#<- blame michael for the second one. he's used to it.

[ladyseidr]

okay but flirting and dirty talk headcanons except they're short-ish. one bullet point per fn.af muse.

henry is way more shy romantically than he appears. tends to go for compliments-as-flirting above all else. gets bolder as a relationship progresses, and obviously can get so Nasty ( affectionate ) with his dirty talk. mild-mannered guy who says unspeakable things during sex <3

michael is like zero to 60 so fast. he's too self-conscious to flirt early on in general. he gets a little bolder with time, but even then he's kind of. awkward abt it. guy who ( with his committed partner ) can go from being too embarrassed to call them attractive to, after getting 1% horny, hitting them with the "i need you to fuck me"

vanessa flirts with compliments as well, like she falls prey to the whole "i complimented a woman and i can't tell if she responded in a gay way or a straight way." not super confident with flirting, although she's super verbally affectionate with a partner. gets flustered when dirty talking, but that doesn't mean she doesn't like doing it hehe

jeremy is a blunt flirter, 100%. his big one literally is just "you're so hot." WILL flirt by offering someone a ride on his motorcycle. will also dirty talk by saying super corny shit like "why don't we save gas and you ride me instead" FKDSHFKSDSAL

rory grows out of some of his awkwardness as an adult, but he's still very like. "what if i flirt and he laughs at me?" can be super flirty with a partner, in honestly very romantic ways. absolutely stumbles over his words and gets flustered with a stranger. dirty talk-wise, he's bolder but still takes some coaxing out of his shell to get vulgar with it.

elise is to-the-point. for her, "testing the waters" means making it abundantly clear what she's looking for. not shy to comment on appearance or to outright ask someone out / back to her place / etc. dirty talking? literally more of the same. very forthright and not embarrassed in the slightest.

jayne is BIG on humor for flirting ( i've said this before ), but she likes getting corny with it lmao. WILL use pickup lines but very ironically, just looking for a laugh. dirty talks but with an edge of the same humor. not easy to embarrass and pretty open about being interested in someone if she's getting good signals.

harper is a combination of like. forthright but with buildup. he tries to make sure there's mutual interest before throwing it all out there. also big on humor both in and out of the bedroom. their dirty talking is like... overconfident but in a funny, sexy way.

julianna is definitely the type to flirt very subtly at first. yes i think it's funny that she is my henry's wife. she's sensitive to rejection and worried abt making a move on someone who isn't interested. however, the moment she's Certain? she's muuuuch bolder. dirty talk is the same, and she loves phone sex just to top it off lmao

[aemondsbabe]

Making Amends

summary: a fancy party & praising || you finally see why michael hates going home for the holidays and treat him the way he deserves

pairing: michael gavey x f!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, breast/nipple play, heavy praise, riding, brief cockwarming, cursing, brief mention of daddy kink but it’s not used, dirty talk, angy michael (not at reader), angst but happy ending, parents being stupid, choking, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 3.4k

a/n: happy day twelve of 12 days of smuff!!! we did it!!! a very merry christmas to all those who celebrate; i hope your holidays are full of love and fun! I hope y’all enjoy this one & i look forward to writing many more stories in the new year!

TAUNT | Part 1

PRAISE | Taunt Part 2

this one can be read as a continuation of taunt & praise or as a stand alone!!

12 days of smuff masterlist!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

“Ohh, Michael!” An older woman croons, making you and your boyfriend turn your heads at the same time, “How lovely to see you!” 

“Nice to see you too, Aunt Janet.” Michael says, his voice monotone, and gives the woman an awkward half-hug. You give him a sympathetic grin when he rolls his eyes at you over her shoulder.

“And who is this?” She asks, turning to look you up and down with a smile.

“She’s my girlfriend,” Michael explains, taking a second to introduce the two of you, “We met at uni.” 

“Nice to meet you.” You smile politely and shake her hand. 

“How wonderful!” She turns to you and puts a hand on your forearm before leaning in slightly with a grin, “We were beginning to give up on this one ever finding someone to put up with him!” She grins, giggling like it’s the funniest joke in the world. 

You merely awkwardly chuckle, though it only takes one glance at Michael to know he’s fuming. You can’t really blame him, this is how it’s been all evening, ever since you’d arrived at his parents house. Michael had tried to talk you out of accompanying him to their annual Christmas party, claiming that hell would be a lesser punishment, but you’d insisted, saying it couldn’t be that bad. 

When you’d first pulled up to the Gavey’s home, you’d been excited! They’d gone all out with the decorations, though Michael claimed they usually did, but that didn’t stop you from marveling at all the garland, lights, and wreaths that adorned every inch of the house. And since this year’s party was apparently more formal than usual, that just gave you the chance to ogle at your boyfriend in a tux, which was an automatic win in your book.

And yet, here you are, listening to yet another joke at Michael’s expense and hating every second of it. It seemed like every relative and family friend had one in store, if it wasn’t about finally finding someone to put up with him, it was about what he must’ve done to bribe you into it, or that he must be paying you to be here. Not to mention the backhanded compliments; you’d grown so tired of hearing remarks about how they’re so happy that Michael had finally found someone or, “Oh, finally! Took him long enough!” 

“Old fucking bat,” Michael mutters under his breath as Aunt Janet totters off, “Knew we shouldn’t have come.” He grumbles, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

“M’sorry, babe,” you sigh, giving him a small half smile as you place a comforting hand on his leg, “I don’t understand why they can’t simply be nice.

He scoffs next to you, rolling his eyes with a sardonic smile, “Wouldn’t be a real Gavey Christmas without snide comments, fucking losers.” 

The evening continues in the same fashion and suddenly you understand why Michael has always been so defensive and eager to prove himself, you would be too in a family like this. 

You can tell your boyfriend is operating on a very short fuse and offer him a placating smile every time you notice him clenching his jaw or notice his breathing pick up, chest heaving under his black suit jacket. 

However, it’s finally a comment his father makes during dinner that sets him off. You’ve hardly started eating when it happens, with everyone sitting around the Gavey’s impressively large dining room table passing various dishes back and forth. 

“So,” Mrs. Gavey started, giving Michael a pointed look as she refilled her glass of wine, “How were your marks this term?” 

You glance down in time to see your boyfriend white knuckle his fork and quickly stroke a hand over his knee, which seems to help lessen his tension somewhat, thankfully. 

“Distinctions,” he answers dryly, keeping his eyes fixed on the table, “Obviously.” 

His mom simply nods, not offering any praise or even a generic, “Well done,” much to your surprise. 

And a few seconds later, everything blows up. 

“How’s that friend of yours doing?” Mr. Gavey butts in, setting his steak knife down as he speaks, “What was his name? Owen… Oscar, maybe?” 

“Oliver.” Michael corrects him, so quickly and quietly that you’re surprised his dad even catches it. 

“Oliver! Of course, and how’s he doing? Hm? You haven’t mentioned him in some time.” 

There’s a beat of silence in which you fight the urge to kick Mr. Gavey under the table, knowing exactly where this would go. 

“We don’t… talk anymore. I haven’t seen him for ages.” He grits out; his leg tenses up under your palm once again when his mother lets out a disappointed sigh, as if she were getting ready to scold a small child. 

“Michael, honestly,” she starts with a small shake of her head, “It’s not good for you to be so socially isolated all the time.” 

“I’m fine.”

“What about that other boy you used to go around with, hm?” His mom continues on, seemingly oblivious to his foul mood, “The one you were so close to in primary school, oh, he was lovely.” 

“Felix, wasn’t it?” Mr. Gavey quips, “Whatever happened to him? I always thought he had such a good head on his shoulders.” 

“He’s a cunt.” Your boyfriend seethes lowly, all but vibrating with rage as he spits each word out. 

“What was that, dear?” His mom asks, none the wiser. 

“He’s a cunt!” Michael exclaims, his fork clattering across the table as he tosses it down, scraping his chair back across the floor. 

“Michael!” Mrs. Gavey chides, a horrified look on her normally placid face as she, quite literally, clutches at her pearls. 

“If you’ll fucking excuse me.” Michael mutters, tossing his cloth napkin down onto the table with a dull thud before retreating from the table with a growl. 

The silence that follows is deafening as everyone stays frozen at the table for a moment; you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing at the shell shocked expression on his grandmother’s face. 

After a beat, Mr. and Mrs. Gavey begin falling all over themselves to apologize, awkwardly laughing as they make excuses for Michael, as if their bullying hadn’t made him snap. 

“I’m gonna go check on him,” you say after a moment, giving polite smiles to his parents as you stand from the table, “Just to make sure he’s okay.” 

“Of course, dear,” his mother nods sagely, ever the beacon of motherly wisdom, “We know how sensitive little Michael is.” 

As soon as your back is turned you roll your eyes, nose wrinkling in disgust. Little Michael? What the fuck? 

It only takes you a minute to locate him upstairs as you quickly spot the door to his childhood bedroom tightly closed. You smile sadly as you walk over to it, you pause for a moment before knocking softly. 

“Michael?” You call, pressing an ear against the door, “You in there?” Your brows furrow when you hear a small sniffle from the other side of the door and your hand automatically goes to the doorknob, a sigh of relief leaving you when it easily turns. 

Your heart breaks when you push the door open and peek inside, quickly spotting Michael on his bed, head in his hands, shoulders shaking. 

“Oh,” you breathe, hastily closing the door as you let yourself into his room, “Michael.” You sigh, sitting beside him on his small twin bed and slinging an arm around his shoulders. 

“M’fine…” He says softly, dejectedly. 

“You are not,” you pull him to you, rubbing a hand over his bicep as you hold him closely, “No one would expect you to be, not after all that.” 

He merely nods and tucks his head into your neck, sniffling sadly as his blond hair tickles your chin, one arm wraps around you while he busies himself with plucking lightly at the hem of your dress, running his finger over the smooth satin seam. 

“You wanna talk about it?” You ask softly, pressing a sweet kiss to the crown of his head. 

“Not tonight,” his voice is muffled slightly against your collarbone as he speaks, “Please.” 

You nod, opting to stay quiet and simply hold him for the time being. 

You don’t know how much time passes but eventually, he seems to calm down, at least his shoulders stop trembling and he stops rubbing at his eyes and sniffling. 

Finally, once his breathing has evened out, you decide to speak up. 

“They don’t deserve you.” You murmur, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your heart twisting when you see his beautiful blue eyes rimmed with red. 

“Love…” He sighs, ready to fight you on it. 

“That’s all I wanted to say,” you assure him quickly, “They don’t.” 

You hold his face in your hands gently, studying him with a soft smile. He really did look delectable in his suit, so smartly put together and polished. 

Michael must be feeling the same way, no doubt riding the small high that usually came after a solid rush of emotion. His eyes darken as he looks back at you, Adam’s apple bobbing enticingly in his throat as he swallows thickly. 

You don’t know who moves first, unable to find it within yourself to care as his warm lips slot perfectly against your own. 

A relieved groan sounds from his chest and his hands immediately come up to cup your waist, his thumbs rubbing appreciatively over the soft material of your dress as you shiver, already getting lost in his touch. 

“Mikey,” you murmur, biting into your lower lip as he kisses down across your jaw, his hands scrambling to pull you into his lap, “S-Should we?” Your voice trembles as he gently sucks at the sensitive spot on your neck, drawing your mind further and further from the party taking place downstairs. 

“Need you,” he rasps, unable to stop himself from smirking as you keen against him when he skirts his hands up your form to cup your breasts through your dress, your nipples already hard and wanting against the satin, “Just – I need you, love.”

He’s so desperate, you couldn’t say no and finally decide to throw caution to the wind. You smile triumphantly as you run your hands over his trim waist, tucking them under his jacket to get closer to him, savoring the feel of his warm skin even through the thin material of his button down. 

Finally, you push the suit jacket off his shoulders and, needing to feel him against you, waste no time hastily undoing the buttons on his shirt, yanking it out from under his trousers and belt before quickly dropping both to the floor. 

Apparently just as impatient, Michael chooses to simply push the thin straps of your dress off of your shoulders and growls deeply when your dress falls down your chest, exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze. Without missing a beat, he pulls you closer to him, groaning as your core presses tightly against his still-clothed erection. As soon as your chest is level with his face, he mouths at the underside of your breast, cupping the other in his hand. He peers up at you through his glasses, already fogging up against his cheeks, as he wraps his pink lips around your nipple and gingerly sucks it into his mouth, groaning against your supple skin at the breathy moan you let out. 

You hold his head against your chest, fingers gripping tightly at his short hair as your head tilts back, small whimpers and whines escaping past your lips as you try your best to stay quiet. Your hips seem to move of their own accord, rocking against him as he worships your breasts. 

“Michael,” you whimper, your core clenching tightly when you look down and take in his flushed face. You press your lips against his again, frantically kissing him as your tongue invades his mouth, “What do you want?”

“You.” His reply is automatic, his hands kneading greedily at your tits as he stares up at you, bare chest already heaving. 

You can’t help but chuckle a little, pride blooming in your chest at the fact that he’s already this strung out. Nevertheless, you give a quick shake of your head, smirking when he whines impatiently. 

“How do you want me, Mikey?” 

The desperate look behind his eyes softens instantly, his pink lips parting enough to reveal the tiniest sliver of his front teeth. Somehow, he blushes more and just barely shakes his head at you, swallowing thickly like he always does when he’s flustered. 

“Can you be on top?” He asks quietly, blue eyes flitting between yours behind his gold-rimmed glasses, “I just – I don’t have it in me to be daddy tonight, love.” He confesses quickly.

You chuckle again, always impressed with him when he shows his more vulnerable side, and instantly you nod, cupping his soft cheeks again. 

“Of course I can do that,” you keep your voice soft, even the small kiss you give him is soft, “Lay back for me, yeah? I don’t wanna wait.”

  Nodding eagerly, he doesn’t waste time and leans back on the narrow bed, helping you climb atop him as he does. He groans appreciatively as you settle on his hips, licking his lips as he stares up at you. He watches as your breasts heave with every breath while his hands trace down over your hips to cup your ass. 

“You’re so beautiful, love,” he murmurs, tugging your dress up over your bum before kneading the supple flesh, watching intently as you whimper above him, “So soft and pretty and fuck– fucking perfect.” He finishes with a growl, blue eyes rolling back when you rock down against him. 

Heat courses through your veins at his words and you hurry to undo his belt, the metal buckle tinkling softly in the quiet of his bedroom as you push it to the side, too frantic to bother to pull it off him entirely. Your fingers quickly find the button of his trousers and you all but yank them open the second you have the zipper undone, sighing happily as his hard cock bobs against his stomach, the head already flushed and steadily leaking. 

“Jesus Christ,” he groans, his back arching a little with the relief of his erection finally being freed, “Y’gonna ride me, princess?”

“Mhm,” you nod with a smirk, wiggling on his lap as you situate yourself perfectly above his length, “You deserve to be taken care of, Michael.” You coo softly, bending forward a little to pull your lacy underwear to the side, not having the patience to properly remove them.

Your comment seems to have gone to your boyfriend’s head and you smirk when you feel his cock jump up, twitching against your center as a soft groan leaves him. You bite your lip when you grab his length, loving how warm it felt in your hand. Carefully, you position him at your dripping center and slot the head against your entrance. 

Both of you moan in unison as you sink down slowly, his thick length filling you completely as your hips finally press against his. 

“Goddammit,” he curses, roughly grabbing your ass as he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to keep himself anchored even though he knows in the back of his mind it’s useless with how tightly you’re gripping him, “You feel so fucking good, pretty girl, fucking love this sweet little cunt.” 

His praises go straight to your core and you clench around him, somehow tighter, making him grunt underneath you. Bracing your hands on his shoulders, you start moving your hips over him, using your thighs to push off of his lap before sinking back down, whining when you feel the head of his cock press perfectly against that delicious little spot inside you.

“You’re so good, Mikey, fuck,” you pant, fighting to keep your eyes open to savor each expression that crosses his flushed face, “Y-You feel so perfect, holy shit, everything about you is perfect.”

He groans deeply, lower lip trembling as he stares up at you in awe, brows furrowed as he takes in every inch of you. Blue eyes trace slowly over your form, lingering on your face before looking over your breasts. He swallows thickly as he pauses to watch them bounce tantalizingly, matching every one of your thrusts against him. Eventually, he looks down and moans softly, watching your slick pussy move over his length. 

“Yeah, princess?” He encourages, making you smile softly as you realize how badly he needs this, how badly he needs to be told how good he is. 

“Y-Yeah, shit,” you whimper, head spinning when he leans up to lick over one of your nipples, gently suckling at the bud as you continue, “You’re the best, Michael, fuck – best boyfriend, you’re so smart and s-so precious and f-funny and – and God!”

You practically squeal when his thumb comes down to rub at your clit, your eyes crossing at the sudden jolt of pleasure that washes over you. 

“I love you, holy fuck,” you huff, thighs burning as you move somehow quicker over him, “I love you, I love – oh, shit – everything about you.” Your voice is hoarse as you breathe through soft pants, practically squirming on top of him as your head spins every time he circles his thumb over you. 

“I love you too, princess,” he hums, pulling you down for a quick, desperate kiss, “You’re so damn good to me.”

“You deserve it,” you say quickly, swallowing as you pant above him, your heart hammering wildly in your chest, “You deserve everything, Michael, you’re so, so good.” 

He growls at that, lips parting as he watches you. He keeps circling a thumb over your clit but fans the rest of his fingers out, holding your hip more securely. You hardly have time to think before you squeak in surprise, gasping as he begins rutting his hips up into you, the tip of his cock hitting your sensitive spot at a dizzying speed. 

“O-Oh, shit!” You huff, eyes wide and wild, “Michael, Mikey, I –” You cut yourself off with a loud cry, too loud given the circumstances, but your brain whites out the second he reaches up and wraps a hand around your throat, not tightly enough to choke you but enough to hold you steady above him. 

“Y’close, love?” He pants, smirking when you quickly nod, “Fucking cum with me, princess, shit, you fucking deserve it.” He hisses through clenched teeth.

All you can do is obey, your fingernails digging harshly into his shoulders as your high finally washes over you. You freeze, tensing up above him as you cry out, uncaring for the party below as your cunt clenches tightly around his length, rhythmically milking him. 

“Shit, shit, fuck,” he grunts beneath you, eyes rolling back as he feels your walls contracting around his cock, drawing his own high from him as well, “Good girl, good girl.” He praises before finally cumming with a snarl. You whimper when you feel him twitch inside you, coating your walls with his thick spend. 

The two of you lay panting for a while, neither of you wanting to get up or break the spell of the safe little bubble you seem to be stuck in as you lazily press kisses against whatever bits of skin you can reach. 

Eventually, the sound of holiday music seems to float up to you from downstairs, along with the sounds of laughter and loud conversation. In the background, you can just barely make out the sound of wrapping paper tearing and taped boxes being pulled open. 

“Sounds like it’s time for gifts,” you muse, tracing shapes on Michael’s chest as he holds you to him, softening length still buried within you, “You wanna join them again?”

He hums softly and shakes his head no with a small smile before tilting his head to look at you, his glasses sitting slightly crooked on his nose as he studies your flushed face. One hand rubs soothingly over your back as he holds you tightly to him, relishing the way your soft skin feels against him.

“Don’t need any gifts from those entitled idiots,” he laughs softly and leans down just enough to press a soft, sweet kiss to your forehead, “I have the most perfect gift right here with me already.”

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @alerisc @fan-goddess @wickedfrsgrl @moonriseoverkyoto @echos-muses @schniiipsel @avidreader73 @marvelescvpe @imawhorecrux @grsveeth0m @rae-11 @ms-morningstaarr @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolfdressedinlace @cl-0-vr @kittendoll05 @beautbuck @eponaartemisa @trshngyn @brettlovessuckingcocks @alerisc

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[prongspoet]

broken hearted | luke castellan.

first time writing for luke, so hope this is okay! tell me what u think in the reblogs i would love to know and get more luke asks!

summary: the curse of cabin 10 makes aphrodite!reader pretend to date her best friend so she doesn't have to cause a heartbreak to her actual crush. even though, at the end of it, she's the only one who had her heart broken. major inspo from this concept.

"You're staring." y/n' best friend, luke castellan, head counselor of the hermes cabin, pointed the fact out, side eying the girl right at his side, after looking at the boy sword training in front of them.

"he's staring back." the aphrodite girl said with a grin. the sunlight bathing her head making it comfortingly warm. luke would know, since he was the one caressing it while she laid down next to him. both of them on the grass, enjoying the late afternoon at camp. "so..."

michael dawson, ares' kid, was, in fact, staring. luke couldn't blame him, the way his best friend looked made everyone pay attention to her. she didn't even had to try. and still, the swordfighting happening in front of them made luke even more sure that mike needed a way so she could notice him. not naturally, but somehow, it worked, since the girl payed attention to him as soon as he started.

"oh well, like mother like daughter, huh. " he continued, in a mocking tone, holding his laugh, raising himself by his elbows, before taking one of his hands to the girl's arm. "your siblings wouldn't be too happy to see the goody two shoes dating an ares' kid, would they?"

"gods, don't fucking say that." she giggled, hiding her face with both of her hands. she went quiet for a second, still staring at the boy. "ares' kid or not.." y/n sighed, pouting slightly. "mike's nicer than the others, he wouldn't deserve to be a guinea pig."

"what do you mean?"

"you know what i have to do.” the girl muttered, with a soft sigh. she couldn't blame her mother, she worshipped aphrodite; her beauty, her power, her knowledge and her actions. that didn't mean that she enjoyed the judgment. the need to make someone else feel miserable just because she could. it wasn't fair. "the first love heart break thing."

"i'm glad i'm not in his shoes, that's for sure." the boy whispered, with a chuckle, still trying to be as quiet as possible. his thumb caressing her arm incessantly. it made her skin burn. in a second, y/n abruptly raised her chin, getting supported by her elbows, getting muffled groan from luke, once it hit his ribs. "what is it?"

