#//My mind is a racin

[dutybcrne]

Kaeya being influenced by The Curse to an extent and thus having inhuman strength like the Abyssal monsters is canon here to me, bc that allows me to envision him treatin’ an enemy the way Gojo did Jogo and his arm this JJK ep, and I-

[britneyshakespeare]

don carlos by friedrich schiller is the most wild thing i've read all year and i'm only in act 2

[crystalbeastsquidney]

We need more art of Sindel murdering Shao Kahn, freaks on here are getting too bold again

[mysecret-hideout]

Forever grateful for my emotional support tiddy

[kayewrite]

Blue Sticky Note

straykids fic wherein a mysterious note confession appears in your binder. Unsure of who left it, you embark on an investigation among your eight close friends, each with their own quirks and possibilities.

genre: Fluff. and fluff

ot8 x reader! stray kids x reader!! word count: 3.3k

AN: i want to make a fic with multiple members in it but i might make more of it after i finished all individual members. btw can you teach me how tumblr works? i might pin a masterlist soon hehe

You just got back to your apartment after a long day of classes. Exhausted from wrestling with numbers and equations, you flopped down on your bed and closed your eyes.

But your moment of peace was interrupted by the sudden ringing of your phone.

“Hey,” your friend Seungmin’s voice greeted you through the speaker.

Used to how he always greeted you, you sighed and listened as he continued, your tiredness making it hard to focus.

“You didn’t turn in your literature assignment. I’m on my way to your building,” he said, causing you to bolt upright in surprise.

You had forgotten to give it to him during class earlier. Glad he reminded you. And you were glad to be friends with him because he was the class representative. You enjoyed a lot of benefits from being his friend.

“Okay, thanks for the reminder. No need to come up—I’ll meet you downstairs,” you replied before ending the call.

Grateful for Seungmin’s help, you quickly gathered your things and checked your binder for the assignment. You sighed in relief when you found it. “I thought I lost you.”

As you were about to close your binder, a flash of blue caught your eye. A blue sticky note on the front page—one that you definitely didn’t own.

You pulled it out and read the message, which made your heart skip a beat: “I like you. But i you only see me as a friend.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d received a confession, but this note felt different. There was a mystery to it that intrigued you.

Confusion swirled in your mind as you tried to piece together who might have left this note. The message was neatly written in capital letters, offering no clues about the writer's identity.

Who could it be?

You had a lot of friends, but who might have done this?

You had male friends, all of whom felt like brothers to you. Could it be one of them? But they were like family.

The note was a sweet but outdated way to confess—charming in its own way but not something you’d expect from anyone in particular. You read it again and again, hoping to find a hint about who it might be from. But aside from the neat handwriting on a blue sticky note, you found nothing.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell ringing. You immediately sprang out of bed, remembering Seungmin.

“I’m sorry,” you said, peeking through the door.

“It’s okay,” he smiled reassuringly. “I know you were tired, so I decided to come up.”

“Oh, thanks,” you replied, quickly picking up some clothes that were strewn on the floor. You grabbed your assignment and saw the sticky note again, hastily hiding it by placing a book on top.

As you handed over your paper, you decided to test the waters, curious about who the note could be from. “Do you own any sticky notes?” you asked casually.

Seungmin’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Why?”

“I was taking notes and thought I might need some,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“You have plenty already,” he said, gesturing to the stack of colorful sticky notes on your study table. “And no, I don’t have any. I keep running out of them. I should buy more.”

He glanced at his watch and then looked back at you, his eyes full of concern. “I should go now. You should continue resting, and don’t forget to eat.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. President,” you said, a playful tone in your voice.

“No problem. Take care and always lock your doors. Bye, see you tomorrow.”

Before he left, Seungmin ruffled your hair affectionately.

As the door closed behind him, you found yourself staring at the sticky note again, your mind racing. If it was Seungmin who left the note, did he feel that way about you? His caring nature and playful attitude seemed to match the tone of the note, but could he really be the one?

Then again, what if it wasn’t him? You couldn’t jump to conclusions based solely on a sticky note.

You took a deep breath, trying to push the thoughts aside. Until you had more evidence, you couldn’t be certain. You needed to consider all possibilities before drawing any conclusions.

Sticky notes and neat penmanship alone weren’t enough to figure out who left the note. Everyone in your class had decent handwriting, and blue sticky notes were too common to offer any real clue. They were practically identical—anyone could have bought them. It wasn't unique, not even close.

So who could it be?

"What are you thinking about?"

You were lost in thought when a voice pulled you back to reality. You looked up to see who it was.

"Uh, nothing," you replied, somewhat startled.

It was Changbin.

He was a friend of yours, though vastly different from Seungmin. If Seungmin was a green flag, then Changbin was the complete opposite—a walking red flag who had a reputation for playing with people’s hearts.

"Let me copy your physics assignment," he demanded more than asked, flashing you a grin that was both charming and mischievous.

Changbin had that bad-boy aura, and you sometimes wondered how you two even became friends. But one thing was certain: he couldn’t be the one who left that sticky note in your binder. When Changbin liked someone, he didn’t shy away from telling them directly. He would flirt openly, not leave anonymous notes.

So no, it wasn’t him.

"Why should I?" you replied nonchalantly. You were used to his antics, which might be one of the reasons why you were friends.

"Because I’m cute, and after class, I’ll buy you your favorite toothpaste-flavored ice cream," he teased.

"It’s not toothpaste! It’s mint chocolate!" you corrected, rolling your eyes.

"My bad," he smirked, unfazed. "Now, let me copy."

Too tired to argue further, you handed him your assignment. Changbin eagerly started copying, his focus entirely on the task at hand.

As you watched him scribble down your answers, you noticed his messy handwriting. There was no way it could have been him—the note’s handwriting was neat and careful, the opposite of his chaotic scrawl.

"You really have terrible handwriting. What are you, a kid? It looks like a storm blew through it," you teased, watching him.

"If I had more time, I could make it look like it was printed with a font," he shot back, not looking up. "But since the prof will be here in a few minutes, I don’t care what you say. Now, shush."

You let him finish copying, trying not to overthink the situation again, when suddenly he pulled out a blue sticky note from his bag.

"I almost forgot to give this to you," he said, handing it to you slowly. "It’s the address for the party this weekend. You should come. If I don’t see even a glimpse of you, I won’t enjoy it."

Surprised, you stared at the sticky note in his hand. It was the same color and size as the one you found in your binder. Why would he have this?

Seeing that you weren’t taking it, he grinned mischievously and stuck it to your forehead, laughing at your shocked expression.

Could it be him?

But…

You glanced at the two sticky notes in your hand, comparing them as you strolled through the expansive university yard.

Confessing like this wasn’t his style.

So it couldn’t be, right?

But the sticky notes were identical—the same length, the same height. Plain as they were, they were unmistakably the same.

Yet, you remembered how he would laugh if he knew someone confessed like this. He’d call it plain, boring, and probably mock the person as weak.

You shook off the thought, placing the sticky notes back in your binder and hugging it to your chest, forcing your mind to focus on your lessons.

"Hey, monkey!" You halted mid-step, rolling your eyes at the familiar voice and nickname.

"What?" you snapped, turning to face him.

"So you really accept now that you’re a monkey?" he teased, laughing. It was Minho.

Your friend (well, sort of?). In your group, you were like a cat and dog—he was the cat, and according to him, you were the dog because your face reminded him of one.

Despite the constant teasing, you appreciated how he looked out for you and was always there when you needed him.

But what did he just say?

"I'm not in the mood to fight with you," you muttered. On a normal day, you would have started bickering with him, refusing to back down until he surrendered (yes, like kids). "What are you, a chicken?"

"Oh, you noticed my hair. Do you like it?" he winked.

"You look like a rooster." His hair was dyed orange, and although he didn’t look like a rooster, you wanted to get back at him.

"That's better than being a monkey," he grinned.

"Crazy."

The two of you walked together, talking about random things with the usual bickering sprinkled in. Then, you remembered the sticky note. You knew it wasn’t from him because, well, why would it be?

Still, you decided to show it to him.

"Who do you think did this?" you asked, handing him the note.

He read it aloud, the words dripping with sarcasm, "That’s the cringiest thing I’ve ever read in my whole life."

Just as you expected.

"You shouldn’t say that! He must’ve gathered a lot of courage to do this."

"Why wouldn’t he just tell you in person? Is he weak?" Minho scoffed, lowering his voice when he saw you weren’t amused.

"Maybe he didn’t want to ruin our friendship."

"Then he shouldn’t have liked you in the first place."

"Can we control our feelings? It’s hard, you know!" You rolled your eyes. "Why am I even telling you this? You don’t understand anything," you mumbled, though loud enough for him to hear. "Anyway, I should go. I have something to do at the library."

"I like you."

You froze in your tracks at his words.

"That’s what he should do! It’s really easy, you know," he said, smirking before suddenly sprinting off in the opposite direction.

What was that?

Confused by Minho's words, you made your way to the library, replaying the conversation in your mind.

"What was that? Does he like me, or was he just using it as an example?"

You tried to shrug off the thought as you arrived at the library. The familiar scent of books enveloped you, a comforting distraction.

At the librarian's desk, you spotted Han, your friend who worked there as a student assistant.

"Oh, what brings you here?" he greeted you with a smile, lowering his voice in contrast to Minho’s usual volume.

"Hello. I’m returning this book." You handed him the physics book you had been hugging to your chest.

"Already? Are you sure you’re done with it? It’s okay if you missed the deadline. You know I can always talk to the senior librarian for you," Han offered, his tone warm and reassuring.

If you were to consider another suspect in your mystery investigation, Han would be a possibility. You’d never questioned how he took care of you before, but now, as you tried to solve this puzzle, you began to wonder.

Could he like you?

Or were you just overthinking things?

No, you shouldn’t read too much into Han’s actions. Like Seungmin, he was someone who genuinely cared for the people he loved.

"No, it’s okay. I’m done with it. Thank you, Han. And thanks for the offer—I might take you up on that one day and maybe never return the book," you joked, earning a laugh from him.

"Now I should go. I need to meet Hyunjin—he asked me for a favor."

"Sure! Take care!"

"Thanks. You too."

As you left the library, you felt a hand on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. Turning around, you saw Han, slightly out of breath.

"Hey, was this yours? You forgot it," he said, handing you the sticky note.

You didn’t know how it ended up with him, but you quickly took it and placed it in your binder.

"Oh, thanks."

"No worries. That was a cute confession," he said, still catching his breath, then laughed. "I should get back—lots of work to do."

You nodded, watching as he returned to the library.

A question formed in your mind: Was it Han?

Why didn’t he ask who wrote it?

Why wasn’t he curious?

But then, he did ask if it was yours, as if he didn’t know.

So maybe… it wasn’t him.

"You literally owe me for this one," you whined, though you knew you didn’t have much of a choice as you glanced at your friend Hyunjin, a med student with an ever-present smile.

