun dug around in the tower of the children's belongings, throwing out teddy bears, backpacks, wallets, before taking a long wooden bat.

As Yeonjun took the bat, the pile of things tumbled to the ground, clashing and clattering loudly as they fell. Taehyun, who you'd completely forgotten was there, span on his heel to glare at Yeonjun, hissing the next few words loudly. "You idiot! How stupid are you! We don't know where We are or who's watching us and you completely gave us away, how could you be so fucking dumb -"

A loud, crackling, static kind of sound echoed through the tunnel as Taehyun fell quiet, but the silence did not last very long.

A familiar circus tune rang throughout the cistern as a loud voice spoke, a voice you'd only heard once before on television, "Welcome to Bob's travelling circus, staying one night in Derry for it's twenty-seventh anniversary! So, come one, come all! Step right up! We have tricks and treats! The Tightrope Twins..." two children, identical siblings, dropped from the ceiling, fastened to a pair of large ropes. You shrieked as they span and plummeted into a gap in the floor below.

"The Girl on Fire!" another rope fell, a young girl tied to the noose. The girl hung in the air, untouched, as you stared at her lifeless body. Then, bang! Her white, pearly eyes slammed shut and flames erupted all over her body, burning the rope around her neck, singing her body as she fell into a pile of her own ashes into the muddy water on the floor of the cistern that had now risen to meet your ankles.

You were now waist-deep in the water, the brown, dirty liquid staining your clothes as the water rose... panicked, you span around to face Taehyun, splashing as you waded towards him, “what’s happening? What’s happening?” the girl’s ashes floated around you like snowflakes.

This was perhaps the first time you’d seen Taehyun cry. “I don’t know!” he said, face paler than ever. “Taehyun,” your lip trembled as you spoke, “I’m scared.” Taehyun sucked in a sharp breath and kicked his feet below the water, grabbing on to your jumper to keep you afloat, “I know. We’re gonna be okay, we’re gonna be fine...” you dug your head into his neck and someone else swam over.

“How do you know that?!” Hueningkai’s shrill voice rang through your eardrums and you felt him kick the water around you, “I can’t swim!” you sobbed softly into Taehyun’s neck and he turned to glare at the maknae, “shut up.”

“Yeonjun!” called the un-stuttering voice of your older brother, “Yeonjun, where are you? Yeonjun...” and the voice of the eldest floated somewhere beyond, “Soobin, here! I’m over here...” he began to say something, but then the water rose above your heads, and you could no longer hear.

You let out a wordless scream as you realised what had happened, thrashing around the muddy water. Soobin grabbed you and tried to swim upwards, but the water just kept rising and rising.... Yeonjun and Taehyun were trying to support Hueningkai, who paddled violently with his legs... you began to gasp for air, air that wouldn’t come, you began to feel light-headed... you gave your brother a look that he knew what it meant... and then suddenly the water was gone...

“Guys?” said Beomgyu, “guys, why are you all wet? Are you okay?”

a/n: it's been months since I've updated LO$ERS, but it's finally here! *crowd cheers* I hope you liked this one, I can't believe it's almost time to wrap up this train-wreck of a fic...

summary: derry, maine, 1989. there have been a collection of missing persons cases, but that doesn't stop the losers club from having fun. y/n and her friends are determined to have a good time, and nothing is going to get in their way. genre: fluff, crack, it 2017 au. pairing: choi beomgyu x reader

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#tomorrow x together #txt #txt smau #tomorrow x together social media au #txt imagines #txt fluff #beomgyu #choi beomgyu #beomgyu smau #choi beomgyu smau #beomgyu social media au #choi beomgyu social media au #beomgyu fluff #choi beomgyu fluff #beomgyu x reader #choi beomgyu x reader #LO$ERS. CBGYU

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potatoes-is-are-food · 3 years

Note

Miss potatinha pls can I have Touya-nii getting cucked by his incel friend Shigaraki who he teased would neva have a gf, and is now fucking touyas sister? 🙏🙏

Here you go light of my life~ I hope it’s everything you wanted, it was definitely really fun to write.

Warnings: slightly implied incest, Touya-nii being a meanie

“Touya-nii,” you softly tug at his sleeve, wince when he swats your hand away and tells you to wait, “but Touya-nii I have to go,” you whine. He glares at you.

“Wait until Keigo gets back,” he pulls you to sit on the armrest beside him, “I don’t want you two alone together.” You don’t ask why, you’ve seen the way his friends look at you. They said they wanted to be your friends, too, but Touya keeps you tethered to his side constantly, especially when Keigo is around. It’s like he doesn’t want you to talk to anyone that isn’t him.

It wouldn’t be so bad if your brother wasn’t so mean. He tells you you’re stupid, gives you spankings if you do something he doesn’t like, pinches your thighs, flicks at your chest, and gives you hickeys you can’t hide just because he can and likes to make you uncomfortable. Makes you “play wrestle” so he can grind his crotch into your body while you squirm and try to get away, just how he likes. He makes you cry and then tells you to suck it up while he lets you sit in his lap to “make up for it,” without saying sorry. Ever.

When the blonde comes back Touya lets you go, telling you which hallway to go through since this is Shigaraki’s house and you’ve never been. You nod, give his cheek a kiss when he tells you to, and scamper off to relieve your bladder.