"you could be!"

"am i your first love, daisy?" he raised one of his eyebrows, with a mischievous grin stamped on the boys face. the scar in his eye making itself more clear. "you should have told me sooner- ouch!"

"shut up, hero. listen to me!" he knew that tone. and as anyone else who had a single bit of sense, he kept quiet, wanting nothing more to hear her insane idea. "we could pretend to be boyfriend and girlfriend." the smile on her delicate face kept getting bigger as she explained her brilliant - yet not completely effective - idea. "i could pretend to break your heart. no one gets hurt, i can stay with mike after is over, and my mom ends up being proud of me!"

the aphrodite girl stared at him expectedly, hoping he would buy her insane plan, hoping he could save her from doing something he never imagined her doing it. luke got quiet for a minute. his eyes were darker than usual. he couldn't stand that. y/n knew her best friend well enough to know that he meant to say something. he never truly did. "you shouldn't be looking for her approval."

"i'm not searching for approval i'm just trying to prove myself.."

"you don't have to prove your devotion to her by doing this." his tone stern, more quiet. colder. "you burn offerings for her every single day. you pray, you're always expressing how incredible she is."

"you don't have to do it if you don't want to."

and suddenly, the idea seemed more appealing than ever. she wasn't using her charmspeak on him. no, luke knew how sugary and sweet y/n's words could be when she wanted to. at that moment, his best friend was just being honest. and even though he could retribute that feeling, luke felt that he needed to do it. just for her.

"yeah," he nodded. defeated. "fine, i'll do it."

"really?" the girl hugged him tight. more excited than ever. "thank you boyfriend!"

"yeah, yeah." he grinned, letting her rest her head on his chest, carefully watching y/n closing her eyes, like nothing else would ever bother her. "just don't be too mean when you dump me."

pretending was easy.

they've always been stuck to each other. having dinner with each other. burning offerings with each other. planning capture the flag with each other. training, swimming, talking, sneaking out to parties. always with one right after the other.

it wasn't supposed to be different, they just had to make it more believable.

"we should be holding hands," y/n pointed out as the couple walked calmly to the main area, where dinner was starting. "silena asked me why we never hold hands if we're dating, so i thought we could make it more..."

"real, yeah." luke nodded, grabbing her hand right the next second she spoke. "c'mon, girlfriend, hurry up." he grinned, and she couldn't help but grin back. "i'm starving."

luke could do that. he could kiss her in front of people, and tell everyone the way they got together. he could hold hands with her, caress her back and almost have a heart attack when she kissed him behind his ear. he could live with that, yeah. it was normal. it was pretending.

until it started to change. suddenly. quickly.

he noticed her. the eyes, the shape of her face, the way her eyebrows moved when she laughed, and the look she gave him every single time she entered a room he was already in, and luke couldn't help but pay attention at her soft hair, how excited she became while looking at pretty flowers, and especially, how her fingers felt against his own scalp when they needed to do some pretending. she was an aphrodite kid after all. y/n was charming. y/n was lovely. y/n was his girlfriend, at least for a while.

and she couldn't help but notice him either. how his scar looked more bright when they. the subtle, yet attentive and gentle way he taught her how to hold a sword, how to train, how to fight. the infuriating way at how he held her chin up slightly, every single time, before sealing his lips against hers.

and for once, neither of them were pretending.

the bonfire started earlier that night, but the couple came to it late; y/n helped one of her sisters who was in a small crises, and her sweet caring boyfriend waited for her by the aphrodite cabin's door, holding her hand as soon as she got out, so they could sit together at one of the logs, full of campers, chartering, telling stories, and enjoying the peacefulness that the simple event emanate.

luke choose one of the back logs for a reason, it was darker, harder to anyone else to see them. even so, as soon as the boy started to leave little pecks at her jaw, he was able to hear some whistles and exclamations. teenagers were gonna be teenagers after all.

"alright," y/n sat upstraight, taking a deep breath before continuing. "you can't do that here."

"i'm just having fun!" the boy said with a mischievous grin. he knew way to well what he was doing. she hoped he would do it forever. the teasing, the almost getting caught made her heart sink every time. "you are my girlfriend after all."

"don't get ahead of yourself, hero." she muttered, grinning at him, before sealing lips with him again. "i still have to break your heart."

"are you sure about that?" he furrowed his eyebrows, pretending to be offended, but getting right back at his job pretty quickly. "i'll just enjoy it until the time comes then."

she laughed, taking her head back so he could have full access to her neck, delicately taking one of her hands to his scalp. and he noticed how much he loved that sound. so much in a way he wished he could bottle it up so he could taste it every time he felt miserable. that wasn't possible. but y/n promised that as long as they were together, he was allowed to make her laugh any time he wanted to, if if meant getting him happy.

that's why it hurt even more when he did what he did.

when he revealed himself to be the traitor.

"come with me."

"i'm sorry, what the hell are you doing?" she cried out, feeling her heart beating faster than ever. "you're not thinking straight. you're not. you're not like this, i-" the words got caught up in her throat. y/n felt like she could pass out at any minute. "i know you luke." her voice was a mere pleading by then, hoping with all her soul he would hear. "you wouldn't do this to me."

"you mean a lot to me, daisy, but this is fucking different."

he was different, and she finally noticed. his eyes darker, his tone stern, and the way he held himself up, like he was prepared for a fight.

y/n would never fight him.

and he would never fight her, right?

and when luke turned his back against her, letting the aphrodite girl caught up with a sob, furrowing her eyebrows, feeling the tears already soaking up her eyes, y/n thought she understood.

maybe aphrodite didn't buy it. and even if she did, she knew it started out with a lie. y/n was playing house. thinking she could be smarter than her mom, she could prove it to everyone else how that curse was a lie, and that nothing would happen to the one that didn't completed it.

but it did happend.

no demigod could ever stand out a god. y/n was no exception.

and she finally understood that.

by the end of the day, y/n went back to her well known cabin, shamefully, missing her radiant aura and pretty smile, hiding a shattered heart in her pocket.

[kaleldobrev]

Hauled Up

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Summary: Sam recruits you to try and convince Dean to stop hauling up in his room

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Cursing (1x), Mutual pining & Fluff

Authors Note: Takes place in season 14 | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

As you were watching some Netflix, there was a hefty knock on your bedroom door. You had hoped that it was Dean who was knocking as you hadn't seen him in pretty much a few weeks since he had gotten back, but you knew that was a long shot. "Come in!" You called out, pausing the program that you were watching.

About two seconds later, Sam appeared, and he looked insanely drained and tired; something that's been pretty much normal for him over the last few weeks. Between helping the hunters who had come from the Apocalypse World and trying to find any information on where Dean/Michael could have been. Thankfully with Dean back, the only thing really draining him now was making sure the "newbies" knew how to handle certain cases on their own or through team-ups.

"Hey, can you do me a favor?" Sam asked, his voice sounding a little hesitant.

"Sure, what is it?" You asked. It could be a numerous amount of things as while Dean was gone, you had became Sam's right hand, assisting him with the other hunters. You were either helping to find cases, going on team-ups, cooking giant meals for everyone that could last days, or bandaging people up when they came back from a hunt.

"I need you to try and get Dean out from his room. He's been hauled up there for weeks. It's not good for him," Sam said, sighing a little.

"I think he just wants to be alone Sam. I mean, I don't really blame him. He was gone for weeks, and then when he came back, he came back to a place full of people that he doesn't know, not just us," you stated. You couldn't imagine what Dean went through while Michael was possessing him doing God Know's What. As much as you didn't mind having the other hunter's here, you knew that with these other hunters here, Dean couldn't really be himself even if he wanted to be. "Why can't you try and get him out?"

"I think you're the only person that might be able to," Sam stated.

"And why do you think I'd be able to convince him?" You questioned, raising a brow.

Sam looked at you, giving you one of those 'you know exactly why' look. It wasn't a secret that you and Dean had feelings for each other, and have had these feelings for each other for the past couple of years. It was one of those things that even though neither one of you had directly said to each other that you have these feelings; it was kind of a known fact how the two of you felt about each other.

You sighed. "I can try."

Walking into the kitchen, you had decided that one of the things that you were going to do in order to try and convince Dean to come out of his room was bring apple pie as a kind of offering to him.

As you gathered the ingredients, one of the hunters from the Apocalypse World walked into the kitchen with a big smile on their face. "You making apple pie Y/N?" He asked, rubbing his hands together.

You nodded. "Yeah, I'm making a pie for Dean," you said, starting to chop up the apples.

The man sat down at the counter, and even though you didn't directly look up at him, you could have sworn that he rolled his eyes at your response. As much as you had wanted to comment, you decided to ignore it. "Anything that I can help you with?" You asked.

"Hoping you can make this pie for me instead of Dean," he stated. Instead of the eyeroll like he had done before it was a wink; and it took all you could not to roll your own eyes.

"I remember you saying how much you hated apple pie," you stated, putting the apples into a bowl of cinnamon sugar.

"But I've never had your apple pie Sweetheart," he said, winking again.

This time, you had decided to say something, as you did not like when someone other than Dean had called you Sweetheart. "It's Y/N, not Sweetheart."

"It's just a nickname Y/N," he said. "Lighten up."

Before you could comment any further, you heard someone clear their throat in the doorway; and when the two of you looked up, looking into that direction, it was Sam with a clipboard in his hand. "Jones, shouldn't you be getting ready for your wendigo hunt with Xander?"

Jones looked at Sam for a moment, before looking at you. "Can't wait to eat this when I get back," he winked, getting up from his spot at the counter and making his way out of the kitchen.

As soon as Jones was out of the earshot, Sam sat down on the same stool that Jones was sitting at a few seconds before. "I could have handled that myself you know," you stated, giving the piecrust a gentle coating of butter to make sure that it didn't completely burn in the oven.

"I know, I'm sorry," Sam said, slightly sighing. "Gonna try bribery?" He asked, pointing to the pie.

"I call it motivation," you shrugged.

With the pie finally done, you placed it onto a tray along with two forks and a pint of vanilla ice cream. You doubted you'd be able to convince Dean to come out of his room, but maybe you can convince him to at least share some of the apple pie that you had made for him with you so he could at least have some kind of social interaction.

Lifting up the tray, you took a deep breath and made your way out of the kitchen, heading to Dean's room.

Upon coming up to his door, it was shut like it has been the last several weeks, the sounds of his television blasting as he watched a horror movie (which sounded remotely like the All Saint's Day series to you, as you thought you could vaguely hear Hatchet Man's voice).

Knocking on the door, you heard Dean sigh loudly and pause the television. "Fuck off," he said, his voice annoyed.

"I don't really want to eat this apple pie by myself," you said, your voice a little low.

You heard Dean get up from his bed, slightly sighing. A few seconds later, his door opened and he looked down at you as you held the tray in your hands. "Sam put you up to this?" He asked.

"He asked me to try and convince you to come out of your room. But, I know I wouldn't be able to convince you, so, I decided to make some apple pie for us to share together instead," you smiled.

Dean eyed you and the pie for a moment before stepping to the side. "I'm watching All Saint's Day two," he said.

"Perfect," you said, stepping inside his room.

"Thanks for trying not to convince me," Dean said, between bites. "You're the only one I feel like gets it." He knew that you were the only person to get it, as you and him always seemed to be on similar wavelengths.

"I might not necessarily know what you went through but...I just know for me, if I came back to a Bunker full of strangers, I'd want to haul up in my room too," you said, wiping your mouth.

"You outdid yourself this time with the pie," he commented.

"It's how I always make it," you said.

Dean shrugged. "I don't know tastes...better than usual."

"Probably because you haven't had it in a while," you stated.

"Probably," he agreed.

"I hope you enjoyed your pie," you smiled, grabbing the tray; no more pie or ice cream in sight.

"I did, thanks," Dean said, sitting on the edge of the bed as he watched you make your way to his bedroom door. "You didn't have to make it for me by the way. I know you've been busy with all the other hunters."

"Dean, I wanted to," you began, walking back to the bed where he was and placed the tray of empty dishes next to him. "Besides, I'll never be too busy for you," you stated, taking his hand in yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. "You mean a lot to me Dean, you know that," you added.

The feeling of your hand in his was one that he longed for these past couple of weeks, but he didn't necessarily know how to ask for it. "You mean a lot to me too," he stated. More than you'll ever realize, he wanted to add. He took your other hand in his as he stood up from his spot on the bed gently looking down at you.

"Want to help me with the dishes and then we can come back in here and do something?" You asked him. "We can either watch something or just go to sleep; up to you," you softly smiled.

"I'd like for us to take a drive together. Feel like Baby's been neglected these past few months I've been away," he grinned; a brief chuckle leaving his lips.

"I'd like that," you smiled.

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[cdragons]

Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You - Part 5

Previous Chapter, Masterlist

Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton. And if you end up murdering your English Professor for forcing you to be paired up with him, WHO COULD BLAME YOU???

Warnings- MDNI 18+, Mention of SA/SH, BDSM (sex dream), M/M/F sex dream, Felix is a pig, Reader claws Oliver's face, Michael loves Reader so much y'all, Farleigh is on Team Michael, Oliver is delusional and awful, alternating POVs between characters, and author has spent too much time researching Oxford crap for this mess for a crack fic to be a crack fic.

Author's Note: Finals are a BITCH, but I'm finally done...except I have to do my summer classes soon. But I really wanted to put this chapter out since it's been a while. Thank you all who've been reading this fic and sharing wonderful comments! They really help push me to become a better writer!

Michael’s head was about to explode in the next thirty seconds if fucking Farleigh Start didn’t stop digging his paws through his closet and drawers. No amount of clinking and clacking from tapping on his keyboard would be enough to dull out his shirts shuffled in his chest and hangers shrill screeching against the metal bar in his wardrobe.

“Dear God,” the Yankee, stick-figured giant groaned. “How many math pun shirts do you have? Don’t you have any normal ones? Oh my god, are all the pants you own khakis or Oxfam jeans? Do you seriously not own a single pair of corduroy slacks?”

He slammed his laptop shut. God-fucking-dammit, he was going to kill this asshole if he didn’t shut the fuck up.

“Maybe,” Michael gritted out, “if you just focused on the presentation we’re supposed to be working on, it’ll not bother you.”

Farleigh Start clicked his tongue. “Now, now – it’s not nice to be so testy. Most would consider themselves very lucky that I’m providing my services for free.”

The blonde-blind nerd balked when the word ‘services’ entered his ears. Immediately his mind thought of all the rumors that latched to Felix Catton’s mysterious American cousin – who apparently sucked off every teacher in England. Not that he was homophobic or anything – kiss, fuck, marry whoever you wanted, but he wasn’t interested in that sort of thing.

“Services – are you trying to suck my cock so I’ll do your work for you?!”

“…First off, ew,” Farleigh began. “Second, if I left you to do my side of the work, I’m about…86% confident that you’ll end up tanking my grade.” He strolled to Michael’s closet, pulled out a blue gingham-checkered shirt, and grimaced. “Thirdly, I am referring to how I am going to turn–” he nodded towards Michael in disgust “–this, into an actual suitor for our dear (Y/N). Or are you two still doing this little dance of being nauseatingly following each other around like sad puppies and giving each other bedroom eyes without actually fucking?”

Don’t take the bait, don’t take the bait, don’t take the bait, don’t take the–

Michael slammed his laptop shut and tiredly rubbed his eyes. With a loud and audible groan that he dragged out, he rubbed his eyelids until he could see the kaleidoscope of stars and squiggles in the dark.

Fucking damn it.

“How many fucking times do I have to tell you?” he damn-near shouted. “It’s not like that between us!”

Farleigh quirked a brow. “The bedroom eyes or the not-actually-fucking? Because if it’s the former…yes, it is, but if it’s the second,” he brought his hands together in a slow clap, “then well done, Gavey!”

Michael shot up from where he was sitting and ripped the shirt in Start’s hands before throwing it back in his silky oak wardrobe and slamming it shut. Was it so necessary for him to be so fucking insufferable? Was he born this intolerable, or did his fucking cousin, Felix fucking Catton, infect him because being a coked-up narcissist was contagious via proximity or blood?

He heard a few clicks behind him, and the scent of Marlboro Gold cigarettes filled his room.

“So what are you going to do about it?”

Michael turned around and stared at his completely useless study partner for this stupid project for his Classics course that he needs to fulfill his fucking “General Education” requirements. Farleigh Start was leaning against his dresser and staring at him with the most judgingly empty gaze ever worn – all while holding a cigarette between his two fingers and getting ash on the floor.

Great – like it wasn’t a bloody fire hazard to cover his carpeted dorm in hot ash.

He shrugged. “What’re you on about?”

Farleigh took a long drag on his lung cancer joystick before exhaling deeply. His disappointed look made Michael’s eyes twitch in irritation.

“About a certain mutual friend we share and adore,” he drawled. “Whom just so happens to be in my dear cousin’s room right now…at night…on a weekend…alone.” He paused to take in Michael’s reaction and smiled. “Ohhhhh, so you do care.”

Michael shook his head. “Nothing’s gonna happen between ‘em. (Y/N)’s too smart for that.”

“Yes, you see – I know that…and you know that. But my cousin?” Farleigh scrunched up his face and made a wish-washy motion with his hand. “Ehhhhh…he’s more the type to think a giant, glaring red-neon sign with blinking lights saying ‘STOP’ is another giant, glaring purple-neon sign with blinking lights saying ‘Come Hither’ in porno studio 69 font.”

Michael Gavey rolled his eyes and reopened his laptop. “Whatever, I’m not worried.”

“You’re telling me that it doesn’t bother you that our friend is currently in the lion’s den with Oxford’s king?”

“Of course it bothers me,” thought Michael, “but I trust her more than I trust you.”

But Michael wasn’t going to let his forced-upon acquaintance know his thoughts, so all he said was…

“She’s not in the fuckin’ lion’s den, alright? They’re in the Bodleian. I’m going to pick her up from there in like thirty minutes.”

Farleigh cocked his head to the side. “Don’t trust our girl to make smart choices?”

“I trust (Y/N) just fine,” Michael bitterly retorted. “It’s your fucking cousin I don’t trust.”

Because he does – he trusts you so much. He knows how sweet and kind you were to everybody you thought deserved the benefit of the doubt. ‘Deserved’ being the very fine keyword in the detailing because there was no fucking way in hell you were dumb enough to think Sir Felix Catton of fucking ‘SalTbURn MaNor’ deserved your kindness.

Mary, Jesus, and Joseph – he wanted to strangle the old kook when he announced the assigned pairs.

It was Classics English taught by Professor Radcliff Michael Charles Douglas. He droned on about what materials would be on the end-of-term examinations. Everyone in the classroom, save for you and a few others, was either passing notes by throwing them across the room or staring aimlessly at the air with red-rimmed eyes.

“Ya’ ready, partn’r?”

You pursed your lips as a groan fought to escape. You would regret introducing John Sturge’s 1960 American Western masterpiece, “The Magnificent Seven,” to Michael Gavey if he kept up with that god-awful Texas accent.

You turned to your left and shot a blank glare at Michael. “Listen, Billy the Kid, we don’t know if we’re going to be assigned together,” you said.

“Come on, Professor Douglas always pairs the people sitting together as partners so far in the entire term. If it’s not broke, why fix it?”

“Melanie Brown…paired with Bryce Landon…Kemi Brown…paired with Amelia Sanders…”

You leaned on your elbow to whisper in Michael’s ear to drown out your professor’s blasé voice.

“Can we do our project on Hercules?”

He leaned back. “Why him?”

“I want to present on the glorification of toxic masculinity in mythology, and he’s the prime example.”

Michael chuckled. “You just want to piss off old Douglas up there.”

“Katie Caldwell…paired with Oliver Quick…”

“Is that so wrong?” you asked with a smirk. “You can either be one jump scare away from seeing Jesus or a product of institutionalized glorification of misogyny – but you cannot be both.”

Michael stifled a laugh. “You realize that takes away pretty much half of the English, Math, Science, and every fucking department on campus, right?”

You innocently tilt your head to the side. “Does it?”

“You’re terrible,” Michael snickered. “Completely evil.”

“Oh, please,” you swatted his arm. “You love me anyway.”

“Michael Gavey…paired with Farleigh Start…”

You and Michael turned to the front with disbelief. Wait…if Michael was paired with Farleigh…then that meant…oh, no.

“(Y/N) (L/N)…paired with Felix Catton. That will be all – no changes.”

Michael watched with wide eyes as your head slowly turned to the back of the lecture hall. He watched your face pale in disgust and horror when your eyes stopped at Felix Catton. Michael’s blue eyes narrowed at the lecherous grin Felix shot to you before he puckered his lips to blow a little kiss with a wink.

Your body involuntarily shuddered at the predatory implications. Michael watched as his best friend buried her face in her hands. He heard her say the exact same thought he was having.

These are going to be the worst few weeks of my life.

To say it bothered Michael that Felix Catton was making the moves on you, so to lure you to his sex dungeon of a dorm was an understatement. It was killing him to know that you were essentially forced into a vulnerable position, but when he brought it up to your professor, the old cunt-rag didn’t give two flying fucks.

“Professor Douglas, please,” Michael pleaded. “I really think it’d be in everyone’s best interest if you could make this exception this one time. I promise it has less to do with me and more for (Y/N)’s sake–”

But the ancient windbag wasn’t interested. “Whatever accusations you and Miss (L/N) intend to throw at Mister Catton, I am uninterested. Honestly, Mister Gavey, I expected this kind of nonsensical drivel from your friend, but to see you being caught in her schemes disappoints me greatly.”