"Yes, I promise I'll buy you whatever you want," he said, clasping his hands together in gratitude, his eyes gleaming with a sincerity that made it hard to stay annoyed. You sighed, relenting, and extended your arm.

He needed a blood sample for one of his "you-don’t-know-the-details" assignments, and apparently, you were exactly what he needed.

Like a seasoned pro, he pricked the needle into your skin and attached a small hose to collect your blood. It wasn’t the first time you’d been his willing guinea pig, but you couldn’t say no to Hyunjin.

"Thank you," he said earnestly after he was done.

"Right. You should be thankful," you retorted with a mock glare, though you couldn’t help but smile when he laughed.

Hyunjin had the most stereotypical 'doctor-y' penmanship you’d ever seen—impossible to decipher, even as you watched him scribble something in his records.

"By the way, I left a note before in your binder," he said casually.

His words rang in your ears. "What note?"

He smirked, clearly enjoying the suspense. "A note about how you should remember to take the vitamins I gave you."

Oh.

Seeing you internalize his words, he added, "And I noticed another note in there." He adjusted his white coat, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "And I know who put it there."

You looked up at him, curiosity written all over your face as he towered over you.

"And you should find that out on your own," he teased, winking before walking away, leaving you with more questions than answers.

"Why’d you call me here?" Jeongin asked as he walked into the coffee shop, a guitar slung over his back.

"Because I promised to buy you coffee," you replied with a smile.

Jeongin was a year younger than you, a music major who could play practically any instrument, though piano was his favorite.

"Really? But I’m not craving coffee right now. You should buy me a meal. I’m hungry," he said, not even trying to be cute but somehow managing to be utterly adorable.

As per his request, the two of you headed to a nearby restaurant. You let him order whatever he wanted and watched as he dug into his food.

"You must’ve been really hungry," you remarked.

"I didn’t have lunch or dinner yet," he admitted between bites.

"You shouldn’t skip meals like that! Our bodies are our main investment. We need to take care of them," you scolded, playing the role of the older sibling.

"I know, Mom," he teased.

"Good son," you laughed.

"Are you going to Changbin’s party?" he asked after stuffing more food into his mouth. You took a sip of your strawberry latte, considering your answer.

"I don’t know. I’m kinda busy."

He got back to eating, and you hesitated, feeling a question bubbling up inside you. It felt awkward, but you knew you wouldn’t be at peace until you asked.

"Uh, do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"You're already doing it," he said, his mouth still half-full.

"Let me finish!," you squinted at him. "This question is kinda weird, but…"

"Faster! I’m curious!" He leaned in slightly, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"Uh, do you know if anyone who’s close to us… erm…" You coughed, trying to find the right words. "…likes me? I mean, like, likes me?"

Jeongin looked up at the ceiling, thinking. "I don’t know who, but I know everyone loves you."

Well, that much was true—friendship came naturally with your group.

"And me too. I love you," he added casually.

"Aw, thank you. I love you too."

He didn’t reply, just smiled at you for a moment before turning back to his meal, leaving you with a warm feeling that was hard to shake.

"I'm so tired of that neighbor of mine!" Felix, a friend who lived three floors above you, burst into your apartment wearing pajamas and hugging his pillow.

"You can’t sleep again?" you asked, watching as he plopped down onto your sofa bed with a dramatic sigh.

"I don’t know what the hell he’s doing in the middle of the night! Was he doing construction or something?" he whined, making himself comfortable. "Oh, this is so comfortable. Let me crash here."

It wasn’t the first time he’d crashed at your place, so you were used to it. You didn’t mind at all.

"Did I bother you?" he asked, his head still buried in the pillow.

"Never."

"I should really move to this floor. It’s so peaceful."

"You could always move into my apartment and be my roommate," you suggested, a plan you’d considered before.

"No way. Someone might get angry."

"Who would that be?"

Felix didn’t answer, his silence leaving the question hanging in the air. You thought he might be teasing, but his continued silence suggested otherwise.

"And I don’t think I could handle living with you," he added.

"Why’s that?"

Once again, he didn’t respond.

"You should get some sleep. It’s past midnight," you said, heading toward your room.

As you were about to close the door, Felix called out, "I know about the blue sticky note in your binder."

You stopped in your tracks.

"Keep it, okay?" he said with a knowing smile before burying himself back into the pillow.

You wanted to ask more, but Felix seemed to be done with the conversation. With a curious mind, you went to bed, pondering over his cryptic words.

“Chan, did you really make this?” you asked, your voice brimming with excitement as you listened intently.

He nodded, a broad grin spreading across his face as he observed your reaction.

“This is the best music I’ve ever heard!” you exclaimed, pressing the earphones deeper into your ears.

“Oh, of course you’d say that because I’m your friend,” Chan said with a chuckle.

“No, I’m serious!” you replied, though you could only read his lips. The music’s high volume made it difficult to hear clearly. “This is amazing!”

“Yeah, that’s Han in the background and Changbin rapping.”

You bobbed your head along with the beats, completely immersed in the music Chan had created.

“Was Jeongin in it?” you asked, recognizing a familiar voice.

“Yes, and Hyunjin, Felix, Minho, and Seungmi—”

“This part is definitely Seungmin!” you shouted, and Chan laughed at your enthusiasm.

You continued listening, enjoying every note until the very last one, which was a soft piano melody.

“Wow, that was beautiful! I still can’t believe my friend created this. It’s a masterpiece.”

“Oh, thanks. That’s a great compliment from the person the song was inspired by,” Chan said with a knowing smile.

You didn’t catch that last part, too absorbed in the music to fully register his words.

“What’s the title of the song?” you asked, still in awe.

“Blue Sticky Note.”

The title made you stop dead in your tracks. Chan’s gaze lingered on you with an unreadable expression, as if he knew something you didn’t.

The realization hit you—the lyrics, the melody, everything about the song—

We’ve been friends for so long, shared laughter and tears,

But there’s something more inside, I’ve held back for years.

So I turned our feelings into a song, hoping you’d see,

How much you mean to me, how much you mean to me.

Oh, blue sticky note, you’re my secret, my confession,

Wrapped in notes and beats, my heart’s true expression.

In every verse, in every line, it’s you I adore,

From a simple blue sticky note to a melody I’m pouring out.

it was all connected to the note you had hidden in your binder.

part 2 here!

[semperamans]

nsfw! age-gap! cheating! daddy-issues (kinda)! clo being absolutely insane over johnny again! why is this so long? why am i so crazy?

good morning i'm currently thinkin' about stayin' at johnny's house because betty is away n'someone has gotta help him watch the girls.

you've been the davis' babysitter since you were in high school - the girls were just babies, then - but now some years have passed n'since you've been here ya can't help but notice how attractive johnny is :( he's so sweet on ya, too. placin' his hand on the small of your back as he passes you in the kitchen while you're makin' the girls' lunches :( tellin' ya your hair looks pretty when you've got it pinned up like that :( he even makes ya dinner even though that's supposed to be your job, but "y've been workin' so hard, peach. know the girls are a lot. s'let me take care of ya." and oh he's so lovely. he listens to music while he cooks and wears an apron the girls got 'em for fathers day and he helps you with the dishes afterward and you are in love with him.

you've never felt like this before. your heart hammers whenever he returns from a long day of truckin' n'his sleepy eyes brighten at the sight of you standin' in the foyer with a beer and a smile. he's so thankful for you, he says. y'make life so much easier, he confesses. and ugh :( what are you to do about this? i mean, these feelings so new n'unfamilar and the only thing you've found that somewhat tames them is when ya stick your pillow between your legs in the quiet of the night n'imagine it's johnny :'( your favorite thing to think about is when ya caught him slippin' out of the bathroom with a pink fluffy towel 'round his waist. you'd never seen a man in so little before, my god, your heart nearly lept from your chest. your cheeks flushed and he apologized and you told him it was fine because it was then slipped into your room to ride your pillow until you couldn't breathe :'( johnny was so pretty n'yeah, you figured men his age didn't like to be called that, but it was god's truth. his chorded muscles dusted with hair and tattoos and scars made want drip down your thighs because boys your age simply didn't look like that :( they didn't smell the way he did; a delicious blend of smoke and spice and cedar. boys your age didn't care, but johnny did :( johnny lit a fire one night once the girls were in bed n'he toasted your marshmallows and asked about your interest n'what you wanted to be when you were older and you wanted to tell him that you would love to be his wife - but you couldn't obviously, so you told 'em about the classes you had taken back in high school. how there was this program and you talked and talked but he never seemed bored. didn't shoot you down the way your father had. johnny placed his big ole hand on your bare knee n'smiled while he told ya "ya can do anythin' ya set your mind to, doll. don't let nothin' stop you. i believe in ya. know you're gonna do so so good." his wedding ring - a cold metal band - bit into your skin almost like a reminder that johnny wasn't yours... but you could do anything, right?

"momma's comin' home tomorrow." johnny told the girls the next mornin' and you were sure your heart shattered all over the floor. the girls were happy, of course, but you couldn't even fake a smile. it had been so easy to play house with betty gone. so easy to fool your mind into believin' that this was your house, those were your dresses in the closet, those were your girls racin' off to the bus, n'that johnny was your husband. but no :( none of it was true n'soon you'd be back at your parents' house - back in the real world - n'it was just so unfair :( johnny seemed to sense that something was wrong. before he left, he placed a soft hand on your shoulder n'made you turn to face him, but you shook your head n'swore you only had a headache. he didn't believe you, the frown on his face made that apparent, but he didn't fight you. he just pinched the round of your cheek softly, told ya to have a good day, n'left.

is it strange that despite your sadness you still have to ride your pillow over the thought of what didn't happen? probably. as you whine and pant and writhe, you envision what would've happened if johnny would've cupped your cheek n'pressed his lips against yours :( you would have licked into his mouth :( would've let his saliva coat your tongue n'drip down your chin and he would have placed his hand 'round your throat to pull you closer :( he would tell you how pretty you are. how you just know him like no one else does n'he's a lucky old man that a girl like you wants 'em. you cum over and over and over to the thought of him takin' you on the counter, but it doesn't satiate the ache between your thighs. you're so frustrated and overstimulated and upset, but you've got a plan.

it takes a while n'when you finally creep into johnny's room the wall clock reads 2:45 am. it isn't the best idea you've ever had, but it makes so much sense in your lust-addled mind. johnny said he'd take care of ya, right? said he'd always be there if ya needed anything, right? well, you need help because "johnny? johnny? it hurts." :( n'he's an old man, y'know, so it takes 'em a minute to wake up. he's gotta grab his glasses n'slide 'em on, but then he sees you in your silk nightie and jesus christ.

"what's goin' on, sweets?" you've got tears in your eyes and your lips are bitten bright red and you look so pretty in the shaft of moonlight that spills through the window and onto johnny's bedding. you don't answer right away, just nuzzle your way onto his lap and brush your nose into his neck. he can hear the scrape of your soft skin on his prickly stubble and you sigh like it's everything you've ever needed. "tell johnny what's got ya so upset. c'mon." he wants you to look at him, but he wouldn't be able to pry ya off with a goddamn crowbar. you're latched onto him, snuffling into his bare shoulder all sad and defeated. poor baby.

