#I could not string a single sentence together
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Trying to write a particularly tooth-rottingly sweet chapter of this story. So I'm playing classic love songs in the background.
...they're putting me to sleep!!
#okay but seriously#this is getting annoying#same thing happened with chapter 3#I could not string a single sentence together#help me!!
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wish i had the skills to be an oc guy but my ass was just not built for that shit
#I know yall would love my lil guys if only I could manage to string together a single sentence about them lmao#but alas my brain is full of holes and the words just fall straight through#and I don't have the patience or brain power for anything like comics#so all of my lore will just have to stay a mystery#at least I can manage to draw pretty pictures of them... sometimes lol
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25 Prose Tips For Writers 🖋️✨ Part 1
Hey there!📚✨
As writers, we all know that feeling when we read a sentence so beautifully crafted that it takes our breath away. We pause, reread it, and marvel at how the author managed to string those words together in such a captivating way. Well, today I'm going to unpack a few secrets to creating that same magic in your own writing. These same tips I use in my writing.
But before I begin, please remember that writing is an art form, and like any art, it's subjective. What sounds beautiful to one person might not resonate with another. The tips I'm about to share are meant to be tools in your writer's toolkit, not rigid rules. Feel free to experiment, play around, and find what works best for your unique voice and style.
Power of Rhythm 🎵
One of the most overlooked aspects of beautiful prose is rhythm. Just like music, writing has a flow and cadence that can make it pleasing to the ear (or mind's ear, in this case). Here are some ways to incorporate rhythm into your writing:
a) Vary your sentence length: Mix short, punchy sentences with longer, flowing ones. This creates a natural ebb and flow that keeps your reader engaged.
Example: "The sun set. Darkness crept in, wrapping the world in its velvet embrace. Stars winked to life, one by one, until the sky was a glittering tapestry of light."
b) Use repetition strategically: Repeating words or phrases can create a hypnotic effect and emphasize important points.
Example: "She walked through the forest, through the shadows, through the whispers of ancient trees. Through it all, she walked with purpose."
c) Pay attention to the stressed syllables: In English, we naturally stress certain syllables in words. Try to end important sentences with stressed syllables for a stronger impact.
Example: "Her heart raced as she approached the door." (Stronger ending) vs. "She approached the door as her heart raced." (Weaker ending)
Paint with Words 🎨
Beautiful prose often creates vivid imagery in the reader's mind. Here are some techniques to help you paint with words:
a) Use specific, concrete details: Instead of general descriptions, zoom in on particular details that bring a scene to life.
Example: Instead of: "The room was messy." Try: "Crumpled papers overflowed from the waste bin, books lay spine-up on every surface, and a half-eaten sandwich peeked out from under a stack of wrinkled clothes."
b) Appeal to all five senses: Don't just describe what things look like. Include smells, sounds, textures, and tastes to create a fully immersive experience.
Example: "The market bustled with life. Colorful fruits glistened in the morning sun, their sweet aroma mingling with the earthy scent of fresh herbs. Vendors called out their wares in sing-song voices, while customers haggled in animated tones. Sarah's fingers brushed against the rough burlap sacks of grain as she passed, and she could almost taste the tang of ripe oranges on her tongue."
c) Use unexpected comparisons: Fresh similes and metaphors can breathe new life into descriptions.
Example: Instead of: "The old man was very thin." Try: "The old man was a whisper of his former self, as if life had slowly erased him, leaving behind only the faintest outline."
Choose Your Words Wisely 📚
Every word in your prose should earn its place. Here are some tips for selecting the right words:
a) Embrace strong verbs: Replace weak verb + adverb combinations with single, powerful verbs.
Example: Instead of: "She walked quickly to the store." Try: "She hurried to the store." or "She dashed to the store."
b) Be specific: Use precise nouns instead of general ones.
Example: Instead of: "She picked up the flower." Try: "She plucked the daisy."
c) Avoid clichés: Clichés can make your writing feel stale. Try to find fresh ways to express common ideas.
Example: Instead of: "It was raining cats and dogs." Try: "The rain fell in sheets, transforming the streets into rushing rivers."
Play with Sound 🎶
The sound of words can contribute greatly to the beauty of your prose. Here are some techniques to make your writing more musical:
a) Alliteration: Repeating initial consonant sounds can create a pleasing effect.
Example: "She sells seashells by the seashore."
b) Assonance: Repeating vowel sounds can add a subtle musicality to your prose.
Example: "The light of the bright sky might ignite a fight."
c) Onomatopoeia: Using words that sound like what they describe can make your writing more immersive.
Example: "The bees buzzed and hummed as they flitted from flower to flower."
Art of Sentence Structure 🏗️
How you structure your sentences can greatly affect the flow and impact of your prose. Here are some tips:
a) Use parallel structure: When listing items or actions, keep the grammatical structure consistent.
Example: "She came, she saw, she conquered."
b) Try periodic sentences: Build suspense by putting the main clause at the end of the sentence.
Example: "Through storm and strife, across oceans and continents, despite all odds and obstacles, they persevered."
c) Experiment with sentence fragments: While not grammatically correct, sentence fragments can be powerful when used intentionally for emphasis or style.
Example: "She stood at the edge of the cliff. Heart racing. Palms sweating. Ready to jump."
Power of White Space ⬜
Sometimes, what you don't say is just as important as what you do. Use paragraph breaks and short sentences to create pauses and emphasize important moments.
Example: "He opened the letter with trembling hands.
Inside, a single word.
'Yes.'"
Read Your Work Aloud 🗣️
One of the best ways to polish your prose is to read it aloud. This helps you catch awkward phrasing, repetitive words, and rhythm issues that you might miss when reading silently.
Edit Ruthlessly ✂️
Beautiful prose often comes from rigorous editing. Don't be afraid to cut words, sentences, or even entire paragraphs if they don't serve the overall beauty and effectiveness of your writing.
Study the Masters 📖
Please! Read widely and pay attention to how your favorite authors craft their prose. Analyze sentences you find particularly beautiful and try to understand what makes them work.
Practice, Practice, Practice 💪
Like any skill, writing beautiful prose takes practice. Set aside time to experiment with different techniques and styles. Try writing exercises focused on specific aspects of prose, like describing a scene using only sound words, or rewriting a simple sentence in ten different ways.
Remember, that developing your prose style is a journey, not a destination. It's okay if your first draft isn't perfect – that's what editing is for! The most important thing is to keep writing, keep experimenting, and keep finding joy in the process.
Here are a few more unique tips to help you on your prose-perfecting journey:
Create a Word Bank 🏦
Keep a notebook or digital file where you collect beautiful words, phrases, or sentences you come across in your reading. This can be a great resource when you're looking for inspiration or the perfect word to complete a sentence.
Use the "Rule of Three" 3️⃣
There's something inherently satisfying about groups of three. Use this to your advantage in your writing, whether it's in listing items, repeating phrases, or structuring your paragraphs.
Example: "The old house groaned, creaked, and whispered its secrets to the night."
Power of Silence 🤫
Sometimes, the most powerful prose comes from what's left unsaid. Use implication and subtext to add depth to your writing.
Example: Instead of: "She was heartbroken when he left." Try: "She stared at his empty chair across the breakfast table, the untouched coffee growing cold."
Play with Perspective 👁️
Experiment with different points of view to find the most impactful way to tell your story. Sometimes, an unexpected perspective can make your prose truly memorable.
Example: Instead of describing a bustling city from a human perspective, try describing it from the point of view of a bird soaring overhead, or a coin passed from hand to hand.
Use Punctuation Creatively 🖋️
While it's important to use punctuation correctly, don't be afraid to bend the rules a little for stylistic effect. Em dashes, ellipses, and even unconventional use of periods can add rhythm and emphasis to your prose.
Example: "She hesitated—heart pounding, palms sweating—then knocked on the door."
Create Contrast 🌓
Juxtapose different elements in your writing to create interest and emphasis. This can be in terms of tone, pacing, or even the literal elements you're describing.
Example: "The delicate butterfly alighted on the rusted barrel of the abandoned tank."
Use Synesthesia 🌈
Synesthesia is a condition where one sensory experience triggers another. While not everyone experiences this, using synesthetic descriptions in your writing can create vivid and unique imagery.
Example: "The violin's melody tasted like honey on her tongue."
Experiment with Sentence Diagrams 📊
Remember those sentence diagrams from school? Try diagramming some of your favorite sentences from literature. This can give you insight into how complex sentences are structured and help you craft your own.
Create a Sensory Tour 🚶♀️
When describing a setting, try taking your reader on a sensory tour. Move from one sense to another, creating a full, immersive experience.
Example: "The old bookstore welcomed her with the musty scent of aging paper. Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight piercing the high windows. Her fingers trailed over the cracked leather spines as she moved deeper into the stacks, the floorboards creaking a greeting beneath her feet. In the distance, she could hear the soft ticking of an ancient clock and taste the faint bitterness of old coffee in the air."
Use Active Voice (Most of the Time) 🏃♂️
While passive voice has its place, active voice generally creates more dynamic and engaging prose. Compare these two sentences:
Passive: "The ball was thrown by the boy." Active: "The boy threw the ball."
Magic of Ordinary Moments ✨
Sometimes, the most beautiful prose comes from describing everyday occurrences in a new light. Challenge yourself to find beauty and meaning in the mundane.