Michael bit his tongue to choke down the tongue lashing he wanted to give. He wanted to tell this wrinkled ballsack about how the ‘fine Mister Catton’ basically assaulted you. He wanted to scream how worried he was when he didn’t see you for the rest of the day. He wanted to shout how when he knocked on your dorm and entered, he froze and paled at the sight of you crying your eyes out until they were red and puffy. He wanted to roar out the fury he felt when you revealed to him the incident with Felix Catton that morning in the empty lecture hall. The very same one where Professor Douglas taught.

*TRIGGER WARNING: THE FOLLOWING SCENE FEATURES PAST SEXUAL HARASSMENT AND A DISCUSSION OF THE TOPIC, IF YOU DON'T WANT TO READ THAT, PLEASE SKIP OVER*

“I couldn’t do anything,” you whimpered. “I felt like…like such an idiot! I just froze and stared and did nothing!' You started to cry all over again, and Michael wiped your tears with his thumb before holding you close to his chest. “Hey, hey, hey – it’s okay. Freezing and doing nothing are two different things. You were stunned by what happened, and your body reacted the same way – anyone who tells you differently is a liar.” You shook your head. “I couldn’t even speak…it was like my body – it ju-just shut off on its own. My brain kept screaming, ‘Let go,’ ‘Get off,’ or ‘Stay away from me!’ But I…the words and my voice just failed me when I needed them the most.” Michael blurted out the first thought: “(Y/N), you need to report this.” Your eyes shot open in fear. “Michael, no–” “Look, I know you’re scared, but this is assault. He touched your inner thigh, and you clearly didn’t consent – that’s sexual assault, or at the very least sexual harassment! If you report it, at least the campus police know about this and keep an eye out for you.” But you weren’t listening. “Nononononono—Mikey... that’s not how it’ll go down. Even if I report it, they won’t believe me.” “You don’t know that!” “But I do!” you cried. You shot up and started pacing across the room. “I do know because I’ve seen it happen! Almost every girl I knew growing up—it happened to them! At school, on the trains, some at their own homes! Whether they knew every detail of their assaulter or just saw just a patch of skin – it didn’t matter!” You weeped. “And if I tell the cops, they’ll just throw away the report because they’ll think that ‘all he did’ was touch my thigh. Consensual or not, I’ll be labeled as some fucking crazy man-hater who’s grasping at straws to ruin a fine young man’s life and reputation.” You collapsed back on your bed. “I just…I can’t deal that kind of shit right now. Not with…” you took a deep breath, “Not with everything that’s happening right now.” “…What can I do to help?” Michael hated how his voice cracked. He hated how completely useless he felt at that moment. More than anything, he wanted to march to the campus police and report it. But he knew that by doing so…he took even more control away from you by going behind your back. And then he would be a no better monster than Felix Catton. The idea of him going beyond the point of no return made him clench his fists until his knuckles turned white. But when you touched his hand, all the tension flowed out of him like a creek. “You already did the best thing anyone could do for me right now,” you reassured him. “You listened to me. You cared enough to look for me when you felt something was off. You reached out to me and stayed and listened. And most of all…you believed me.” Michael felt his throat go dry. You looked at him with so much trust, as if he were the safest place in your world. He wanted you to look at him that way forever. “I’ll believe you,” he swore. “I’ll be there for you – no matter what. I promise. Whenever you need me, I will be there.” No words can describe the relief you felt from hearing Michael’s promise. When you entered Oxford's campus, you never expected to meet someone as endlessly loyal and trustworthy as him. You were prepared to keep your head low and remain friendless for the next four years. You were ready to spend the next 1460 days crying your heart out from homesickness and imposter syndrome. But somehow, near the beginning of your first term here, you met Michael. And you were so grateful for him. You leaned in and lightly kissed his cheek. “I know. I know you will.” And you believed that with all your heart.

*TRIGGER SCENE END*

Michael promised you – gave his word – that he wouldn’t say anything to anyone. But, fuck, this asshole was making it hard to keep that promise.

“Mister Catton is a fine young man…”

No, he’s not.

“…one whom I have full faith will end up as remarkable as his father and grandfather before him.”

They probably pulled that same shit, too.

“A man with a future as bright as his does not need some upstart with delusions of grandeur to dismantle an institution as fine as Oxford blatantly spewing out trash about him.”

It’s not trash.

“Unless it was something with proof and worth my time?”

Michael looked at his Classics professor with empty but enraged eyes. “…No, professor. It’s just a personal matter between me and Felix – (Y/N) has nothing to do with it. She’s just…protective, I guess.”

This surprised the sagging skin suit. “Hmm, well, that sense of loyalty from such a strange girl is surprising, to say the least – especially when you take account of her…troubling background as an American from that horrible city. But perhaps there is a chance of decency in her, after all.”

Michael’s right eye twitched slightly. “And what do you mean by her…background?”

“Oh, come now, Mister Gavey. She’s a New Yorker. That city is full of…of…gang-bangers and drug addicts.”

“Her dad’s a professor at NYU, and her mum works for the buildings that host Broadway shows.”

Douglas scoffed. “HA! New York University – what a joke. A campus that’s filled with hippies and no class. And Broadway? Of course, Miss (L/N) is connected to the theatre community. Now, if that’s all, Mister Gavey, I have an important meeting to get to with the chairman of my department. I trust that this matter is settled?”

No, not even close.

But all Michael could do was clench his fist over his backpack’s strap. He forced an unconvincing smile and tersely nodded.

“Yep, won’t get any more problems.”

When old man Douglas replied with his patronizing smile, Michael wanted nothing more than to knock out the rest of the tenured professor’s teeth with a fire hydrant.

So…no, Michael Gavey was not at all okay with the fact that you were with Felix Catton. He was not OK with the idea that you were within ten feet of that depraved vampire.

All he could do was be reassured you were in a very safe and very public space with lots and lots of people who could serve as potential testimonial eyewitnesses if Catton tried anything.

…Provided that Catton Sr. wouldn’t be able to pay off everyone, their third cousin, and their dog.

You wanted to die. You wanted to literally sink into the ground. You wanted there to be a sinkhole to open under you, swallow you whole, close up, and you would never see the light of day again.

…Actually, you wanted all those things to happen to your useless fuck of a project partner.

“Y’know, if you’re bored here, there’s a party going on at one of my mates’ flats not far from here.”

Felix moved to the seat right next to you and limply swung his arm over your chair. “So why don’t we–”

You shot up and moved one seat over. “Considering how we’ve been working on the research for almost two hours, and you haven’t gotten any work done,” you bit out. “Getting wasted and losing more brain cells isn’t the right call.”

Taking your open hostility as a challenge, Felix continued to move closer to you. “Exactly! We’ve been at this for two hours, and nothing got done!” His face was inches from yours, and you could smell the rank stench of craft beers and rancid cigarettes on his breath. “So, what’s the harm in having a bit of fun?”

Oh my – this is getting fucking ridiculous.

You started to pack your bags and gather all the borrowed books. “Parties aren’t my idea of ‘fun.’ And I already told my friend to meet me–”

“So bring him too! The more the merrier!”

You took a deep breath and mentally counted to ten. “Our presentation is due in a week, Felix. One week to hand the paper in and present our topic to the class.” 

You swung your backpack over your shoulder. “I take my coursework very seriously, and to say it’s frustrating to have a partner who doesn’t take it as seriously as me would be a supreme understatement.”

“I think from now on–” a swift *RIP* echoed between them as you took a page out of your college-bound notebook. You quickly jotted down instructions for topics so simplified a child could figure it out, “– it’d be best if we work separately.”

Felix shot up from his seat with a panicked look. “Wait, now hold on – let’s not get hasty.”

“I already have a basic outline for the paper - I’ll type up the paper,” you continued while not looking at him. “All you have to do is find the books I’ve so nicely labeled on that sheet of paper I’ve given you.”

“Wha-what happens after I find them?” Felix stammered; his heart broke from how his time with you was so cruelly cut short.

But your tone and body language remained as rigid as it was apathetic. “You have my email, you have a laptop – figure it out, genius. We’ll meet up at a specified time and place; you hand me the books, and we move on with our very separate lives.”

You walked out of the crowded library and toward the nearby bench where you and Michael agreed to meet when he picked you up. You barely had time to sit down before you were bombarded with the presence of a much worse pest stuck to your shoe.

“You get off on bein’ a downright bitch?”

God, was every asshole trying to piss you off tonight?

You turned around with a prominent scowl that further deepened as your eyes took in the insufferable bastard who was clearly trying to pick a fight with you. You don’t know why you bothered to look for confirmation. You immediately knew who it was just by the sheer arrogance oozing from his tone.

As an artist, you had a special relationship with the color blue. In the summer, there was a point in the early mornings when it felt like the world was bathed in it. There was even a period when you were downright obsessed with it. You loved anything and everything blue: the sky, the ocean, hydrangeas, the Obrina Olivewing butterfly – but eyes, you loved painting blue eyes.

You thought of them as these warm, magical rarities that belonged to the stuff of fairies and Disney princesses. Of course, you also knew the popularity of the usage of blue with winter and death, but you never felt that duality…until now.

Because as much of a slimy bastard Oliver Quick was, you had to hand it to the guy…he was one of two people with some of the bluest eyes you’d ever seen.

Which gave you all the more reason to hate him. He made blue eyes look so cold.

 You clenched your backpack strap. “I’m not in the mood, Quick.”

Oliver scoffed. “I’d disagree – you’re always in a mood.”

“So stop talking to me,” you snarled, turning around. “And go away, Michael’s meeting me here soon.” You started to walk away when you heard Oliver speak again.

“I’m surprised he hadn’t dropped you left,” he maliciously quipped. “With you and Felix and all that.”

Your nails dug deeper into your backpack strap. “There is nothing between me and Felix – nothing at all.”

“Yeah, for now,” Oliver shook his head. “But you’ll be crawling to him with your hands and knees on the ground, worshippin’ him like he’s Hercules or Apollo.”

He leaned in closer from behind you. “And you’ll compare Gavey to Felix and look back and wonder ‘how the hell could I have missed being with Felix Catton over some pathetic’–”

Stop it. *clench*

“–unimportant–”

Shut. Up. *dig*

“– know-it-all –”

I hate you. I hate you. *pierce*

“– nobody.”

You turned around and dug your nails into his face as you poured every bit of rage and disdain for the single most insignificant person you’ve ever met in each word that came out of your mouth.

“Enough,” you roughly whispered. It was taking everything inside you to stop lashing out even further. “I don’t want to hear another word from you.”

“What? Plan to –” Oliver winced as you cinched onto his skin.

“Of all the mind-bogglingly,” *clench* “douche-like” *dig* “and despicable” *pierce* “crap you’ve spewed out,” you rasped. “Implying that I would ever choose as dull as Felix Catton over someone as rare and wonderful as Mikey has got to be one of the worst.”

“Do not push me any further, Quick,” You felt him tremble as you slowly released him from your grasp. “I’ve tolerated too much from you and the object of your obsession for far too long as is.”

You stepped back and gave the boy before you a good, hard stare. You never felt rage so deep, so demanding.

It was exhausting.

But you heard your name being called out from your left as you turned your head to see Michael waving to you with his arm high in the air. Had it been anyone else calling out your name, you wouldn’t have felt so quickly eased. You were about to move ahead to meet him halfway in the distance before Oliver’s voice stopped you.

“…What could possibly make him so special?” Oliver pathetically whimpered. “Why would you ever choose him when someone as bright as Felix is begging for you? Do you know what being with him means for you? What it gives you?”

…Was that it? Was that his best shot to get under your skin?

Looking at Michael, you answered him without meaning to.

“There’s no point in explaining it to you,” you calmly stated. “And I think you’ve wasted enough of my time.”

You picked up your stuff and left him alone with his thoughts. As you walked away to join your friend, you could feel his icy sapphire eyes digging into your back. Michael could feel how tense you were and asked if there was anything he could help with – but you waved away his concerns, stating that you had already wasted too much of your time with Felix and Oliver and didn’t want to waste anymore. Slipping your arm over his, you snuggled closer to his side and let the familiar scent of old math textbooks and coffee comfort you.

Oliver would make you pay for what you did – you’d be naïve to assume otherwise. He won’t do it directly, but it will happen. He’s the type to drink poison and expect you to die…only to learn too late that it worked as you lay on the ground bleeding and screaming your throat raw for help.

But right now, you were with your best friend; you two were going back to his dorm for a best friend sleepover, and it’d be enough.

…Yeah, it’ll be enough.

Oliver needed to make a plan – and fast.

Getting into your good graces was no longer a viable option for him; you made it annoyingly clear of that by the way you attempted to maul his face off. He gingerly touched the claw marks you imprinted on his cheeks as you tried to dig for his blood and bone with your nails. A corner of his mouth went up as he remembered your viciousness. He could practically taste the blood that nearly trickled down his cheek after you pierced his skin.

He hadn’t expected such a blatant display of violence from you, of all people, let alone on the campus’ hallowed grounds so near an establishment as ancient and crowded as the Bodleian.

For you, sweet, innocent (Y/N), to show such open hostility…to know he urged that beautiful, dormant impulsiveness to emerge…it thrilled him like nothing else. At that moment, he so clearly saw it. A darkness that was hidden deep inside you – bursting open from your carefully stitched seams. A deep desire for more in the dull, dull life God cruelly set upon you. Why else would a sweet, little all-American girl such as yourself travel all across the Atlantic to one of the most prestigious universities?

No, you were like him – exactly like him. Your reaction to his goading only proved that to him.

You weren’t used to it – that much was obvious…but that meant little to him. If nothing else, Oliver was resourceful. He’d learn more and more about what makes you tick before plucking you piece by piece into what he needed you to be for him. He’ll watch you explode before making you fizzle.

The idea of you at your fiercest – only for him to break it down bit by bit until all that was left was a more…subdued version of the hardheaded American girl from the Big Apple who loved to aggravate him during her first-year days at Oxford.

The thought alone made him salivate.

He could only dream how you’d be in bed. Your tight, hot little body would be squirming and writhing from the pleasure he and Felix bestow upon you. You, helplessly lying on your back while being fucked dumb by the two of them.

God, he felt himself getting hard at just the image alone – to make it a reality…that sort of victory, along with having Felix, would be nothing short of heaven for him. He unbuttoned his jeans as he took out his hardening cock into his hand. Not wanting to bother himself by starting slow, he immediately stroked himself with a rough and unforgiving pace. He wanted the pleasure from the fantasy to overwhelm him.

You looked perfect—replete, ethereal, and effervescent. Your entire body twitched as your eyes were blown wide, and drool dribbled down your chin. You put up quite the fight; the scratch marks on his and Felix’s chests proved that. But seeing you on your back on red silk sheets with your wrists and ankles tied to the bed posts made the struggle worth it. The red and pink bite marks that begin from the column of your slender neck down to your plush and tender inner thighs made for a prettier picture you could ever paint. “Oliver,” you pitifully rasped. “P-please, m’sorry – AH!” Your body jolted, and your back arched as he slapped your swollen clit. He struck his hand down one, two, three more times and watched as you thrashed and cried before another peak was forcefully ripped within you and came gushing out. God, how many times was it at that point? Three, four? It must have been quite a high number, judging by how tightly your cunt clenched onto his fingers when he thrust them inside you. “Look at her,” Felix cooed from behind Oliver. The Saltburn heir’s hulking frame towered over his lover as they watched their pet beg for mercy. “You almost feel sorry for her.” His hot breath panted into his ear as Oliver shivered in delight. The Quick boy gasped when he felt Felix’s large digits begin to enter his tight, puckering hole. “Take your fingers out,” he ordered. “And stick your cock inside her. You’ve been so good to me that I’ll let you fuck her sloppy cunt while I finger-fuck your arse.” Oh god, yes. Oliver took out his fingers and immediately positioned his hard cock at your leaking pussy as he spread your legs apart and forced your knees to press against your chest. “Wait,” you slowly blinked. “Wha…what’re you do–” Your back arched as Oliver pushed into you before thrusting into your cunt at a brutal pace. Tears were streaming down your reddened, flushed face as ecstasy-laden sobs filled the room. “Good boy, Olly,” Felix praised as he continued to push his fingers inside Oliver while the nails of his other hand dug into his hips. He let out a ragged gasp from how Felix deliciously stretched him out. He started out slow before moving his fingers at a faster and steadier pace. “That’s it, Olly. You’re so good – so good to me.” God, the contrast between the firm grips and harsh thrusts with gentle whispers of sweet nothings was like nothing he had ever experienced. And it only made the pleasure of Oliver plowing into your weeping pussy while you cried like a bitch in heat feel too good to be true. “Oh, you’re getting so tight,” Felix groaned. “You wanna come, don’t you? You wanna spill your cum into our pet’s little cumdump hole, right?” “Yes,” Oliver rashly answered before snarling to you. “You hear that, you dumb slut? I’m going to cum in you, and you’re going to take it.” “N…not i-inside,” you begged despite your walls clenching tighter around his cock. “P-please not inside!” Oliver just laughed. “You want it – oh, yes, you do.” He released one of your legs to grip your jaw and forced you to stare at him. “Don’t bother denying it. Your body knows how a whore like you is just desperate for me.” He chuckled as he thrusts into you even harder than before. “Well?” “Yes!” you cried out. “Yes, Oliver! Let me be your cumdump! I want your cum so badly!” Before Oliver and Felix permitted you to do so, you spilled onto Oliver’s cock, and the tightening of your walls, mixed with how deep Felix pushed his fingers inside him, made Oliver’s mind go blank – and soon, all he could hear was white noise.

Oliver slumped into his chair as a coat of sweat covered his entire body. Thick, white ropes of cum were still spurting out of his softening cock despite it coating his right hand. He ran his left hand through his dark curls as reality settled back in. Cold, bitter loneliness engulfed his body as he realized that you and Felix were not with him, and he remained as alone as before. A newfound determination to make his fantasy a reality soon took place.

His vision will be a reality. Felix will love him. And you will be their pet whose sole purpose in life is to take load after load of their pleasure.

But such things were too early to think about with how you were now. No…no, no, no…you were far too raw in your current state…too volatile…too stubborn…too American. He supposes it shouldn’t be too surprising that you latch onto fitfulness and inconsistency.

You were an artist, after all, and such was the fate of your kind to be destined to forever claw their way from the bottom as a means of survival.

But, however charming your unpredictability may have been in your concrete-paved, urban paradise that you call ‘home’ – that simply won’t do for him. He was more than confident that he could make you see things his way, but there were…problems needed to be resolved.

Namely, one in particular that came in ill-fitting apparel and bulky-framed eyewear – Michael Gavey.

Only an utterly blind idiot would miss how you pathetically secure your entire emotional well-being onto him. Oliver watched in total desolation and disappointment at how your glorious rage dissipated at the sight of him. But a part of him was equally as impressed at the mask you so expertly paraded, going so far as forcing your body language to adapt to the circumstances.

But…it wasn’t a mask, was it?

You looked at Michael Gavey the way he looked at Felix – complete and total worship. Michael Gavey, for whatever reason, was your sun, moon, and stars. The way you protected and so ardently adored him made the conclusion all the easier to reach.

Suddenly, it all became clear.

Of course…how did he not see it? The answer was so obvious. What better way to force you to his and Felix’s side…than to separate and condition you?

Isolation was a cruel and sadistic thing to thrust upon anyone – let alone who had so few friends in a foreign country like yourself. But he knew how much of an effective tool it could serve for him. Oh, it would be arduous initially – yes, it will. But it would all be worth it in the end. After all, in a way, this was your fault. If only you had complied with him when he was being nice, he wouldn’t have had to resort to such drastic but necessary measures.

Oliver darkly chuckled to himself.

Yes…everything would turn out in his favor. He’d make sure of it.

Tagging: @ethereal-athalia, @arcielee, @asa-do-your-thing, @aphroditesmoon, @axelsagewrites, @the1999kid, @poolnoodlerescuer, @aemondsbabe, @winterblu2, @abaker74, @whereismymindno, @agustdeeyaa, @iamavailablesstuff, @bonnieblue0606, @st-eve-barnes, @nyxthoughtss, @immyowndefender, @ilovemydinoboi, @ahristata, @cxp1d, @jinsoulorbitzen12, @temptation-waits, @bollzinurmouth, @jcngw0ns, @seababehh, @destinydestnation, @lankyboi4, @mindless-rock, @cassavacakes, @paradisepoisons, @pansexualpamandabear, @erikasurfer, @lissamans, @cookielovesbook-akie, @thesmutconnoisseur, @izzyisstuff, @lariisouz, @ma1dita, @jeondeluxe111, @itszzmoon, @wolfeginny, @mioshasworld, @bre99

Let me know in the comments your thoughts and if you want to be tagged when I update!

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go pray to my ancestors and beg for their forgiveness for writing Oliver's POV 🥲

[sylveon-and-velveon]

Oh God can we please see what the slashers would do if you played 'Hopelessly Devoted To You' from Grease? Just in time for Valentines Day 🥺🥺🥺

Happy Valentine's Day everyone! For couples and singles {like me lol}

OMG yes! I loved watching Grease as a kid!! AFTER MAKING THIS: Should say somehow half of these became "love language" responses- I follow you, hol' up

This will include: Michael Myers {OG & RZ}, Brahms Heelshire, Jason Voorhees, Billy Lenz, Freddy Krueger, Stu Macher, Billy Loomis, Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer, Harry Warden, Tiffany Valentine

Feel free to request any shitpost writing prompt ideas you can think of in my asks, I love silly non-serious ideas XD We besties if you give me Cupcakke remixes-

OG Michael Myers

It's giving lovesick, it's giving obsessed, it's giving "I'm not leaving you"

Well for Michael anyway-

He'd probably take the song a little too seriously, and think you're never gonna ever leave him.