"hurts." you repeat, sniffling. "hurts so bad."

"what hurts?"

the clock ticks and you hiccup and your fingers wrap around johnny's wrist n'tug it over where it lands on your knee, first, then you're pullin' him up up up and he should stop you because he knows where this is going, but fuck he can't. sure enough, you stop 'em right when his hand covers your cunt. it's warm. he can feel the warmth radiating through your thin little panties and his fingers twitch with the urge to touch, but no. that's not okay. he figures he hasn't taken a breath in a minute, so he releases a sigh that shudders n'he squeezes his eyes shut tight.

"peach, i-"

"jus' need to cum, please johnny." you take his face in your palms the way you so badly wanted him to do to you n'his hand still lays protectively over your clothed center and god you just want to kiss him. "please. i'll be good, so good. promise." when his eyes open he's blinking at you, pupils pulsing back and forth between your own, but then they flicked down to your lips n'you know you've got 'em. and maybe he was right. maybe you can do anything. "jus' hurts."

"yeah?" johnny turns his cheek, kissin' your palm and you fuckin' gasp because you didn't think it would be this easy and maybe he is in love with you. "why don't i take a look? wanna lay back for me?"

his scent tangles around you as you lay yourself back against the pillows, blinkin' down at him so wide-eyed and mesmerized. he's smiling at you :( thinks the heave of your chest is so cute n'you're just such a precious baby who needs his help :( that's all he's doin'. just helpin'.

"open up, c'mon." he says, patting your thigh n'your knees part at his words, revealing the wet center of your panties and johnny coos.

"y've been touchin' yourself? yeah? s'that what's got ya all wet?" you can't respond. you just throw your head back at the feel of his fingers tracing patterns along the slick, but johnny likes good girls, so he ceases his ministrations, and glances up at you expectantly. "tell daddy, c'mon."

"i-i have - have been touchin' myself," you breathe, suddenly bashful. johnny just hums, hooking his index finger 'round your panties to move 'em over and he can tell.

"mm." he probes an exploratory finger against your folds and you really think it's goin' somewhere until he situates your panties back in place, then rocks back onto the balls of his feet. "show me."

you positively balk in response, shaking your head quickly because that's embarrassing. no way. there is no way -

"wan' my help, yeah? gotta show me what you're doin' so i know how to fix it."

and - well, he's gotta point, you guess. so you let out a pitiful little huff, rolling onto your tummy, shovin' johnny's pillow between your thighs :( and oh he is mesmerized and fucked and so hard it's almost comical how his dick sticks up in his briefs. he watches you so intently: the way your nightie rides up your back revealing the cutest little dimples at your spine, the roll of your hips, the tightening of your fists against the sheets. you make these sounds, sounds that he's only ever heard when he had his ear pressed to your door and they are so beautiful. so this is what you were doing all those times? grinding your clit against the cotton pillowcases his wife picked out?

"i know what the problem is, baby." johnny says, placin' his large hand on your back to still you. your head luls, tear-soaked lashes fluttering at 'em. "y'need somethin' inside. think that's gonna help so much." he maneuvers you so delicately - like he's afraid you're gonna break. "get on top of me, peach. daddy'll show you how to do it right, kay? y'trust me? yeah?"

you do. you trust him. you love him. you're so in love with him.

"gimmie some sugar first. let me kiss ya." the kiss is a distraction because what comes next is gonna hurt because surely you've never had fingers any bigger than your own in ya, right? but johnny is easy with ya :( eases ya open and praises you for bein' so good :( then it's time. he's hoverin' over ya - mouthin' at your neck because you smell so good there - n'his cock nudges between your lips in a dull stretch.

"daddy's gonna show ya."

and he does.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Hi hi! First, let me say I love your stories! They bring a smile on my face! Second, if it not too much trouble, what will the boys do when they learned reader was from the Hunger Games and participated? A Katniss Everdeen!reader. Please and thank you. Stay safe.

Thank you! Well I hope to keep you smiling! 🖤🖤🖤🖤

Katniss Everdeen Reader | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

Entering a new world would be stressful for most but when it offers the perfect escape from a deadly tradition your joy is unmatched. Because you’ve escaped it for now it isn’t something you like to bring up more focused on enjoying your time without fighting for your life–in the same way as the Hunger Games. While it’s not you who’s on the chopping block its those around you and frankly you don’t mind:

Rook Hunt

Who’s–your—best–friend–with–an–arrow--and--bow—in—hand?

It’s Rook Hunt!

He recognizes the talent and accuracy you have with a bow

As well as the glaze that came over your face when you held his own

It becomes a special bonding experience for you two

And it surely opens the conversation about the hunger games

“It’s a game. Where everyone fights to the death.”

“Oh mon! That sounds awfully barbaric. Can you refuse?”

“Nope. It’s a forceful thing.”

It hurts his heart when he watches that scared and cold side of you resurface

And he takes that very seriously

Leave it to him to curate your joyful time here

And plot to destroy any and all the unbeautiful characters that may cause you trouble

Now that trouble might just be romantically interested but who’s going to stop him

“Worry not my belle racine! I’ll care for you and create the perfect home that you’ll never want to leave.”

Ruggie Bucci

Recognizes that ravenous hunger when you first arrive

And the coldness that begins to melt away as you begin to make friends

He knows that feeling and while he’s not one to pry

As he falls deeper for you he wants to ease your worries

“Hunger Games?”

“Yeah that’s what they called it. You can’t escape and you can only survive however way you can.”

“I’m glad you did…”

“...Thanks.”

He doesn’t think you weak 

Far from it actually

But he wants to protect the softer parts

He wants you to be comforted by him only

You both speak a similar language anyway–food

And if he can help it you won’t need for it ever again

“Hishishi I’ve promised to keep them happy and while that’s a full-time job. I can’t help but seek my own interests in a while.”

[ygfeather]

winter's cold and summer's strange 🍣🐇🩷gldboy97^> my mind is racin', I can drive myself insane Σ★.+:｡ oh oh

Somebody aint me.

[blackgirlsrxck]

Guys My Age

Lewis Hamilton x Black!Fem NASCAR Reader

Summary: What happens if the reader decides to go to her first Grand Prix? Who will she meet? What will happen?

Note: Let's face it. Lewis looks AMAZING for almost being 40. He doesn't look a day over 27. Anyways, hope you enjoy let me know what you think in the comments. :)

Word Count: 1.5k

 I've always been passionate about racing. It's been my dream since I was a little girl to become one of the best drivers of my generation. I've faced numerous challenges and obstacles along the way, but I never let them deter me from pursuing my goals.

While NASCAR has been my main focus, I've always been a huge fan of Formula 1 as well. The sport’s glamour, speed, and international appeal fascinated me. One race that stood out in my mind was the prestigious Monaco Grand Prix. The glitz and glamour associated with the event seemed like a dream, and I couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to witness it firsthand. So, when I received an invitation to attend the Monaco Grand Prix as a guest, I couldn't believe my luck. It was an opportunity of a lifetime, and I eagerly packed my bags and headed to the beautiful principality.

As I arrived at the track, the excitement in the air was palpable. The sound of engines revving and the smell of burning rubber filled the atmosphere. I watched in awe as the sleek F1 cars zoomed past me, each one a marvel of engineering and speed.

Little did I know that fate had something extraordinary in store for me. As I made my way through the paddock, I caught the attention of a few drivers. There stood Max Verstappen, Lando Norris, and Daniel Riccardo. They made their way towards me. “No way am I meeting you, Y/n Y/L/N one of the greatest NASCAR drivers in this generation.” Spoke Daniel. He recognized me as one of the best drivers of my generation. I didn’t know what to say. This was so surreal to have these F1 superstars fangirling over me, a young NASCAR driver.

We quickly struck up a conversation, bonding over our shared love for racing. They invited me to join them for dinner later that evening, an opportunity I couldn't pass up. Eager to meet more of the F1 drivers and learn about their experiences, I accepted their invitation. If someone would have told me that I would be talking to some of the best drivers on the paddock and it would result in me being invited to dinner with them, I would have laughed square in their faces. This is truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I just hope they don’t pick the most expensive restaurant. Hey, I might be a race car driver, but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to spend $100 on a burger that I could get for $7 at Burger King.

The race went on as usual. A few of the drivers had to DNF due to car problems. Max Verstappen ended up winning which wasn’t a shocker to anyone. Fernando Alonso P2, and a Esteban Ocon P3. I decided to make my way to my hotel to get ready for the dinner. 

The dinner took place at a luxurious restaurant overlooking the stunning Monaco harbor. By the looks of it, I would probably be paying $100 for a burger.  As I walked in, I couldn't help but feel a wave of nervousness wash over me. All the top drivers of the 2023 F1 season were present, including the legendary Lewis Hamilton, a man who had broken numerous records and established himself as one of the greatest drivers in the history of the sport. Not knowing what to do with myself, I just stood there awkwardly. Daniel finally noticed me and made his way over. 

“Y/n, I’m so glad you could make it, we saved you a seat next to Lewis,” I nodded my head and made my way to sit down. I introduce myself to everyone. A few of the drivers started to ask me questions about my career. That was until Fernando Alonso asked me how I got into NASCAR. 

“Becoming a NASCAR driver wasn't an easy journey for me. It required hard work, dedication, and a lot of determination. From a young age, I had a deep love for speed and competition, and I knew that racing was my true calling. Growing up in a small town, my exposure to motorsports was limited. However, my passion burned brightly, and I immersed myself in everything related to racing. I devoured books, watched races on TV, and even tried my hand at go-kart racing whenever I could.

As I got older, my dream of becoming a NASCAR driver became stronger. But I faced a significant hurdle – lack of representation. As a young Black woman in a predominantly white and male-dominated sport, I knew that the road ahead wouldn't be easy. However, I refused to let that deter me. I started by joining local racing clubs and participating in regional competitions. Every weekend, I would head to the local tracks, ready to prove myself on the asphalt. The adrenaline rush I felt as I sat behind the wheel, the wind rushing past me, was exhilarating.

With each race, I pushed myself to the limit, fine-tuning my driving skills and honing my instincts. I learned from my mistakes, analyzing every lap and seeking guidance from seasoned racers who were willing to share their knowledge with me. But it wasn't just about my driving skills. I realized that to make it in NASCAR, I needed to be physically and mentally strong. I hit the gym, working on my endurance and building the strength required to handle the powerful machines I would eventually drive.

As I continued to race, word started to spread about my talent and determination. It wasn't long before I caught the attention of sponsors and racing teams. The opportunity I had been waiting for finally arrived when I received an invitation to join a development program for aspiring NASCAR drivers. The program pushed me to my limits, testing every aspect of my abilities. But I thrived under the pressure, constantly improving and proving myself on the track. The hard work paid off when I secured a spot on a NASCAR team as a rookie driver.