Just as you’re closing the door on the way out you see his other friend, Tomura. He’s never worried about Tomura being around, he thinks he’s too creepy and you’ll cry for your nii-san if he tries anything. You don’t think he’s creepy, though. He’s a lot nicer than Touya. Honestly Keigo is the one that creeps you out when he tries to touch you and makes lewd comments to see you flustered. Shigaraki usually just stares a little but it doesn’t really seem like he knows he’s doing it.

You wonder if he’s nice to you because Touya is mean to him, too. You’ve heard him say Tomura couldn’t get a girlfriend if he paid someone and a bunch of other insults. He calls him crusty and says he’s gross, and one time you could’ve sworn you saw him wiping his eyes after Touya finished berating him.

He walks back with you into the main room where Touya and Keigo are laughing at something on one of their phones. When your brother sees you he gets up, pinching your cheek.

“We’re gonna go grab some beer. Play with Tomura or something, yeah?” You nod, not wanting to risk him spanking you in front of his friends again if you said no. He pats your head and heads out with the blonde, leaving you and Shigaraki alone; completely secure in the thought that he’ll come back to you awkwardly playing video games. Or maybe if he’s lucky crying for your nii-san because Tomura’s creepy ass tried to cop a feel.

The two of you end up playing some fps game, sitting in the floor next to each other mashing buttons while you murder your opponents in co-op. You’re not horrible but he’s definitely much better than you and it’s clear he’s completely carrying you through the matches. You keep sneaking glances over at him, admiring the focused expression on his face. It’s a similar expression to the one he has when he’s looking you up and down. You’re not stupid, you can tell when he’s leering at you but for some reason it’s more flattering when it’s him rather than creepy.

Victory flashes across the screen and you set down your controller, pulling your knees up to your chest. He throws his down and goes to the kitchen to grab an energy drink, taking a sip and then offering the can to you to try. Your cheeks burn as you press your lips to the same place his had just been, barely even tasting the liquid inside before handing it back and muttering a thank you.

“Wanna see my setup? It’s way better than the console.” You nod too fast, too enthusiastically, and follow him back down the hall and into his room. It’s gross, there’s empty cans all over the place and laundry covering every inch of the floor. Several hoodies are strewn across his unmade bed and you can’t help but wish you could put one on. You watch him and listen as he tells you about the monitor and how he customized all his stuff, but you don’t understand any of it, simply nodding along and happily taking another sip of his drink when he offers.

“Can I sit?” you ask softly, gesturing to his messy bed. He shrugs, clearly trying too hard to seem indifferent, and you sit, hand smoothing over the soft fabric of his jacket as you move it aside. He sets the can on another empty one on the desk and plops down beside you, much too close for comfort if he were anyone else. You wonder vaguely if your nii-san would make him move.

“You’re cute,” he says bluntly, and you nearly squeak, face burning as you manage a small nod in thanks. He grins widely, gripping your shoulders and looking at you intensely, “So do you wanna go out?” his fingers are digging into you but all you can do is nod again, leaning eagerly when he comes closer until you’re clumsily pressing your lips together.

He almost immediately shoves his tongue down your throat, cupping your face too hard and smushing your face against his. You tangle your fingers in his hair, whimpering when he moves his hands to pinch at your hips and thighs. You cling to him as he pushes you onto your back, his old mattress squeaking loudly under you as he swings a leg over to straddle you, never breaking the kiss.

He tastes like the energy drink, his hair is greasy when your fingers run through it, and you’re pretty sure your head is resting on one of the many questionable stains littering his bed, but you’re elated. Both of you. He gropes harshly at your chest, frantically shoving your shirt up to paw at your nipples, pinching them roughly as he groans into your mouth.

You whimper when he bites your lip, and he pulls away smirking down at your trembling body. His eyes lock onto your chest and he yanks your shirt completely off before setting his sights on the rest of your clothes. You pull him into another kiss while he clumsily works off your pants, pulling them and your underwear, leaving you completely naked and him with everything on.

Blood rushes into your cheeks as he pins your arms, hungrily looking over your bare form as though he’s unsure where to start now that he’s got you. You shyly cross your arms over your chest but he takes and pins your wrists above your head, kissing you briefly before dipping down to your chest. His tongue flicks against your hardened nipple, his free hand pinching at the other one as he starts to suckle the soft flesh. He releases your wrists to grip your thigh, pulling your leg out from under him. You get the hint and wrap them around his waist, the fabric of his t-shirt grazing your clit just enough to make you jump at the contact.

He leans back and pulls his shirt over his head, letting it join the mountains of others on the floor. His eyes lock onto your pussy and his tongue trails along his lip. You’re not sure he’s even aware he’s doing it. Without a word, he delves between your legs, excitedly licking you with no technique or regard for how it feels, merely wanting to taste. You squirm and his arms wrap around your thighs, pinning you as he laps at your folds. His clumsy movements against your clit are enough to send you over the edge, and you grip his hair as you cum, crying his name as your back arches.

He wipes his chin off with one of the random articles of clothing scattered under you and flings it to the floor, crawling over you and latching onto your neck. His cock springs free as he shoves his pants down, bouncing slightly before weighing heavily down. Bigger than you’d imagined, and you’d thought you were generous. You catch him smirk at your reaction, giving it a few pumps for your viewing pleasure.