He's never been the best at romance

Blame where he was "raised" for over a decade-

RZ Michael Myers

Just as much in the "never been good with romance" department

But hey, the music isn't loud and obnoxious so he doesn't mind as much to the music you're playing

Especially since it's not as vulgar like.... last time you played music around him

You music player lives to see another day!!

Brahms Heelshire

He sees it as a love language, that you're using music to properly show your love for him without feeling uncomfortable throughout it all

Yep, that's my new headcannon now. His love language is through music. Especially with pianos

He hears you playing that? Oh his heart is MELTING right then there!! He's gonna be giving you cuddles for DAYS after hearing that

Someone make this love language canon please-

Jason Voorhees

Imagine if his mom used to listen to this song?

Bringing him memories. Bittersweet ones probably

Unless you headcannon his mom's still alive, then just sweet

Unless you have a sad headcannon about his mom then you fucked either way mate TvT

But anyway, it brings him memories and he's enjoying the music with you

I kinda went on a Pamela rant there- XD

Billy Lenz

A little confused but he got the spirit

He ain't understanding a lot of it until he hears iconic line from the song

Then he running over to you and is NEVER letting you go

But he still confused

But he trying TvT

Freddy Kreuger

Okay.... here me out:

Yeah the dude will be ridiculous with goofy ass music

But with romantic related songs?

...

So you know how he has one hand that isn't covered with the glove?

And no, you're not getting anymore context to my thought process-

Stu Macher & Billy Loomis

Short and sweet, they'd both love it

Billy's calm about it, while Stu is just like a big doggy. Oh- he is SO happy!!

Billy ain't gonna stop him, it's a good song. And it makes the both of you happy

What's to complain?

Thomas Hewitt

Takes him a few seconds to understand the implications of this song but when he does he's gonna give you a big ass hug

Bone crushing? Probably-

It's Thomas, he'd probably accidently do it-

But he still loves you

Even if he accidently puts you in a wheelchair

Bubba Sawyer

Yeah you gotta explain the song, poor guy highly wouldn't understand the meaning

Or he would... but BARELY-

You gotta explain what the song's about, when he finally does understand he's gonna be so in love with you.

And the song

Like a little confession song... weird choice for a confession song. But you do you-

Harry Warden

A little old fashioned but he understands the song is romantic-esc

He'd vibe to song, bounce his head along to the beat a little

Tap his feet to beat as well, maybe change back and forth between the two

He's never watched the movie before but now the song makes him want to watch the movie

Specifically with you ^^

Tiffany Valentine

She's watched the movie, but she doesn't wanna admit it

But the second, THE SECOND, she hears you playing that song

Ohhhhhhhhhhh you two are singing that song together with no shame

It's her guilty pleasure song, but knowing that you listen to this song now makes her more confident!

Hell yeah!!!

[livelaughlovesubs]

Do you write about michael from whb? If its fine with you, can you write a hc what his going to be as a yandere? Reader could be anything but i prefer if they our normal mc ^^

Oh, alright, so yandere Michael with ra-on as reader? Sure then, I’ll gladly oblige! Sorry that you had to wait so long, but now that the new event came out, I have a pretty good idea how I want to portray him.

Yandere Michael

Warning: dark content, disturbing topics, blood, gore, obsessive behaviour

I headcanon him, like many other angels, to be a total psycho when in love. That’s pretty much canon. The question is just, how crazy would he be?

- he’d never blame you for all your deeds, it’s always the fault of another

- in other words he is doing everything he can to delude himself into thinking this is alright, it’s not against the rules he set for himself

- god wanted him to love you, it was destined to happen

- “you were just so bright, and there was no way to explain it, it must be gods will”

- that’s what he’d say to himself among other things

- if it wasn’t clear enough, he’d kill for you, even his own brothers, except lucifer

- he’d go down to hell and declare war on your favourite king/ noble, his excuse? They were taking you away from him

- you could stop that though, by finally putting him on a leash

- no matter what you did to him, he’d still love you unconditionally, his love would never falter like his faith

- you could do the most unspeakable things to him, treat him as if he was a mere toy, as if he was nothing more than a pretty face

- and he’d thank you for your attention, greeting you with a smile brighter than his halo

- ruin him, mind and body, bruise him or break his leg, he doesn’t care, as long as you keep touching him and give him your full attention

- honestly, you could make him into a devil and he wouldn’t care, rip his wings off and make the blessing of god leave him

- it would make him have an internal crisis, since he isn’t supposed to be like this, but he’d put the blame on someone else

- this man is so prideful a no narcissistic, he only cares about his own feelings, god, lucifer, and now you too

- which is why he doesn’t care about anything else, as long as he gets to feel good and ‘loved’ (even though you are brutalising him) he’s content

- the worst type of of yandere, would totally kidnap you, even if the punishment is amputation

- he is one hell of a nuisance, there is literally no other way to deal with him than locking him up

- otherwise he’ll just keep attacking hell, or kidnap you, or kill other species, no matter how you reprimand him. He got away with it for eons, what makes you think you can change him?

- it’s not like he loves you anyway, he only loves you because you are a replacement for god and his dear brother, only because you are as kind and as forgiving as they used to be

- oh you naive child

- if you don’t lock him up and keep him away, he’ll eventually annihilate the devils, unless luci steps in that is

- but he’ll definitely kidnap you, hats so obvious! He’ll want to keep you all to himself, he’d even make alternations to your body to keep you from leaving

- he has trust issues, remember? All because of god and his lovely older brother

- words alone aren’t enough, he needs to know you can’t leave him, like you mentally and physically can’t

- if you don’t want that, there are two other ways, and that is using what he’d do to you against him

- like if you do restrain him.. keeping him chained like what he did to you, making him be alone for months without knowing when you’ll come back (that’s still the nice way to threat him, trust me)

- then he will finally stop causing harm! Though the second you get him out of the restains, he’ll clench onto you, hold you, tell you how much he loves and missed you, looking up at you with those obsessive eyes of him and a furious blush covering his cheeks, and kill anyone that dares to get close to you two

- which is why I recommend the more inhuman way to treating him if he does become your yandere, unless you love him enough to spend all your time with him, tending to his every need and sacrificing yourself in the process

- rip his other eyes out, watch him scream in agony, call ronove to amputate his arms and legs

- he can shoot lasers out of his hand, I repeat, he can shoot those out of his fingertips

- make him disabled, enough that he become a weak and helpless animal that can’t do anything to threaten anyone

- oh, I forgot to mention but rip his wings too, he shouldn’t be able to fly

- once you did all of this, maybe cut off his tongue while you are at it, he tends to have a foul mouth

- who knows, maybe he can shoot lasers from there too?

- honestly, it will be hard to keep him alive at this point, but if you still desire to do so, Welp, congratulations, he is totally harmless now!

- and as soon as he hears you enter his room, his cheeks will turn red and sounds of joy would escape his throat

- what a joke he is, he still ‘loves’ you so dearly after all you did huh?

- God, do you see this? This is the result of your action, unyielding love and affection from those beings that called themselves pure, how amazing

[stormberry-12]

faceless // P4: are you ugly? ~ charles leclerc x reader

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!driver!reader

includes/authors notes: language, lack of equal rights/ gender equality, readers an unknown figure in the races, fem!reader's gender assumed as male, use of "y/n".

Bold Italics are the past.

Normal Italics are thoughts.

summary: "There is a new mysterious driver on the grid. Nobody knows who he is, the only thing we know is that he races for Red Bull with the number 66. Other drivers call him the faceless driver for none have ever seen his face or heard him speak. The faceless driver is a legend in the making and even giving Lewis Hamilton and Max Verstappen a run for their money…”

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you sat alone in a medical room, sure you had wanted to reveal your identity eventually but this was too much to handle all in one day. You could sense the awkwardness of the doctors who had come to perform tests on you, they were polite but curt. A nice nurse offered you some tissues but no one uttered more than 5 words to you, probably still processing it themselves.

You pulled out your phone, there was no doubt Charles knew, he was out of his car even before you were, probably watching televised on hundreds of screens around him. 

He hadn't tried to contact you. 

You didn't blame him.

However, you did have hundreds of notifications from other people and F1 Instagram pages tagging your private account and spreading the news worldwide.

A knock on the door frame made you jump, "You're free to go miss, as long as you have no more neck pain."

"Thank you," you replied, not looking the doctor in the eyes, and climbing out of the bed.

"Take the pain meds twice a day, for your wrist and neck, don't over-exert yourself. Have a good day."

'Have a good day.'

You walked out of the medical center with your belongings, walking to the parking lot, not planning on going back to the Red Bull garage. You couldn't care less what Christian thought about this whole thing and would probably receive a very heavily worded email from him later tonight.

The sky was dark, you must have been in there for a while. The lights from the posts shone down on the many expensive cars that the drivers had driven to the race.

Charles's car was gone.

"Fuck me," you cursed, the tears had returned along with shooting pain up the side of your neck. You called an Uber, waiting in the crisp air and wiping the tears off your face. The world seemed wobbly as you scanned your surroundings, letting reality hit harder and harder every time you thought about the day you just had.

You looked across the parking lot to see Yuki getting into his car. He shot you a small smile and wave. "Fuck is a fun word. And you have a cool helmet by the way,"

"YUKIII!" Pierre screamed, running over to the car drawing both of your attention. "I'm driving,"

"No!"

"Yes."

They argued for about 20 seconds before Yuki hopped in the passenger seat. Pierre then noticed you, giving you a thumbs up and a knowing smile before hopping in the car.

God, word spread fast. 

You and Charles settled onto the couch, cozy blankets draped over your laps, snuggled up next to each other. Tonight's choice? The Office. It was a show you both adored, somehow whenever you watched it it always managed to lift your spirit. With a bowl of popcorn between your legs, you hit play, and the familiar theme song filled the room. You nestled into Charles's side, feeling the comforting warmth of his presence.

"Guess what, I have flaws. What are they? Oh, I don't know. I sing in the shower. Sometimes I spend too much time volunteering. Occasionally I'll hit somebody with my car. So sue me." Michael Scott's voice rang from the speakers.

"Oh my god," Charles chuckled. "I can't with this show,"

As the credits rolled, you turned to Charles, a contented smile playing on his lips. "I love nights like this," you whispered.

"Me too," Charles replied, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Especially when I'm with you."

The door to your apartment creaked as you opened it slowly, the hum of the airconditioning filled your ears and and hit you with a cold blast that sent shivers down your spine. You tossed your backpack on the floor and braced yourself for all of the outcomes that could happen next.

'What if he breaks up with me?' Flashed in the back of your mind as one of the possibilities that made your stomach ache. He was sitting on the couch, gaze not leaving the TV, but you could see his shoulders tense as your footsteps entered the room.

"Charles, we need to talk," you said softly, your voice barely audible over the blasting TV and loud voices outside the thin wall. 

He ignored you coldly, grabbing his plate off the side table and walking towards the kitchen. 

"Oh come on, Charles! Jesus, listen to me, I can explain!" you cried, following him around the apartment until he finally turned to face you, his eyes were broken. 

"Explain..."

"Yes-"

"Explain? You've been racing alongside me all this time, pretending to be just another driver, while I've been completely in the dark about who you are! You lied to me!" he spoke, voice cracking and eyes watering.

"Charles I-"

"Like holy shit!" Charles's voice trembled as he continued to word vomit his feelings like he always did. "You were the faceless driver. The one everyone speculated about, and-"

"Charles, I didn't want to lie to you. I just... I never wanted my identity to overshadow my abilities on the track. I wanted to be known for my skill, not my gender or boyfriend's name." You sighed heavily, hands trembling slightly, head pounding.

"You didn't think I deserved to know? We're in a relationship, Y/n. We're supposed to trust each other!" Charles's voice grew louder, his words cutting through the air, making you feel small.

"It was in my contract Charles, I couldn't tell anyone-"

"Why would you sign your life away like that? Red Bull was taking advantage of you but you were too stupid and blinded by all the secrets you had to keep-" he hissed.

"Oh my god! Why are you being such a dick? I came up with half my contract rules, I didn't want to tell anybody!" you held your neck as it ached.

"You told Lando,"

"No, I didn't. I never meant for him to find out!" you yelled, well tried to, as you found it harder and harder to catch your breath. "And do not bring Lando into this, he's your teammate and friend-"

"But he knew before I did! He kept secrets from me too," he complained. "And you had your little waves out on track and everything, don't bring Lando into this my ass. I hate how you realized you could trust him but couldn't think of anyone else in your life that you might be able to trust. Someone who might deserve to know. Was there no one else Y/n? No one else that you spent hours of the day with, that had trusted you with all of his problems? No one that loved you so much and would support you no matter what-"

"Charles-" you choked out, guilt overtaking you.

"This is so wild, I can't believe this day is real," he mumbled and you weren't sure if he was referencing the fact that you were a driver or the fact that you had left him in the dark and damaged the strong relationship you had. Probably both.

You sighed and rubbed a hand over your face, you felt like you were going to puke. You pushed past Charles and shuffled to the bathroom slamming the door behind you. You heard Charles call after you but his words were drowned out by the pounding and ringing in your ears. 

As you leaned over the toilet vomiting you felt your hair being pulled away from your face and a hand placed firmly on your back. You knelt there for a while, his fingertips traced up and down your spine until you pulled away to splash your face with water.

You slid back down to the floor leaning against the sink. You hugged your knees to your chest, not wanting to feel the cold tiles on the back of your legs any longer, as your boyfriend sat across from you quietly. Charles hesitated, his eyes locked with yours. The weight of the words you yelled at each other hung heavy in the air. His foot grazed yours softly and you both looked down at your matching socks that you un-intentionally wore on the same day.

"Are you okay?" he whispered.

"Yeah. They told me I didn't have a concussion..."

"That's bullshit. And the wrist?"

You looked down at your bandaged hand, "Sprained."

He hummed in acknowledgment, "They did a shit job at that too, can a re-wrap it for you?"

You nodded and he skooted closer, taking your arm gently in his hands. He unwrapped the tenser bandage around your wrist and you winced, Charles whispered an apology, examining your bruises and swelling.

"Jesus, love," he wrapped the bandage around you once more, neat and tidy, securing it tightly. He looked up meeting your eyes with an unreadable expression, fingers still grazing your bandaged wrist. "Lando had more than one secret he was keeping from me,"

"What?" you croaked.

Charles closed his eyes and rubbed a hand over his face, "He's leaving. His contract was only for a year to try out a new team..."

You stared at Charles in shock before he continued. "He misses Mclaren, and of course Zack misses him. So yeah," Charles laughed but no humor filled his face, "I'll be saying goodbye to yet another awesome teammate that I've considered a brother."

"I'm so sorry Charlie," you whispered, linking your hand with his. You knew how hard it was for him when Carlos left, they didn't speak as much anymore, and you could always see the pain in Charles' eyes whenever Carlos brushed him off with a rushed wave in the paddock.

"God, I've got to stop being so sensitive and annoying," He sighed.

"No, your empathy, understanding, and awareness are some of my favorite things about you," you smiled softly at his blush.

"But I wasn't very understanding to you," he whispered and you felt your heart pinch.

You were about to respond, countering his statement with the truth that you were so terribly sorry and pissed at yourself for everything, when your phone rang pulling you from the moment. Looking down at the screen you stared at Christian Horner's name as it buzzed.

previous part // next part

[allbark-no-bite]

kiss me and apologize || Carmen Berzatto x reader

summary: from private chef to working in a rundown restaurant in Chicago, your life does a 180 as you try to fit into the world that is the Beef. Richie isn’t helping and Carmen just can’t figure you out

word count: 3.7k

warnings: swearing, mentions of michael’s death/suicide

author’s note: so um i guess i write for the Bear now?? official obsessed with the show and was inspired by all of the great writers that write for Carmy on here :)

"Carmen? The door?"

"What—? Oh yeah, yeah. Sorry."

He turns towards the door, fumbling for the key with numb fingers, his face burning hot.

He wasn't used to anyone else besides himself showing up to the restaurant so early in the morning, and he definitely wasn't used to you and your pink cheeks and and warm smile greeting him at the door. You were a new hire to the Beef, a godforsaken miracle dressed in oversized overalls who had shown up two weeks ago and been hired by Sydney on the spot.

She had been smitten with you from the start, dead set on hiring you without so much as a second interview.

"—studied in Copenhagen, worked at multiple Michelins in New York. I mean look at this, Carmen. She's a private chef in the Hamptons. We would be stupid not to hired her."

And you were great. You are great. Except for the fact that you're really fucking distracting.

"You sure you got it, chef?"

Carmen can't even blame the heat rising from his cheeks from the cold at this point because his hands are sweating as he jiggles the door knob that somehow always seems to get jammed at the worst possible moments. This is one of those moments.

Finally, he hefts his weight against the door while twisting the knob and it busts open. A muffled snort escapes you from behind him. Carmen steps inside, holding the door open for you with a small wave of his hand. "Sorry. I'm sure this crap isn't what you were expecting when you applied here—"

He's rambling, stomach twisting in knots. His nerves always screw up his stomach—maybe he'll pop a few Tums before—

"It's fine, Camren," you assure him, stepping in from the cold, body pressing against his in the small entry way. "I like it here."

I like you.

"Yo, am I interrupting something, cousin? You and the princess wanna take that shit somewhere else?" Richie's shout can be heard from all the way across the parking lot, and it makes Carmen visibly cringe.

"Fuck off, cousin," Carmen mutters, reluctantly breaking away from you.

Still standing in the doorway, you huff, whatever moment you and Carmen had shared broken by Richie's arrival. The taller man stomps up the front steps, shaking snow from his boots.

So far, he had been the only staff member you found unbearable. Even Tina had warmed to you after a few weeks and now took great pleasure in listening to your elaborate stories as a private chef. Richie, on the other hand, hated your guts.

"You just gonna stand there and let all the fuckin' cold air in? I'll let Sugar know to take the heating outta your paycheck."

"Fuck off, Richie."

The morning is only the beginning of his wrath.

——

"Richie, you fucking imbecile—"

"Every single time you open your mouth, all I hear is this fuckin' bullshit. Jesus, you're so fuckin' high and mighty with your fancy ass college degree," he sneers, looming over you. If he stepped any closer you would have lacked the self control not to hit him. "You wanna come in here, act like you know everything because daddy sent you to school—"

"You don't have to fucking like me, Richie, but what you're not going to do is push me around and be an egotistical misogynist just because you have a set of balls. So give me my fucking knife."

Richie's hand is in the air beside your head, waving about in wild gesticulation that he does not have your knife, or any fucking knife for that matter. "I don't have your shit!"

With your jaw clenched together, you breathe in deeply through your nose and take in the taller man through narrowed, disbelieving eyes. "Fine." You turn on your heals and storm off. "CARMEN."

Richie throws his hands up and scoffs at your retreating back, yelling after you. "Ohh go ahead, fuckin' call mommy. Like I'm scared of him," he snorts.

"CARMEN!" Your fury only fueled by Richie's taunts, your stride quickens as you shove your way through the chaos of the kitchen, dodging both Sydney and Marcus.

"Woah, chef. What's the matter?" Sydney asks as you whip past her, her hands busy with mashing potatoes, but you don't stop to answer, instead rounding the corner like a woman on a mission.

"CARMEN—"

"—What?!" At the third sound of his name, Carmen finally jerks his head up from his prep station, only to be met with you head on. "What's going on, chef?" he repeats, looking back down to his station after taking in your vexed disposition and gathering that no one's dying. He puts on these sort of metaphorical blinders once he's in the kitchen and nothing, not even you, is going to distract him from what he does best. He becomes an entirely different animal in the kitchen.

"That fucking dickwad has my knife and he won't give it back. How am I supposed to—"

Still urgently chopping carrots, Carmen cuts you off. "Chef, just get another knife," he instructs, stepping around you to dump a pile of sliced carrots into the bin.

His dismissal throws you for a loop and leaves you open mouthed, protest caught in your throat. Just this morning he had been stuttering nervously, cheeks flushed as you stood waiting for him to unlock the staff door. Now he's biting and abrasive, domineering in the way he takes control of the kitchen. You know he's just doing his job, doing whatever it takes to keep his head above the water—keep everyone's head above the water, but right now you want to scream at him. "Just tell him to—"

"Yes, Chef," he provides, indicating that he's done refereeing yours and Richie's squabble. He moves across the station so that you have to step sideways to avoid being in his way.

"But I—"

"Yes, Chef?" Carmen effectively cuts you off with a hard stare, momentarily stopping his urgent chopping. His blue eyes are fixating despite their look of wild urgency.

When it becomes obvious that arguing your point further is going to get you nowhere, you nod, growling a reluctant, 'Yes, Chef.'

If Carmen notices your attitude, he either pointedly ignores it or is too busy shouting at Tina about onions to care. You grab a knife laid out at one of the empty stations, purposefully shoving Richie as you round the corner.

"What's the matter, sweetheart? Mommy didn't take your side?" he calls from the expo station "Didn't fuckin' see that coming."

You ignore him, deciding that he's not worth anymore of your energy for the time being. There's an entire rack of ribs that needs to be sliced and it's going to take you twice as long with this poor excuse of a knife.

"Chef, how are those ribs coming?" Sydney calls amidst the kitchen chaos. "Doors open in fifteen minutes."

Glancing at the digital kitchen clock, panic sets into you as you realize just how much time you've lost. "Fuck," you mutter, more to yourself than anyone. "Ahh—I'm going to need at least twenty," you shout back.

"What? What's taking so long?" Sydney asks. You can hear her moving behind you, finishing up with her own prep.

"Yeah, what's takin' so fuckin' long?" Richie chimes in.

Your grip on the knife's handle tightens, but you don't give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his words. "I'm working on it, Syd," you promise her, praying you can somehow speak that confidence into existence.

Richie is still running his mouth behind you. "Y'know, maybe you just aren't cut out for this. It's not too late to go back to makin' your fancy little hors d'oeuvres up in New York."