My NASCAR journey had officially begun. I faced challenges along the way, both on and off the track. There were moments of self-doubt when the weight of the industry's expectations felt overwhelming. But I refused to let those moments define me. I pushed through, determined to break down barriers and pave the way for future generations. I knew that my success wouldn't just be a personal victory; it would be a symbol of progress and representation in a sport that desperately needed it.

As I raced in NASCAR, I became a role model for aspiring drivers who shared my background and dreams. I aimed to inspire them, to show them that they too could break down barriers and achieve greatness. Becoming a NASCAR driver wasn't just about winning races and championships. It was about proving that dreams know no bounds, and that passion and talent could overcome any obstacle. It was about changing the face of the sport and leaving a lasting legacy for others to follow.” I see the way Lewis looked at me as I finish my story. He had this sparkle in his eye that I saw only one time before. With my ex boyfriend, before he became a douchebag. 

As I mingled with the drivers, I felt a connection with each of them. They were incredibly supportive and shared stories of their own racing journeys. Lewis, in particular, seemed intrigued by my background and accomplishments. His charisma and passion for the sport were captivating, and I found myself drawn to him in ways I hadn't expected.

Over the course of the evening, Lewis and I spent a lot of time talking. We discovered that we shared many interests outside of racing and had a similar outlook on life. Lewis talked about how he became vegan and how he eventually got his dog Roscoe on the diet. There wasn’t one thing uninteresting about him. Despite the 20-year age difference, our connection seemed undeniable. But as the night came to an end, doubts began to creep into my mind. Would our age difference become an obstacle in the pursuit of a romantic relationship? Would people judge us? Would the age gap eventually become a source of tension between us?

As I returned to my hotel room that night, my mind was filled with conflicting emotions. On one hand, I couldn't deny the feelings I had developed for Lewis. On the other hand, the practical side of me worried about the challenges we might face. I open the door to my room and make my way to the king sized mattress where I fell on. Closing my eyes, I slowly start to let myself drift to sleep, until my phone vibrated. 

It was a Instagram notification from lewis. I clicked on it to see what said. I know you felt what I felt tonight. In the two hours we’ve known eachother, I feel like we were supposed to meet. It just makes sense. We make sense. Despite the fact that  I’m old enough to be your father.  If you feel the same way meet me at room 388 in 30 minutes. -lewis <3  Was this really happening? Am I hallucinating? I think I need a drink. Besides I’m in Monaco, its legal. 

To be continued… 

[jittyjames]

so kinda want to talk about something that happened in the past few days and an ongoing issue within the ham community atm. i know y'all have seen all of the stuff going around, people hiding behind anonymity to tear each other down, name dropping accounts to get them harassed etc.. the blog was fun at first, and i even enjoyed putting in harmless opinions on women's representation and aaron burr being my favorite character, but it quickly devolved into something concerning. but hey! you can't censor people by deleting or ignoring posts on a confession blog right? that would defeat the purpose. so of course all of this discord will be allowed.

except the moderator had no problem taking down my anonymous post that called out the undermining of harmful slurs being used by the community.

i blurred the person's name i was referring to because although it was all over the confessions blog and they have no problem with airing this minor's name after she's already gotten death threats, i don't want to spread it outside of there for people not involved. so here's the following conversation that took place.

(context for anyone who's had the great fortune of not running into this blog: someone had said a homophobic slur in a derogatory way and there was a question if they could reclaim it or not.) (rebuttal is also not the right word, but my mind was racin and that's what we got. i meant response.)

at first, i thought there was a misunderstanding. that someone had asked them to take something down and they mistook my post for it since they made a post saying they did in fact take down a post by someone's request. but i had a feeling it was something more. clearly, the moderator values someone who doesn't want people speaking out about an issue of homophobia being down played's opinion over an actual member of the lgbtq+ community. it's 2024 and we're still having to have the conversation about if slurs are bad or not, and it's frankly exhausting.

i might have adjusted my original post a bit more in the actual tumblr inbox, but this was the gist of what it said bc i always write down what i want to say first outside of the app (social anxiety says hi 🤪). as you can see it lines up with the conversation at hand— the conversation that was allowed and was still up, i might add— and i was polite about everything— unlike the actual hate mongering on the account. i really don't know where this attitude came from or why my specific post about queerness was targeted out of so many, but as you can see, they did so clear as day. to my knowledge, no other post has been taken down despite there being multiple continued conversations that are vague enough to not specifically be about fandom (like the morality of long distance incest, arguing over which hamilton artist they don't like, and people complaining about the drama going on across the blog.) those were allowed to be up, and i believe they should be if those are the conversations that people want to have about the fandom space. so why the detestation in these responses? it's not even veiled disdain. you would think i was the one bullying random minors just because i didn't like their art style or the one sending death threats. when a marginalized person expresses concern over something happening under your watch, why is the first line of action to be hateful and flippant while making excuses that don't even make sense and referring to rules that aren't even followed. despite all of this, it's my opinion it didn't even break said rules. the conversation at hand was about slur usage in the fandom. why did the posts claiming people were basically dumb for finding an issue with it stay, and mine get deleted?

why has the biggest crime on that blog—by the moderator's standards, the post so horrible they had to step in and delete and tell the person to leave the page—a gentle reminder that some people find the use of homophobic slurs a disrespectful practice when the word is in the wrong mouth. even if someone disagreed with my post, which is their right, why was it erased completely?

but that blog was taken down. and we thought it was over. but strangely enough last night, my anon box was filled with so many hate comments i had to turn off anon, and i have no plans of turning them back on. and it appears the blog was remade with rules but only one specific rule.

now here’s the issue. whore can’t really be compared to homophobic slurs or racial slurs due to the way it’s evolved in culture. and let’s say whore is a slur. let’s go with that. just because you listen to music or consume content that has people reclaiming slurs, it does not give you the right to reclaim them and say them for yourself. that is ignorance. you can't silence a community by saying they can't take issue over SLURS with this excuse used over and over again when it's not even an appropriate once. something that will always stand is people should not be saying slurs they can't reclaim.

you all can keep playing around with that blog if you want. just remember while you're arguing and cursing each other over fictional queer ships, actual queer issues are being censored by the person hosting y'all for no apparent reason other than some unnamed person asking for it's removal and the moderator's apparent disdain for queer people asking people not to use harmful slurs. which makes no sense to anyone if you think about it for more than two seconds.

i'm just a blip in this fandom, and there's so many of you i haven't gotten the fortune of talking to, but you need to sit down and ask why you guys are doing this to yourselves in the first place. why are you continuously feeding in to a bullying platform when you know how it's effecting people? when you know the moderator's intentions have been made clear in just want hatred bred throughout the fandom? why are we so dead set on being mean to each other? maybe you think i'm trying to stir up trouble or be self-important by butting my nose into people's business, and that's your right to think that. but this account has split the fandom in two and made it's fun diminish for everyone involved. you can say that every fandom is like this, but i've been in the fandom since the beginning and active on this account for almost three years and i've never seen anything like this. if you want to see change and for the fandom to go back to normal, stop torturing yourselves and calling it entertainment. the drama was silly and fun in the beginning, but now with specific attacks on minors and disparaging an entire community by telling us to take our "queer concern" elsewhere and saying we can't speak out against people using slurs, it's gotten worrying.

obviously, i'm not going to tell anyone what to do or fault them if they continue to play the intoxicating game of ganging up on someone because they don't know who you are and you know you won't face any repercussions. but just realize it could be you or a close friend being endlessly harassed and silenced. i used to think there was no place in this community for things like this, but there's always something that weasels it's way in.

it's basic and you've heard it from every single adult in your life, but think before you post. think about what the intentions are. think about why you find all of this fun. think about why this person behaves the way they do.

[skinnyazn]

I Will Not Ask and Neither Should You

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader (Jaguar) Chapters: 2/3 Notes: inspired by Hozier's Like Real People Do, Jag Backstory unlocked!!!

Part One | Part Three | AO3 | MASTERLIST Why were you digging? / What did you bury Before those hands pulled me / From the earth? I will not ask you where you came from / I will not ask and neither should you

___

You were in the kitchen getting water for the both of you when the message came in.

55.7249º N, 37.5541º E. Tuesday, 14:00. 

The +7 country code made a cold sweat break over your body. Russia. You didn’t know how the sender got your number, but if it was who you thought, they would have their ways. All you could do was stare at your phone as your heart hammered through your chest.

“Everything al’right?”

You hadn’t even noticed Simon come up behind you.

“Mmhmm,” you managed, passing him a glass of water as you set your phone screen-down on the counter. You lowered your head onto your arms, resting them on the surface to hide your face while you backed your nakedness against the colossus of a man. A raspy grunt was his response.

“Dangerous, Jag,” Simon warned, but closed the gap all the same. He kissed your shoulders and back, setting down the glass of water next to your phone. “Heart’s racin’,” he murmured against your skin as his hands smoothed down to your hips. “Can hear it from ‘ere.”

“You have that effect on me.” It wasn’t a lie—not usually. But at present, the contents of the text message were still etched into your brain. You felt like throwing up.

“Thought you needed a break, luv.”

“Changed my mind,” you tried your best to even your voice, but it still came out shaky.

Ghost’s hands stilled on your hips as he paused. “We don’t ‘ave to—” 

“Need you, Simon,” you interrupted, raising your head to look back at him while snaking his tattooed hand up and around your neck.

Dark eyes glinted in the low light, looking at the phone on the counter, then searching yours for a moment—for an out, a reason. But all they found was benediction. He tightened his grip around your throat and kissed you softly.

When your beautiful man was finally asleep, sound and unsuspecting, you hated yourself for exploiting his weaknesses. For knowing that he got sloppy around you in this domestic setting; that he slept deeper—you both did—after a few rounds. That he knew you’d get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom or refill your water.

You slipped out of the warm bed, packing as quietly as you could—shoving your life with Simon “Ghost” Riley into your black duffel. Hating yourself more as you scribbled on the back of a receipt and set it down next to his mask.

Something I have to do. 

You looked at him one last time—perhaps for the final time. His blonde hair was exposed, his ultimate layer of trust in you; you watched his scared back softly rise and fall as he slept. Numbness ran through your body at stupidity of thinking you’d finally escaped your past. Cut all the ties. That you naively thought you had built something here, too. People in your line of work never get happy endings. Your throat tightened as you slipped through the front door, locking it behind you. Your cab was already gone by the time he woke.

______

Moscow was frigid and covered in a light dusting of snow when you landed. And all those memories of a life left behind seeped back up from their well of suppression on the cab ride to the coordinates. It seemed like a lifetime ago. In a way, it was. There was a split in the road then, where you made a choice. One that lead you to San Francisco and to Kokshetau and to Leeds. One where you chose your life. 

Yet here you were, back in the cold and snow—despair growing in the pit of your stomach with each mile passed. You worried your jaguar pendant between gloved fingers.

The cab stilled in front of large bronze doors, now a dull green after centuries of oxidation.

Новодевичье кладбище: Novodevichy Cemetery.