He lines up the drooling head of his cock and presses slightly in, gathering slick on it before pushing in the rest of the way. The stretch has your eyes rolling back into your head and soft whimpers leaving your lips. His head bumps your cervix as his hips meet yours and you let out a guttural moan, head flopping back onto his bed.

“Fuck,” he groans, looking down at the sight of his pubes pressed flush against your folds. He gives a few experimental thrusts, marveling at how much your walls cling and twitch around him. You moan softly, wrapping your arms around his neck and drawing him into another kiss as he starts to really move. He’s rough, like you expected, hips rolling against yours almost frantically as he fucks you into his mattress.

You’re moaning and panting into each other’s mouths moreso than actually kissing, gripping at limbs as though you’re both worried it isn’t really happening. The bed groans and the headboard smacks against the wall, bed springs squeaking loudly, however it’s not loud enough to drown out either of your moans.

For a time he leans back and smiles wildly at you, not attempting to hide his excitement. His pace is uneven and rapid, borderline inhuman. He grips your hips to keep you in place as he uses you like a toy, immediately stooping to kiss you when you give his arm a little, needy tug. He’s perceptive, trailing a hand gently along your cheek when you cling to him, still reaming you without pause.

Your tongues twirl together as his hands come up to press yours into the bed, fingers interlocked as his thrusts get more animalistic. Tears prick at your eyes, his rough treatment and the friction from his hair pushing you closer to the edge again. As though able to read your mind, he trails a hand down your body, pinching and groping his way to your clit and rolling it in his inexperienced fingers.

You can tell he’s close, his hips sputter and he groans, shoving his face into your neck to suck at your skin and muffle his noises. His treatment of your clit gets rougher, the puffy nub’s abuse bringing you to orgasm. Your eyes roll back in your head and you cry out just as the door opens, giving your brother a front row seat to your O face.

Touya’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates at the sight, Keigo’s immediately doing the same but accompanied by a massive grin. They watch as Tomura groans, unaware of their presence, spilling himself inside as your cunt milks him for all he’s worth. He presses into you deeply, humping his cum against your cervix with a shudder before he collapses on top of you, panting.

You tremble under him, grateful for his body covering yours as your face burns. You shake him slightly and he grunts in response, muffled in your neck. He looks up after a second, concerned at your expression before he turns, face going completely white.

Tomura locks eyes with Touya, both completely at a loss for words. Keigo looks over all your exposed skin he can see, ecstatic look still plastered over his face. You’re looking anywhere except at your nii-san or Keigo, trying not to cry as you pull one of his numerous hoodies over your chest.

“Uh,” Tomura starts, “we got along fine. How was the beer run?” You think you can hear Touya’s brain implode.

#shigaraki #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki x you #dabi #touya todoroki #touya-nii

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

📋 Hello I am putting a formal request in for more Chris Saves Himself AU ft Mama Nakamura taking him I’m home only to realize the full situation

Continuing the Chris Saves Himself AU: One | Two |

CW: Grief, memory loss, recovering whumpee, some very brief and very vague references to noncon, minor whumpee (OC is 17), angsty fluff, reunion

It takes six days for the cops to let Akio's mom bring Tristan back to their house.

He's ready to be discharged from the hospital by day two, but there's nowhere for him to go. WRU is still saying there's no record of his existence, even with the barcode on his wrist. Tristan's only known living relative, Joanne Botham, is claiming he ran away from home and she had no idea what happened to him, that what she had told the Nakamura family was out of frustration and anger at Tristan for disappearing. The governor is out on bail facing charges for keeping Tristan in the mansion in the first place.

There are a lot of charges.

Akio feels by turns numb and enraged when he hears a news anchor read them out loud, bloodless words that don't seem to reflect at all how serious their meanings are.

The first few, he can process - false imprisonment, bodily assault - but then they keep going, and they get worse in ways Akio can barely even begin to imagine.

What Tristan has lived through... Akio's brain refuses to let it coalesce fully, but he has nightmares, dreams about Tristan screaming for him and being on the other side of a door Aki can't open.

He dreams about hands on Tristan's body and the way he might have screamed for help. Akio wakes up crying, retching, running to the bathroom to throw up whatever he's eaten that day as if he can rid himself of the poison of knowing.

His mom calls a therapist.

His father tells him to stop watching the news.

Akio just waits until they're in bed and searches for everything he can find on twitter, on reddit, on every-fucking-place anyone is talking about this. And it's everywhere.

He stops telling his parents about his nightmares after the second night.

Oliver Branch says WRU sold him a product they knew was outside the bounds of the law and lied to him about it. WRU says they don't know what he could possibly mean by that and they have no paperwork or documentation that Tris was ever in the system at all, and if he was, then there must have been a mistake about his age. They swear they'll do a total review of every single Box Boy, Babe, or Buddy to ensure absolute compliance.

The soundbites make Akio's mouth dry.

How many are there, then? If they have to keep looking to find more? How many like Tristan?

How many?

Joanne Botham, who never answers Aimi's furious calls and then changes her number after the second day, goes on TV and says she did nothing wrong and there's no proof that anything happened except maybe Tristan lying about his name and age to make WRU agree to take him in. Oliver Branch says he has the proof WRU knew, and he'll provide it in exchange for immunity.

They all point fingers at each other on national television, in press conferences and through their attorneys.