Example: "The kettle's whistle pierced the quiet morning, a clarion call heralding the day's first cup of possibility."
Play with Time ⏳
Experiment with how you present the passage of time in your prose. You can stretch a moment out over several paragraphs or compress years into a single sentence.
Example: "In that heartbeat between his question and her answer, universes were born and died, civilizations rose and fell, and their entire future hung in the balance."
Use Anaphora for Emphasis 🔁
Anaphora is the repetition of a word or phrase at the beginning of successive clauses or sentences. It can create a powerful rhythm and emphasize key points.
Example: "She was the sunrise after the longest night. She was the first bloom of spring after a harsh winter. She was the cool breeze on a sweltering summer day. She was hope personified, walking among us."
Create Word Pictures 🖼️
Try to create images that linger in the reader's mind long after they've finished reading. These don't have to be elaborate – sometimes a simple, unexpected combination of words can be incredibly powerful.
Example: "Her laughter was a flock of birds taking flight."
Use Rhetorical Devices 🎭
Familiarize yourself with rhetorical devices like chiasmus, antithesis, and oxymoron. These can add depth and interest to your prose.
Example of chiasmus: "Ask not what your country can do for you – ask what you can do for your country." - John F. Kennedy
Even the most accomplished authors continue to hone their craft with each new piece they write. Don't be discouraged if your first attempts don't sound exactly like you imagined – keep practicing, keep experimenting, and most importantly, keep writing.
Your unique voice and perspective are what will ultimately make your prose beautiful. These techniques are simply tools to help you express that voice more effectively. Use them, adapt them, or discard them as you see fit. The most important thing is to write in a way that feels authentic to you and brings you joy.
Happy writing, everyone! 🖋️💖📚 - Rin T
Hey fellow writers! I'm super excited to share that I've just launched a Tumblr community. I'm inviting all of you to join my community. All you have to do is fill out this Google form, and I'll personally send you an invitation to join the Write Right Society on Tumblr! Can't wait to see your posts!
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Invisible string
pairing: Max Verstappen x reader
summary: Red Bull Racing has a new sponsor. You host a party as the head of that company to celebrate this agreement. Max has no choice but to attend, but the evening ends with a pleasant surprise after he meets you in person. Maybe he was wrong about you all along.
note: I'm everything but a scientist. If you are one, please, ignore the amount of inaccuracies. There must be a lot.
part two
“You're insane,” Robert told you for the hundredth time that day when he arrived at your place, although every time there was a little laugh accompanying the comment.
Maybe he was right. Deciding to spend over three hundred million dollars on sponsoring an F1 team did sound insane, but he did agree to do it, and you signed the contract together. Sure, sixty percent of the company was yours, it was mainly your call, but he was still your mentor.
But he didn't stand in your way, he knew how passionate you were about this sport, and your biotech company could use the PR and marketing opportunities that came with this partnership. And let's not forget about the political aspect, because there were lots of important people who loved the sport and supported a top team like Red Bull Racing.
Your assistant came up to you to ask a few questions, but once she was gone, you folded your arms and stuck out your tongue at Robert. “You’re just jealous because it was my idea. Jokes aside, it's a good thing. F1 comes to the US so many times these years, it's good to be a big sponsor of a top team. Have you seen what kind of people attend the races? Exactly who we need to charm.”
“You never had an issue with charming people without such a big investment,” he noted with a sigh.
You bit your lower lip and turned away to look out into the backyard that was by now full of party decorations. You wanted to celebrate the announcement with an elegant party at your place, and you invited board members, top employees, some important people to schmooze with, and people from the newly sponsored F1 team.
“We need some legislation changes to kickstart the new project, you know that,” you told him eventually when you turned back to him. “I wish we could afford to be patient, but we need to launch it as soon as we can.”
Robert put a hand on your shoulder and gently squeezed it. “You stress too much about that. Take it easy,” he said.
Easier said than done, but you didn't want to continue this conversation. “I need to get rid of my yoga pants and change into something red, so make yourself at home as usual,” you told him with a smile before rushing away.
“Oh, so you're still a Ferrari fan, aren't you?” he called after you, bringing up the elephant in the room.
With a laugh, you came to a halt and spinned on your heels to face him again. “Yeah, and my favorite team is a joke at the moment. This was purely a business decision.”
Max did his research. Well, it was mostly the team handing out dossiers about the host and her business partner, along with a couple of other important people who were expected to attend the party, but he did read every single page and memorized each and every one of them.
When he reached the gate of his destination, he found armed guards outside, and he let out a frustrated groan at the sight. It was ridiculous. He didn't even want to be here. But he had to be a good boy and attend to act as the poster boy of the team. Hopefully he just says hi, maybe says a few words about how great this partnership will be, exchanges a few sentences with a few people and that would be it.
“Loosen up a bit, you look terribly tense,” Adrian told him from the passenger seat.
Easy for him, at least he would have a funny story to tell at the party. The car he wanted to come with had been stolen from the hotel’s garage, and no one knew how anyone could take it. This gave him the ammunition to keep up conversations. Lucky bastard.
Meanwhile, what was he supposed to talk about? Driving? He talks about that all the time. His hobbies? These people probably weren't the target audience. “I’m not in the mood for this,” he eventually replied with a sigh.
“No one is, but sometimes we just have to play nice and schmooze with our sponsors. This is the first time they support an F1 team, I guess they're just excited.”
“Yeah, I know that,” Max replied with a roll of his eyes. “I just… I don't know, with all the things I've heard about our host, it sounds like she is some real life female Tony Stark. She already built such a huge company, she's responsible for big innovations, and she was on Forbes' 30 under 30 list… I mean, come on.”
Adrian watched him with a deep frown. “Does it have anything to do with the fact she's a woman?”
Okay, this was getting ridiculous. “God, no, it's because of her age. This isn't some app you can make in a college dorm, then sell for a lot of money. Building that company must have taken a lot of work, she couldn't have done it alone, yet every article the team cherry-picked for us failed to mention how she did it.”
“Well, from what I've read elsewhere, her partner really did help her with the administrative part of the project, but they talked to investors together. She's smart, and nice, and I one hundred percent believe she's capable of achieving this at her age. Might I add she's only a year younger than you? You don't seem to be in such a bad situation at your age either.”
Max took a deep breath to calm himself, but in the end he couldn’t hold back the painful grunt that's been waiting to come out. “I'm miserable,” he noted sadly as he parked the car.
But Adrian wasn't in the mood for this. “You're just whining now,” he pointed out patiently.
“Whatever.”
They got out of the car and walked up to the main entrance, passing by some people who looked like boring businessmen and their airhead partners. Maybe there was a politician among them too, at least one with a big voice sure made him believe that.
Inside the two of them separated, and Max took his time to take a look around. The house was impressive; four stories as he counted outside, modern, clean design, combined with a huge backyard that ended in a lake. It must have been peaceful when there was no crowd around.
After a while he went back inside but was soon intercepted by Christian. Crap, so much for a peaceful evening. “Oh, and here's Max,” he said happily as he put a hand on his shoulder and guided him over to their little group.
“Hi,” was all Max managed to come up with.
“Welcome,” you said with a warm smile. “And good luck for this year.”
“Thanks.”
You turned to his boss with a curious look. “And where's Checo? I thought he would be coming as well.”
Christian seemed a little uneasy, but he managed to explain the absence of the team's other driver. “He has a family emergency,” he replied curtly.
Max bit the inside of his cheek in order to keep back a comment. He didn't want to attend this stupid party either, but for some reason he didn't have a choice. He never had a choice.
To his surprise, you began to laugh at this, then took a sip of your champagne with a mischievous look in your eyes. “Oh, the real get out of jail free card,” you noted.
Max snorted at this, and there was no way he could hide the huge grin that wanted to break out. All right, you got a brownie point for this comment, that's for sure.
“I'm sure he would love to be here,” Christian assured you.
“Sure.” You remained silent for a while, but just when Max was beginning to assume an awkward break would settle into the conversation, you spoke up again. “Well, I'm glad you're all here. Thank you for taking the time. Please, just make yourselves at home, and enjoy the rest of the evening.”
At one point Adrian joined the little group and decided to become a part of the conversation with one last question. “Where's Mr. Hartford?” he asked.
You let out a thoughtful hum as you looked around. “I don't know, last time I saw him he was talking to a board member. But I'm sure he'll find and greet you too. Well, if you'll excuse me, I need to say hello to a few more people. Have fun.”
The three of them watched as you walked away, and Max couldn't help but appreciate the view. That red jumpsuit you wore tonight hugged your figure so perfectly it almost made him drool. Almost. He could easily push that stupid part of his mind to the side for now. He couldn't let himself be fooled into believing you really were oh so perfect, there had to be something that was wrong with you.
“Did it kill you?” he heard Adrian's voice, and when he turned to him, he saw a knowing smile on his face.
Meanwhile Christian looked a little confused. “Did what kill him?”
“Talking to her.”
“What, you had an issue with that?”
“No,” Max protested, sending a disapproving look to the engineer who only laughed at him.
“Sure? You sounded kin–” he began, but was quickly interrupted.