"Screw you, Richie," you mutter, your brow furrowed as you concentrate on cutting through the ribs. The knife is hardly cutting and it's taking everything in you not to just start hacking away and be done with it.

"This ain't a cocktail party. This is a real fuckin' business, and we don't need you over here messin' us up and screwin' around—"

"Screw. You. Richie."

"What was that? Can't hear you, princess," he taunts.

Just as you turn to open your mouth, ready to snap at him, the knife hits a dull spot and slips against your grip, catching your fingers along the way. Immediately you jerk your hand back, biting back a cry. The knife clatters to the ground at your feet.

"Fucking dammit!" you exclaim, clutching your bleeding fingers with your other hand.

"Oh now you've really fuckin' done it," Richie laughs, shaking his head.

You only glare at him before muttering, "Move," as you shove past him. To his credit, he doesn't say anymore as you shoulder him out of the way.

By the time you get to the back sink, there's blood seeping from between your gloved fingers and onto the floor. You have to fight back a whimper as you peal away the latex from your skin.

"Woah, woah— what the hell??"

Hands appear beside you, grabbing your own bloody hand and wrapping it tightly in a clean kitchen rag. You close your eyes, willing yourself not to faint. The pressure stings but serves to staunch the blood flow and relieve some of your dizziness.

When you open your eyes, Carmen's blue ones are staring at you worriedly. "You good, chef?"

You close your eyes again, this time not because you're dizzy, but rather to avoid the intensity of his stare. "Yeah," you manage hoarsely, finding your voice. "Yeah. Just bandage me up okay? I've still got prep to do."

Even with your eyes closed you can still feel his eyes on you. He's so close that you can feel the brush of his body against yours.

"Yeah, okay," he finally says, but you can hear the hesitation in his voice. Immediate loss fills your body as he pulls away, but then he's pressed up against you again, holding your fingers steady as he wraps them up.

It hurts and you want so badly to just let go of the cry of pain and frustration that you're holding back. But instead you bite the inside of your cheek and watch Carmen bandage your fingers like he's done it a hundred times before. When he's done, he draws your hand up to his mouth and tears the tape with his teeth. You force back a swallow when his lips brush your skin.

"This okay, Chef?" he asks, looking up at you with those ridiculously anxious blue eyes—anxious like he's always got somewhere to be, something to do, something on his mind. Now they're focused entirely on you.

Somehow you find your voice. "Y-yeah—yeah, thank you." You pause, still staring at him, not moving. "I, um—I should go finish prep..."

"Okay," he answers softly.

"Okay."

"—Hey." Before you turn to slip out of his office, Carmen calls after you. He raises a fist to his chest, tracing it clockwise over his heart.

I'm sorry.

Your brows furrow at his apology. "Carmen, it wasn't your—"

"Yes. It was," he clarifies, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans back against the desk. "I blew you off earlier and you got hurt because of it... So I'm sorry."

From the doorframe, you offer him a half smile.

"Apology accepted, Chef." And then you leave him before he can say anymore, slipping back out into the chaos of rush hour.

——

You do end up finishing you prep before opening. Your fingers hurt like a bitch, and you may need to visit a 24 hour clinic on your way home for a few stitches, but you make it though. Rush hour was hell, your head hurts from both screaming and being screamed at, but now the Beef is closed, the kitchen is quiet, and you can just breathe.

Slowly but surely, everyone files out of the kitchen once they finish their end of the day tasks, bidding you goodbyes and see you tomorrows as they leave—except for Richie, who you flip off once his back is turned.

The bell above the front door chimes, announcing Tina's departure, and then it's just you left tending to your station. Sydney had offered to take care of it for you, seeing as you were down a hand, but cleaning your space at the end of the day gives you peace of mind and time to cool down after all the chaos.

At some point, the lights in the back office click off and heavy foot steps make their way towards the kitchen. Carmen appears beside you, arms crossed as he watches you clean. He's quiet, observing the way you scrub the already pristine table top over and over and over. You don't learn that kind of precision from working in a place like this.

You're an anomaly to him and he doesn't know what to do with you

You certainly don't fit in here with your perfectly refined private school vocabulary and your Michelin star palette and your fucking expensive gold chain necklace that's probably worth more than the rent for his apartment.

"What're you doing here?" he finally asks.

"Wiping my station?" Your voice is leaning on the defensive side and he figures that probably has to do with Richie.

"Exactly," he concedes. "So what are you doing here? Because six months ago you were making fuckin' soufflés in the Hamptons."

This time you actually kind of laugh because that statement is not too far off from the truth. "I don't know, Carmen. I was bored?"

"You don't give up the Hamptons because you're bored."

You look up at him for the first time since he's walked up. There's no bristling anger in your eyes like there was earlier when Richie took your knife—he did and you both know it. You just look at him, really look at him, and then you set down the rag and you nod. "Just like you don't give up Noma?"

Carmen holds your heavy gaze for a while. It's as if some sort of unspoken understanding passes between the two of you and eventually he sighs, nodding. "Right."

You look around at the restaurant surrounding you, the stained floors, the rundown kitchen appliances, the framed 'let it rip' note. "Natalie, uh she told me about him—Micheal... I'm really sorry. He seemed like a good guy."

His eyes follow yours to the note, and he doesn't say anything for a minute, which isn't unusual, Carmen has always been decently shy since you met him, but it makes you wonder if it was a mistake bringing it up.

Strangely enough, this is the first time that someone's brought up Michael and he hasn't wanted to slam a door in their face. Normally, he would just nod and say something like, 'yeah, he was a good guy' and that would be his way of wiggling out of another unwelcome conversation, but he doesn't. Instead, he stares at the note and wonders for the first time since Micheal died if he should have gone to the funeral.

It made him feel like a fucking asshole for not going, but he couldn't listen to all those people saying how good it was to have him back—how happy Micheal would have been to have him back—because if Micheal hadn't gone and killed himself, he wouldn't be here anyhow. He'd still be in New York. He'd still be angry at Micheal like he is now.

Carmen sighs. "I—I wish that I had talked to him more instead of just fucking off to New York. Because after that I just hated coming back too all of this... y'know? And then it was like even when I was here, he kinda just knew that I didn't want to be here, and so we spent that time just fuckin'... at each other's throats.." He trails off, sniffing to clear the choked up feeling from his throat. "Just—who the fuck does that?"

He's asking you. Who shoots themself and doesn't even leave a note? Who shoots themself and leaves their little brother to pick up the remains of their shithole restaurant?

"Well," you begin, laughing a little at the absurdity of it all. "You're talking to a girl who decided to quit her job after three years as a private chef and is now slicing spare ribs in Chicago for just over minimum wage."

The unseriousness of the confession makes him crack a smile and now he's fighting a grin off of his face. "Yeah, that was uh..." He's still chuckling, shaking his head. "That was really stupid of you. Why would you do that?"

You're fighting a smile too now, heart pumping in your chest because he's really fucking pretty when he laughs. His cheeks are flushed and his curly hair is a disheveled mess and you just want to reach over and smooth a hand through it.

Your tongue wets your bottom lip and his blue eyes don't miss the nervous habit. "Well, there's this guy..."

"Yeah?" Carmen's smiling, the tired expression on his face softened by the twinkle in his eyes.

"Yeah, there's this guy. And I've looked up to him my entire life. He's brilliant—like really fucking brilliant. And I promised myself that if I ever got the opportunity to work for him, I would do it."

Carmen snorts softly, glancing down at the white tile floor a bit bashfully before looking back to you again. "And now you know what a freaking psycho I am, huh?"

You can see it, him retreating back into the mellow, unsure person he becomes when he's not manning an overflowing expo station, a broken freezer, and an entire staff of chefs. It's endearing how timid he is, like he almost doesn't really know himself or how he fits in anywhere outside the kitchen. "I don't think you're a psycho, Carm. I mean, I would be a little crazy too if I had what you have on my plate."

He just nods, still a little sheepish at your praise. Just like this morning, when you had caught him at the back door before opening, he doesn't know what to do with himself when you're around.

You break the silence by turning back towards your station. "I'm going to finish up here. I don't mind locking up if you don't want to stay."

Carmen watches as you lean forward onto the toes of your beat up sneakers to grab the paper towels off the overhead shelf and the hem of your hand cropped t-shirt rides up. His first instinct is to look away because the exposed flesh of your rib cage feels like something he shouldn't be seeing, much less staring at, but it's like he freezes out of panic and now he's looking at the tattoo just under your breast.

He stands there, mouth partially open to reply back to you, but it's like his tongue is numb in his mouth and he doesn't even remember what he was going to say anymore. And then it's gone, concealed again by the hem of your white t-shirt.

When you walked into the Beef two weeks ago, your tattoos had been strangely surprising to him at first. He hadn't pictured you like that in his mind—bronzed skin and tatted forearms and cherry glossed lips—just grunge enough to make anyone who passes you look twice. Now you're all he thinks about.

"Carmy. Carmy?"

You're staring at him, head cocked to the side, brows furrowed in confusion and—God, he wants to kiss you.

"Are you oka—"

"Can I kiss you?" He blurts out the question as if he won't be able to finish it if he doesn't get it all out in one breath. Like he knows that if he doesn't ask now he's never going to have the courage to do it again, and he'll be stuck shoving down these feelings for you for the rest of his life.

When you stare at him, eyes wide, like a deer in the headlights, he knows he screwed up. His stomach drops and—fuck, he really needs a Tums right now. He looks away, hand reaching to his hair, eyes darting to the ceiling because he can't take the embarrassment of looking at you.

"I—fuck, I'm sorry. That was totally—um. I shouldn't have—"

"Shut up, Carmen."

"No, that was stupid of me. I—"

"Shut up so I can kiss you, you moron."

Stepping forward, your hand curls around the back of his neck, drawing him down to close the gap between the two of you. Even then you have to stand on your toes to reach him. Although the tense, anticipatory stiffness of his body against yours is screaming wait, you press your lips to his before he has the chance to back down.

It's everything that a first kiss should be—hot and sweet and a bit awkwardly reserved. You can tell he’s nervous. Nevertheless, you can't help the hum that escapes you at the feeling of his plush bottom lip pressed between your own. If given the choice, you’d never pull away from the warm taste of his mouth.

Carmen's breathing heavy, heart pounding in his chest, hand pressing into your back, pulling you closer as he kisses you impossibly harder. He's never kissed a girl before and he decides then and there that he never wants to kiss any girl that's not you.

It’s not clear which of you pulls away first—coming up for air more than anything—but it leaves you both nose to nose, mouths still inches from each other, still sharing the same air that you would had your mouths been connected.

“Carmen?” you ask softly, nose brushing his as you speak. You can feel his heart beating against his chest.

“Yeah?” he replies in same breathy tone.

“Did I mention I really like it here?”

[leclerc-s]

the blue - part six

masterlist previous next

amelia holland WHY IS SINGAPORE SO FUCKING HUMID???

sam holland YOU'RE IN FUCKING SINGAPORE?? YOU WERE ONLY HOME FOR A WEEK BEFORE FLYING OFF TO ANOTHER FUCKING COUNTRY!! THE WHOLE POINT OF YOU NOT TOURING WAS FOR YOU TO BE HOME??

amelia holland BUT MY MAN IS IN SINGAPORE??

sam holland YOUR MAN?? WHO THE FUCK IS YOUR MAN??

amelia holland lewis hamilton duh

harry holland she's so real for that tuwaine barrett that's a mood

harrison osterfield are you officially dating oscar yet?

tom holland why do you want to know? you have a girlfriend.

harrison osterfield not anymore. we broke up.

zendaya oh for fucks sake.

amelia holland i am. i have been since monza.

harrison osterfield oh. never thought he was your type.

amelia holland and what did you think my type was? you?

sam holland WOAH WHAT? AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO DOESN'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING BETWEEN THOSE TWO? tuwaine barrett god sam, get with the program. harrison played with your sister's heart. cheated on his girlfriend with her, emotionally, for months. listen to the love is embarrassing ep to get it. sam holland HE'S THE WEIRD SECOND STRING LOSER? HARRISON WHEN I FUCKING CATCH YOU IT ON SIGHT BITCH!

tom holland YOU'RE OFFICIALLY DATING OSCAR?? OH MY GOD FUCKING FINALLY!

harry holland SHE'LL FINALLY STOP TELLING US ABOUT HER STUPID CRUSH!

amelia holland DON’T TELL MUM! I WANT TO TELL HER MYSELF!

tuwaine barrett BABY HOLLAND FINALLY GOT A BOYFRIEND!! THIS IS CAUSE FOR CELEBRATION!

sam holland DO NOT ENCOURAGE THIS TUWAINE!

tom holland STOP ACTING LIKE YOU DON'T LIKE THE GUY!

SINGAPORE 2023

ameliaholland posted new stories

singapore, you're great but why are you humid?? i'm dying over here.

spotted at a restaurant in singapore. will this be the week red bull loses? god i hope so. sorry max, i still love you, please don't hate me.

singapore, you're beautiful.

oscaroo! have some decency man!

ameliaholland posted new stories

if anyone spots this loser please tell him we got lost. we need help getting back to the hotel and we don't fucking know the name of the hotel!!

BESTIE GOT P2!! LANDO'S ON THE PODIUM! (not congratulating carlos because he thinks he's lando's bestie, clearly it's me)

WOAH! THAT'S MY BESTIE!!! LET'S FUCKING GO!!!

JAPAN 2023

amelia holland HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! GUESS WHO'S IN FUCKING JAPAN??

tom holland daniel?

amelia holland SEBASTIAN VETTEL! I GET TO MEET SEBASTIAN FUCKING VETTEL!!! OH MY GOD! SOMEBODY SEDATE ME!!

sam holland WHAT THE FUCK!! SOMEONE GET ME FUCKING TICKETS TO SUZUKA! I HAVE TO BE THERE!

tom holland LIFE ISN'T FAIR!!

zendaya you three truly are children.

amelia holland IT'S SEBASTIAN FUCKING VETTEL Z!! HE'S A LEGEND! THE ONLY THING THAT WOULD TOP THIS WOULD BE MEETING MICHAEL SCHUMACHER!!

harry holland you can meet his son? mick? he's mercedes reserve driver

amelia holland OH MY GOD YOU'RE RIGHT!!

harrison osterfield are you going to end up dating mick too?

tom holland dude, what the fuck?

amelia holland no because i'm not you. i don't cheat on my significant others asshole.

tuwaine barrett YOU'RE MEETING SEBASTIAN VETTEL??

tuwaine barrett also, what the fuck harrison?? stop being a fucking dick??

tuwaine barrett you weird second string loser

harry holland FOUL!!! get you're fucking shit together osterfield. hop off my sister's dick.

zendaya anyways, tell the boys i say good luck this week!

amelia holland lando just let out the most unholy screech i've ever heard because and i quote "zendaya fucking coleman just wished us good luck."

amelia holland charlie is being salty because he wasn't wished good luck by zendaya.

harrison osterfield charlie?

tom holland i wish him luck!

amelia holland he says he'll blame you if he ends up lower than 5th.

tom holland WHAT THE FUCK? I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS??

amelia holland GET YOUR OWN FRIENDS TOM!

tuwaine barrett GOOD LUCK TO MCLAREN THIS WEEK!

ameliaholland whoever said i would cry when oscaroo got his first podium, you were fucking right. enjoy the close up of me crying after i saw it happen.

view all comments

username girl we all knew this was going to happen. you cried in japan when lando got p2

↳ username not to mention she cried when she met seb

↳ ameliaholland okay no need to call me out guys i get it.

tomholland2013 YEAH! GO OSCAR!

↳ username we love a supportive brother-in-law!

landonorris you straight up bawled your fucking eyes out. charles was concerned you were going to be dehydrated.

charles_leclerc i expect this sort of enthusiasm when i get a win or podium

↳ ameliaholland honestly just get a p3 with that fucking tractor and i'll cry tears of happiness for you.

zendaya i believe i am the reason for this

↳ oscarpiastri i think you are, please keep sending good vibes our way

↳ landonorris we couldn't let you down

↳ username WE ARE THRIVING HERE AT MCLAREN BECAUSE THE ZENDAYA SENT GOOD VIBES OUR WAY

mclaren admin is worried, are you okay ms.holland?

↳ ameliaholland i'm fine, oscar gave me a bunch of water

samholland1999 ROOKIE OF THE YEAR! (sorry logan)

↳ logansargeant no i get it, i have him saved as rookie of the year on my phone (i lost a dare)

↳ ameliaholland i told you not to bet against me and here you are looking like an idiot on my instagram comments

↳ username i want to know what this bet was

tuwaine YEAH! WHO KNEW SENDING GOOD VIBES MCLAREN'S WAY WOULD LEAD TO THIS?

ameliaholland posted a new story

seen by hazosterfield, landonorris, logansargeant and others

uber driver 10/10

¡leclerc-s speaks! VEGAS QUALI HERE WE GO! (i am not excited for this)

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

[saekkas]

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆

summary: in a different universe, michael kaiser comes home to you, and every single hardship he's endured has meaning when you wrap your arms around him. in this one, he has only himself to blame for when his house becomes a shadow of the home he used to live in.

tags: f!reader, kissing, angst (minimal comfort), lovers to strangers, neglectance, second chances, fools gold.

wc: 1.8k

notes: inspired by an angsty ask @mirahua sent that's been plaguing my mind for the past week. also, my debut as an angst writer so pls go easy on me ಥ_ಥ and the tags kind of sort of don't make sense, forgive me for that </3

"i'm home," kaiser whispers, opening the door to his apartment only to click it shut a few seconds later, his eyes fighting to keep themselves open.

he leans against the door, taking in the wide space. everything's dark and still, there are no signs of life, as to be expected when one comes home at 4AM.

he sighs, passing by the books and empty mug you must've used earlier in the day. some of his stuff is cluttered around yours, like the small sanrio plushies he bought with you only months ago. they occupy the sofa along with your pillows, and he smiles sadly at the sight. where did the time go?

even with so many trinkets and things littered around, his house feels empty. lonely as if no one's lived in it for weeks and months. his steps falter as he enters the kitchen to find a portion of a home-cooked meal, sitting on his favorite plate. it's cold but it still glows with the warmth and love you prepared it with.

he sighs once more, rubbing his hand across his face. putting the meal into the fridge with shaky hands, kaiser's quick to drop onto one of the chairs.

he stops for a second, looking around his house, the place he's lived in for the past 3 years. something's changed within the space, like there's an object that doesn't belong between the four walls. deep in his heart, kaiser wonders if it's him.

fishing his phone from his pocket, he takes in the messages that start to trickle onto the screen. it's been on airplane mode the whole day, a habit he needs to break, you've once told him.

his thumb lingers above your contact.

scrolling through, his eyes take in every single text you've sent him dating from months back. he sees the way they started; love filled descriptions of your days mixed in with questions about his own. reading the text you've sent today, he feels a pang go through him at the lone message. good night. get home safe. nothing else.

his hand clenches around the table, sadness turning into guilt that spreads like a plague when he realizes he's barely replied back to any.

this has been his life for the last 9 months. he wakes up, leaves for practice, comes back sometime around dawn, only to repeat the next day. his muscles scream at him every second, his shoulders groaning under the weight of exhaustion. it's the price one has to pay for the fame and fortune, kaiser tells himself.

self-assured as he makes himself out to be, kaiser isn't stupid enough to leave things all to fate. he may be a star striker now, one that has everyone vying for his time and attention, but who knows what will come in the next few years.

there will always be new talent, people with incredible skills and the greed to propel them into stardom. into taking his place. he knows because he's seen it before. been it before.

as the clock sounds to signal a new hour, his vision starts to blur. everything is starting to feel foggy, his head pounding and body screaming at him for sleep. he can't quite grasp anything. not when there's a distance separating him and the world around him.

"mihya?" comes your voice, soft and slightly raspy. kaiser snaps back into focus, the ringing in his ears dulling into background noise. "you're home."

"hi, baby." you're swaying on your feet, one of his shirts around your body. he recognizes it to be one of his favorites and he almost chuckles at the sight if not for the lump that's appeared in his throat. "shouldn't you be asleep? did i wake you up? i'm sorry if i did.'"

the first thing that comes to mind is how delicate you look. as if one wrong move, one wrong word is going to push you into a shell. he takes in everything about you, starting from the messiness of your hair to the slump of your shoulders.

he hasn't seen you. hasn't had the opportunity to breathe you in like he used to. those night when he traced every single one of your features, giggling loudly with you in the dead of the night seem so far away now.

he misses it, those moments you shared from who-knows how many nights ago.

when you rub the sleep out of your eyes, looking at him with a small smile, his trance breaks. he takes in the distance between you both, like a chasm that's gaping and mocking him because he was the one who let it widen this far.

"you didn't. i just needed to pee," you say, tone just barely above a whisper. there's something floating between you two, the things unsaid. you're afraid they'll come pouring out if you break the silence. "how was practice?"

kaiser realizes, even when you're right in front of him, your presence feels like a ghost. hesitant, locked up into a small ball of a person that's only being held together by hope and love, no matter how small.

"i'm sorry i didn't reply to your text." the words pour out of him like a waterfall, blunt and bruising. i'm sorry i haven't been with you. his eyes trace your form, and he sighs, moving to engulf you into his arms. "practice was.. busy."

please don't leave. please tell me that this is enough. that i'm enough.