Through it all, Tristan sits in a hospital bed staring out the window at the blue sky as though it will be stolen from him all over again, waiting to be told where to go, what to do.

And it takes Aimi nearly a week to get the police to agree to allow her to take him home. She brings everything she can think of to meetings with the detectives heading up the case, shows them reams of team photos and home movies, folders and folders of everything Aimi and Mrs. Higgs had ever talked about or done together with the boys.

The hospital needs the room, needs the bed. The detectives don't want to put him into foster care when he barely seems to understand he's a person. The social services people won't take him because they're not equipped to handle a situation like this one. The adjustment houses don't want him because of something to do with what kind of Boxie he was, and Aimi doesn't elaborate and something in the set of her expression makes it clear Akio shouldn't ask.

After a week of mostly just being able to look at him through the small little square window in the hospital room's door, Aimi finally gets legal permission to take him out of there.

Akio isn't prepared for the slew of news vans that are there when he and Aimi arrive, someone having tipped off reporters that they might get a glance of the governor's secret Box Boy today. Aimi, though, simply sets her shoulders, slides a pair of dark sunglasses on, and walks through the crowd like a queen with her head held high, a small duffel bag handle in hand.

Akio hurries behind her, hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched, hood pulled over his head, trying to ignore ten thousand camera flashes. It's so much worse than the leadup to the Olympics would have been, if he were still performing at elite.

Or at all.

He has a strange, surreal hope that Tris won't be disappointed in him for quitting after Tris died.

Even though he's not dead.

They step into the hospital room around 10 in the morning to find Tristan not in the bed, but sitting on the couch built into the wall under the window, curled up on the crinkly plastic cushions to look out the window, humming low, soft and tuneless.

The hum makes Akio's heart ache with a sudden realization that this odd waking dream he's been living for a week isn't a dream at all. Tears flood his eyes and he has to blink them away as fast as he can. He's heard that hum in his ear as kids during sleepovers, he's heard it when Tris was nervous before performing a new routine, he's heard it while they waited anxiously for scores or studied for school.

"Hey, sweetheart," Aimi says, her voice low and soft, but even so Tris jumps and turns to look at them with wide, startled eyes. One hand goes up to his neck, and Akio swallows when he sees Tris has wrapped gauze around his neck to sit like the collar he was wearing when he fell from the governor's bedroom balcony.

Akio watched the cell phone video that made the rounds over and over and over again. The flash of red hair, shirtless, the bruises he was covered with, his hazy drugged eyes. Over and over and over again.

Watch him fall, watch him land, watch the people run to him and get him out of there when Akio has been sitting here crying his eyes to red half the time for a dead best friend who wasn't dead at all.

"H, Hello," Tristan says, but he doesn't know them. Akio can tell, the way his eyes move between them is uncertain, unsure. "Hello, ma'am. Can, can, can I, what..." He swallows, shivering, and Akio watches the fear move across his face. "What... what can I... do for you?"

His slowed-down voice makes Akio feel sick. He's only ever seen Tristan do that when he's with people who don't understand him or love him for who he is. Now it seems like it's the only way he remembers how to talk.

All Tristan's muscles from gymnastics are gone, leaving only faded shadows of his strength behind. He's skinny, so pale he nearly reflects the light from the ceiling. His freckles are faded, and his hair is shorter than Tris ever liked it.

Being so thin makes his eyes even bigger, they seem to overwhelm the rest of his face.

"Honey, we're going to take you to our house," Aimi says, keeping her voice the same low gentle cadence. "While we figure out what happens next. Aki and I will be taking care of you for a while. How's that sound? Would that be okay?"

Tristan looks between them again, and something shifts in his face. A kind of desperation moves there, and he turns more fully to face them, leaning over a little to look up at them. Hair falls over his forehead, and his hands move to rub over the texture of a loose pair of sweatpants someone gave him to wear under his hospital gown. "To... your house? Would I be... yours?"

He looks at Akio again, and there's something in his face that says he sees that as the best case scenario, that he was ready for far, far worse than simply changing owners. That he's... hoping he'll be Akio's property now.

Akio's stomach flips at the thought and he has to put a hand over his mouth and turn away, catching the sob before it can make its way up out of his throat.

Aimi's arm moves around his shoulders instinctively, and she leans over, pressing a kiss to her son's short black hair. "It's okay," Aimi whispers. "It'll be hard at first. But it's going to be okay, Aki. Saishūtekini wa daijōbudesu. Tristan wa mada anata no shin'yūdesu."

Tristan, sitting on the little couch, blinks a few times. "Friend," he says in English, a little haltingly. "Shin' yu. Means... best friend." He scoots closer to them along the couch, and his eyes are so big and so very, very green. Just how Akio always remembered them.

Aimi's head raises and turns to look at him, her arm tightening around Aki, breath catching in her throat. "You remember that?"

"No." Tristan shakes his head. Scoots a little closer, even. "Yes. I don't know why. Are you..." He looks at Akio. "Wa-... watashitachiha... sh-shin, um, shin-shin'yūdeshita. Yes? Did I-... did I say it right?"

Tristan's Japanese was never great, he'd just picked up some here and there from all the time he spent around the Nakamuras at home and in their car. They used to lay awake at night during sleepovers practicing over and over until Tristan had a new phrase to impress Aimi with.