You paid the fare and got out, duffel slung over your shoulder. There were tourists and locals alike visiting the historic cemetery. It made you even more on edge as you entered through the double doors. You were too vulnerable out here in the open. 

Checking your watch, you were thirty minutes early, giving you enough time to scope out the location. It calmed you some, passing by the beautiful tombstones and monuments of Russia’s most notable and respected citizens. Anton Chekhov, Vera Mukhina, Lyudmila Gurchenko. Pristine marble and greying stone and wet concrete. It was an odd location for a meeting but you hoped with all the people around you could let your guard down a little. You wandered through the maze of the deceased. But then you saw it: a mound of freshly laid earth and an ornate marble bust. You stopped completely. Felt your heart stuck in your throat and a flush of heat to your face. Your hands went numb as you just stared. 

Vladislava Ignatyev.

The thread that lead you to where you were now. In memory you heard the gentle clink of a tea cup and the soft rustling of a maid’s dress.

You’d make a fine spy one day, my beautiful Odette.

That your wish or mine?

Neither. It’s your nature, dear. The same way a fish takes to water or a swan flight. 

…

You can give me that look but you know I’m right. You were a caged, pretty little thing when I discovered you. And now you’ve grown majestically into your true nature. Just remember who gave you your wings when you are enjoying your freedom. My door will always be open for you…

The marble bust on the cold floor did the older woman no justice. It failed to capture her elegance and the magnitude of her character. You’d learned so much from her. Vladislava was a woman who silenced a room when she entered, through no other means than just being her. And now she was in the cold ground beneath you. Beauty and stature decaying. You wanted to cry but the tears would not come.

“It’s you…”

The gentle voice snapped you to the present again. Standing across from you was a handsome man, with blonde, wavy hair falling to frame his young face. His blue eyes took you in.

You inhaled deeply. “Dimitri.”

He smiled and you felt a tightness in your chest.

“I…I was not sure you would come.” Low chatter from the other visitors passing by filled the silence as you took each other in. His smile grew wider. “You look so different, and yet exactly how I remember you.”

“And you’ve grown,” you found yourself returning the smile slightly. Dimitri shifted on his feet, like he wanted to take your hand like he used to, but knowing that too much time had passed. You continued, “Surprised you even recognized me.”

He looked at you kindly and chuckled. “You weren’t always in ballet attire, my lisIchka. The short hair suits you though.”

You ran your gloved fingers through your choppy hair, recalling the muscle memory that had sleeked it into a taught bun countless times in the past—not a flyway in sight. Streamline. Efficient. Orderly. Your true nature. 

Dimitri stepped around the grave so that he was facing it too, the both of you staring at the bust on the floor.

“We were just kids, then, weren’t we?”

You hummed. “You more-so.” You sucked in a breath. “When did she pass?”

“Last week. A stroke. It was so sudden—she had been in perfectly good health," his voice wavered slightly. “I was the one who found her in her bed in the morning. She just looked like she was sleeping...”

The statue’s hollowed eyes stared into nothingness. You had to look away, so you looked up at Dimitri. “I owe your mother a lot. I… I’m sorry I never came back,” you paused, studying the side of his face. He must be twenty six now—a decade gone in the blink of an eye; all those memories of the two of you when you were younger filtered back. You steadied your breath. “But I had to experience the world for myself.”

The younger man turned to you. “I understand. Never could keep you caged. No one could.”

You smiled but it didn’t meet your eyes. Nostalgia was a deceiver.

Dimitri cleared his throat. “There is another reason I asked you here, though. Something I have for you. From Vladislava.”

He reached into his wool peacoat and procured a long velvet box. Hesitating, you reached for the it, staring at the plain box in your hands before opening it. 

It was the necklace that Vladislava had worn the night you first met: a massive canary diamond choker, surrounded by ornate gold and diamonds. You recalled the burning in your legs as you took your closing bow for the Vaganova Ballet Academy, peering into the crowd and seeing a glint of yellow among the blur of the audience. She’d come to you after, as you were removing all the feathers and makeup backstage. Introduced herself. You had no idea her influence at the time; you were only eighteen. But soon you were living with her. Wandering her massive estate with Dimitri. Being her eyes and ears at events with the most affluent; sometimes the most corrupt as well. Learning all you could from her as you started down a completely different path than when you first moved to Russia.

The significance of the necklace wasn’t lost on you as you stared down at the gorgeous piece. You closed the box quietly.

“I can’t take this, Dima,” you passed the box back to him, but he didn’t move. He just looked down at you, fondness in his eyes at the familiarity of his moniker. He wrapped his hands over yours.

“I'm afraid you don’t have a choice, lisIchka. It was in her will.” His hands stayed for a moment, then fell back to his side. 

You simply stared at the box. 

“You know,” he said softly, moving slightly closer to you, “there’s always a place for you here. In Moscow. At our home.”

And for a moment, the sun peaked through the grey day, alighting Dima’s golden hair. But when you looked at him, all you saw was Simon and his flat and the rain and his warmth. You gave a sad smile.

“Ah,” he said, understandingly.

You reached out and took his hand, running your gloved-thumb over his knuckles. “In another life, perhaps.”

He squeezed back. “I’ll look for you, then.”

You heart hurt at the whole situation. Vladislava was a force, now extinguished. And a childhood crush had clearly become something more. You held onto him for a while longer, then finally let go of his hand.

“Well, you must be exhausted from your travels,” Dima looked around. The oppressive sky was continuing to lighten. “To be honest I wasn’t sure you would even come, but I reserved a room for you at the Kempinski anyway. Stay as long as you need.”

You tucked the box into you jacket and looked at the younger man one last time, reaching up to touch his face. “Thank you for everything, Dima.” He leaned into your caress. “Take care of yourself.”

“And you.”

You gave a final glance at the grave, then left, not looking back. ______

Dima bb we're so sorry T^T Thanks for the wait, one more chapter to go! if you'd like to be (un)tagged for updates let me know! @deadbranch @solidly-indulgent @aalxrose @dotcie

[astonmartingf]

I FEEL THE RUSH. . . 🏁🍒🏎️

LICENSE TO DRIVE ; f1 driver!oc x platonic! f1 grid

. . . with no available seat in the f1 grid, and winning the formula w championship, katarina looks for different prospects and lands on a wec seat

amgf it's refreshing to update this, especially after finishing ybom, it's a palate cleanser for me and i love her sm, i have three drafts on ltd

"RED FLAG! WE HAVE RED FLAG— Four cars crashed into each other, reaching the barriers. All cars are pitted and the race comes to a halt."

Those were the exact words the commentators said, and before Katarina knew it the season was over before the race even began.

That was two months ago, 2015 is starting and despite winning the Formula 2 Championship, she wasn't exactly feeling like a "winner".

Sure she could appeal to join Formula 1 by now, but Katarina the mere 17 year old thought the chances were slim. Sure she's capable of pulling a Max Verstappen, but the female didn't like sharing the spotlight.

Especially not to Max, she'd rather start on a different track. Something in the same playing field, but of a different caliber. Something like the World Endurance Championship.

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?" Her father, Alvize Lombardi bursts out from the kitchen, facing his daughter right in front of the computer desk.

"It's just testing and I already told Ma about it. She's okay." Katarina shrugs before sending emails to three different teams. One thing about Katarina is her persistence, her need to create a space for herself, and if it means personally emailing team principals and asking about open spots she will do it.

"Ay, of course your mama will say yes she's just like you! Always racing, always busy with the cars. Slow down piccolina, we both know you'll get back on the track before you know it."

Katarina blinks, realizing how much she's been clicking reload, waiting for a response in her mail. Turning around away from the screen Katarina catches her father busy in the kitchen preparing snacks.

"You know what, you're right. I will get that seat." Standing up, Katarina wraps her arms around her father from behind.

"Thank you papa." The older male rests his hands on the smaller pair engulfing his waist.

"Now. Go bring this to the garage, or else your mother will never leave under that car she's been fixing."

"I GOT A SEAT! MANTHEY RACING!" Her excitement can be heard throughout their whole house. Her father in the kitchen swerved through the kitchen island, grabbing the female's shoulders for support reading the email in front of the screen.

"There are only two drivers at the moment, and if they don't find anyone, they say they'll give the seat to me." Katarina stares at the screen, rereading the letter word for word in case she misses something.

Eyes locked on the screen, Katarina blinks, losing focus of the screen. Only then did the tears fall from her eyes.

"Piccolina... we're proud of you. You did this all on your own." Katarina shakes her head left and right, taking comfort in the arms of her father.

"I wouldn't go far without you two– you're always there even though you don't like to see me race. I'm sorry for racing all the time."

Alvize tuts in disagreement, "Piccolina, I'm sorry you think that way. Seeing you race reminds me of when I first met your mother... wild and free. And that scares me, have you seen your mother drive?"

"Talking behind my back to our daughter?"

Katarina turns around to see her mother, blonde hair sticking out in different directions. Katarina could guess that she spent her time under her kart, meticulously checking for upgrades.

"Ma, you don't need to repair my kart for a whole year." Eyes wide, beaming with enthusiasm as Katarina watches her mother realize what the excitement in the living room was all about.

"You're racing?"

She bobs her head repeatedly, "I got a seat in Porsche Manthey Racin–"

"NO!"

"What?" Her mother's outburst caught her off-guard. "But you said yes, I told you about it."

Her mother shakes her head, “I thought you’d end up in a Formula 1 Team, not Endurance Racing. Withdraw right now.”

“Ma?” Katarina keeps her eyes at her mother, looking for the answers, an explanation at least to her actions. But before the younger female could ask her more, she left the dining room leaving Katarina frozen in the living room.

KATARINA’S LEGS BOUNCE UP AND DOWN AS THE CLOCK TICKS DOWN, marking the end of the first race in 6 Hours of Silverstone. Beside Katarina are her teammates racing for Porsche Manthey Racing in the LTGME Pro Category after being cleared to join. It was all new for Katarina, and a little bit too much.

Especially after her mother’s disapproval— something she took to heart. Her mother had been the one supporting her since she began karting, her mother who shared the same hobbies and dreams with. Her mother whom she wanted to be like, the dream of racing all began with her. And when she expressed her disapproval in Katarina in Endurance Racing, it hit hard for the female.

But like her mother, Katarina didn’t stop and instead pursued racing for Porsche, spending her summer in Germany training and testing cars. It bothered her how her mother didn’t even explain as to why she doesn’t agree with her racing. And now, at Katarina’s long awaited debut, yet her mother is nowhere to be seen.

She managed to contribute two hours worth of driving in the Silverstone track, it was unlike the cars she drove before— despite the months of training nothing could compare to the actual race, fortunately she managed to complete two hours successfully before switching with a third driver.

As the clock ticks down to the last few seconds, Katarina keeps her eyes on the leaderboard screen, looking for their team position. Just finishing behind AF Course, in second place on her first race with the team. After receiving congratulations from the team, Katarina gets ready to leave, right outside the Porsche garage her father greets her, with her mother following beside him.