“You two are insufferable, you know that, right?” Max asked them with a sigh, then rolled his eyes and left without waiting for their answer. All he wanted was a quiet corner and another glass of champagne, maybe a few bites of those delicious sliders a waiter offered him not long ago.
“Are you planning to come up with something that can race against Neuralink?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake, not this again. But you forced a polite smile on your face and took a deep breath. “It's easy to come up with new, flashy innovations, but let's not forget that the root of the problem is always a bioethical one. Let's take them and their animal testing procedures for example. Whether you like it or not, euthanizing so many animals does raise ethical questions.”
“But it's for a greater good,” another man noted, earning a few nods from the people around him.
“I don't know, I believe we need to find a way to test new technologies without hurting anything or anyone first. That's one of the things we're working on at the moment. Also there's another bioethical aspect, and that's the fact these things would be expensive. The general availability is highly questionable, it would only help the rich.”
That one politician you had no choice but to invite despite every cell in your body protesting against it began to laugh at this. “And what's wrong with that as long as they pay?”
Oh, you son of a bitch, how could you be so dense? You took a deep breath and tried to calm yourself, but it was really hard at the moment. Luckily, Robert realized that this was a touchy subject, so he put a hand on your shoulder to calm you down.
“What she's trying to say is that it should be more than just a discussion about profit,” he began to explain. “Sure, that's important to finance our research, but science is supposed to help people.”
The man gave him a condescending look, as if he was disappointed that you would both choose to help people instead of earning a lot of money. What he didn't understand was the fact your company had highly profitable solutions, which gave you the opportunity to work on things that weren't as successful financially.
“For us,” you suddenly began, your finger moving in a circle as a sign that you were talking about the members of this little group, “going to a private hospital to get treatment and paying for our prescribed medication is normal. But let's not forget that almost 8 percent of the US population is uninsured. That's 26 million people. Let's say they start coughing. What do they do? They turn to home remedies because they can't afford the medical bill. Then things get worse as it turns into pneumonia and if they're lucky, they can go to a free clinic where they're prescribed meds. But can they pay for them?”
Robert nodded, then went on to add, “And it can be anything, really, even something contagious.” Clever. That guy was known for being a germaphobe, if anything, that could surely get his attention.
But he remained silent and a woman jumped in to drive the conversation instead of him. “What about different cybernetic implants? I mean, those are pretty impressive in movies, but how close are we to actually having them?”
You shrugged. “Depends on who you ask.”
A painful half an hour later you and Robert went outside, walking all the way out to the lake to build a little distance from the guests. “Thanks for backing me up there,” you told him before taking a sip of your cocktail.
“Anytime,” he said as he clinked his glass with yours.
Before he could say anything else, though, you heard someone clear their throat behind you. The both of you turned around and saw Max stand there with his hands in his pockets, watching you with a polite smile.
“You have a second?” he asked.
“Sure,” you replied as you took a few steps closer to him.
“I have to go, I just wanted to thank you for the invitation and say goodbye.”
You weren't used to guests you didn't really know coming over to say goodbye before they left. Most people usually just got in their cars and drove off without a word, but honestly, you were honestly grateful for that. But this goodbye was flattering, after all you could see it on his face that under the polite smile he just wanted to get out of here as soon as possible.
With a nod, you held out your hand, and he took it without thinking. “Thanks for coming. I hope you could enjoy yourself a little bit. I know it's not a fun kind of party.”
“It was okay. Well, except for that woman who was raging about people who want to replace real meat with artificial meat,” he added with a laugh.
You froze and your eyes slowly narrowed at him. “Wait a second.”
Max looked genuinely confused, and his hand was still holding yours without either of you realizing it. “What?” he asked you.
“You're a genius! Excuse me.”
As you dropped his hand and began to walk away, he turned to Robert with a confused look on his face. “What did I say?” No response, only a shrug. “Where are you going?” he called after you.
“To the lab,” you finally told him without looking back.
Once again, Max turned back to the other man. “She's leaving her own party?”
“She has a lab in the basement,” you called back to answer his question.
Robert’s lips curled into an understanding smile. “Send me a text if it's something worth looking into,” he said, then turned back to Max and held up his hands. “Usually it's better not to ask.”
Despite Robert's warning, Max was now way too curious to simply ignore your strange behavior. He wanted to know what was going on in your head, so he followed you to the lab inside the house. He first arrived in an office, but through the huge windows he could see the actual lab.
“Is everything okay?” he asked after he softly knocked on the open door.
“Hmm?” You turned around with a questioning look, but once you realized it was him, you nodded. “Oh, yeah, sure. What are you doing here?”
Max walked inside, feeling completely out of place. “You ran away so abruptly that I wanted to know what's going on.”
“You gave me an idea, that's what's going on.”
“Oookay… And what was the idea?” he asked as he watched you sit behind the desk and enter your password to unlock the laptop that was connected to several monitors.
“Using something artificial instead of the real thing. That way we can bypass a barrier that's been blocking us,” you replied without looking at him.
“You lost me.”
A sweet little laugh left your lips, a sound that drew him closer as if it was a siren’s song. “All right, can you promise to keep your mouth shut about what I'm about to tell you?” Max nodded, so you grabbed the chair next to you, then pulled it closer and pointed at it to make him sit down. “Good. So one of the issues with bioprinting is that we can't be sure whether or not the cells we're working with are damaged, meaning if there's a possibility of cancer showing up later on for example.”
You were so enthusiastic, but he was so damn lost. It was the result of an unfamiliar territory, and the fact his mind could mostly focus on the way your lips moved instead of the words that left them. “Wait, what's bioprinting exactly?” he asked, unsure if he had the right idea.
Nodding, you clicked on something and it brought up a video feed. “For example, this,” you said with a proud smile.
It looked like a 3D printer, that much he knew, but what it was printing was a mystery at the moment. “What's that?”
“A 3D printed heart that's being made from my own cells,” you replied with a wide grin. “Give it another few days and it'll be ready.”
“Is that real?”
“Yep. Although, and that's what I've just mentioned, I can't guarantee it doesn't have cancerous cells. But theoretically speaking, someone awaiting transplant could get it.”
Max let out a thoughtful hum as he looked back at you. “So what does it have to do with artificial things?”
“That's how we bypass the damaged cell issue. We just need to create artificial cells that we can then turn into whatever we want them to be.”
“You think it could work?”
After thinking about it for a short while, you eventually shrugged. “Maybe,” you said quietly as you leaned back in your swivel chair. “I need to put a team together and discuss our options, then we'll see. As of now it's just a wild idea.”
“Interesting.”
To be honest, he could spend the whole night doing nothing but listening to you talk about your work. Meeting you in person changed the way he had thought about you before arriving here, and now he wanted to use this opportunity to get to know you better.
He did a quick search after first talking to you, and he read an article from the end of the last year that stated you were single. That was two months ago, maybe that hadn't changed since then. But something told him you were way too in love with your career to worry about romantic relationships, so if he wanted to get your attention, he probably had to work hard for it.
Your phone's screen lit up on the desk and he didn't miss the wallpaper. It was one of those prayer circle memes with Charles’ photo on it, which made him realize something. “You're a Ferrari and Charles fan?” he asked you with a raised eyebrow.
“Yep, already getting ready for prayer circles as you can see,” you replied with a laugh as you showed him the screen. “That's their only hope, I swear.”
“Then why are you sponsoring us?” he asked.
“A business decision in its purest form.”
Was he disappointed? Maybe a little bit. In his head he was already making up scenarios, like the first time you went to a race to support him–yes, he was getting ahead of himself, so what–and now it felt like a bomb had been dropped on his plans. Sure, as a sponsor or his girlfriend you'd physically be in their garage, but your heart would be with the Italians.
Max let out a sigh as he nodded. “And here I was, thinking you just wanted to see your company's logo on a fast car. Didn't know you were actually watching the races.” He tried to keep a casual tone to make it sound like it didn't hurt him, but he had a feeling his disappointment was seeping through the cracks.
Because you remained silent for a while, and when you finally spoke up, your voice was soft and quiet. “Maybe there are a lot of things you don't know.”
“Yeah, maybe,” he responded as he rolled closer to you.
The sadness he felt slipped away as soon as it came, because it was like he got under your spell the moment he got close enough to you. Your pretty eyes were following his every move, carefully watching him as you waited for whatever was to come.
It only took him a minute to make up his mind, to take a risk and see if you were willing to play this little game with him. So he raised his hand and curled his index finger to signal you to move over to him with a playful smile on his lips. “C’mere,” he said quietly.
To his surprise, you didn't hesitate to do as you were told, you stood up and sat in his lap with your arms around his neck, meeting him halfway for a kiss. The need for something more grew inside him as the kiss deepened, and a small part of his mind shifted its focus to your jumpsuit, trying to figure out the fastest way to get you out of it.
“I'm going home on Sunday. Come with me,” he suddenly spoke up, pulling away a little to look you in the eye. “Stay for a few days. Or a week or two,” he tried with a cheeky grin.
You leaned back to reach for your phone that you left on the desk, but he had his hands firmly on your bottom to keep you in place. “I can't reach my phone,” you said with a pout. “I can't tell you if I can go without it.”
With a sigh, he rolled the two of you closer to the desk so you could get it, but he didn't take his hands off of you. As you checked your calendar, humming every now and then, he couldn't help but start and place kisses in the crook of your neck.