But hearing his voice, his living breathing real live voice, sounding out the words...

It's too much.

It's too fucking much.

"Yeah, um, y-yeah, you-..." Akio's words are suddenly gone. He chokes on his fear that this somehow is a dream he will wake up from to find Tris still cold in some unknown open grave, and he can't keep the tears back any longer.

His knees buckle under the onslaught of grief and hope and fear and love, and he drops to the cold tile hospital floor, hands pressed over his mouth until his lips are pushed painfully into his teeth, and he wails, muffled but loud enough that there's rustling as the cops guarding the door turn to look inside through the viewing window.

Aimi drops into a crouch behind him, rubbing at his back as he curls over himself. Her voice trembles with tears she doesn't shed. Akio remembers the days after they were told Tristan was dead, how she would cry in her room at night with Aki's dad when he was home from work, but somehow when he and Emi were bawling their heads off, her voice stayed calm, she kept her composure.

Right up until she was alone.

Now, though, she's barely hanging on as her son sobs on a hospital room floor before the emptied-out shell of his best friend.

Bare feet pad along the floor until Tristan drops down in front of him, reaching slowly out. Cool fingertips touch the back of Akio's hand, and he pulls them slowly down to look and see Tristan only a foot or so away from him, kneeling, watching him.

"I know you," Tristan whispers. "It hurts, but... I know... you. Don't, um, don't I?"

Akio can barely see him through the tears that have turned the world to watercolor suggestions. Nothing's in focus. But he grabs onto Tristan's hand, those familiar always-cold fingers, and holds tight.

"You know m-me," He manages. "You do, Tris. You know me. We-... we know you. We want to t-t-take you h-home."

Tristan tilts his head to the side, and it's such a familiar gesture, one he was so sure he'd never get to see again. "My... name is Baldur," He says, softly. "My Sir named me-"

"Please don't call him that. Can you... can you answer to Tristan? Please?" Akio is the one to reach out this time, touching Tristan's shoulder, hesitant. Waiting for him to pull back and away, to flinch like he's been doing when they watch him with the nurses.

Instead, Tris takes a breath and leans into the touch.

"It hurts," He says. "But, but, but, but-... but I can try."

Akio nods, and then Tristan is moving forward, and their arms are around each other and Akio is scared of himself for a second, scared of the welling of feelings he can't control. He's afraid he'll crack Tristan's ribs with how tightly he holds on.

Tristan's face buries itself against his neck, into the crook of his shoulder.

"I missed you so much," Akio whispers against the coppery hair. He's going to start crying again. He can hear his mom sniffing behind him, digging into her purse to pull out the little pack of tissues she always has in there. "I missed you so, so much, Tris."

"I think... I think I, I, I missed you, too," Tristan whispers back, and Akio isn't sure if he can even know if he means it, but he also knows that it's so good to hear the words that he doesn't even care.

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @what-a-whump @whumptywhumpdump @downriver914 @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears

#whump #chris saves himself AU #chris the strawberry blond romantic #akio nakamura #rescued whumpee #escaped whumpee #recovering whumpee #memory loss #dehumanized whumpee #reference to collars #grief tw #referenced death #caretaker and whumpee #memory recovery #bbu #box boy universe #box boy #box boy whump #minor whumpee

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anon-e-miss · 3 years

Note

AU where Jazz runs a TON of charge. It takes ten spike overloads to satisfy him, and he doesn’t have a refractory period. After ten overloads in a row, he tends to go utterly feral—as if he’s in rut. Just mounting and clawing and biting and rutting away until he finally knots his partner and blacks out. This is only occasionally a problem, because basically no one can handle getting him off ten times in a row anyway.

Prowl, SiC, sees how this endless charge is impacting Jazz’s work (and quality of life). He has a crush, but he tells himself that’s not his motivating factor. Jazz needs someone he can trust to see him to blackout. Someone who won’t tap out three overloads in. Someone who won’t judge him for getting increasingly desperate and feral and possessive as he frags them.

Jazz maybe thinks no one could tolerate that kind of behavior. He might feel ashamed of the fantasy he has of ruthlessly fucking someone completely helpless. Someone who trusts him. (Possibly someone who would trust him enough to knowingly drink drugged energon hand fed to them)

Fortunately for him, Prowl thinks that fantasy is HOT AS A SMELTER.

Time for Jazz to finally get some satisfaction.

Despite the war ravaging the planet, Cybertron was seeing a mixing of frametypes like never before. It was by in large a positive as cultures that once stood well apart rubbed one side by side. It was not entirely positive. The differing needs if frame types could class, as Praxian Prowl had experienced this firsthand but at the moment he was not worried about himself or his framekin. He was worried about Jazz.

As Praxus had segregated itself from its neighbours with the great dome, Polihex had itself been segregated, the nomadic and semi nomadic groups had roamed the Wastes and the Rust Sea without fear of heat or storms where no other frametype had. Their frames had developed their own quirks and one of Jazz’s was coming into play.

He needed to frag. But Jazz did not trust so much and so easily as mechanisms thought. Why anyone believed a spy would be trusting, Prowl could not begin to understand. There were Bots Jazz trusted, his team, of course but his team did not comprise mecha capable of taking what Jazz had to give them. He was starting go get snappy, standoffish. It was effecting moral, that seemed like a good excuse.