"it's okay. i'm used to it." your tongue slips and you sigh as he wraps around you. it feels foreign, his touch. like he's not exactly the same person he used to be, but neither are you. "i'm sorry. i didn't mean it like that."

kaiser can only clench his eyes. he leans his head down to press a kiss to your forehead. "i know, it's okay. and i'm sorry."

i'm sorry i haven't been there for you. i'm sorry i haven't taken you out on another date. i'm sorry that i'm selfish and all i know is to take and take. i'm sorry that it's leaving you hollow and bruised. i'm sorry my love isn't enough.

the thoughts swirl, pinging around like warning signals going off in his head. he opens his mouth, only to close it right after. "let's go to bed."

even when the softness of his duvet embraces him, kaiser can't relax. his body stays stiff, timid as he waits for you to settle beside him. when you do, he's slow to reach out, placing a hand on your hip to test the waters.

he relaxes when you mold into his form, curling around his body as if he's never done any wrong. he presses you hard against his chest, wrapping his arms around your body.

he doesn't get to hold you like this anymore. between practice and exhaustion, whenever his head hits the pillow, he's out like a light. he misses the intimacy, the feeling of having someone beside him.

"do you think about me?" he hums, asking you the question. his hands nestle around your waist and back. he breaths in your scent, his body finally letting the coils of his muscles loose. "because it feels like i think about you every minute."

you respond in kind, caressing the hand that's nestled on your waist. you don't say anything. you don't need to, not when you let him kiss you for the first time in months.

"you know i love you right?" he whispers. there's nothing but him, him, him. you're surrounded by his presence, his touch is everywhere, and there's barely an inch between where you lay. his hair tickles your cheek, the faded blue molding into blonde. "and you know that i would never want to hurt you?"

you should know better. you wish your heart wouldn't give in so easily. you're nothing but an ordinary girl from humble backgrounds while the man wrapped around you is a shooting star that landed on your palm on a rainy summer day.

you should know better because shooting stars fade away.

"do you really?" you whisper, drained and tired out of your mind. "because you've done nothing but hurt me, mihya."

he isn't surprised by your words, but the truth stings all the same. he sighs, pressing his forehead against yours. the weight is back on his shoulders, his head starting to spin as he takes your words in.

"i promise i'll be better," he whispers back, pleading as he looks down into your eyes with tears lined in his. "why don't i take you on a date tomorrow? to that place you've been wanting to go."

"mihya," you trail off, shaking your head. "i-"

"i'll buy you flowers. i'll come home from practice early. we'll drive to the restaurant together." michael kaiser is nothing but greedy. the words that are flowing out are rushed, and his voice cracks under his own emotions. he'll say anything. he'll take and take, if it means he'll get you to stay. "you mean everything to me. i can't lose you."

you don't reply, not for a long time after. looking into his eyes, you process every bit of guilt and hope he has strewn inside. you wonder if they're enough to fix whatever's left.

"okay," you say with a hesitant nod of your head. "one last chance."

kaiser's eyes light up, brightening his whole visage.

"thank you." he kisses you, deep and passionate. there's nothing but you and him in the moment and as you fall asleep, kaiser whispers against your ear, placing gentle kisses on your cheek, wishing they'll be enough to take back every ounce of hurt he's given you. "i love you."

the next morning, kaiser leaves with a light heart and a kiss on his cheek. his steps are confident, his eyes bright. there's nothing in his head except for you and your date. he hums to himself, letting his thoughts roam about your reaction for when he surprises you with flowers when he gets home.

and yet, the universe is a cruel thing and so is his greed. kaiser loses himself in his practice, scoring goal after goal even as his phone rings. he doesn't see your texts of "mihya, don't forget our date tonight! can't wait!" "mihya, what should i wear? should we match?" "mihya it's getting late, where are you?" nor does he see the multiple missed calls you leave.

and when he gets home, soaked in rain with wilted flowers in his hand, kaiser is greeted by the sight of a truly empty house. your warm presence is gone, taking every moment of happiness with you.

he has only himself to blame for every single self-destructive habit that's led to him losing the one he calls home.

[hoverboards-and-dragons]

can we possibly get more michael and adam content, analysis/art whichever YOU HAVE GOT ME INTERESTED

Adam has a thing for Michael, he thinks Michael is fondly exasperated of him and all their arguing is sexual tension and flirty. Enemies to lovers and all that, Michael is a Challenge and Adam has been in Heaven a long time.

One - just to get out of the way; Michael is both some level of sex and romance repulsed.

Two; Michael just fucking hates Adam, vehemently, here's the itemized list of reasons.

Personal:

Loud and obnoxious with little respect for Heaven's customs, especially refusing to learn anything about Heavenborns's unique ways of life.

Michael was the original leader of Heavens armies before lending the title to Gabriel, Adam abuses Authority as a commander, that's Michael's Authority and troops he's disrespecting.

Adam general tendency to sleep around with angels, Michael's creations.

Will not leave him alone.

General least impressive of the og3, Eve and Lilith making him look worse through comparison.

Michael thinking Adam is just projecting Lucifer onto him, that he'll trip over himself to earn the favour of a first human 'like he did' either as the backup choice or for him to prove he can score just like Lilith did.

Constant off handed demeaning remarks. Insisting that its not gay since angels aren't gendered (despite Michael clarifying that most aren't but he very much is) it's not cheating if it's just 'you little God things' and other implications that Michael's 'kind' simply doesn't count.

Related, Adam's focus on his early role in creation and child of God status as if it makes him the most important person in every room while never acknowledging the same for the archangels, again as if you only count if you're human.

Impersonal projections:

Michael blames humanity in general for 'taking his brother from him', it would be worse for the first man himself.

Winners are the most difficult sector of Heaven for him to manage.

The archangels are pettily defensive over their Father, its why even the most serious and professional among them still call Him 'Dad,' He's more their Father than anyone else's. They were raised by Him, they'll never stray from His side.

Disliking Adam makes Michael feel like he's questioning his Father's choices.

His general superiority complex to 'the plight of man.'

AAAANNnnnnndddddd the big one. He is physically incapable of processing any of these emotions.

Angels cannot possess negative thoughts towards something beloved by the Lord, personal distaste yes, but not genuine contempt. As servants and messengers, Michael’s devotion to his Father binds him to serve Adam by extension, and protects Adam from malicious intentions.

This leaves those feelings float around untethered, compounding in on itself, and causing problems like mould spores in their chest.

He had to just, tolerate him, with all of this, for ten thousand years.

and Michael is bound by a few extra Commands around Adam because he would have just killed him otherwise. And everytime Adam is being annoying Michael mind strains against itself to express or solidify his hatred in anyway And He Can't.

And then he can.

the thrilling sequel to Michael going apeshit and hacking both of Adam's wings off the second he was broken free from the commandment to not cause Adam harm.

Also listing out everything wrong with him rapid fire, mocking him for his unearned title of first man when Michael is older than him, that he only got into heaven because he had a use not because he deserved to be or anyone wanted him and any other insecurity he could grab off the top of his head.

Losing restrictions suddenly can make angels weird sometimes, pulling at a leash so hard that when it breaks you go flying back.

[darling-i-read-it]

Reunion Part 2

Part 1  

Trevor Philips x fem!reader, Michael Townley x fem!reader 

Word Count: 3,4k

Warnings: general gta things, murder, the mission where tracey is auditioning for fame or shame, violence, heavy allusions to smut 

Author’s Note: Trevor Philips <3 Trevor <3 T <3 (also I don’t plan on continuing this idea but would love requests for this game if anyone has any :)) 

Tagging: (hope you guys don’t mind me tagging you! You showed interest in a second part and I finally was able to finish what I had <3): @pngxxx, @ugh-why-ugh, @raspberriesbbylol 

Summary: The reader and Trevor go to confront Michael.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

When he pulled up to Michael’s house it was with a slight amount of tension. You were more nervous than him. You had decided the two of you would crash at his friends place while you were away from Sandy Shores, though he made you swear you would go back to the trailer. You weren’t sure why he had fallen in love with the place but you were willing to oblige. You just wanted him to shower first. 

“So this is where Michael Townely is living out his days,” Trevor grumbled. He shut the car door aggressively. You crossed your arms. There was a car in the driveway. You wondered if it was his or Amanda’s. Maybe the kids. They would be so old by now. The last time you had seen them they were just little ones, running around, finding personalities. 

“Michael Townely leaves the door unlocked,” you noted as you pushed the front door open. 

“Fuckin rookie.” 

Trevor pushed past you. You could hear the buzz of a conversation happening in the other room. You followed him as he followed the noise. 

“Stop it you two! You’re ruining my fucking yoga!” You recognized the voice of Amanda. The shrill was hard to forget. 

“Somebody say yoga?” Trevor stepped forward. You remained back a bit, watching to see how they would react to him. Plus, you knew Trevor wanted his moment. There was a long stunned silence. 

“Trevor?” Michael asked. Even hearing his voice made you angry. You didn’t know how Trevor was holding it together. 

“Michael…” “Hey..it’s good to see you man.” 

“Hmm yeah I bet it is. ‘Course, I’m not the one that’s been resurrected.” You stepped into the room, causing another gentle stunned silence. 

“Nice house you got here Mikey.”

Michael had gone to your house. He had waited there and you never came. He figured you had skipped town at the very noise of something happening with the job but he should’ve known better. He should’ve known you would go to Trevor first. You would always go to Trevor first. 

Michael put his son behind him subtly. You tilted your head at the silent insult. You had held that kid the day he was born. 

“I got in a bit of an awkward situation.” 

“Hmm you’re telling me bro. One of those…fake your own deaths to your best buddy and then run off with the dough..live in a big mansion. Awkward. Situation.” Trevor approached him. Michael eyed you. If he had the capacity he would be stunned by the look of you. He had missed you so much. A part of him had even missed Trevor. Maybe he just missed the then. 

“That’s one way of looking at it.” 

“Yeah? Do you have any other ways of looking at it?” you asked. You crossed your arms, leaning against the wall beside a man who had an unnaturally large bun in his hair. You recognized the others in the room but not him. Maybe he was Amanda’s boytoy. You almost snorted. 

“It’s been a long time. I’ve been in witness protection, I still am.”

“Save the excuses Michael,” you argued. You pushed yourself off the wall. 

“Where are our manners!?” Trevor exclaimed. “We come waltzing in and don’t even say hi to old friends. Amanda, it is good to see you. I missed you. You used to be fatter. Nice new tits by the way,” he said, approaching her. She backed away as he walked forward. You eyed her evenly. He pointed at Jimmy. “Jimmy, you used to be thinner. But ah, can’t blame you.” He gestured to Jimmy’s parents. 

You stared, reminded of a life you could have had and never got. 

Trevor stopped at the man with the man bun. 

“Who are you?” 

“Namaste. I’m Fabien.” You snorted. Trevor turned to you.

 “You all remember Y/N! Except you Fabien.” You waved. “You know, she thought I was dead. I thought she was dead. I wonder who would’ve pushed that idea!” Trevor was standing in front of Michael again. You walked forward. 

“You look good Michael,” you mused. “Amanda, are you fucking Fabien? I’ve gotta know, I’m sorry.” Amanda gasped and tried to stammer out half thought up answer. Trevor interrupted her. 

“Where’s Tracey?” 

“Jim, where’s your sister?” Michael questioned. 

“Uh..um…uh she’s..she’s trying out for TV.” Everyone turned to look at him. The tension dissipated. 

“She’s what?” Michael asked. 

“Yeah, she’s auditioning for Fame or Shame.” 

“The fuck you talking about?”

“You know, it’s that talent slash skill show. She loves it, you guys know that.” “What’s her talent?” “Dancing.” 

“Oh Christ, she’s a horrible dancer.” 

“She might disagree with you on that.” 

“Jesus Christ, now. Now? Where?” 

“Um..the Maze Bank Arena.” 

Trevor jumped into the father son conversation. 

“Our little Tracey being humiliated, let’s go. We go get her.” 

“We?” Michael asked. 

“We,” you agreed. “You gonna stand there and argue while your daughter becomes a national laughing stock? You’re worse than I thought.” Michael held your eye contact. 

“Fine.” 

-

You grabbed Tracey, who was ecstatic to see you and Trevor until she wasn’t. Then you followed some dick head through Los Santos. Trevor punched him, stripped him, then recorded him doing some shitty dance. All regular Trevor things. 

“You comin’ babe?” Trevor asked, hoping into the front end of a semi. 

“I’ll meet you back at the apartment,” you promised. “I’ll have this asshole drive me.” You gestured to Michael.

“Don’t put any bullets in his head without me.”

��Yes sir.” 

“Don’t be long!” 

Trevor took a hard turn but before he left completely he leaned out the window. 

“Hey Michael!” 

“Yeah Trevor?” 

He leaned forward, a small smug smile on his face.

“She fucked me. She fucked me.” Nine years of that lingering question and there it was. There was the truth that Michael had been hanging off of. The way Trevor said it, he knew it was true. The eye roll on your face was too obvious. “See ya soon.” 

He drove away. You were left in his dust, in the Trevorless hole. You looked at Michael.

“That true?” he asked, like he didn’t know the answer. 

“Nine years. All our money. Death certificate.” He nodded slowly. 

“So you found the easiest psycho on the block?” Your jaw hardened. 

“I found my best friend.” Michael knew he was being hard on you. He shouldn’t be. You weren’t insane like Trevor. You were insane with Trevor. He might’ve been able to build a relationship with you if he had told you he was alive sooner. 

You were offended. Michael was acting like he hadn’t just waltzed back into your life after being resurrected. He had no right to judge you and Trevor. 

“I thought you were dead,” you told him. He nodded once, gesturing to the car. You got in the passenger seat. There was something to be said about you trusting him enough to drive you around. He could cap you and leave you, you knew that. He was capable of it. But he wasn’t going to, not now that he finally got you back. 

“I couldn’t exactly tell you I was, after it all went down.” He started the car. 

“Where are we going?” 

“I ain’t taking you back to Trevor if that’s what you’re asking.” You rolled your eyes. He avoided your question. “I knew you were out there, I figured Trevor was. I knew Lester was. It was better for everyone if I stayed dead.” 

“Brad went to jail.” Michael gave you a side eye. You squinted at him, confused. Finally your eyes opened wide in realization. “They killed Brad.” 

“Brad died,” he said, like it was any better. 

“Who is in that jail cell?”

“No one.” Your mouth dropped a bit in amazement. All this time, the grave you had been mourning at was not Michael’s but Brad’s. You felt a pang of guilt. He deserved your grief all this time. You looked straight ahead. He was driving through the heart of Los Santos. 

“Damn,” you muttered. “Still can’t believe you’re alive Mikey.” 

“Me too girl. Me too.” He took a sharp turn. “Thank you for helping me with Tracey. Not that I needed it.” 

“You had it handled, I know.” You rolled your eyes. You glanced over at him. Your Michael Townley, alive again. You shook your head. “Amanda seems happy.”

He scoffed. 

“You met Fabian. She’s clearly happy.” You snorted. 

“I never liked her and then Jimmy came along and…”

“Yeah well I wanted a family,” he admitted. “Fat lot of good it’s done me now. Both my kids hate me and my wife cheats on me. I’m back in the world of crime with my formally dead best friends.” “We were not the dead ones.” 

Michael thought of Lester’s words. 

She deserved better than both of you. But you have to know she would’ve always chosen him. 

He shook off the haunting thoughts. He didn’t let himself feel how much he had loved you. 

“I went to your apartment,” he said.

“Stalker.” 

“Yesterday,” he corrected. “I waited for you. I had Lester tell me where you lived and I waited,” he explained. “You never came.” 

“Yeah I think Trevor cleared that one up for you,” you muttered. “I was in a shitty trailer bed in Sandy Shores.”

“You were always welcome in my bed  in Rockford Hills.” You rolled your eyes. 

“Townley, you’re a married man!” He glanced over at you. You met his gaze. The joke hung in the air and slowly became more serious. You pursed your lips and a sense of melancholy went over his eyes. “What a life it would’ve been though huh?”

“It doesn’t have to be-”

“Yeah Mikey. It does.” Your voice was serious. The one you used during business. He pulled into the parking lot of the boardwalk. He wasn’t sure what made him come here. He just didn’t wanna go home yet. Kids passed in front of the car, going towards the rides. The car stayed running. “You died on me.”

“I’m not dead now.”

The look you gave him was not a forgiving one. You reached across the center console, grabbing his hand. You smiled sadly at him. 

“I gotta go.” 

“No you don’t.” 

“Yeah, I do.” 

For a moment he thought you were gonna kiss him. Your lips were so alluring and so close. The same lips he had fantasized about when he was still a kid technically, early twenties, filled with hormones. Your look was too fucking sad. He had gotten you back, your lips were right there. What had he always sworn he was going to do if he saw you again? Damn Amanda, damn Trevor? 

He kissed you. It was feverish. Fast, passionate, filled with years of tension. You kissed him back for a moment. There was a moment in that kiss, maybe longer than a moment, where it was all okay. It was the kiss he had always wanted and it felt as good as he had always thought it would. 

You pulled away and got out of the car. You didn’t speak, you didn’t break that moment for him. He was still leaning across the console when you left the car and he lingered there for a moment too long. You took out your phone, walked towards the amusement rides, and called a cab. 

-

You tossed money at the cab driver, enough for a tip as well. The driver left you quickly, back at his job just as quickly as he had come. You were grateful the drive wasn’t long. 

Michael’s lips still stained yours. You wanted to kiss Trevor. Bad. 

It wasn’t that the kiss with Michael wasn’t good. In fact, it was great. It was a good kiss with a guy you had once loved, with a guy you could’ve built a good life with. But now it tasted like betrayal and lost worlds.  

You didn’t bother knocking. The door opened slowly into the hallway. You could hear voices coming from inside the apartment. 

“Debra isn’t gonna like this,” Floyd said nervously. 

“Debra isn’t gonna like any of this. Don’t fuckin worry, I’ll make sure you’re man of the year in way of making girlfriends angry,” Trevor’s voice responded. When you turned the corner you could see Trevor was writing on the walls. The main entrance that had once said live, laugh, love, was now crudely covered with eat, shit, die. You recognized the handwriting. 

“I really would prefer it if you didn’t,” Floyd said. Trevor turned around to answer him, some sarcastic answer hanging on his lips. He didn’t say it when he saw you. His face immediately softened and whatever snarky comment he was going to say died in his mouth. 

“That was quick.” 

“Michael’s fast,” you muttered. He narrowed his eyes on you. 

“You didn’t-”

“No. No.” He nodded once. He felt relieved to hear that. You were his. He wasn’t gonna share you any more, he was sick of sharing you. 

“Do you think you could get him to stop?” Floyd questioned. You looked at the walls, covered in black markers. You shook your head. 

“He doesn’t have a leash.” 

“My girl.” He waltzed back over to you, cupping your cheek with his hand and kissing you. It was the kind of kiss you were wanting. You melted into it, not caring that Floyd was watching. 

Floyd wanted to make a comment about how you deserved better. But the way you leaned into the kiss was something Debra had never done for him. Maybe he could take some notes from Trevor. 

“I grabbed the guest bedroom. King bed.” 

“That’s Debra’s bed,” Floyd muttered, but neither of you listened. 

“That sounds fancy,” you admitted. You smiled up at him, happy to be back. It was like a dream. All of those fantasies you had about what life could’ve been had started to mold into this weird perfect situation with Trevor. “You test it out yet?”

“I wanted to wait for you m’lady,” he said, lowly. You rolled your eyes but it didn’t seem genuine with the smile on your lips. He put his hand on the small of your back. 

“Did you take a shower?” He was the one to roll his eyes this time. 

“You’re askin a lot of me doll.” 

“We need to go shopping too. I can get you all snazzy,” you promised. “I’ll steal some of Townley’s money to do it too.” 

“You had me at steal.”

He was like a love struck puppy. It read in his eyes. Trevor fell in love with every girl who gave him a passing look. This one was looking right at him, always had been. He was so exhilarated with winning the game he and Michael had played for so long that he couldn’t feel anything else except lust and love. 

“Shower.” He groaned, long, dramatic. 

“You wanna come?” Your smile was playful. You pushed him towards the bathroom. He took it as a no. His hands lingered on you for as long as you let him. “I’ll be five minutes.” 

“Scrub between your toes too T.” 

“Yeah yeah.” He walked into the bathroom, waving. He hadn’t brought clothes in with him. He would either walk back out in the same outfit, defeating the purpose of the shower, or he’d walk out naked. You walked to the guest bedroom and grabbed some clothes for him, feeling Floyd’s eyes on you. 

“How long do you think you guys will be staying?” he asked nervously. He could read Trevor but you were harder to understand. You seemed normal for the most part. He was worried you might blow up on him. 

“Hopefully not long,” you promised. You could hear the water running so you opened the door. 

“Ocupado!” Trevor called. You put his clothes on the sink. 

“Wear these.” 

“Is it lingerie?” You rolled your eyes and shut the door behind you. 

“I’m sorry we crashed like this. Been a long time since we’ve seen each other.”

“He doesn’t exactly care for boundaries does he?”

“Don’t say that too loud Floyd,” you joked. You looked around. Everytime you entered this apartment it was slightly dirtier. You wondered what would happen when Debra returned, storming through the door. “We’ll be out of your hair as soon as possible,” you lied. 

“Okay,” he muttered. He looked down at the table, smeared with pizza sauce and other substances he didn’t want to identify. 

“Sorry about him. He’s just kinda..like that.”

“So you two haven’t seen each other in a long time?” he repeated. You nodded once. 

“I thought he was dead. He thought I was dead. Life of crime is not for the faint of heart,” you said offhandedly. You wondered if you should run to your apartment and grab some clothes. You wondered how long Trevor planned on staying. 

“Yeah I don’t think I wanna be involved,” he explained. You shrugged. 

“Happens to the best of us.” 

You walked into the guest bedroom to look around for some clothes of your own to change into. You tossed your phone on the sheets, noting the new contact in it. Michael De Santa. There was a text from him. 

You looked at it from afar, like reading it through a squint would make it less real. 

It doesn’t have to be like this. 

That was it. He knew it had to be like this. You had told him. You had a text from Lester as well. His faceless contact made your phone screen bright. 