“Ma! You came!” The tiredness and sore feeling leaving her body as she wraps her arms around her parents. “I thought… you don’t hate me?” Katarina bursts into tears hearing her mother’s laughter, wiping the tears falling from her daughter’s eyes.

“How could I ever hate you? I was just scared— I raced to you know. Seeing you achieve these, and race, it only dawned to me then that this was no longer a hobby, or a sport to you. I’m so proud of you Katarina, I would never hate you. I want you to be safe first, and happy, we will always be here to support you wherever you go.”

“WE’D LIKE TO EXTEND OUR WARM REGARDS TO KATARINA ANNELI LOMBARDI. We've seen your prospects from World Endurance Racing and would like to offer you a seat in Williams Racing for the 2016 Season. Signed, Claire Williams, Deputy Team Principal for Williams Racing.”

Katarina turned around, facing her parents with tears streaming down her face, “I got invited by Claire Williams.”

[itacats]

Under the Shadow of Ghost

FT: Simon "Ghost" Riley x gn!reader

Warnings: trauma, war themes, nightmares, hospital environment, feelings of guilt/failure, please let me know if anything else should be here!🙏

A/N: Guess what? Part 6 has officially dropped! Yep, the saga continues. Grab your favorite snack, settle in, and dive right back into the story.

Read Part 1 here! Read Part 2 here! Read Part 3 here! Read Part 4 here! Read Part 5 here! Read Part 7 here! Read Part 8 here! Read Part 9 here!

Part 6: Shadows and Whispers

The hospital walls loomed around me, stark white and cold, a reflection of the sterile life I was now confined to. The air was thick, tainted by the scent of antiseptic, but beneath it lingered something else—something unspoken, lurking in the unasked questions of those who passed by my room. The doctors, the nurses, they all had the same look in their eyes, a mixture of pity and hesitation. As if they wanted to ask what had happened, but knew the truth would be too ugly to face.

Recovery wasn’t a straight path. It was jagged, like the shards of my shattered mind, each step forward dragging me through the broken pieces of myself. The physical wounds—they could heal. The bruises would fade, the scars would form, but the deeper wounds—the ones carved into my psyche—those would linger, festering in the dark corners of my mind. Each night, as the world outside the hospital drifted into slumber, the nightmares came, relentless and unyielding.

In those nightmares, I saw them. My captors. Their faces twisted into grotesque masks of cruelty, eyes gleaming with malice. Their laughter echoed through the recesses of my mind, a haunting, mocking sound that made my skin crawl. They had a way of invading the darkness, warping it into a cage that I could never escape. Each scream I heard, each cry for mercy, was my own voice thrown back at me, distorted and alien. And no matter how hard I tried to claw my way out, I was never truly safe.

The nights stretched on endlessly, an unbroken chain of torment. And yet, amidst the suffocating weight of my memories, there was one constant—Simon. He was always there, a shadow standing guard at the edge of my consciousness, his presence a faint whisper against the roar of my fears.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

He would come at night, slipping into the sterile confines of the hospital room like a ghost—fitting, given his name. The first few times, I thought I was dreaming. His form, tall and silent, would materialize against the backdrop of the dim, artificial light. His skull mask, which had always seemed so imposing on the battlefield, now felt like an anchor—something solid to cling to in the storm of my mind. Simon had become my tether to reality, a lifeline pulling me back from the abyss I so often found myself teetering on.

There were no words between us. No explanations or reassurances. He would simply sit, his presence a quiet comfort in the face of my unraveling. The chair beside my bed creaked under his weight, the sound somehow grounding in the stillness of the room. And as much as I tried to hide it, he knew. He could see the ghosts that haunted me, just as I had glimpsed the ones that followed him. We shared the same burden, carried the same scars—though his had long since healed into the hard, unbreakable armor he wore every day. Mine were still raw, still bleeding beneath the surface.

There was something in the way he sat there, unmoving, his silence a mirror to my own. It was as if the two of us had entered into an unspoken pact, one where words were unnecessary because we already knew the truth: *we were broken*. Not in the way that could be fixed with stitches or bandages, but in the way that only time and shared pain could begin to mend.

I would lay there, eyes closed, feigning sleep while the memories clawed at the edges of my mind. I felt his presence, his steady breathing in the silence, and it became the metronome that calmed my racing heart. It was strange, how someone so scarred, so hardened by years of battle, could exude a sense of peace that nothing else could. Perhaps it was because he, too, had fought the same war—both within and without. He knew the demons I faced, because they were the same demons that haunted him.

And then there was the grief—his grief. Though he never showed it, I could feel it hanging in the air between us, heavy and oppressive. It clung to him, wrapping itself around his silent form like a shroud. He had lost people—just like I had. He had seen the same horrors, felt the same crushing weight of failure. But where I crumbled beneath it, he stood firm, a silent sentinel against the darkness.

There were nights when I would wake, drenched in sweat, heart pounding in my chest like a war drum. The nightmares clung to me like a second skin, suffocating me with their weight. And in those moments, when the world felt too heavy to bear, I would open my eyes to find Simon still there, his gaze unwavering, as if his very presence was enough to push back the shadows.

It was during one of those nights that I finally spoke. My voice was hoarse, barely a whisper, but it was enough to break the silence that had settled over us like a heavy fog.

“I... I see them,” I muttered, my throat tight, as if the words themselves were strangling me.

Simon didn’t respond, didn’t even turn his head. But I knew he was listening.

“They’re always there,” I continued, my voice cracking under the weight of the memories. “Laughing. Mocking me. I can’t... I can’t get away from them.”

The silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity, the only sound the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor beside my bed. And then, in the quietest of voices, Simon spoke.

“You will.”

His words, simple and without fanfare, cut through the haze of fear that had enveloped me. There was no promise in them, no false hope—just a quiet certainty that, somehow, I would survive this. Just as he had survived his own ghosts.

I looked at him then, really looked at him. And in that moment, I saw not just the soldier, not just the mask. I saw the man beneath—the man who had walked through the same fires I was now trapped in, who had emerged on the other side, scarred but still standing.

He was my Ghost, yes. But he was also my reminder that even in the darkest of nights, there was always a way back to the light.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I believed him.

Read Part 7 here!

You made it through Part 6! Thanks for sticking around and following along. Keep an eye out for the next chapter, along with a new story starting up tomorrow!

[writingforstraykids]

Addicted to you - Chp.1

Pairing: Minchan (mention of Changlix | ot8)

Word Count: 4580

Summary: Minho and Chan are very good friends, with nothing but friendly admiration between them. At least, that's what they both fail at pretending to. The most simple acts of kindness seem to draw them in deeper without the other one knowing...

Warnings/Tags: fluff, cuddles, teasing, yearning, nosebleeds, mention of sleeping pills/insomnia, chan reminds minho he's loved, minho reminds chan he's amazing

A/N: Welcome to the beginning of this angsty, fluffy, smut-sprinkled Minchan series😂 This series will be about 21 chapters long, posted every Tuesday from now on. I hope you'll enjoy the ups and downs along the way🤭~ Moon🌙

Chp. 2

My heart's racin' now, I just can't take a breath I'm catching you starin' again I swear all this shit isn't just in my head I know that we're more than friends more than friends - Isabel LaRosa

Something about Chan had always felt safe for Minho. Maybe it was because Chan was the only one older than him in the group. Perhaps it was because Chan was always there when he needed him, and he didn’t have to ask. Chan was good at picking up on tiny signals and habits Minho displayed too quickly for his taste. 

Being the two oldest of eight has allowed a beautiful friendship to blossom, especially since Minho was their main dancer and often had to work hand in hand with Chan as the leader. The other members enjoyed how Chan adored Minho quite openly and how the younger one pretended not to like it. In fact, Minho loved the attention he gave him. He loved being hugged, picked up, and carried on stage. He also secretly loved being praised by Chan. Minho learned much about himself while working with the older male.

He adored his older friend to pieces, and sometimes, he was afraid of how much he meant to him truly. Who could blame him, though? He made Minho laugh more times than he could count. He loved him for being so hardworking for their team. Chan had a kind heart, always putting his members first, and Minho was there to remind him sometimes to take a step back and take care of himself. 

Over time, Minho started to appreciate how beautiful Chan was, both inside and out. He caught himself staring at the man, wondering if his curls would be as soft to the touch as they looked. He remembered how his brown orbs would light up at a passing joke, Minho’s heart fluttering when he made those sweet dimples appear. Minho marveled at his strong physique, and thoughts of him stripped down to his boxers and the softness of his skin invaded his mind more often than he’ll admit. 

For a time, Minho found comfort in Felix, who had been hopelessly in love with Changbin at this point. The pair fought their loneliness and starvation for physical touch together in secret, longing for people who knew nothing of their affections. Once Changbin and Felix became a thing, also in secret, Minho found himself all alone again and it only made him long for Chan more. Felix never failed to be there for him though and became one of his closest friends.

Chan had always found comfort in Minho when there seemed to be nothing else that could help. Being the second-oldest, Min felt like the only one who understood his responsibility of taking care of the kids. Minho had his ways of taking care of Chan when it was necessary. He always reminded him to take a break, eat something, and has picked him up from the company when he stayed too late. To Chan, Minho was the rock in their friendship between their busy lives schedules, keeping him going most days. 

The eldest admired Minho’s mental strength, his sarcasm, and his ability to find something funny in every situation. He loved being able to delegate responsibilities over from time to time, knowing he could trust him with it. As they spent more time together, Chan realized how soft and vulnerable Minho was behind all those walls he built up to protect himself. Deep down, Minho was by far the cutest to him among his members. 

Minho managed to make Chan laugh when no one else could and never failed to cheer him up. Chan yearned for being taken care of, and Min never disappointed. Sometimes, he caught himself looking at his younger friend a little too long. His eyes would wander over his handsome face, admiring the long lashes, big brown eyes, and very kissable lips. Chan often found himself stunned watching him dance, his body control was unmatched to any other dancer he’s seen before. Whenever Chan praised him, Minho got so shy it made his heart skip a beat. Only quite recently, Chan had poured his heart out to Felix about his developing feeling and didn’t think Min would even consider him in that light in the first place. As the drinks kept coming, so did Chan’s openness about the dilemma and Felix listened patiently. Neither Minho nor Chan knew that Felix knew the truth about how both men felt towards the other. In Felix’s eyes, the unspoken feelings and tension would eventually sort itself out. Besides, he enjoyed watching the back-and-forth between the two much more to spoil the surprise now.

It was a day like every other as Minho warmed up in the practice room, preparing himself for practice later. He went for a walk after a quick breakfast this morning, so he had not seen his group just yet. Chan and Changbin had been to the gym at the same time, and the rest had still been asleep. He leaned forward with a soft groan as his neck cracked at the movement, but a smile began setting on his lips when someone suddenly wrapped their arms around him from behind. Luckily, he already knew who the arms belonged to. “Morning, Chan hyung,” he chuckled and sat up straight, letting Chan pull him against his chest and rest his head on top of his. 