"You need to frag," Prowl declared as Jazz smacked the datapad he was fiddling with. The Polihexian's visor flashed white.

"Not really yer business, Prowl," he replied. Prowl flicked a single doorwing.

"It is affecting your productivity," Prowl said. "There is no way in Pit I will authorize your deployment when you are in such a state."

"Ya can't order me to frag," Jazz said. "OP would have yer helm."

"Why would I order you?" Prowl asked. "We both know how well you listen to my orders. I am offering my assistance."

"I would ruin ya in two overloads," Jazz said. "Not worth the effort."

"You will find I was forged for endurance," Prowl replied. "I could take anything you give and more."

Jazz stared at him and cocked his helm as he looked Prowl up and down. Prowl did not flinch from the hungry in the mech's expression. He had won, and he knew it. At the best of times Jazz was hard pressed to resist a challenge. This was far from the best of times.

"We'll see."

There was something to be said for Jazz’s self-restraint, he had more of it than anyone, including Prowl would have guessed. He did not push Prowl down on his desk and frag him, but made an honest to Primus appointment for the coming dark-cycle and suggested Prowl take them both off the schedule for the next mega-cycle. Prowl had never gotten so thoroughly fragged that he could not work the next mega-cycle but he acquiesced. It was not as if he could not put himself back on duty as it suited him.

They met in Jazz’s quarters rather than Prowl’s, though Prowl’s rank afforded him best quarters; he had never changed from the original suite he had been afforded as a tactical officer. All he used his quarters for was recharge and the narrow berth was adequate for that. That berth would not serve a marathon interface. Jazz’s would serve that purpose far better. Prowl was not clear of what expectations he had possessed prior to his arrival but every preconception fled as soon as he stepped through the door. That unexpected self-restraint he had observed in Jazz in the light-cycle was gone and as soon as Prowl entered, Jazz was there. Prowl gasped with start as Jazz effortlessly disrobed him.

“Nice tits.”

Servos cupping Prowl’s wells, Jazz pushed Prowl up against the wall and covered his mouth in a crushing grip. He hiked up Prowl’s leg, hooked it over his hip and shoved Prowl’s modesty panel aside as it was still retracting. Prowl moaned into the brutal kiss as Jazz’s ground his palm into his node as his digits spread his folds. The preparations were quick, rough and Prowl was at a loss to do anything but cling to Jazz’s shoulders. He was embarrassingly wet, just dripping with slick before Jazz’s digits ever entered him. His valve made an obscene squelch as Jazz digit-fragged him, spreading his too long empty lining. Apart from the squelch all sounds of Prowl’s overload were muted, swallowed by Jazz’s hungry mouth.

With the nip of his swollen lower lipplate, Jazz broke the kiss and stared into his glassy optics. Prowl dug his digits into Jazz’s shoulders as the other mech suddenly pulled his leg over his shoulder and drove his spike deep into Prowl’s frame. The speed and the force knocked the intakes from Prowl and the sudden stretch burned but along with the burn was a sudden scalding pleasure as his internal sensors and nodes were quickly triggered. It was embarrassing how quickly he overloaded, screaming Jazz’s designation, before Jazz had even sheathed himself in his quickly spasming valve. His leg, the one still on the floor felt like gel and he trembled. Before he could fall, before he could even secure his grip on Jazz’s shoulders, Jazz yanked that leg out from under him and held him up as he thrust up into Prowl’s valve, carving through his internal seal, carving him open. Prowl’s mouth fell open in a shocked O. His doorwings smacked back against the wall. Jazz groaned, denta clenched as he took his pleasure. Blistering hot transfluids flooded Prowl’s tank. He panted. That was one for Jazz. How many did a Polihexian usually have in a session? Oh yes, ten or twelve.

Jazz’s spike was already pressurized again before he pulled out of Prowl. He tossed the Praxian over his shoulder and carried he over to his berthroom. Prowl squeaked when he was tossed onto the berth. Flushing madly, he shuffled back so his helm rested on Jazz’s pillow, then through his legs open and canted his hips as he reached between his thighs and he moaned as he held the rim of his oozing valve open. When Jazz fell over him, Prowl cried out with ecstasy. Jazz held Prowl’s legs up and open as he filled him in one great plunge. He caught Prowl’s nozzle between his denta and nipped and sucked.

With his helm pulled back by the firm grip Jazz had on his chevron, Prowl grunted and panted as Jazz reamed out his aft pipe. He had always enjoyed aftplay and nothing at all had changed here. Prowl dug his digits into the blankets below him and he pushed back into Jazz’s churning thrusts. His wells, too large for his frame, swayed under him. Jazz covered Prowl’s long neck with denting bites. When Jazz pulled out, transfluids drooled Prowl’s slack rim. That was three.

“New ya’d have a tight aft,” Jazz groaned as he watched his spend leak out of Prowl’s afthole.

A mech possessed, Jazz gave Prowl quarter, there was no respite. Prowl braced himself on Jazz’s taunt belly as he rode the Polihexian’s spike. Jazz tugged and pinched Prowl’s nozzles. He was rough as he played with Prowl’s heavy wells and fragged up into Prowl’s well fragged core. As his node ground into Jazz’s array, Prowl round Jazz harder, faster. His glossa lulled from his mouth as he moaned deliriously. Jazz reared up, taking Prowl’s nozzle into his mouth again as his digits drove into his drooling afthole.Prowl’s optics crossed and he overloaded with a wail as Jazz’s splattered his gestation tank with more transfluids. That was... four? Five? Prowl had lost track already.