“How about the week after that?” you asked him as you lowered your phone. “We have meetings with the CFO, an important meeting with a certain someone that I can't delay or skip, and I want to put together the team to test my new idea. Next week's pretty crowded.”
Max cupped your cheek and made you look at him. “If there's one thing we learned from Covid is that you can do these things online. Come on, I have fast and stable connection back home,” he tried with a smile.
“But you'll let me work,” you told him sternly, to which he only responded with a laugh before kissing you again. “I hate you.”
“You don't, and you know it.”
#max verstappen x you#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen#f1#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic#formula 1#invisible string
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A Round Door Like a Porthole, Lazarus Green Pt. 1 Pt. 2 (you're here) Pt. 3 Pt. 4
Art of LBM
Danny was still lying under the Specter Speeder, mind reeling as the words “they opened this portal with a child sacrifice, and bound his death and all the lost life potential to their bloody machine to create a perpetual gateway to the Infinite Realms” ran in a loop through his head. Could that really be true? Is his death attached to the portal, forever lodged in the doorway, preventing it from closing?
The guy clearly knew what he was talking about. The bit about why his ghost friends and frenemies caused so much chaos as they unleashed their obsessions on Amity Park made so much sense. It would certainly explain a lot of his interactions with ghosts after he died.
Danny silently cursed himself for not destroying everything in the lab before they got here. He and Jazz hadn't worried about the portal schematics, because they honestly didn't have any way to open a portal, only cycle energy in a recursive loop that shouldn’t have done anything. No one, not he and Jazz, not their parents, not Tucker or Technus, had been able to figure out why it had worked when Danny was inside. But if the machine was able to sustain a portal that was already opened. . . He wondered idly if he could light a fire that looked accidental and would both destroy the lab and leave the two men enough time to escape. It’d probably be too risky. And who knew what destroying the portal would do to him. Fully kill him? Destroy him completely and shatter his core? It might be worth it to prevent anyone from gaining this knowledge.
No wonder Lex Luthor was interested in this business. A child was murdered in this basement, and for all Tim knew, the child’s soul could still be trapped here fueling a Lazarus Pit that connected the world of the living to the afterlife. What Luthor could do with an interdimensional portal or even a single sample of Lazarus water. . . Tim shuddered to think.
On the one hand, he was grateful that Wayne Enterprises secured the business before Luthor had the chance. On the other hand, he felt rather ill to think his family had directly enriched mad scientists who performed child sacrifices. At least he had full faith that between him and Oracle, they’d hunt the Fentons down and make sure justice was served.
“What is to be done for the child?” Tim asked Constantine. “Is his soul tied to that machine?”
“I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure it’s just his death.”
“You’re gonna have to explain the difference to me, ‘cause I’m not sure I see the distinction.” Tim said wryly.
“I guess. . . Hm. You could think of it as the moment of transition drawn out endlessly like a plucked string whose note never stops vibrating. Like life is the anchor point of one end of the string, and the afterlife is at the other end, and the child’s death is the note created when his soul crosses from one side to the other. The soul is the bow causing reverberations, but the reverberations are the actual death itself. The effect of the soul’s passage. And in this case, the portal is amplifying the death so it doesn’t end like a normal death ‘note’ would.” Constantine leaned in to examine some of the runes that were part of the array. “Not a perfect metaphor, obviously, since you bow perpendicular rather than parallel to the string, and death and souls are nothing like music, but you get the idea, right?”
Tim was still caught on John Constantine saying the words “death note” together unironically in a sentence. He was going to have to share that with Steph later. Maybe with the whole family group chat, even. “Yeah, the metaphor makes sense, as much as any of this occult stuff does to me.”
“Whatever. As for whether there’s anything we can do for the child, I think we’ll have to try and summon him if we can.” The Brit started pulling items out of his trenchcoat’s inner pockets. “We need to ask what the spirit wants done, before we go messing with things we don’t understand.”
“Alright, need anything from me?”
“Yeah, move this stuff out of the way so I can draw a circle.” Constantine directed Tim to shove aside a few stacks of boxes, something called a Fenton Ghost Weasel, and together they shifted a coffin-shaped iron maiden that for some reason was labeled Fenton Stockades. Then he set to work chalking a circle and runes on the ground.
Finally he sat back and dusted chalk off his hands. “That should do it.”
“Will this be bright too?” Tim asked warily.
“Eh, might be? Shouldn’t be too bad.”
Tim grabbed an auto-darkening welding helmet with a green “Fenton” sticker on it off the workbench and slipped it on.
“Alright, here goes.” Constantine began the summoning ritual.
While Danny debated arson, the other two had finished clearing a space and chalked some kind of circle onto the floor. He tuned back into the conversation when he heard the trenchcoat guy begin a traditional incantation for a summoning. Were they trying to summon him? Danny really hoped it wouldn’t work.
When people tried to summon the Ghost King he could almost always ignore the pull. This pull, however, was very strong and immediate. It seemed proximity made a difference, or this guy was just better at summonings than the average cultist. Before Danny could accept the inevitable, he was pulled bodily — literally! — out from under the vehicle and across the floor, still flat on his back on the Fenton Under Car Creeper, with the Specter Speeder’s ecto-engine hugged tightly to his chest. The wheels of the Fenton Creeper (not to be mistaken with the Fenton Anti-Creep Stick) sped him straight to the summoning circle. Still very much in human form.
This was his first real look at the guy called Constantine, and he couldn’t help a horrified yelp. “Eugh!! What the fuck is wrong with you, dude!?!!”
His lapse in attention made him lose the battle with the summoning spell, and it gripped him, pulling him through the convolutions of the spellwork even though he was already lying half across the circle, and forcing him to change into Phantom in the process. It was such a disgusting sensation, like he was one of those squishy water filled tube snake toys that look like a fleshlight, and someone squeezed really hard and abruptly so he turned inside out and went flying to go splat against a wall (or in this case, against the ground inside the circle of chalk). He tried and failed not to retch.
The younger man in the crisp suit whom he’d already identified as Mr. CEO-Timothy-Drake-Wayne looked at him in startled bafflement, while the older blond, still smoking his cigarette, (gross, and was that thing never ending?) was probably looking at him. Maybe. It was really difficult to tell, because he was a frankly vile sight. Danny winced and swallowed down nausea. “What have you done to your soul?”
“I — what?”
“Trypophobia central, man! Ugh that’s gotta be the grossest thing I’ve ever seen. Can’t you cover it up?”
“Who are you?” Timothy Drake-Wayne interjected.
“I’m the dead guy? You literally just summoned me.”
“Constantine said you were a child”
“I mean, I was?” Danny looked down at his obviously twenty-something year-old self and rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s been a while since I was fourteen though. These things happen.”
“Not typically, no. The dead tend to be pretty unaging.” Constantine said.
“Dude I’m not having a conversation with you while your soul looks like Escher’s swiss cheese nightmare. Anyways, some of us do. Heck, I know a guy who constantly shifts from infant to old man and every stage in between. It’s pretty distracting when you’re trying to get him to let you fix the timeline again.” Danny continued to look anywhere but at the blond man. “But if it’s so important to you, I can —” He got an abstracted look, and slowly de-aged himself until the two men stood over a fourteen year old boy with snow white hair and glowing green eyes.
“That does not help. No.” The guy whose soul looked somewhat like a bleeding tooth fungus said. He turned away and started doing something magical. Danny hoped it would mask his soul in some way, but so far all it did was make Danny feel like he needed to pop his ears.
He also felt particularly uncharitable, so he didn’t revert to his natural age, and instead tried to see how young and cute he could make himself appear.
“So are you just haunting this basement? Seems hazardous, given the former proprietors.” Timothy tried to redirect the conversation. He didn’t seem nearly as distressed to see the ghost of a child, but his eyes darted surreptitiously to the Lichtenberg figure Danny used to always hide under gloves.
“Nah, haven’t been back here in years. I mostly live in my Infinite Realms haunt these days.”
“You . . . live? Is that just a figure of speech?”
“It’s rude to ask about a ghost’s nonliving status, you know. Highly taboo to ask how a ghost died or poke into the circumstances of our deaths without permission.” Danny admonished. Making himself younger than fourteen took more effort than he expected.
“Alright, I’m sorry,” Timothy raised his hands placatingly to the boy who now looked younger than Damian. “What brings you back to Amity Park?”
“Uh, you summoned me? Are we still not clear on that?”
Tim looked pointedly at the Fenton Creeper and the engine Danny still held. He’d shrunk down to the size of a four year old, and the engine really should be crushing him given it was bigger than his torso now. He quickly set it aside, and turned his biggest puppy dog eyes on Tim.
“You were in here already, and you looked pretty alive for a moment there.”
“I can look lots of ways!” Danny focused really hard on looking as cute, small, and nonthreatening as possible. He thought it was working when all of a sudden there was a pop! and he was smaller than he’d ever managed before.
Timothy Drake-Wayne looked like a giant. The other guy, who had thankfully managed to put away his soul somehow, wore scuffed oxfords bigger than Danny. Hell, he could probably fit his entire self into one of Constantine’s shoes if that wasn’t a bizarre thing to do, and they weren’t already full of stinky feet. Holy shit what happened to him!?