Chan smiled at the greeting. “We missed you at breakfast,” he spoke, squeezing him gently. 

Minho giggled and placed his hand on his arm, patting it softly. “I doubt that, I left a note.” He looked forward into the mirror, locking eyes with the older man.

“Leaving a note doesn’t make up for not being there,” Chan rolls his eyes and immediately brings them back to Minho's reflection.

“Oh come on, it’s not like you never had breakfast without me before,” he laughed, and Chan let go of him, sliding to sit beside him. Chan started stretching as well before sitting up straight and glancing at him. Minho felt Chan’s eyes on him and looked at him amused, searching his brown orbs as they rested on him observantly. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing. I just haven’t told you ‘I love you’ yet today.” he said.

“You know you don’t have to do that every morning,” he told him gently. It wasn’t making things easier to hear those words, knowing he didn’t mean it the way he wanted him to.

Chan smiled softly and shook his head at him. “I love you, Min,” he said and swallowed at the thought of Minho knowing he meant it. “You’re amazing, and I’ll tell you that until you believe it.”

“I believe you,” he frowned softly and turned his head slightly, unable to hide the slight blush rising to his cheeks.

Chan gently poked his chest. “Until you honestly believe that you are amazing just the way you are,” he told him.

Minho huffed softly. “Mhm, if you say so,” he nodded. 

But Chan, not pleased with his response, frowned. “You don’t even believe it when someone tells you how talented and beautiful you are? You sound delusional.”

“That’s hardly comparable,” he shook his head. “You don’t love yourself, but you’re trying to show me how to do so?” he asked, and Chan smiled guiltily. “Why don’t you take your own advice?”

“Minho,” Chan sighed softly, shaking his head. “I’m doing pretty well for myself.”

“Don’t lie,” he said, and the natural glint in Chan’s eyes flashed to sorrow, but only for a second. Minho bit his lip softly, remorseful, and held his hand. “What I meant is that you should take care of yourself more. When was the last time you were proud of your accomplishments? Or looked in the mirror and felt like you looked amazing?”

Chan’s eyes flickered to Minho’s, insecurity dancing on his pupils, and he let go of Minho’s hand to hide his face in his hands. “I don’t even know,” he groaned.

Minho hummed gently and reached out for him, pulling his hands away. “Look at me, Chan hyung.” He waited until Chan did and smiled gently. “Stays are right, you know. You are handsome, kind, and very talented…and I’m very proud of you.”

Chan squirmed softly, a light blush creeping up his neck and ears. “Min.”

“Just take the damn compliment,” he groaned playfully.

“You’re one to speak,” he protested, and Minho laughed as Chan tackled him onto the ground. They struggled for a moment on the floor, one trying to dominate the other, until Minho wrapped his legs around his waist and flipped them over. Surprised, Chan blinked up at him as Minho grinned succeedingly and leaned down to him. “Okay, I’ll give you that one.”

Minho giggled happily, but his breath caught in his throat as their eyes met. The pair were lost in each other’s eyes, and suddenly, the atmosphere between them…changed. “Chan, I l-,” Minho started to speak, but stopped himself, quickly averting his eyes from the older man.

But Chan squeezed his hip, causing Minho to look back into his eyes. “You were saying?” he asked gently, swallowing softly at the sudden hesitation in Minho’s eyes. 

Minho squinted his eyes at him for a moment, trying to fight the fuzzy feeling in his stomach. But he cleared his throat anyway, and parted his lips to speak.“I always wanted to tell you that I lov-.”

“What the hell are you two doing?” Jisung’s voice cut through the silence, and Minho flinched on top of Chan, his eyes immediately finding him and glaring. He ruined the moment. Chan turned his head, and his ears burned up as he also noticed the rest of the group staring at them on the floor.

“He was talking shit,” Minho defended himself.

“So talking shit is how to get you to straddle my lap?” Hyunjin asked with a grin, and Minho’s jaw dropped.

“Hey!” Changbin protested, covering Jeongin’s ears, who simply rolled his eyes.

“You guys are late,” Chan told them firmly, gently shoving Minho off his body and sitting up.

“You guys seem busy enough without us.” Seungmin shrugged.

“I told you to be on time. It’s not nice to keep Min waiting for rehearsals,” he spoke back.

“He didn’t seem to mind,” Felix said, and Minho scowled at him quietly as he pushed himself up to stand.

"Seriously you guys. We said we would start at nine, and it's almost half past," he scolded them, which seemed to work as they all mumbled an apology. He offered Chan his hand and pulled him up, shortly meeting his eyes. "On your command, hyung," he smirked at him. 

Chan playfully rolled his eyes. "Alright listen up everyone, we have two hours to get this right. I want you to focus and follow Minho's instructions."

"Yes, sir," Jeongin grinned. 

Minho took his place in the front and talked them through the steps, demonstrating in the mirror. Chan followed along, but couldn't help wondering what Minho wanted to say. Was it bad? Was he about to confess? It got harder to focus once Minho stepped behind them to observe them with his own eyes and not through the mirror. He watched carefully as his groupmates danced, but Chan couldn’t focus and needed to clear his head.

Suddenly, Chan leaned his head back with a sigh and left the room without another word. They all watched him leave, concern coating their features, but continued on. After a few minutes, he returned and took his place as if nothing had happened. The group ran through the choreography once more. Minho then turned on the music and showed them the normal speed before doing it with them. He corrected a few things, helping his friends to reach a satisfying result. "Alright, let's do this with music a few times to get in sync." 

They started the dance all together, but Chan wasn’t in the moment. The only thing he could think about was Minho. He grumbled quietly and once again left the room, frustration shown on his face. Minho frowned worriedly and glanced at his watch. They continued rehearsing before Minho stopped the music. "I think that's alright for today. You guys can go change, I'll check on Chan." 

He didn't wait for them to agree and opened the door to their dressing room, frowning softly seeing Chan stand at the sink. He walked further into the room, "Are you okay?" he asked gently. 

"Not really," Chan confessed and looked over at him while moving his hands from his nose. There was blood on his hands, some was smeared around his nose, and it dripped down to his lips. 

Minho sighed softly and grabbed him by his shoulders, guiding him to sit down on a bench. He ignored the others' voices growing closer as they eventually joined them and focused on Chan, who told them to continue doing what they were already doing. Minho held his towel beneath the cold water and wrung it out. "Careful, it's cold," he warned him before putting it against the back of his neck. Chan leaned back his head as another bit of blood dripped down his lips. Minho cupped his face and pulled him back. "Don't do that; you'll choke on your own blood." 

"Sorry," he mumbled, and Minho just shook his head, signaling it was fine. 

"Does anything else hurt, or is it just a nosebleed?" he asked while examining the rest of his body closely. 

"I'm fine besides this," Chan told him with a sigh. 

"Breathe through your mouth," Minho told him before pinching his nose closed and glancing at his watch. "Ten minutes, then we'll check if you're still bleeding." Chan nodded, trusting him. Minho sighed softly and searched his eyes for a moment. "That's the third time this month, Channie hyung." 

"I know," he said, cringing at the sound of his voice. 

"It's also the third time I'm asking you to slow down," he said, tilting his head at him. "This is clearly because of stress," he said, a small smile tugging on his lips at Chan's guilty look. 

"Don't look at me like that," he chuckled softly, adoringly. Minho gently brushed his hair back with his free hand, and Chan seemed to lean into the touch as much as he could. He smiled a little and started running his hand through his hair, soothing him. After another few minutes, he carefully let go of his nose and watched him for a moment. "Please tell me it’s over?" 

"I hope so," Chan laughed and contorted his face as he spotted the blood on his hand.

Minho took the towel before grabbing his hand and cleaning it for him. He moved the towel up to his face, gently wiping away the remains. Chan winced a little as he wiped with a little more force on a spot of dried blood and pulled back. "Stay still, Channie." 

"Listen to mum," Seungmin smirked. 

"Our little mum," Jeongin said fondly. 

Minho turned to look at them and noticed all the others were still watching them intently. "And what exactly are you waiting for, huh?" 

"Our hyungs?" Changbin suggested. 

"You need to start preparing lunch," Chan told them, sending a playful glare to their audience. 

"But we need you to-," he started. 

"Yes, I'll be right there to peel the eggs," Chan nodded. 

"Minho hyung?" Hyunjin asked. 

"Give us five minutes, I'll meet you all there to cook soon," Minho promised, and they all left relieved. "I meant what I said. You're on break today." 

"Min, I have to finish-," Chan started but shut his mouth once his eyes met Minho's firm expression. 

"You have a day off tomorrow and you'll probably be working anyway. It can wait until then, okay?" he asked gently, putting aside the towel once his face was clean. "You know this tends to happen when you're stressed." 

Chan gave in with a sigh and suddenly leaned forward, burying his face in Minho's chest. "I might be a little tired," he admitted. 

Minho smiled fondly and ran his hand through his hair again. "Rough night?"

"I got two hours of sleep," he confessed. 

"You should take a nap then," he nodded and rubbed his back gently. 

"Join me?" he asked and looked up at him. "I sleep better with cuddles," he added innocently, a pout adorning his beautiful lips.. 

Minho giggled and rolled his eyes at him. "Fine, only because it's you." 

Chan beamed at him happily and sighed softly before getting up. He glanced at Minho for a moment until the younger one raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Thank you." 

"It's nothing," he waved him off, but Chan shook his head. 

"No it’s not just nothing. I know this sounds stupid, but it's nice to have someone looking out for me," he told him, and Minho gave him a gentle smile. 

"Since you're the oldest, someone has to do it," he chuckled and patted his shoulder. 

Chan smiled and nodded at his words. "Let's go before they burn down the house." 

They made their way upstairs, and Chan sat at the kitchen island, peeling the eggs right away. Minho organized the rest by setting the table and helping with the last lunch preparations. Chan watched him with a fond smile as he prepared the chicken and patiently explained the process to Felix, Changbin, and Hyunjin, who seemed terrified of touching the raw chicken. He loved seeing how much their younger friends adored Minho, hoping he could see it as well. Minho eventually sent them all off, telling them to relax until lunch was done. Chan got up and stood next to him as he finished preparing the chicken for the oven. He hesitantly reached out and brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen into Minho’s face. Minho froze and looked at him for a short moment before his eyes flickered back at his work. "Need any help?" he asked quietly. 

"I told you to rest, Channie hyung," he said gently and turned to check the oven temperature. 

"And let you do all the work? That won’t end well with the others, huh?" he asked teasingly, and Minho chuckled. 

"Fine, you can open the oven door for me." he smirked, and Chan did as he said, watching him putting the chicken inside. Minho checked his watch before washing his hands. "We'll have to wait for a little while for that to cook." 

"Okay," he nodded and smirked as Minho opened one of the cabinets above his head. How was he so quick to start another task? "What are you doing?" 