It’s safer to stay out of this, was all he said. You rolled your eyes. When had you ever cared about how safe something was? Your bullet wound in the shoulder ached with the memories. You didn’t like being warned or being persuaded. You turned your phone around. 

The bathroom door opened. You were standing beside the closet, moving aside some of Debra’s things. Thankfully she seemed to have brought most of it with her, wherever she went. 

Trevor walked into the room, closing the door lightly behind him. You met his eyes. He was clean, wet from the humid water. Finally wearing clean clothes, sweatpants and a shirt. He dipped his head to kiss you like you were giving him his last breath. 

“I wanna get married,” he muttered against your lips. He was leaning against the bed, his back legs flush with the sheets. You laughed. “I’m serious. It’s been too long. We would’ve done it ages ago.”

“Slow down cowboy.” 

You gently pushed him onto the bed. He looked up at you with the most devoted eyes. You straddled him, pushing your hair so it was out of your face. 

“Aren’t you wanted by the FIB?” you questioned. “You think they’re gonna sign our marriage certificate?”

“We can get an Elvis. Get drunk. Have a month long honeymoon.” His eyes wandered your body. His body reacted quickly to you being on top of him. The thought was alluring, you couldn’t lie.

“Okay,” you breathed, kissing him. “Later. We have all the time in the world now,” you promised. “I just wanna stay right…here.” He moaned as your lips nipped his ear. 

“Whatever you want.” 

[wntrs0ldier]

An Offer · part 07

pairing: mob!bucky x reader words: 4,5k warnings: typical mafia (dark themes, language, violence, etc.), bucky saying (a lot of) things, + from now on you can expect a smut any moment, so, unfortunately, i won’t be putting that warning >:)

series masterlist

series summary: When your father dies, the only thing you can do for your family and the empire he built, is to marry a powerful man.

Having sat not far away from Michael, you fixed your gaze on the surface of the small table where your family – when it was still together – used to eat breakfast every morning. Now it was just you, your dead father's advisor and the promise of a better life.

“When?” you asked, but weren't sure if the words had actually left your mouth or if they had only echoed in your head. You lifted your eyes from the tabletop and looked at Michael, your forehead furrowed. The whole situation still seemed too surreal to you. “When did he make the offer?” 

The day had basically just begun, and you doubted that Bucky had paid Michael a visit during the night. If he had actually done so, you would have been slightly disappointed; after all, he would still have been a bit tipsy at the time, which would have undermined the sincerity of his intentions. In fact, there was no reason to consider this sincerity at all. You didn't understand. You didn't understand one bit of what was going on.

“He showed up at my door shortly after six in the morning,” Michael answered, therefore turning your stomach into knots. “He looked so ill I thought he was in a hurry before letting out his last breath. As if this offer was to be his last breath.” 

Feeling burning under your eyelids, you closed them and gasped heavily. “What, um…” You rubbed your forehead nervously. So far you thought you had managed to rest after last night, but now you felt exhausted; tired from all the unexpected turns you were experiencing. “What now?”

“I will arrange a meeting with Timothy. And I think we'll both want it to be the first and last meeting, so we need to work together, you and I. Barnes have always been our friends, so they won't make uncomfortable conditions. They shouldn't,” Michael added with a tentative grunt. 

You nodded as a sign of acceptance of what he said, but in fact all this information flew through the middle of your head, going in one ear and out the other. “What about John?”

“I will notify John properly. For now, do not contact him.”

“But... How does this actually work? Bucky made an offer and John is suddenly cut out?”

“First of all, John Walker didn't exactly behave the way we call making an offer. If he had done that, you would most likely have been married a long time ago. He wanted to do it his way and he miscalculated.” Michael shrugged. “Second, let’s suppose those two would have made an offer at the same time. It all depends on what they have to offer. The Barnes deal is much more beneficial. Nonetheless, we have to approach it delicately and with respect. To avoid offending Alexander Pierce.” 

The creaking of the floor drew the attention of you both; you looked towards the kitchen entrance, where your mother stood. She had rarely left her bedroom lately, and you didn't blame her in any way. But perhaps you did resent her a little for the way she looked at you - coldly, with disgust even. She didn't say anything, which was probably the best possible option; you were afraid of hearing confirmation of what she thought of you. 

She backed out of the kitchen and most likely went back to her bedroom, and you tried not to think about the fact that your own mother couldn't even bear your company.

The sound of the engine quieted as you turned the keys in the ignition. Up until now, you hadn't given much thought to what you would say or do when you saw him again, but with the Barnes’ house in front of you, your destination began to weigh on you. And this time you also experienced that need to escape, completely ignored by your frozen-in-place body. It was making it clear that there were only two choices – facing it and seeing Bucky, or staying in that car. A quiet retreat and going home was not an option.

Having stood in front of the massive stained-glass door, you pressed the bell button; you heard its sound spread through the interior of the building. You used the time you waited for a response to take a brief look around; the cloudy sky heralded rain.

Mary opened the door. “Oh. Hi,” she said somewhat hesitantly. Which, by the way, was a bit strange, since, seeing you for the first time, she was able to bluntly call you pretty. 

“Hi.” You forced a smile as you didn't particularly feel like it. “Is Bucky home?”

“Yeah, he’s in the garage-”

“At the back of the house.” You nodded. “Thanks.”

Walking in the same direction as before, you were completely immersed in your own thoughts; amazed at how much chaos was hidden in that void inside your head. 

When you reached the garage and saw the creamy Chrysler again, you let the air out of your lungs. At first glance, there was no sign of Bucky anywhere, and a warm sense of relief embraced you, since you didn’t have to confront him – even if that's what you came here to do. And then he leaned out from behind the car; draped in the cool shadow of the garage, he gazed at you with confusion on his face. 

Michael was right; pale, with dark circles under his eyes, Bucky looked ill. Besides, you didn't pay much attention to it, but were sure he was wearing the same dark shirt as last night; only this time untucked, with the sleeves rolled up and a few buttons opened.

“Y/N?” he spoke, as if without certainty or trust towards the fact that you were actually here. Even though he had the proof in front of him. He cautiously walked closer, but didn't dare step outside the garage, still leaving you a huge amount of space.

You watched his face and were able to tell that he was tired; beyond the obvious signs, there was a distraction lurking in his eyes, often coupled with exhaustion. “So, this is how you interpret ‘disappear’ and ‘leave me alone’, hmm?” Your tone was calm, without even a trace of meanness. “You decided I should be your wife when you saw me with another guy's tongue in my throat?” You wince slightly at the mere memory.

Bucky looked away and laughed quietly. He shook his head. “It crossed my mind when you said my name for the first time.” He looked at you, his lips pursed in a slight smile. “When I was leaving your house that night, and you called me. I don't think I've ever heard anything so heavenly in my life. I fell in love with that sound,” he confessed. Your heart jumped, making you wonder when it would get used to Bucky. “And with that sight. Of you in your little nightgown, barefoot, in the rain... And then you asked if I take part in this whole marriage thing, and I remembered what a piece of shit I am.” His smile turned sour. “Anyway... Being part of the most powerful Family in New York has its drawbacks. Someone is always trying to throw you off that fucking throne…” Bucky sighed with weariness.  “I thought I… like you too much to put you at risk. Two years ago I would have been first in line for your hand, but when my dad died-” He paused for a brief moment; lowered his eyes and wet his lips nervously. “I stopped believing in the immortality of my name. I couldn't be responsible for you.”

You stared at him almost stunned by the sincerity and softness that flowed from his words, from him himself. “Why did you change your mind?” you asked barely audibly.

“It's a…” He gasped heavily, closing his eyes for a moment. “Complex decision,” he added, then pressed his lips together. Bucky looked at you again. “Maybe I'm a piece of shit, but no worse than Rumlow or Walker. And if these two were so close to making a deal, it just as easily could have been me.” He shrugged helplessly. “And everything you told me last night? Shit, I couldn't just ditch you like that.” His eyebrows drew together, his expression softened. “And-” Bucky stopped, as if he didn't quite know whether he should go on. You didn't interrupt him, letting him know that you wanted to hear every thought wandering through his mind. “I didn't want to lose you just because I was a stubborn asshole.”

You watched his face carefully; every part of it, every muscle that just happened to twitch. You feared that, despite all the affection you had for him, you would resent Bucky for delaying so long. But the truth was that he didn't owe you anything; you weren't surprised that he didn't want to get married – if it hadn't been for your Family, you wouldn't have decided to do such a thing either.

“You don't want this marriage, do you?” you asked without blame. Even though you knew the answer, you wanted to set the record straight. You didn't need uncertainty about what Bucky was feeling.

However, Bucky himself seemed to lack this certainty either. His forehead puckered, his eyes darted away from yours and wandered somewhere, as if chasing for an answer. “I still think marriage is not for me,” he said carefully. “But since I stepped into your life, I can't get out. Getting used to your presence in my own was the easiest to do, I-” He took a shaky breath. Not only could you see that he was not in the best shape; you easily gathered this from his attempts to put together a sentence. However, you were unable to get impatient. “Having you around, being with you… It feels good. Familiar.” Having nibbled absently on the inside of his lower lip, he looked at you again. “So I don't mind having you around all the time. For the rest of my life.”

Intimidated by everything he said, by the softness and tenderness beaming from him, which you didn't expect – mainly because of how he had presented his relationships with women not so long ago – this time it was you who looked away. Your heart would have jumped out of your chest, cracking your ribs in the process, if you had held your gaze on Bucky for a moment longer. 

“Thank you,” you finally spoke, lifting your eyes tentatively back to his. “I won't make this any harder for you than it has to be. And I’m not going to be cranky, I promise.”

He laughed weakly. “Promise me something else,” he asked, looking at you with a soft smile. “You’ll be my partner, my ally, my wife. Not a person in my debt. It’s not like you owe me something. Alright?”

“Alright.” You nodded gently. 

Neither of you dared to cover even a millimeter of the distance separating you – you stood like that, watching each other; without the need for further conversation, without mutual expectations of who would make the first move. You had your future husband in front of you, and although you still felt a bit lost in this whole bizarre situation, there was not a shred of anxiety in you like there was with John. Bucky was right – it felt good, familiar. Was he supposed to be good to you? You had no idea, but this lack of knowledge did not frighten you.

Suddenly, you felt something cold, wet on the top of your head, face, neck; the rain promised by the cloudy sky, in its own way pleasantly refreshing.

“I should get going. Before it starts to rain for good,” you clarified quickly. “I don’t want to drive when it’s pouring.” 

“Yeah, sure,” he replied with understanding. You were relieved that he didn't treat it as an excuse to run away. 

Bucky left the garage. You expected him to stay so he could continue working on the Chrysler, but he didn't – he decided to walk you, even though he didn't have to. Smiling to yourself, you quickened your pace and eventually caught up with him.

“You haven't told me how it is with you,” Bucky began as you walked side by side. The rain did not rush you; its almost faint intensity allowed you to take this short stroll. “How do you feel about the whole thing?” 

You glanced at Bucky, but immediately looked down, focusing on your own feet. “I'm not as scared as I was before. Maybe I wouldn't even call it scared, but nervous? And that's normal if there's a wedding involved, I guess,” you added without being quite sure who you were trying to comfort. “It's still not an ideal scenario,” you continued, this time more seriously. “But I'm glad it's you. Really.”

Bucky kept his gaze on you for a little longer, but you were unable to fully decode his thoughts. “I'll get the best deal for you. When they’ll be putting the agreement together,” Bucky said. “You know that, right?”

“I knew you wanted the best deal for me when it came to the agreement with Rumlows,” you answered after a moment of hesitation. “But now it's your Family, Bucky.”

“Yeah…” He sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead. You didn't suppose it was possible, but he seemed even more tired than before. “Don’t worry. I got this.” 

That much was enough; those few words from his mouth to actually make you feel calmer. 

You got in your car, Bucky held the door for you, then closed it. You looked out through the rolled-down window. 

“Hey, uh…” he began, scratching nervously behind his ear. “Maybe we should go to marriage therapy or something..?”

Your eyebrows rose involuntarily. “Marriage therapy? We aren't even married yet,” you pointed out. Nonetheless, you felt a pleasant pinch somewhere in your stomach; some familiar jump in your chest. 

“I really don't know how all this works.” He winced. “I don't want to screw it up.”

“Don’t worry. I got this,” you repeated his earlier words, winking at him. Although you weren't an expert yourself, Bucky didn't need to know that. “That's really sweet of you. That you want the best,” you added affectionately. You couldn't let Bucky feel embarrassed by his – not stupid, by the way – suggestion. “But I think you should get some sleep, it will do you good. Even Michael noticed that you look awful.”

“Well, Michael is not my type either.” He lifted his eyebrows with conviction. You snorted a quiet laugh. “But if you think that too… That changes everything.”

You squinted, an indulgent smile remained on your lips. “Wow. That was smooth.”

“Thanks,” he said with theatrical pride. Amused, you rolled your eyes and started the engine, causing Bucky to step away from the car. “Text me when you get home.”

“I won’t. I don't want to wake you. Because you'll be sleeping, right?” you asked, pushing the button that made the window start to close. Bucky smiled through tightened lips and shook his head disapprovingly.

As the day was drawing to an end, combined with the tousled clouds, the sky resembled shreds of pink cotton candy. 

First to get out of the black SUV was Bernie; a big, tall man. Generally, you and Michael shouldn't need a bodyguard on a friend's territory, but getting one was more of a pure procedure. The car was then exited by the driver, for all intents and purposes also a bodyguard; he opened the door for you and offered his hand, helping you out of the higher than usual vehicle. The current situation was reminiscent of the one a few weeks ago, when you were about to meet with Rumlows. The striking difference, however, was that now you didn't feel like you were on death row.

Timothy's house was almost as large as the Barnes mansion, but you didn't give it much thought; even though perhaps you should, that evening you didn't feel like being inquisitive. All you noticed was that the mansion was situated in a more wooded area; there were mostly conifers growing around, and some of the elements outside - such as the big, decorative stones in front of the house – were covered in yellow pollen, indicating that the pines were in bloom.

Michael rang the doorbell and it wasn't long before the housekeeper invited you inside. The decor was dominated by gloomy colors and dark wood; the interior reminded you of a cave. 

You stood nearby the entrance to a huge room, presumably a ballroom after removing an already small amount of furniture. On one of the walls was a huge mirror; in fact, it seemed as if the whole wall was a mirror. Being too far away, you couldn’t get a good look at yourself, but – details aside – had a good view of your entire figure. Michael had mentioned that Barnes had made sure the meeting would be elegant, almost solemn; now you understood better why Bucky had reacted with such contempt towards the fact that Brock had invited you to the pub. And since the talks were also going to be different in terms of the setting, you decided to wear a knee-length satin dress, with thin straps and a cowl neckline. The color of the dress was no accident – blue, like Bucky's eyes.

“Follow me, please,” the housekeeper addressed you and Michael with a polite smile. It was then that the stress began to get to you; walking behind the woman, you listened to the clatter of your own heels, so as not to think about what might await you.

The housekeeper led you to a dining room. It was pretty clear that you would see Timothy, but to your surprise, there was also Steve Rogers, sitting next to him at a long table. The one you couldn't find anywhere around was Bucky, causing the panic you were feeling to grow to enormous sizes. Were you supposed to handle it yourself? Or did he give up completely?

Warm hands touched your shoulders a little above the elbows, and embraced them gently with fingers. You immediately looked back, but before you did, a familiar scent of fresh laundry, mint and wet forest reached you, combined with a much more distinct hint of men's perfume and cigarette smoke.

“Hey,” Bucky said quietly, not wanting to draw the attention of the others. “Can I get through?” He raised an eyebrow. Indeed, you were standing close to the entrance of the dining room, yet far away enough that Bucky could easily get past you.

“I thought you'd changed your mind,” you whispered, making a step forward. Bucky took his hands and you turned to his direction. He was wearing a black, tailored suit and a shirt of the same color; he had undone the first two buttons under his neck, most likely allowing himself as much freedom as he could. His hair was tied up tightly in a bun; nevertheless, a few strands managed to escape. 

“I didn't. And not going to,” he claimed calmly. His mouth stretched in a lazy, shameless smirk. “You look like an angel.” 

You felt your cheeks grow warm with the blush spreading over them, but other than that, you didn't give away that the compliment had gone to your head. “Thank you. You're not so bad yourself.” 

“James,” Timothy spoke.

Bucky glanced at him, then returned his gaze to you soon after. “Come on,” he instructed, instinctively placing his hand at your lower back, which you didn't mind in any way. 

Shortly after, you took a seat at the table; just like at that meeting at your house, you and Michael on one side, Timothy, Bucky and Steve on the other.

Timothy opened the folder lying in front of him. Having pulled several copies of the document from inside, he gave them out one by one. “We have here those conditions which, after consultations, I considered most appropriate. However, we can still negotiate,” he turned to you. 

Everyone at the table had some idea of the mentioned conditions; the agreement was arranged without consulting you. And you had no problem with that, because the truth was you didn't know what you could ask for. Besides, Michael cared about your Family and your father's business, and Bucky promised you the best deal. 

Deciding not to waste any more time further delaying the moment which was going to happen anyway, you turned your gaze to the document in front of you.

(...) JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES hereinafter referred to as the HUSBAND, and Y/N Y/L/S hereinafter referred to as the WIFE.

These words were the first to catch your eye, and their meaning sent a shiver down your spine. You didn't pay much attention to the introduction, containing your and Bucky's personal data,  in addition, being a pure formality, but this one point was like a bucket of cold water. You were aware of the purposes of this meeting, but seeing the titles that were going to work not only on the paper, but soon in life, felt... strange. 

You ran your gaze lower, absorbing line after line of text.

The HUSBAND is obliged to do everything in his power to ensure the safety of the WIFE (...)

The HUSBAND possesses the funds due and is obliged to provide financial comfort to the WIFE. The WIFE is authorized to dispose of the HUSBAND's funds for her own purposes; the amount shall not exceed ...[add]... per month.

The WIFE agrees to transfer to the HUSBAND and the BARNES FAMILY control of her tangible goods, property, etc. including:

Sapphire Dune Casino, New York, State of New York;

Marble Aurora Casino, Atlantic City, State of New Jersey; (...)

A list of your goods and properties included everything Michael had talked about at the meeting with Rumlows – the casinos, shares in the stock market, arms dealing for Stark, the territory, the protection of businesses in that territory, political influence... Things you didn't know much about. Except for one you didn't find.

“What about my gallery?” 

“It's not a part of the deal. I've heard that you want it for yourself and I'm fine with that.” Timothy shrugged.

You knew it was to Bucky's credit; that he had done something you didn't have to ask him to do. Apparently he remembered that during your meeting with Rumlows, keeping the art gallery was your only requirement.

“And the real estates?” 

“We don’t need them,” Timothy stated right away. “They will be given to your mother and your sister, if you wish, of course.”“Yes,” you agreed, a bit caught off guard by Timothy's generosity. “It would be great.”

Any funds, property benefits, etc. resulting from the activities mentioned above shall be divided between the HUSBAND and the WIFE; 50% (funds/value of property benefits) for the HUSBAND and 50% for the WIFE.

The HUSBAND is obligated to inform the WIFE of all actions carried out on the goods and properties mentioned above. No final decision shall be made without the WIFE's prior consent.

Having read the elements of the contract that interested you most – mainly because you understood them without Michael's help – you pulled your gaze away from the sheet again and looked at Timothy. He slowly slid a pen across the table.

After signing the document, which was more of a pre-agreement – confirmation that you and Michael had seen all the points, you needed a change of scenery. At least for a moment.

Called by Timothy, the housekeeper brought alcohol and a small refreshment, and you took the opportunity to ask for directions to the toilet. Although it was time to settle the details of the wedding, you decided that they would do just as well without you.

You wet your hands with icy water, then placed them on the nape of your neck. Closing your eyes, you let out a heavy breath. If everything had become too real before, it was now beginning to take root in you.

You jumped, hearing a careful knock on the door. “Y/N?” You recognised Bucky's voice effortlessly, so without hesitation you went to open the door for him. “You okay?” he asked, visibly concerned. 

“Yeah, yeah…” You gasped.

“Come on.” He opened the door a little wider. “We're going to get some air.”

You nodded and left the bathroom. Bucky led you to the terrace doors, from where you walked out into the garden – unlike Winnifred's garden, the one belonging to Timothy consisted mainly of lawn and undemanding flowerless plants. 

The rigid material of the jacket rested gently on your shoulders. You glanced over at Bucky, who was left in just his shirt.

“Having lots of muscles must be great, huh? It is protecting you from the cold?” 

Bucky laughed. “Yeah.” Soon, however, only a light smile was left on his face. “Was that so bad?”

“Surprisingly good,” you objected. “Why is this deal so... perfect?” 

Slipping his hands into his pockets, he shrugged. “That's probably the only perfect thing that will come out of marrying a gangster.”

You tried not to think about this prophecy. “And Timothy just agreed to all this?”

“Yeah. As long as I know what I'm doing. He also said I’m doing it at my own risk, so…” 

As you lifted your eyes from the lawn and brought them to Bucky, you caught his gaze. He was studying you with calm, gentleness. 

“I need you to promise me one more thing,” he said. Although his face did not express anything threatening, you felt a slight uneasiness. You gave him a questioning look. “I'll be the best husband I can be, and I'll do anything you want me to do, but you have to promise me-” he paused for a brief moment. “If you ever love someone, I have to know. You will tell me.”

“Bucky-”

“Please,” he insisted, his voice cracking barely audibly.

Staring at him cluelessly, you let out a short breath through slightly parted lips. “Okay,” you gave up. “I’ll tell you. I promise.”