Tim blinked down at the cat? Snake? Ghost. . . thing at his feet. What the fuck. A moment ago he was talking to an adult man whom he’s pretty sure was dead and he’s very sure was trolling them. Now his interlocutor had turned into an adorable creature with soft white paws, a long twisting tail, big pointed ears that swiveled like a cats, and a humanoid face that should’ve been creepy but was actually eliciting cute-aggression in him. Tim blinked again. The little baby ghost creature blinked enormous green eyes back at him. Then it yawned, revealing three rows of needle sharp teeth that looked like a cross between what you’d find in the mouth of a shark and a cat. Yikes.
“Does that mean the interview is over?” Tim asked him.
The creature just blinked up at him again, then zeroed in on his shoelaces, pupils expanding until only a narrow band of green ringed them.
Yup. The interview was over. Those paws hid some wicked claws which could apparently slice through leather with ease. Oh, Tim really hoped ghost scratch fever wasn’t a thing. At least the ghost looked sufficiently contrite after he yelped, and it waited while he removed a shoelace to sacrifice as a toy.
If Damian ever met him, there would be a new member of the family. Maybe he should name the creature preemptively so they didn’t have a cat-snake named Bat-Ghost in Wayne manor.
“Do you have a name, little baby cat-snake ghost? Little baby ghost man?” He cooed as the miniature monster dashed back and forth, intent on shredding his shoelace.
The ghost paused long enough to chirp, “Li’l baby man!” before launching himself at the string. Even shocked, Tim’s reflexes had him whisking the toy out of the way, and the ghost went careening under a cabinet.
He wedged himself in the gap, landing face first in a dust bunny, and quickly wriggled backwards with an indignant squall. His wordless protestations cut off as he fell into a violent sneezing fit that thankfully dislodged him from beneath the cabinet.
Tim suppressed his laugh, and asked, “Little Baby Man? Is that what you want to be called?”
The ghost pawed most of the dust away from his nose, but spider webs covered his face and a big dust bunny perched atop his head like a fascinator with a cobweb lace veil. He looked Tim right in the eyes and nodded, dislodging the dust in his hair and setting off more sneezes.
“Li’l Baby Man” he confirmed. He placed a paw on Tim’s shoe and chirped, “Tim!” Then he pointed his tail at Constantine and said, “Gross!” with narrowed eyes.
#danny phantom#danny fenton#dp x dc#dpxdc#dc x dp#timothy drake wayne#tim drake#tim drake wayne#red robin#john constantine#A Round Door Like a Porthole[comma] Lazarus Green#the whole thing is on Ao3#but I'm not gonna link it until I post part 3#just to be contrary#you can find it if you search the title though#and also someone linked it in the comments of part one#lbm#lbm danny#little baby man#lbm is a tatzelwurm#fanfic#dp x dc fanfic
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texting Stan and Ford headcanons
smut version
˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚ Stan Pines
✧ Stan is the kinda guy who thinks emojis are a scam, but somehow, he figured out how to use the "thumbs up" and "money bag" emoji. so, expect a lot of those in your chats.
✧ his text tone is rough, a little misspelled, typed like he's yelling even when he isn’t. Half of his texts are in all caps, and he absolutely does not care about grammar. but he gets the point across, always.
✧ you’re getting messages at 3 am about some ‘brilliant’ scheme to make a quick buck. he’ll send, “LISTEN, doll, what if we made... GIANT… glitter-filled eggs for easter? Tourists'll go NUTS." you reply, half-asleep, with “Stan, ily but go to bed." and all you get back is a “🤬 YOU GOTTA THINK BIGGER!”
✧ Stan sends those weird chain messages he swears are from some “hotshot businessman” that’ll make you rich in a week. and when you don’t respond immediately, you get a: “Fine, Miss Doubtful, see you when I’m rolling in gold.”
✧ there are whole days where he just floods your phone with random, blurry photos of some new Mystery Shack "artifact" he found. It’s usually junk he picked up at a garage sale, like a “haunted” ashtray or some knock-off painting that’s “probably ancient.”
✧ If he’s feeling sappy (and tipsy): you might get a rare “thinking bout you, sweet thing” at 2 am. but if you try to call him on it the next day, he’ll just be like “Didn’t say that. You’re makin’ stuff up.”
✧ when he’s really riled up about something, though? then his messages are just. . . a stream of caps-lock curses, mixed with misspelled attempts to describe whatever nonsense he just got himself into. you just sit back and let him rant; he’ll cool off eventually.
✧ and the voice messages are something else. they sound like he’s talking through a fan half the time. one minute, he’s rambling about how tourists are “the dumbest suckers on the planet” and the next, he’s ranting about how “bigfoot definitely broke into the shack last night!"
types of messages Stan texts:
"So… whatcha wearin’? 😏"
“Hey doll, I just found a penny on the ground! Maybe today’s my lucky day… hint hint ;)"
"I’d say somethin’ romantic, but I think my brain just shorted out. You’re a little too cute for a guy like me."
"Just tried that new café downtown. Ordered coffee… tastes like they filtered it through someone’s laundry. You’d hate it. Wanna come mock it with me?"
"Not gonna lie, I miss that face of yours. So what’re we doin’ about it, huh?"
“Again missin’ that cute little smile of yours… maybe you could send me a pic to remind me?”
"Wanna help me scam the tourists today? I’ll split the loot with ya… maybe ;)”
"You wouldn’t believe what I caught Ford muttering in his sleep. Man’s like a walking encyclopedia, even when he’s unconscious."
“Got any plans later? Thought maybe we could… y’know… not have plans together."
˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚ Ford Pines
✧ hehehehe he’s like an old-school emailer who’s just now getting the hang of messaging apps. texts in complete sentences, full punctuation, like he’s drafting a dissertation.
✧ He sends you whole paragraphs at random hours, talking about some discovery he’s made, like he’s reporting directly to NASA. you’re like, “Ford, it's just a weird-looking squirrel." and he's already typing another essay about its "possible interdimensional origins."
✧ once in a while, he’ll send you a message that says, “Are you awake?” at, like 3 am followed by a string of thoughtful yet completely bonkers hypotheses. you find it cute, though, his mind never stops, not even for a second.
✧ If he’s feeling bold, you might even get a “hypothetical” confession out of him: “Hypothetically, if one were to develop... strong emotional attachment to a certain person... how would one proceed?" You tease him about it the next day, and he gets flustered, “It was purely scientific curiosity."
✧ Ford isn’t big on emojis, but he likes the brain and alien ones, using them poetically. he’ll sign off texts with a single brain emoji, like it’s his version of a little goodbye wave.
✧ on really rare occasions, he’ll send a voice message. they’re always way too long, and it’s usually him whispering so he doesn’t wake Stan up. he goes on about cosmic rays or “gravity anomalies,” his voice dropping lower when he gets excited. you live for those moments
✧ and if he ever texts you a “good night,” you just know he’s been up thinking about it for hours, trying to figure out if it’s “appropriate.”
types of messages Ford texts:
“It’s been approximately 3 hours, 12 minutes, and 23 seconds since our last conversation… not that I’m counting or anything. Just… miss you."
sends a meme about science nerds “Us. But mostly me.”
“My hands ache from writing… though perhaps if it were writing about you, I wouldn’t mind.”
“Do you think about me too, or am I the only one utterly ruined by this… whatever this is?”
“I’ve been thinking about that book you lent me... 🤔 It’s honestly so much more interesting than I expected, thank you for recommending it."
"I don’t know how to work this... But I managed to send a meme! It’s not the worst thing I’ve done, I suppose?
“I did it. I fixed the telescope. Finally. Now we can actually look at the stars like we’ve talked about. :)"
"I hope you’re feeling okay today. I noticed you seemed a little stressed the other day. Don’t forget to take care of yourself. :) It’s important."
"If I could rearrange the periodic table, I’d put U and I together. :( Sorry, nerdy joke... :’D)”
ps - I CANT THEYRE SO CUTE BOTH I WANT TO SMASH THEM AGAINST THE WALL
lmao if someone wants, i can write some spicy types of chatting with them :)))
#gravity falls x reader#gravity falls x you#x reader#gravity falls#gravity falls smut#ford pines x reader#ford pines smut#stan pines smut#stan pines x reader#stan pines x oc#stan pines x you#ford pines x you#stanford pines x you#stanford pines x reader#gravity falls headcanons
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⊹ ‧₊˚ ᰔ synopsis. rich boy aventurine wants to tear up the new lingerie he's bought you // ꒰ᐢ⸝⸝⸝⸝ᐢ꒱ ♡ cw. prone bone, he rips a hole in your tights <3, fem! reader ♡
"fuuck, it looks so good on you," aventurine's gruff voice chimes against your mouth as he shapes his lips into yours, subtle and blurred and tasting of fresh peppermint— and there's a subtle hint of hunger to it, one that elicits a whimper from you, the low imposing of his voice making your stomach twist.
one sentence of your boyfriend was all it took for your thighs to press together and clench hard, and with him having you lavishly dressed up in the finest, most extravagant pieces of lingerie, it felt all the more heart thundering.
in fact, you will never get tired of listening to his voice, yet, something tonight was quite divergent of your previous days of intimacy— because there was a sense of urgency, of lust and his inability to take his eyes off you.
aside from his face signalizing pain and ache, he easily towers above you before smoothly sliding a hand through his blonde hair, "when i saw it in the store, i just knew it would fit you flawlessly, but doll..." he whispers, and his digits go straight down to grab at your ass and roughly squeeze it, his mind wandering in uncharted lust.
a tasteful gasp spills from the tip of your tongue as aventurine flips you on your stomach at last, attentively waiting for you to perk your butt up a little, as you always did for your boyfriend, walking him to his demise, "fuck, i need you so much," he tenderly brands your ass with his rough palms as you feel a nuance of power in his lustful traces.
you bite down on your bottom lip, "i need you too.." and whine blissfully as he grinds down against your plush ass, his fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear and playing with the lace trim, your swollen cunt peaking from under the thin material as he tauntingly tugs at the hem, only for the elastic to smack back against your skin.