He was not sure if he was overloading anymore, or if he just never stopped. Prowl panted as he twisted the pillow under his helm in his servos. Another pillow was beneath his hips as Jazz pinned him down, servos folded over his shoulders and drilled him deep. Prowl moaned softly as Jazz ran his servos over his back and doorwings and squeezed his round aft segments. He sucked a denta into the edge of Prowl’s doorwings. Somehow, Prowl found the energy to wail as he overloaded. His protoform rounded slightly as Jazz released into his tank again. Prowl panted. He spent. Jazz rolled him and pushed his legs open. Jazz was not.

Jazz stood up on his knees and rutted into Prowl’s sloppy valve.The angle he was using dragged Jazz’s spike against Prowl’s gamma cluster and his internals clenched as sparks flew across his vision. HIs peds curled, Prowl reached between his own legs to furiously, rub his anterior node. With a shrilled shriek, Prowl overloaded but Jazz never stopped stimulating Prowl’s gamma cluster and soon Prowl was overloading again, his valve sprayed lubricants out around Jazz’s spike.

Prowl drooled against the pillow as Jazz crouched over his upturned aft and growled as he plunged his spike into Prowl’s quivering channel. His protoform was bloated, inflated with Jazz’s transfluids. It was going to take orns for the swelling to go down, Everyone was going to think he was carrying. Something heavy and solid ground against Prowl’s slack folds. The knot. He still needed to take Jazz’s knot. Prowl sobbed as the thick swelling at the base of Jazz’s spike butted against his rim. As it was, he was already so full. Overwhelmed, Prowl tried to wriggle away but Jazz bit his doorwing and hiked his hips up, and forced the knot passed the last of his internals’ resistance.

Jazz’s overloaded with a grunt, the force of his spill so much strong and the amount so much greater. Prowl dragged his servo under him and felt his swollen belly where he was inflated with Jazz’s spend. Groaning softly, Jazz collapsed against his back and his spike twitch with another spurt of transfluids as he fell into stasis lock. Prowl tried to push himself up, to get himself out from under Jazz but he was too tired to dislodge the mech. His optics grew dim and he resigned himself to recharging with Jazz pinning him to his filthy berth and his spike knot deep in his tank.

#valveplug #maccadams #ruination #tf prowl #tf jazz #come inflation #rut #challenge acceped #anon fic ask #anon asks ficlet #tasty tuesday

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chudleycanonficfest · 3 years

Text

Dorkus Maximus

Day 20, Story #1 is by @honouraryweasley12

Title: Dorkus Maximus Author: honouraryweasley12 Pairing: Harry/Ginny Prompt: Slice of life Rating: PG

The locker room door slammed open, and a frustrated raven-haired witch marched in, a sporting bag slung over her shoulder and a broom in hand. She marched to where her teammates were sitting and threw her equipment down in a huff.

"What's with all the press? It's only an open practice. Bloody nuisance, they are."

"Good morning to you, too, Reena." Edith replied, giving her friend a wry smile.

She groaned. "I know this is the first full season since the end of the war and everything, but it's mental out there. I guess people are really excited for Quidditch to be back."

Edith scoffed; her face unable to hide the surprise. She glanced around at the other women who were staring at Reena and murmuring indistinctly. All but a redheaded witch sitting at the far stall.

Reena glanced around, confused by the reactions of her fellow Harpies. "What, what did I miss?"

"Have you met the new Chaser? She just graduated from Hogwarts."

Reena shook her head. The redhead stood up and strode across the room, holding out a hand.

"Hi, I'm Ginny."

Reena shook her hand, still unsure what the new chaser had to do with the number of reporters at their usually quiet practice. "Nice to meet you, I'm Reena Kumar. I guess we'll be chasing together."

Ginny smiled. "I'm looking forward to it. I've been watching you play for the past few years."

"You must be quite a sensation to draw all that attention."

Edith interrupted. "Her full name is Ginny Weasley."

Reena's eyes widened. "Weasley? As in the family of war heroes?"

Ginny blushed. "It wasn't just us, so many people fought."

"No wonder there are so many reporters outside. I guess we'll have to get used to it, having a celebrity on our team."

"You're already celebrities," Ginny replied.

"Sure, amongst some people. But everyone knows of your family now."

Ginny shrugged. "I have your poster up on my wall. That goal you scored on Wimbourne in '96 was amazing."

"Well, I see you're a student of the game. Just ignore those tossers outside and concentrate on the practice."

"It's fine. They follow my boyfriend and I everywhere. He hates the attention, but I've gotten used to it, being with him."

"Oh, who's your boyfriend?"

The rest of the team howled with laughter, as Ginny's face flushed a deep red.

Edith piped up again. "I know you're a fanatic about your training in the offseason, Reena, but you can't be serious. Have you not looked at a magazine or newspaper in the last year?"

Reena bristled defensively, facing her teammates. "What the hell is the matter with all of you?"

Edith laughed, clapping her friend on the shoulder. "Ginny here also happens to be the girlfriend of Harry Potter."