“Thank you. Now, stick your hands out,” he instructed. You frowned, but followed the command anyway. Bucky pulled his hands out of his pockets, one clenched into a fist, the other gently grabbed your left hand. He loosened his fist and inside it you noticed a small velour box; he opened it, revealing a ring. Gold, with a large gemstone in the shape of a pointed ellipse, and smaller stones surrounding it. “It was my grandma's.”

Hearing this, you reflexively pulled your hand back, but Bucky strengthened his grip. “Are you kidding? I can't take it!”

“You can. And you will.” He raised his eyebrows, got the ring out of the box and slipped it onto the right finger. “See? It fits.”

“You’re right,” you agreed, bringing your hand closer to your face to scrutinize the ring. “It's really beautiful,” you admitted honestly. “But are you sure it's a good idea? Giving a family heirloom to me?”

“I’m sure,” he claimed after some silence, but without the slightest hesitation. “From the moment we get into this marriage you will be protected by my Family. By my name. And by my own body,” he said with a strange calmness, while your heart was racing faster and faster. “You are the right person to wear this ring.”

“Oh, Jamie…” you whined. “Don't even say such things.”

“I don't have to say these things, and you know it.”

a/n: feel free to share your thoughts, they are more than welcomed 🥰

taglist: @goldensunflowe-r @nefri-black @vickie5446 @learisa @sjsmith56 @aya-fay @hhiggs @wishingwell-2 @buckysgirl01 @emily-roberts @prettylittlepluviophile @leaaa008 @itvy5601 @melsunshine @pattiemac1 @marvel-fandom23 @rabbitrabbit12321 @xsecretsirenx @heyyitsreign

[ingravinoveritas]

Just saw a post as well as a thread on Twitter about an incident that occurred at the stage door of Nye tonight and I am so sad and sickened to hear about this "fan's" behavior, both toward Michael and toward other fans. I've done many stage doors in the past (the most recent was going to see Ink on Broadway just before the pandemic) and seen a lot of entitled/unruly behavior from fans, but this woman and her mother barging into the bar, demanding a meet and greet, and then coming out and being horrific to other fans really takes the cake.

Michael works his ass off for endless hours to put on an amazing show every day/night. He gives 110% to every line, every step, every note in that musical number. Nye is a physically demanding play/role, and to get a show of that caliber from someone who is a master of his craft is more than anyone could ask for. Stage door--as lovely as it is, as fun as it can be--is not something he is required to do, especially when he's already feeling exhausted or under the weather. One thing the last several months have made clear is that Michael loves meeting fans--taking pictures, giving hugs, signing stuff, and just connecting with people. But the fact that this is not even the first time we've heard about fans going into the bar to bug him should be more than enough to give us all pause.

No one is entitled to Michael's time or attention. This particularly reminds me of an incident on Twitter a few years ago where one fan and their friends would not stop tagging Michael and demanding that he say something they wanted him to say. He'd been so incredibly giving and generous of his time with fans up until that point...and yet the second he drew a boundary, that fan and some others turned on him. Amazingly, that alone didn't put him off of engaging with the fandom entirely, but I have been in enough fandoms in my life to know that it is exactly behavior like this that will ruin things for everyone.

It also seems that Michael did come out following this incident tonight but had to leave, and he actually apologized to the nice fans who were still waiting (while apparently looking visibly upset himself). I know he apologized once before as well after a different fan went into the bar to get him, but we're beyond absurdity at this point. That Michael feels compelled to apologize for something that was not even his fault and especially after what that fan did absolutely breaks my heart, and is something that just should not be happening.

The run of Nye at the NT is nearly over, and I hope this won't put him off of doing stage door in the future (either for the remainder of this run or when it transfers to Cardiff), but I honestly would not blame him one bit if it did. What a loss it would be, though, both for the fans and for Michael...

[snipersfucker]

request from @infintyfandoms: Thought! Mirage is always so reckless, well what if one time he went too far and hurt his friend or s/o (either)?? I feel like he’d blame himself so bad - even if he was blind sighted by a distracted driver. Never drive crazy again or not drive around again or what??

angsty mirage x fem!reader times. thought of making it a headcanon thingy but nah. this one might need a warning that there are descriptions of serious injuries. and im also writing this on 0 hours of sleep thank you very much

A silver Porsche parked in front of the vinyl store you just walked out of was catching the attention of every passerby. Both men and women's eyes were stopping on the vehicle for a bit longer than they would on any regular car, their heads turning slightly to allow them to do that.

Mirage loved that. He loved transforming in different models everyday, the next one even more prestigious than the one before. Just to get that attention every single time.

You noticed a couple of teenage girls staring at your boyfriend, and even though you were fully aware they were doing so only because he was a good-looking car, you still rolled your eyes at it.

Your feet led you to the Porsche and you hopped in. Before getting the chance to point out the shameless staring of the group of teens, Mirage spoke up, "Whatcha got there?"

Your gaze had shifted to the vinyl case before you placed it down on the passenger's seat without much thought.

"Music," you responded casually in a light tone, putting your hands on the steering wheel, even though you knew Mirage would be doing the driving. "You got fans," you murmured under your breath but Mirage could obviously hear it. Your eyes landed on the girls again, and although you weren't particularly jealous, you still didn't appreciate it too much.

"Hell yeah, I do, baby," he said proudly, the grin in his voice palpable, even though you couldn't see it at the moment. And then, he added, a little bit more quietly as if he was saying this to the man who literally stopped in front of the car to admire him, "You wish you looked like that, huh?"

You let out an amused snort, and patted the gear stick with your palm to give him a sign to drive out of the parking lot. "C'mon."

"Let me honk at him," he'd asked for your permission seconds before doing it anyway without you allowing him to, causing the man to jump in his spot and then walk away. You just smacked the passenger's seat in disapproval, not even going on a rant about his behaviour because it was a daily occurrence for Mirage to do whatever he wanted.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, offended by your sudden reaction, as if he wasn't used to it, "I'm all for violence unless it's directed towards me," he muttered, sounding like an annoyed child. Then, without any warning, he revved the engine and drove out of the parking lot onto the main road. You only rolled your eyes without a word but then, you noticed how fast he was passing all the other cars in his lane, which he would usually cuss out for being slow, as if their owners weren't driving under the speed limit for safety reasons.

"Mirage…" you warned him, using his full name instead of a nickname, which he did not appreciate but decided not to speak on it and just change the topic.

"Jus' tell me it's not George Michael," he said with a short sigh, as if it was very important to him that it, in fact, was not George Michael.

"Mirage..." you warned him once again, ignoring his words, gripping the steering wheel with much more force now to hopefully get him to slow down.

"Nope," he said simply, understanding what you meant without you even having to say it. If he was in his humanoid form, he'd probably cross his arms on his chest and shake his head with that signature smirk indicating that he knew he was in control of the situation. "That's what you get for hitting your poor boy," he added, sounding very content with himself, revving the engine once more just to show you that he, in fact, was not planning on slowing down.

You scoffed. "You deserved it."

"For what?" he began talking in that specific, overly innocent tone, and you just knew he was going to say something sarcastic that would only annoy you even more, "For being so cute and funny?" He asked rhetorically, as if he wasn't aware that he really needn't have honked at that man, and then drive as recklessly as he normally would when you weren't inside him.

But he was very much aware. It was just that his pride didn't allow him to apologise.

"For being a little shit." You decided not to banter with him as per usual, but just to get straight to the point. Even though you were possibly risking starting an argument between you two, you just needed to reprimend him at the moment, especially now that you noticed how nonchalant he was about it.

"Ouch," he pretended to be hurt by what you just said. And although he wasn't actually offended, he still wasn't really in the mood to let you win.

So he sped up even more.

Noticing the opportunity presented right in front of him, the almost empty road ahead of you two, he floored the gas pedal, making you let out a short, quiet noise at the impact in which you got pushed back into the seat.

"What the fuck are you doing?" you asked him with anger in your voice, not raising it just yet, and not actually expecting a response. But you got one anyway:

"Takin' you on a ride date, baby," he answered sarcastically, his overly sweet tone making him sound even more annoying than before.

"Mirage, I—"

If he wasn't as sure in his abilities as he was, he'd never drive over three times faster than the speed limit allowed, never wanting to actually risk you getting hurt in any way.

And it wasn't even his fault, when a sport's car drove right into his left side, before you could even finish your sentence.

It wasn't his fault that the car ran a red light, that it was supposed to stop and wait for him to just drive away without getting thrown to the right by the impact.

It wasn't his fault that he was now rolling over for the fifth time, his roof and sides hitting the hard asphalt every single time.

You weren't even making any noises anymore so that he would know that you were with him, conscious, alive. He ignored the sound of his glass shattering, his metal body getting scratched, bent and painfully ruined, just to be able to hear your breath.

The other car was in a much worse condition, but he didn't care. The only thing occupying his mind was you, your heartbeat he would do anything to hear again. He needed to make sure you were still there.

He felt it all. He felt the pain that came with getting drove into by another car, with flipping over with unimaginable speed and force. But he needed to make sure you were alright.

And he couldn't even do anything to stop his worst nightmare from beginning to play right in front of his very optics.

Then, after a few moments that felt like hours to him, everything finally came to an end. The hiss coming out of him was still hearable, the hot steam, the liquid pouring out of his fual lines threatened to mix with the flames growing with every passing second. But it was finally quiet; no noise of metal hitting the asphalt distracted him from listening to your body.

His spark nearly exploded with relief when he heard the faint sound of your heartbeat. He wanted to transform, to be able to hold you, to get you out of him so that his bent roof wouldn't be pressing against your wounded head.

When people began to gather up around him, he realised he had a decision to make: to transform and risk getting hunted down just like it happened to Bumblebee, or to stay there and pray to Primus, pray to the people now surrounding him that they'd help you and make sure you were okay.

He wanted to scream at them to hurry up, to get you out, to make that heartbeat of yours sound more promising. To let him know that you weren't going to—

The idea of losing you forever crossed his mind for a split second before he could even stop it.

And it was his fault that he was going a lot over the speed limit, too distracted by the need to tease you, to win the argument, and show you that you had nothing to say in the way he was behaving.

It was his fault that there was crimson running down your forehead, the drops rolling past the hairs of your eyebrows, all the way down to your jaw, then staining your shirt with your own blood.

It was his fault that your body felt lifeless against his ruined upholstery, the only motion it was making was an almost undetectable rise of your chest every couple of seconds.

His train of thoughts got interrupted by the distant sound of sirens getting closer and closer to him. The people were talking, someone was yelling, it all making an irritating mixture of human noises he didn't need to hear at the moment.

Mirage felt his left door being opened or rather being torn out of him in a couple painful motions. He didn't care.

He just wanted them to take you away from him.

When he no longer felt your weight on his driver's seat, he almost let a sound of relief through his radio, but just now noticed that it's been ruined, making it impossible for him to do so. He hadn't paid attention to it earlier, too stunned to be able to say anything to you, even though your name and endless questions if you were okay wanted to escape him.

Cold liquid hit his hot metal body, the lower temperature of it somewhat helping him get in a clearer state of mind. Even though he felt deserving of being on fire, he appreciated the slight relief it gave him.

Somebody placed you on a stretcher, put you carefully in another vehicle, and then closed the door. He couldn't see you anymore but was sure the humans would take good care of you. Better care than he was able to offer.

The loud sirens hit his audio receptors before he registered the ambulance leaving the crash site.

And the sound was still bouncing against the interior walls of his helm every single day since the accident. The imagine of your limp body, his steering wheel covered in your blood, your head pressed uncomfortably against the remains of his left window...

Two whole weeks passed and he couldn't think of anything else but you. You in that horrible state he put you in himself.

The guilt was eating him alive, and even though he'd make Noah visit you everyday in the hospital to make sure your condiction was stable, he still couldn't help but beat himself up and be worried sick.

"Concussion, five broken ribs, broken arm and nose, and she was fucking bleeding from her liver, man," your mutual friend told him after leaving the hospital for the first time, after the doctors allowed anybody to visit you, even though you weren't conscious yet.

It affected Noah nearly as much as it did the robot. The only difference was that the human had no reason to blame himself for it, because it wasn't his recklessness that nearly killed you.

Mirage fell silent.

He got quiet, very quiet, unusually for him. Every Autobot he used to hang out with knew what happened, how much you meant to him, and how affected he was by the accident. They noticed the sudden shift in his behaviour, the once bubbly personality disappearing just so he could dwell in guilt in peace.

The thing that bothered him a lot among others was that he couldn't see you. He couldn't walk into the hospital you were being taken care of in. He couldn't sit next to you and tell you how painfully sorry he was for doing it to you, for putting you in danger, for hurting you so much your pain radiated off you body and made him feel it, too.

Noah insisted on repairing him, and he agreed purely because then he'd be able to park in front of the hospital to be as near you as possible.

But he was a wreck, both physically and emotionally.

And it still didn't change when you finally got discharged. He was not the one to pick you up from the hospital, it was Noah and Bee. He couldn't face you.

You asked about him when you woke up from the coma, your friend sitting next to you on the uncomfortable hospital chair only shrugging in response, telling you he didn't know anything about Mirage, where he was or how he was.

It was a lie. The robot was spending his time either in the garage, getting fixed by his only human friend, or out on the road, hoping that maybe, just maybe someone would crash into him again, making him feel that pain again. That pain he thought he deserved for harming you.

And when you insisted on Noah taking you to the garage to see him, after getting the information about his location out of the poor human, Mirage couldn't help but feel even worse than before.

You were alive, of course you were alive, but he also did notice the way you winced with every step, how dull the colour of your skin was compared to the times before the accident, how fragile you looked, standing there in front of him with Noah not leaving your side in case you'd collapse onto the floor.

You were alive, but also in so much pain he couldn't even look at you without feeling a strong sting in his spark.

His optics shifted to Noah in an instant, as if he was trying to bash him for taking you here, which he responded to out loud with his hands raised in a defensive gesture, "She threatened me."

You didn't even know what you were feeling at that moment. A mixture of sadness, annoyance, impatience, and hurt made you unable to say anything, forcing you to just stand there in silence. Suddenly, a short wave of pain washed over your right side, making you grimace and put your only free palm on the area surrounding your liver.

As soon as Mirage noticed your movement, he made an involuntary step towards you, his servos extended in your direction, as if he was trying to both comfort you and catch you if you were to fall.

Noah immediately asked, "You okay?" His eyes shifting between your hand on your side and your pained face. You just nodded.

Uncomfortable silence fell between the three of you, and the other human was close to replacing it with whistling just so that he wouldn't have to stand there awkwardly without a word.

"Imma just leave you two, yeah?" He scratched the back of his neck, his feet already leading him in the direction of the exit. "Jus'... scream if you die or somethin'..." he added, the awkwardness making him joke about things he normally wouldn't joke about.

And then, he left. He left poor Mirage with even poorer you. Alone.

You let out a grunt, making your way to the nearest chair to sit down. He was ready to help you with everything, but he didn't know if you even wanted him to, so he just stayed in his spot.

"You look bad," you commented, lazily motioning to his beaten-up body with your hand. The raspiness, the weakness in your voice almost made him drop to his knees.

He responded unsurely after a pause, a forced, unamused smirk on his face plate, "...You should see the other guy."

It was awkward. Awkward as never before, you two having always found it pretty easy to communicate with each other. But now... Now he couldn't help but feel that unpleasant feeling in his tank when you spoke up and made him say something back to you.

And it was his fault.

Your reaction to his little joke wasn't something you could control. A short, quiet chuckle left your mouth, causing you to grab your right side even more tightly and a wince of pain on your face to deepen.

She can't even laugh.

He felt so excruciatingly bad he had to fight himself not to transform into a car and just drive away.

You wanted to tell him that you've been told the other driver didn't make it. But you knew the war it would start in his mind if you shared that information with him, so you stayed silent.

"You look terrible," he muttered after a few moments of observing your body, as if to himself to comment on the damage he'd done.

You snorted, shaking your head in amusement. "That's exactly what every woman likes to hear," you responded, deciding that a little banter would be better than sitting without any words being exchanged.

Mirage's eyes widened slightly as he took a step towards you, his servos up in the air again in a specific gesture that indicated that he didn't actually mean it like that.

He had this tendency to make things worse with his words, and normally it wouldn't bother him at all, but this time it was you. He didn't want to make thing worse with you.

"No, no, you're pretty. Gorgeous, in my humble opinion. Walking perfection even," he wanted to correct himself, spurting word after word just to show you that he didn't want you to be mad at him. "Geez, I'm sorry," he added, bringing his servos to his face plate to cover it in... embarrassment.

Something new for him.

You shook your head, looking up at him with a small smile. "I do look kinda ter—"

Before you could finish your sentence, he said with much more confidence now, "...For everything."

He rarely apologised.

But you deserved to hear it. Even if you weren't ready to forgive him just yet, even if you were to never forgive him, he just needed you to know that he regretted it.

You frowned, opening your mouth to say something, but he interrupted you again, "Maybe I shouldn't have be the fastest car in Brooklyn that day. Maybe I should've listened to you and not be a little shit," he recalled the way you called him these few weeks ago, just minutes before the accident. With determination in his tone, he continued, "You can hate me, I can take it." But then, he changed his mind as soon as he realised he would prefer if you didn't hate him, "Actually. Hate me for the next three days at max. Please. If you don't want me to rip my vents out."

You snorted weakly once more, the movement of your body making you wince in pain again.

He finally found enough courage within himself to get closer to you. With a couple of steps, he kneeled down in front of you and extended one of his servos in your direction, as if non-verbally telling you to stop laughing and not cause yourself even more pain.

"'m sorry," he whispered his apology again, the sincere look in his optics showing you just how much he cared for you.

"It wasn't y—"

"It was," he interrupted you in a much more serious tone, but it was still filled with softness, "I was stupid..."

"Nothing new," you managed to blurt out before closing your eyes shut and grunting, a grimace on your face as you felt another sting of pain, which you were kind of used to now.

You opened your eyes and looked up at his worried optics observing your every move, his servos desperately wanting to touch and help you but he knew it'd only make things worse due to his size.

You let out a short chuckle at your own joke as soon as your body allowed you to.

"Not funny," he reprimanded you with a serious face, not finding your apparent discomfort amusing at all, even though he agreed with your words.

"You were just making jokes ab—"

"So?"

You rolled your eyes at him. "Child," you insulted him, fully aware how much he hated being called out on his childishness.

"I'm older than your cute little Earth, please," he scoffed.

"No, you're not," you deadpanned.

"...So?"

"I hate you," you said, although a small smile on your lips betrayed you.

"That's the spirit," he sighed but the corners of his lips curled up as well. A beat of silence passed and his gaze went back to your face, "I meant that."

You frowned slightly.

"I am sorry. For being the..." he was about to say something that would hurt his pride and ego, but decided it was worth it, "...the dumbest machine there is. Even a hairdryer is smarter than me," he insulted himself, hoping the sacrifice would make you like him again.

"You're right." You nodded, fighting back a chuckle.

He raised his arms in a playfully offended, confused gesture. "You could at least disagree, damn."

You shook your head in amusement.

After another beat of silence, he said seriously, "You're never coming inside me again."

"Wow."

"Should've worded it better, yeah..." he trailed off, "Primus, woman, give me a break." He let out a small laugh when he noticed your amused reaction to his sentence. "No, seriously... I... You're my girl, yeah? Don't want you to... You know, be in pain."

Why did he have to be so awkward about his feelings? Now that he finally had the chance to show you how much he loved you and never wanted to see you hurt again.

"I still have your..." he wanted to say that he still had your blood on some of his parts that didn't want to come off, but then decided it wasn't the best time to tell you that, "I almost lost my mind when I couldn't hear you," he confessed, his tone regaining its sincerity, the look in his optics describing his guilt to you without words.

He was referring to the moment he was so desperately trying to silence everything around him just to be able to find your heartbeat.

"I'm okay..." Your tone was soft, quiet, as if you were trying not to scare a lost, disoriented puppy.

"You're not okay," he disagreed with a slightly clenched jaw, angry at himself, not even for a second at you, "You..." He lowered himself so that he'd be able to whisper to you, as if saying these words more loudly would make them come true someday, "You almost died... I almost killed you..."

His face panel was close enough to your body for you to put your hand against his warm, metal cheek. Mirage immediately melted at the touch, his optics closing slowly just to allow him to savour the softness of your palm as much as he could.

"It wasn't your fault..." you started your monologue, this time the robot allowing you to continue, "I didn't die. I might have a broken bone or two..." He opened his eyes at this sentence, giving you a sad look. "...But I'll be alright. I didn't die," you repeated, which gained you an unsure nod from your boyfriend, who was now avoiding making eye contact with you.

You didn't force him to look up at you.

"I promise..." he trailed off, not wanting to show you how weak he felt, "I promise I'll never do that again..." His gaze went back to meet yours as you smiled softly, your eyes filled with love you had for him. "I'll never be dumber than a hairdryer, you have my unreliable word. And I'll never argue with you. I'll just say that I'm sorry, and that my woman is always right, and I'll shut up for as long as you want me to. And I... I'll never drive over twenty-five. Yeah, it hurts. But guess what hurts more. Seeing you with a broken bone or two."

Joking might've been the only way he would be able to overcome the sorrow he felt within himself. But it worked both for you and him. You really wouldn't have it any other way.

"Tell me," you whispered with a slight head tilt, slowly closing the gap between your faces.

He frowned, not understanding what you meant by that, but then the small smirk on your lips explained it to him.

He rolled his optics, the remains of guilt still evident in them, although with every passing second and every joke, they seemed to disappear bit by bit.

"'m sorry. My woman is always right," he repeated himself, pretending to find it very boring, as if he didn't really want to admit that. But he did. He did want you to know that he meant every single thing that rolled off his glossa.

Your smile widened immediately, your eyes closing as you minimized the gap between your and Mirage's lips completely.

And then, after long weeks of not being able to forgive himself for hurting the only woman he loved, he was finally able to feel relief.