"hey! be careful with the new pieces you got me," you feign a pout as you feel his cock bulge through his boxers, "you will rip them, baby," you continue to retort as your voice suddenly crumbles from within and a deep surge of emotions cascades through your frame the moment aventurine breaks a hole through your tights.
even the ripping effect of the fine material breaking into multiple pieces sounded expensive to your ears— in fact, you made sure to put up a mental sticker of getting him back for this later.
a low chuckle of amusement echoes over him as he draws his cock out before taking it in his palm, stroking lightly and slowly smearing his glossy pre from the tip to his shaft, "you can pick out the next one, okay?"
you roll your eyes at him as aventurine carefully draws his body on top of yours, "we can buy an entire collection," he whispers with a smile as you attempt to swallow the saliva in your throat.
you moan lowly, getting turned on by the constant presence of his wet tip pressing but failing to enter your hole, ah well— it's effective enough to make your pussy throb around nothing, strings of your arousal connecting the two of you as your trembling frame yields against his body.
your mouth opens before his words could register in your mind as you lean into his touch, hips wiggling so he could easily slip inside. you're so dizzying— it makes aventurine want to conquer every inch of your walls, every single spot of your thoughts and memories until you're fucked out of your mind.
the hard plane of his palm flexes against your skin as he leisurely grinds himself inside, your walls engulfing him in a heated, much-needed embrace of your warmth. "more— please..." you grab back to tangle your hand into his messy hair as he moves his hips into you with sultry drags, the cloying noises of your wet cunt undeniably elating the entire scene.
aventurine sighs out, "you're always so— tight, when we..." he pauses before placing a subtle kiss on your neck, "when you let me feel you," as he readjusts his hips a little, so he could feel you up deeper.
your stomach contorts at his rough, yet at the same time, passionate rocks of hips as you felt your slick arousal slide between your legs and mess up the soused panties and broken tights, as if, that would somehow even matter anymore.
it feels a little dirty, you can't lie, and you really loved the way you looked in this precise set of lingerie, but it also feels so good, when aventurine made you lose yourself from the torridity of being spread apart, his twitching shaft and his balls repeatedly smacking against your skin, so eager to be consumed by your wet walls.
©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify
#hsr x reader#honkai star rail x reader#hsr smut#honkai star rail smut#aventurine x reader#aventurine smut#hsr x you#honkai star rail x you#aventurine x you
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nuvy. nuvy have you heard of the boothill leaks.
YES i did *salutes*
boothill story leaks under cut;
girl dad girl dad
soooo what about boothill falling in love with a single parent with a daughter hmm hmm
like god if he doesn’t just accidently run into the kid and she squeals over him because “hey!! cool robot man!!” and you chase her down and apologise.
he freezes, because your daughter looks so much like his did.
same hair colour, same eye colour, same energy that he could barely keep up with, just learning to walk on two feet properly and string together words to form simple sentences.
it absolutely destroys him. in the worst and best way possible. especially since your daughter practically develops an admiration for him on the spot, begs to be carried, and you’re confused because “sweetie, you shouldn’t be talking to strangers.”
like like.,,,, example……..
Something small and warm wraps around his hand and Boothill glances up quickly from his lap.
There was a little girl searching for his fingers, barely three years old by the looks of it. Pretty tresses of black hair flowing in the wind near the shoreline, sniffling and barely standing on short wobbly legs.
“I need help,” she hiccups, and Boothill melts on the spot. So small and helpless, like a baby bird away from its mother’s nest. “I can’t find my–”
And of course, he stands up, dusts off his pants, and offers her his hand. He guides her away from the beach back towards the market where crowds of people swarm the stalls.
It’s nighttime, cold, and definitely no place for a little girl to be by herself.
“What’s your parents look like, princess?”
He busies himself searching for any targets that would make sense given the girl’s prattling of your appearance down to the colour of your shoes—“White. Like mine.” Hers light up purple with each step she takes—too many faces, too many people.
He stands to give up when he hears somebody frantically running around like a lunatic to every single store, asking if they’ve seen a little girl with light up sneakers wandering about.
“Calm down. I’m sure she’s around here somewhere,” he heard one of the assistants try.
Another shopkeeper offers a pitiful frown and shakes their head.
Boothill nudges the girl, squeezing her small hand in his, careful of his strength around fragile bones. “Is that them?”
She quickly wipes the tears from her face. She then nods and takes off into a sprint to lunge at you, still sobbing when she wraps her arms around your leg.
You sigh in relief and scoop her up into your arms.
Boothill then has an entire conundrum in the middle of the market square. For one, your daughter is waving him over with a smile on her face. Two, you looked like you were about two seconds away from passing out in shock. Your clothes are askew, hair a mess, face flushed and yet simultaneously drained of blood.
He steps closer anyway, though hesitantly. He can’t say no to the little thing whose grin has now grown double the size of her face.
“This is the man that helped me,” she explained softly to you, pointing at him with a small finger.
You scanned him over.
For a moment, he thought you were going to turn around and book it in the other direction. A random ‘robot man’ in the centre of the town square was probably the least most inviting thing he could’ve been. Not to mention he had been sitting at the docks for so long staring out into the water he knew his hair had been tossed wildly from the wind.
Not that you appeared anymore put together.
Instead, you grab his face with a free hand and kiss him on the cheek.
“Thank you,” you whispered hoarsely.
He almost damn near blue screens. The words ‘anything for you’ fight to come forth out of his throat.
Instead, he lets out a garbled noise before he clears his throat. “Of course. Couldn’t let the little princess run too far.” He teased your daughter with a tap to her nose.
She grabs his finger and presses the pads of her own across the metal rivets and joints like she’s studying them curiously.
Your daughter stared up at you with giant puppy eyes, still holding his hand. “Can we keep him?”
It was your turn to make a weird noise, spluttering with your face heating up. “You can’t keep people.”
All the while, Boothill was staring at you as you chastised her with hot cheeks.
No spouse by the looks of it—nor had the little princess mentioned somebody else. He knew kids liked to ramble on about their parents.
Well, his daughter did. Something cold and metallic turned in his stomach. She used to think her dad was a hero.
He wondered if she still would.
No ring on your finger. Adoration was such a gentle expression on your face, and the way you held her so firmly, yet so delicately, said it all.
Oh, if he wasn’t completely head over heels from the very beginning.
the angst potential. The angst potential. Theeee angst potential. i’m gritting my teeth.
i’m going insan e
#boothill x reader#hsr x reader#honkai star rail x reader#boothill hsr#✦ ( love mail. )#✦ ( anon. )#✦ ( rambles. )
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Blackmail
Summary: You have been receiving text messages from an unknown caller. They know secrets that you didn't know yet. They use that as an advantage to string you closer to them. You need someone to treat you right.
Warning(s): Smut, Obsessive Behavior, Blackmail, Threats, Manipulations, Cheating, Praise Kink
Word Count: 6.2k
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A buzz from your phone vibrates the table, cutting you off mid-sentence. Your eyes stare at your phone which is facing down towards the cafeteria table. It vibrates several more times, suggesting you received more than just one text. You decide to ignore it because you had a feeling it may be from the unknown caller. The sender has been messaging you since last week. At first, the texts were weird but easier to handle. You believed it was a prank, but soon the texts started sounding more personal. Filled with uncomfortable threats and blackmail. As if the person knows you or about you. Someone in this school.
You uncomfortable shift your weight to the opposite side, away from the phone. Noticing you have been staring at your phone for too long, you look back up at your best friend, Amber. You give her a sweet fake smile. She follows your eyes and nibbles the bottom of her lips.
“Aren’t you going to check?” She questions. She leans forward to grab your phone.
It’s normal for her to check considering you two have been best friends since middle school. She’d sometimes toss her phone aside and scroll through yours instead. Which is acceptable to you because you had nothing to hide from her. Especially since you believe she’s just scrolling through your media apps. She claims that your feed is far more entertaining than hers. You trust her with almost everything. On the other hand, she trusts you with everything she has. You weren’t the type to snoop much but with Amber's absolute trust in you… you could look through every single app on her phone. It was a joke at first when she gave you permission. To tease her and make her panic. There’s no way she’s that nonchalant. You’d bite your lips and narrow your eyes at her, finger lingering over the search history or deleted photo albums like a trigger. She gives no response. Just a shrug and a classic Amber response of:
“I have nothing to hide from you.”
You roll your eyes and a groan escaped your lips. Letting the mobile device slip off your fingers and onto her bed.
“No fun,” You sigh.