Reena spun back around. "What? THE Harry Potter?"

Ginny nodded, smiling. "It's really not a big deal."

Edith sat down heavily, fanning her face in jest. "He's so dark and mysterious, running off on secret missions to save the world. Fighting off evil at every turn. So brave and heroic."

It was Ginny's turn to laugh, drawing the attention of the rest of the women, who were unable to resist listening to gossip about the famous Harry Potter.

Edith looked affronted. "What did I say?"

Ginny shook her head. "He's not like that at all. He did what he had to do; he didn't want any of the burden he's lived his life under. You've been reading too many gossip rags."

"What's he like then?" Reena asked, unable to hide her curiosity.

"He's… a dork," Ginny replied affectionately.

A loud roar of indignation rang out from the rest of the team, unbelieving of her description of the most famous wizard in the country.

She held up her hands. "I'm being completely truthful. He's nothing like the stories make him out to be."

The sharp voice of team captain Gwenhog Jones suddenly rang out, silencing them as she entered from the trainer's room. "Enough with the chit chat. We hit the pitch in five minutes. Kumar, Leech, and Weasley, you'll lead us out."

The team nodded and got back to their usual routine. Ginny couldn't help adding one more thing. "Judge for yourselves when you meet him."

A few minutes later, they were lined up, brooms at the ready. Edith threw an arm each around Ginny and Reena. "Let's go."

~*~

Three hours later, the locker room was almost empty. Most of the team had showered and left after a hard first practice, one which had been flooded by the flashes of cameras as reporters tried to get a first glimpse of Ginny Weasley, current media darling.

It had been so bad at one point that Gwenhog almost crashed into the stands, sending them all scrambling.

The only players left in the locker room were Reena, who was busy stretching, and Ginny, who was trying to come up with a gameplan on how to avoid the questions and photos. The Anti-Apparition jinxes on the locker room were proving to be an annoyance.

There was a soft knock on the door, so Ginny marched over and opened it a crack, ready to ream out the reporter she expected. Instead, she was greeted with nothing.

"Gin, it's me."

"Harry!?"

"Yeah, can I come in? No one is changing or anything, are they?"

"No, come in." She pushed open the door slightly, allowing him in before shutting it again.

He whispered a phrase, lifting his Disillusionment charm, before quickly pulled her into a long snog. After they broke apart, he stepped back.

She looked him up and down, bursting out in laughter. "What are you wearing?"

He was decked out from head-to-toe in the signature green and yellow Harpies colours, including a kit with Weasley across his back. He had a glittery green pom-pom in his left hand, and his face was painted with the Holyhead logo. He even had a hat on with an animated chaser throwing a quaffle through a hoop.

"I came to see your practice! You were great!" Harry exclaimed, rather loudly and enthusiastically. He mimicked flying and waved his hands wildly. "That one move you made where you faked to the middle, then threw it through the far hoop was outstanding."

A voice called out. "What's the commotion. Is everything—"

Reena froze as she rounded the corner, coming face to face with Harry.

Ginny smirked, and gestured to her boyfriend. "See, I told you. Reena Kumar, meet Harry Potter."

Reena laughed, seeing the look of confusion on Harry's face. He shrugged his shoulders and stuck out a hand. She stared at it in awe for a second, before taking it.

Harry shook her hand energetically, still buoyed by his exuberance over Ginny's practice.

"Nice to meet you, Harry. My friends and family will hardly believe it!"

"Nice to meet you as well. Oh!" His eyebrows suddenly raised in recognition. "Gin's shown me some of your highlights. You're an amazing chaser!"

"Thank you." Her voice was halting, still somewhat taken aback by his bizarre appearance.

"Did you see Ginny? Wasn't she fantastic? You looked like a veteran out there. Just incredible!"

"Harry, calm down, it was one practice."

He bounced on his heels. "But you were so great, love. All of you were. You're going to be at the top of the table, I can feel it!"

Reena shook her head, stunned that the saviour of their way of life was indeed as Ginny described. After an awkward second of silence, she addressed him. "From what I've read, you're quite a good Seeker."

"I'm alright," Harry responded.

"Don't be modest." Ginny turned to her fellow Chaser. "He could've played in the league if he wanted to."

"She's definitely surpassed me since I last played at Hogwarts. Wasn't she great for her first time with a professional team?"

"He does have a point, Weasley. You were pretty good."

"See, Gin?"

She waved him off. "Thank you, both. Where were you, Harry? I didn't see you."

"I was planning to surprise you, but there were too many reporters. I hid myself in the top corner of the stands. I also may have planted a rumour just now that you had snuck out already, that's why no one is here."

"It's almost like you've done this before." Ginny added wryly.

Harry grabbed her hands in his. "We should really get going. Your mum planned a big celebration dinner and most of the family will be there. It was really great meeting you, Reena!"

He practically dragged Ginny to the doors as she waved goodbye to her teammate, flashing Reena a look of humoured exasperation and rolled her eyes.

Harry kept babbling on as they exited the room. "Ron really wanted to come, too, but he had too much work. He and Hermione will be there, as will George and Angelina, Percy—"

The doors shut behind them, cutting off the sound. Reena simply shook her head and smiled. Dork didn't even begin to cover it.

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #hp canon pairings #canon fest romantic #submission #hinny #harry x ginny

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