"I promised the boys I would make cookies," he told him, and Chan shook his head with a chuckle, stepping behind him. Minho gently closed the door again as Chan wrapped his arms around him and pulled him flush against his body. He swallowed hard and hoped Chan wouldn't notice his heartbeat fastening. 

"Taking breaks is important for you too, you know," he said next to his ear and rested his head on his shoulder. 

Minho laughed weakly and allowed himself to relax into his touch. He knew Chan was cuddly; there wasn't more to it than that. Still, it felt nice being held like this, and he wondered if it would feel any different being more than friends with Chan. Would he hold him differently? "Fine, I'll stop." he told him, and Chan hummed, satisfied. Chan leaned back against the kitchen island with him, gently rocking him in his arms. Minho placed his hands on his arms and glanced at the others, sitting on the sofa and watching tv. Sometimes, he wondered what they'd think seeing Chan and him being affectionate in front of them. "Do you think you'll be able to sleep later?" he asked quietly, knowing Chan didn't talk about his insomnia with the others that much, not wanting to worry them. 

"I really hope so," he told him. His breath hitched as Minho mindlessly traced his finger along a vein on his hand. He could only hope that Minho didn't notice how his body tensed with him being so close. 

"I guess we'll find out later," he nodded before gently patting his arms and crouching down in front of the oven, opening it up. He started pouring some of the sauce over the chicken with a spoon and chuckled at Chan's puzzled look. "That way, it won't get dry," he explained. 

"Oh, makes sense," he nodded and swallowed softly. Minho knowing things he didn't or being in full control in certain instances kind of made Chan fall for him even more. "We should hang out more often." 

"What?" he asked amused, and stood up, leaning against the counter opposite him. "We live in the same house, I think we see each other quite often." 

"No, I meant…like just us two," he told him with an almost shy smile. 

"Why?" Minho frowned softly. Seeing Chan's smile falter a little made him quickly shake his head. "It's not that I wouldn't like that. I just…is there a special reason for it?" He fumbled over his words, trying to find the right ones.

Chan shook his head. "Not really. I just like spending time with you." 

"Oh," he nodded, blinking softly. "Is there something specific you'd like to do?" 

"I mean, we could watch a movie, have a drink..or just talk?" he asked, heart fluttering as a beautiful shy smile covered Minho's face. 

"Sure, let's do that," he nodded and glanced at his watch again. "Can you get the kids? Lunch will be done in a minute." 

"Okay," Chan nodded and walked over to the boys, letting them know it was time to eat. 

~

After lunch, Minho started collecting their plates until Chan stopped him. "Min, you already made lunch. Let someone else take care of the rest." 

"It's okay," he told him and laughed as Changbin appeared next to him, easing the plates from his hands. 

"I'll do it, hyung," he told him, and Minho smiled thankfully. 

"Thank you," he said sweetly, and Changbin grinned at him. 

A little later, Minho was back in his room, lying in bed and reading a book. He had nothing else to do for the rest of the day and decided to relax. He left the door open so his friends knew where to find him, and not much later, Chan gently knocked at the door frame. 

Minho looked up and smiled sympathetically at his friend’s tired expression. "Come here," he said, patting the mattress and pulling back the blanket. 

Chan walked over and tiredly rubbed his face. "I can't sleep," he groaned and climbed into bed. 

"You took a pill?" he asked gently, and Chan shook his head. 

"Then I probably won't sleep tonight," he told him and huffed softly. 

Minho spread his legs and told him to move between them. Chan did as he said and rested his head on his chest. Minho gently pulled back the hood of his sweater and ran his hand through Chan's messy curls. He really loved moments like this when Chan was vulnerable and clingy when they were alone together. Minho smiled as Chan hummed softly and leaned into the touch, cuddling up against him. "Feeling comfy?" he asked, and Chan hummed agreeing. 

"What if I fall asleep?" he asked. 

"I thought that was the plan?" he gave back confused. 

"I drool sometimes when I go into a deep sleep," Chan admitted, face hot with the blush creeping up his neck. 

Minho giggled softly and rolled his eyes. "It’s alright, I promise." 

"Are you sure?" he asked timidly. 

"I wouldn't say so if I weren't okay with it." he reminded him, and Chan chuckled. "Now try and get some sleep, you deserve it."

Chan closed his eyes and listened to Minho's steady heartbeat. His chest moved with every inhale and exhale, slowly rocking him into a sleepy state. The continued soothing massage on his scalp drew him in deeper as Minho continued playing with his hair. Occasionally, the rustling of paper was heard when Minho turned a page in his book. He was growing tired, but felt safe and comfortable enough in his arms to let go. 

When Chan was sound asleep, Minho put his book down. He stared down at him, stunned by how soft he looked in his sleep. Minho hesitantly brushed back a loose curl before tracing his fingers down his cheek. Chan was so beautiful like this, and as much as he loved having him here, it hurt knowing that Chan's heart wasn't something he could have. 

"Minho hyung, can we-," Felix suddenly asked loudly as he stepped into his room.

"Shh," Minho stared at him with wide eyes, and Felix looked back in shock, spotting Chan. 

"Sorry," he whispered before taking in the sight for a moment. "You two look cute together." 

"Shut up," Minho told him. 

Felix held back a laugh. "I mean it." 

"Don't you have a boyfriend to attend to?" Minho teased him. 

"Fine, I'm leaving." he grinned. "I'll come back later." 

"Okay," he nodded, agreeing. 

~

When Felix went to let the two know dinner was ready, Minho and Chan were cuddled up and asleep. The blanket only partly covered their bodies, their legs were intertwined. By now, Minho was in Chan's arms, face buried in his chest. Felix smiled happily before covering them with the blanket properly and quietly closing Minho's door on the way out. 

Chan woke up later on, and looking down, he noticed Minho in his arms. His heart skipped a beat, seeing him cuddled up against him so peacefully. He gently fondled his hair, and Minho stirred in his sleep. "Min?" he asked softly. 

"Huh?" he asked drowsily. 

"I think we should join the kids for dinner," he said and giggled at the tiny protest leaving his lips. "Come on, Felix said he'd make your favorite." 

"Ugh, fine," he groaned before rolling onto his back, away from him. He sleepily rubbed his eyes and sat up with a huff. He looked at Chan with a pout and fought to keep his eyes open. 

To Chan, this was the most adorable thing he had seen in a while. "You're so cute," he told him honestly. 

"Shut up," he said with a slight grin. 

Chan took his hand in the hallway, noticing Minho still walking a little slowly. He walked him down the stairs and ignored the teasing comments from their friends. Sitting down with Minho, Felix handed him two plates. Chan looked at Minho and noticed his hair was a mess from sleeping. He gently reached out and fixed his hair for him. 

"Thanks, hyung," Minho told him softly and started eating. 

"You two looked quite comfy," Seungmin told them, and Chan didn't quite know how to respond. 

"Jealous?" Minho gave back smoothly. 

"Maybe a little," Seungmin grinned. "I've never seen anyone getting cuddles like that from you before." 

"Maybe you're blind," Minho told him. 

"He has a point," Hyunjin added. 

“Yeah, definitely,” Jisung nodded, grinning.

"Next time close the door. Clearly we're sharing this house with a bunch of stalkers," he told Chan with a sigh, making him giggle. 

"Alright." Chan nodded at him. 

“Why? You wanna kiss each other in peace?” Jeongin asked and started laughing at Minho’s shocked face.

“Maybe,” Chan shrugged, making everyone go silent at the table. Minho stared at him with wide eyes, and Chan smirked at the silence. “You hear that, Min? That’s all it takes to make them shut up for once,” he grinned, and Minho laughed weakly, quickly focusing on his food again. 

Chp. 2

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[wednesday-fanatic]

Cravin' |Marcus Lopez|

Warnings: Suggestive comments and content, and kissing.

Note: This is Marcus x OC. OC name is Karla.

Karla's P.O.V:

I was singing a lullaby to my baby niece when Marcus walked in. He had been staying with me an day family for a few weeks while we had a holiday at Kings Dominion. I laid my niece in her crib and walked with Marcus back to my -well our- room. We walked in and I locked the door behind us. As I was doing that Marcus sat down on my bed. I walked over to sit next to him when he pulled me down to sit on his lap.

"You never told me you could sing." He said, pouting, almost as if I had taken away his cigarette.

"Well, do you want me to sing for you now?" I asked.

"Yes please." He said, leaning back, also allowing me to get off his lap.

I went to my closet and changed into a sexy black dress to match the mood of the song I was going to sing.

I walked back over to him and tapped his shoulder as a way to tell him to open his eyes, which he had closed when I started changing.

"Wow." He said staring at me.

I cleared my throat and started singing.

"I'm rare Like these diamonds that I wear

Gold lace Please you like no other

Heartbeat racin' I'ma put you through these paces

Be the best you ever tasted Gon' stay on your mind

Come back every time

Baby I'ma keep you cravin' Baby I'ma keep you cravin' (cravin')

Baby I'ma keep you cravin' (cravin')(Cravin', cravin', cravin')(Yeah, yeah, yeah)Yeah

I'm the remedy subject to your abuse

I'm that desire in your blood you can't refuse

Ya picked your poison boy ain't nothing left to choose, now

You can't get enough

Intoxicated can't recover

So don't devise I'll keep you close

Put your hand on my hips

I'll do your wrists

Pressed to these lips

Kiss I won't tell

I'm (I'm) rare (rare)Like these diamonds that I wear

Gold (gold) lace (lace)Please you like no other

Heartbeat racin'I'ma put you through these paces

Be the best you ever tasted Gon' stay on your mind

Come back every timeI'ma keep you cravin'Baby I'ma keep you cravin'(Yeah, yeah, yeah-oh)Baby I'ma keep you cravin' (cravin')(Cravin', cravin', cravin')(Yeah, yeah, yeah)"

"Holy shit!! Your amazing!!" Marcus exclaimed, grabbing my arms effectively pulling me onto the bed.

He pinned me to the bed and kissed me hard. He slipped his tongue into my mouth. I moaned as his hand slipped up my dress and up the my bra.

A/n: There will probably be a part two for this.

[dragonotaku-justineverything]

DC Comic NSFW: Harly using her Harleen attire to seduce her M!S/O.

I'm assuming by "Harleen Attire" you just mean her normal doctor/lab coat attire, so that's what I had in mind when writing these.

Doctor and health puns galore. "Ya ready ta see the docta?" "Docta's ready ta give ya a check up~." "Looks like ya hearts racin' a bit. How bout the docta helps calm ya down~?"

She'd literally only have the lab coat on, open and not even trying to cover her body, and wait for them in a random room. They she'd pretend that nothing was different or act like there was something wrong while he stares at her

But just in case you meant her classic Harley Quinn outfit (The red and black jester one), here you go

"Ya wanna see how fast you can make my bells jingle~?" *Proceeds to bounce her upper body and make the bells on her hat jingle (and chest bounce in her suit)*

Will let the part of her suit over her butt ride up her crack juuuust enough to show off the shape of her rear end a little more and to make it definitely be more noticeable and eye catching for whenever she has her back to him