This time you do have a secret to hide. Those texts were something you did not want Amber to read or see. They consist of things even Amber does not know. The last thing you want is for her to be worried for you. As she reaches for your phone, you quickly snatch it away. Shoving it into your pockets. Her face is in shock. You have never been so defensive towards her.
“It’s nothing really. It’s just Ethan,” You lie. You couldn’t look at her expression and focus on the forgotten meal in front of you. She returns her hands back to her side slowly. Her eyes never leave yours. She decides to not interrogate you in front of all the other classmates. She’s going to find out sooner or later.
“Oh okay... What does he want?” She asks with a hint of annoyance. She hates your so-called “boyfriend”. She does not believe you two are meant to be together.
“He wanted to hang out tonight. His parents are gone on a trip,” You half lie.
“You didn’t read the text,” She informs, narrowing her eyes at you. You shoot her a look of annoyance. What is this all of a sudden? An investigation?
“He’s been asking me since this morning okay?” You protest, “I know it’s him because he’s been desperate and a bit horny…. I-“ You pause. Secretly glancing around you in case someone hears. Every other student seems to be invested in their own conversations to pay attention to yours. Amber leans forward because she’s intrigued.
“I haven’t been doing it with him,” You breathe out. At least this time you weren’t lying to Amber. She groans in response. Pushing her food away from herself as an expression she lost her appetite.
“I’m going to start heading to class. Have fun with him tonight,” She cringes. She stands up and walks to your side. She leans down to give you a kiss on the head before walking away. Once she was out of sight, you pull out your phone.
Your boyfriend is cheating on you.
You’re just a sweet slut for him to use.
I see how you look at her.
He doesn’t love you.
Break up with him. You don’t deserve him anyway.
You feel a heaviness in your heart. There’s no way he’s cheating on you… right? You brush your head in frustration. You shouldn’t trust a random text message. You are not going to let this ruin your life.
-
“I guess I’m not hanging out with him tonight,” You inform Amber as you place your phone down on your bed. She rolls herself over til she is laying on her stomach on the left side of the bed. She’s still wearing her clothes from earlier at school. You sit on the right side wearing a graphic t-shirt and sleeping shorts. Her face lightens up and smiles.
“What happened?” Her question is a little too exciting. You bring your thighs up to your chest and rest your chin on top of your knee.
“He suddenly-“
“You know what? I don’t care,” She quickly cuts you off. You give her a soft smile.
“You don’t even love him. It’s a waste of time,” She bickers, shuffling around uncomfortably. Her shoulders bumped against your feet a couple of times.
“I don’t love him… yet,” You correct her. She stops moving and you watch her chest move up and down fast. She quickly sits up which makes you widen your eyes. She scoots closer and places her hands on your knees. You lean back till your head hits the board of the bed.
“Do you like having sex with him?” She challenges. Her eyes glisten from the lamp beside the bed. The only light source in the room. Your eyes glance down to her plump lips and flicker shut. Turning your head to the side.
“Sometimes,” You admit, staring at the wall. You suddenly feel the heat rise to your cheeks. Amber tilts her head as she slowly analyzes the side of your features.
“That’s not enough,” She breathes, staring at your lips. Her short fingernails graze against the skin of your knees. You shallow the knot in your throat. You look back up to meet her dilated dark eyes. She looks a little insane. She smiles, tilting her head slightly. Your heart quickens embarrassingly. Your legs drop from your chin into a cross position in an attempt to cool off. She bites her lips playfully.
“What do you like?”
“What do you mean?” You whisper.
“During bed,” She deadpan. You furrow your eyebrows and brush her fingers off your knees. The small circles she had been drawing were driving you crazy.
“Why would I tell you?” You giggle. She leans forward and rests her head on your shoulders. You swear she could hear your heart hammering against your chest.
“Come on. We’re best friends. We share everything,” Her breath fans against your neck. She snuggles closer and you squeeze your eyes shut. Her scent clouds your thoughts and it took every muscle in your body to gently push her away.
“Amber stop,” You hesitate. In another second you would fall into temptation. She groans in defeat and falls back onto your bed. Her hair spread across your pillow. She’s visibly upset, but you didn’t really understand why. You had a boyfriend and you hate cheating. She should know that. But you also didn’t blame her for feeling frustrated. You can’t hide your attraction toward her. It’s so obvious. It’s like a game between you two. Truthfully, it’s toxic… and you hate that you enjoy it. A game where you will end up breaking your morals and submitting to your thoughts. She lets out a loud sigh and pushes herself off the bed.
“Where are you going?” You puzzle. You want her to stay next to you. She fluffs her hair and adjusts her clothes.
“I have to go home. My parents told me to be back for a dinner party with some neighbors,” She explains.
“I see,” You try to not sound disappointed. Usually, she would stay til late. To the point where you will have to beg her to leave so that her parents wouldn’t get angry at her. She hides her smile and walks towards the bedroom door. Stopping at the door frame she turns around.
“Don't miss me too much. I’ll come to pick you up for school tomorrow,” She promises before leaving you alone in your room. You pout and fall onto your bed, inhaling the lingering scent of Ambers perfume. You close your eyes and feel your body start to relax.
Buzz. Your phone vibrates and you ignore it.
Buzz.
Buzz. You shuffle.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
You groan in frustration. With eyes still closed you brush your hands around the bedsheets to locate the phone. You bring the phone to your face and start reading the text.
Y/n I have news for you.
Do you really think Ethan is studying for his econ exam right now?
Are you that naive?
He’s too easy to please.
Btw you look good today baby.
Especially now in those shorts.
You feel panic zap throughout your body. The room suddenly feels cold and too dark. You run to your windows and shut the curtains as fast as you can. Clutching the phone close to your chest. You take a seat back on the bed. With shaky hands, you text back.
Who are you?
A second later you get a reply.
Yay I finally got your attention!
Do you want a surprise?
How do you know what I’m wearing?
You’re asking so many questions. I can tell you’re nervous lol.
Answer me. Two minutes pass.
Not yet, baby. The nickname makes you sick in the stomach.
I’m sorry I made you feel anxious. I don’t mean to. Here’s the surprise as an apology.
File attached
You nervously hover over the link. Clicking it causes a photo to appear on the screen. At first, you couldn’t figure out what it was showing. You narrow your eyes and look closer. The photo is blurry and a bit dark. The only light source coming in is from the gaps between wherever the photo is taken. You zoom in on the bright area. A portion of Ethan’s body is evident. He’s in the motion of putting on a shirt. Your eyes widen in realization. The unknown caller is hidden in your boyfriend's closet. You jump out of bed and open your phone to call the cops. A text notification appears above the phone dial before you could finish pressing the last number.
Don’t call the cops or I’ll kill him.
You gasp and drop your phone.
“Oh my god!” You cry out. You rush to your closet and pull down your shorts to put on jeans. Fumbling and breathing heavily. You feel yourself sweating from anxiety and fear. You have to get to his house and save him.
-
You knock vigorously against his front door. The thick wood is starting to hurt your hand from how hard you’re pounding on the door.
“Ethan! Ethan, are you okay?! Open the door!” You pant. You continue knocking for who knows how long. A dark figure appears behind the blurry glass and you’re breathing hicks. The door opens revealing Ethan wearing his boxers and a blue t-shirt. His hair is disheveled as if he had just woken up from a nap. You stare at him in shock and confusion. You start touching him to check for any bruises or cuts. Turning him around and checking up and down his body.
“Woah babe! What’s wrong?” He gasps at your action.
“Is there anyone in your room?” You worry. He widens his eyes slightly for a split second before averting his gaze to the left of you and back. He rubs the back of his neck with his hand.
“What? Why would I? I have no one over,” He answers. His answer didn’t satisfy you.
“Let me check your room,” You demand. You try to walk past him, but he holds you back. You look up and let out a frustrated sigh. He is desperately trying to reach the same level of concern as you, but he didn’t understand a single thing happening.
“Is something wrong? Are you okay?” He inquires. You attempt to push his hand away, but his grip is firm. Your eyes start to water from intense anxiety. His hold softens and he reaches up to hold your face.
“I- I received a picture of you. Someone is hidden in your room. I was so worried I came here as fast as possible. I was afraid someone was going to hurt you,” You fret. He finally understands your actions.
“Hey, I am okay. I’m here with you right now. It’s alright,” He comforts. You sniff and reach up to hold his triceps. He pulls you into a deep hug. You stay in that position until your breathing starts to calm down. His warmth comforts you. His fingers tip gently grazing on top of your scalp.
He never let you check his room that night. But that was okay because you trust him. As long as he is okay like he claimed to be, there shouldn’t be any need for you to check.
-
The next morning you sat extremely quiet in Amber’s car which is now parked in front of school. Who is the person texting you? Will they actually harm the people you love? How did they get a picture of Ethan? Did they set up a camera? Is there a camera hidden in your room? So many thoughts flood your mind that you didn’t realize Amber was talking to you. She waves a hand in front of your face. You blink and look up at her. Her eyebrows furrow with a concerned look. She places her hand on your cheek.
“There you are. Did something happen last night?” She worries. You tilt your head away from her palm and look down. Her eyes flash with hurt as she returns her hand back to her side. You don’t know if you should tell her about the text messages you have been receiving. You didn’t want her to worry. You also didn’t want the unknown messenger to start threatening Amber if she were to find out. On the other hand, you knew you needed someone to be there with you. You can’t handle this alone. The only person who you fully love and trust is her. Amber.
“Amber,” You finally whimper. A tear rolls down your cheek as you look at her. Waves of emotion come crashing down. All you need is for her to…to… no. All you need is her. Everything about her will help. She quickly engulfs you in a hug. She doesn’t ask you any questions but waits til you start to catch your breath. You slowly pull away from the hug first. She waits patiently. You lick your lips and pull out your phone. Quietly pressing onto the unknown contact to reveal the messages that have been haunting you. You hand it over to her. You watch as she scrolls and reads the texts. Her face starts to turn into pure anger. She grips your phone. Her eyes enlarge and glisten.
“How long has this person been texting you,” She demands.
“Almost two weeks,” You confess. She angrily rubs her hair away from her face.
“Why haven’t you called the cops?!”
“B-because I am scared! They threatened me! If I called the cops, what would they do to Ethan?! What would they do to you?! I cannot let anything happen to you two, especially you!” You explode. Thinking about any harm being inflicted on her makes your blood boil. Your hands start to shake without noticing. She looks down at your shaking body and pauses.
“Do.. do you think this person is trying to help you?” She wonders out loud.
“What?” You look at her in disbelief.
“Think about it. This person has been warning you about Ethan. How you shouldn’t trust him. Maybe he’s been lying to you and-” She rambles.
“Are you serious right now?” You glare. She quickly shuts her mouth. She knew she messed up. You are starting to feel like you regret telling her. You unlock the passenger door and walk out. Slamming the car door behind you.
“Y/n!” Amber cries out. You ignore her and continue walking at a fast pace. A few students hanging out at the front glance at you two. She stumbles over her own footsteps to catch up to you.
“Baby I am sorry! Y/n, please! I am just trying to make sense of this situation!” She calls out again. You stop walking and took a deep breath in. She finally catches up, leaning over to collect herself. You swallow your pride.
“I am sorry too. I didn’t mean to get mad… it’s just. I just wish you are wrong. I couldn’t imagine if you were right. I trust him. You of all people should know that,” You admit. Before she could reply, the school bell rings. Signaling that it is time for all students to get to class. You two glance at each other and quietly walk to class.
-
Two classes have already passed and you are currently sitting at your third. A few students whisper among each other talking about whatever topic is floating around. You drum your fingertips against the wood of your desk. Your eyes stare around at your classmates. Could one of them be the unknown caller? Tara sits next to you on the right. She is currently wearing a blue sweater. Her hair was slightly curled and a few front strands tied to the back. She is bored as she scrolls on her phone, waiting for class to start. She stops scrolling and side-eyes you. She catches you staring at her.
“What?” She asks.
“Nothing,” You answer. She returns her attention back to her phone. It can’t be her. Amber and she are closer than you are with Tara. There’s no reason for her to distress her friends’ best friend. You look ahead and see Wes. He is wearing a gray t-shirt. He is currently organizing his desk. A perfectly sharp pencil to the left of him and a clean page in the front. You’ve talked to him a few times. He’s an absolute sweetheart, yet Amber always liked to pick on him. You couldn’t tell if she was just joking or if she actually hated him.
Buzz. Your heart quickens again. You pull out the phone from your pocket.
Hi baby!
What do you want?
Wow, what a fast response! I am starting to feel like we are becoming good friends!
Stop texting me. Please.
Awh you’re begging. Sorry I can’t, but no worries. I have another surprise!
Break up with Ethan today during lunch hours. You blink.
Publicly announce it. If you don’t before lunch ends… I’ll give everyone a taste of what your boyfriends’ been up to. Don’t test me, baby.
Your ears muffle the surrounding noises. What just happened? What did they mean by “a taste of what your boyfriends been up to”? There’s no way they would-
“Y/n,” Tara’s voice brings you back to life.
“W-what?” You stutter. She points to the front of the room and your eyes follow her direction. The teacher stood with her arms crossed as she stares.
“Put away the phone. Class started,” She barks.
The teacher goes on and on with her lesson, but of course, you did not listen to a single full sentence. You mostly stared at your desk in deep thought. Afraid of what is going to happen. Class ended rather fast… or slowly. You couldn’t tell anymore. You rush out down the halls and see a familiar figure. It's Amber. She is currently talking to a few classmates. One hand holding a textbook while the other she uses to brush her hair. A classmate giggles and playfully slaps Amber's shoulder. You roll your eyes and walk up beside Amber. Her full attention immediately falls on you and you smile. She waves her hands as a signal for the nameless classmates to walk away. They glare at you as they walk by. Funny how fast their face changes once she’s not looking.
“They hate me,” You mumble, leaning against Amber's locker. She giggles and touches her heart chain necklace. You watch as she rubs against the heart.
“No one could hate you. You’re perfect,” She corrects as she softly pushes you off her locker. You obey and rest on the locker next to hers. She opens it and places her textbook inside. You watch her closely, tilting your head against the metal doors. Looking at her calms you. She catches you staring and smiles, tilting her head to match yours. You two stare at each other until a name calls for you. Amber rolls her eyes and slams her locker shut. She didn’t need to look to know who it was.
“Hey there babe,” Ethan greets. He grabs your waist and pulls you close to his. Peppering kisses around your face. You giggle awkwardly before pushing him off. Amber's face remains expressionless.
“Ready for lunch? There’s no econ group project to work on today, so what better use of time than to eat with my girl,” He beams. Amber makes a gagging sound. You pinch her arm. Ethan looks at Amber and awkwardly rubs his neck.
“Y-you can join us too, you know,” He offers. Amber gives him a knowing look. Something you didn’t understand, but he did. When did he talk to her enough to understand this? From what you remember: Amber hates him and Ethan is scared of Amber. What are you missing? There’s an awkward pause in the air. As if the two of them were speaking through their eyes. You furrow your eyebrows.
“Sure,” Amber finally speaks up. Ethan smiles and nods his head in satisfaction. As if he wanted you to congratulate him for his effort in trying to get closer to your best friend. You take a step forward towards the cafeteria. He reaches his arm over your shoulders while Amber links her arm around yours. You stop in shock as the two stare at each other. Amber is the one that removes her arm from you. She swears under her breath. The three of you reach a table. Ethan goes off to grab some food while Amber sits in front of you, snacking on some chips. She is disinterested in the chips. Her attention is more on you and… Ethan? She has not spoken a word. Your leg bops up and down in nervousness. You think back to the texts. You have to break up with Ethan soon or… You look up at Amber. Her eyes dilate and glisen. She tilts her head to the side and smiles widely. Plopping a chip in her mouth. You shift uncomfortably against her gaze. Ethan returns with two trays.
“Here babe. I got your favorite,” He chirps. You feel sick in the stomach from the anxiety. Food never looked so unappetizing til now. He starts chewing on his food and secretly glances up at Amber. She could not care less about him right now. She continues looking at you. As if she’s waiting for you to do something… say something…?
Time ticks by. How long has it been? How long have you been pondering and begging for time to stop? Your heart pounds harder. Sweat starts to appear slightly on top of your forehead. Ethan seems awkward in the silence, not knowing what to do or say. Amber starts to look bored.
“Ethan…” You hesitate. This gets both of their attention.
“I- I have something to say”
Ding Ding Ding.
“Shit,” You cuss.
It’s the sound of the school bell.
Lunch is over.
The students start getting up from their seats and cleaning their area. Amber crumbles her bag of chips and tosses it on Ethan's tray. You want the earth to swallow you so you could disappear.
Suddenly many buzzes start echoing throughout the cafeteria. The students halt their movement to retrieve their phones. Gasps can be heard from all around you. You look around and everyone is staring at you. Some looked disgusted, some in shock, some cheering and some were whistling at you. It is such a mixed reaction, you didn’t understand. Ethan opens his phone and freezes. His face immediately turns red with fear and shame. Amber opens her phone as well and widens her eyes. She hands her phone screen to you.
“Oh my goodness… Y/n… You have to look-”
“No! Don’t look!” Ethan begs. He grips her wrist with a frantic look. He’s begging her to stop. She glares at him and tries to jerk her hand away. You decide to listen to her and grab the phone. The picture on the screen was Ethan. Nude. Doggy styling some girl, but the girl was cropped. Unidentified. But you could not care less who the girl was. It wasn’t you.
“You’ve been cheating on me?!” You scream. The whole cafeteria quiets down. Ethan licks his dry lips and brings his hands up in an attempt to hold you. You take a step back away from him. He disgusts you now. Tears start to build up and fall over your cheeks. You bring the back of your hand to wipe the tears. You can’t let him or any of these students see you cry,
“I- I-”
“How fucken dare you!” You cut him off, “ I trusted you! All you do in return is sleep with some bitch?! You’re fucken pathetic,”
“Y/n… That girl… She’s-”
“Shut up!” Amber orders, “You’ve messed up enough. Don’t talk to Y/n again. She hates you.” She gets up from her seat and walks towards you. She wraps her arm around your waist and pulls you away from the crowd. Away from all this betrayal and embarrassment. Ethan pushes against the crowd.
“Let me explain!” He begs. You quickly turn around and shoot him the deadliest glare.
“We are over,” You swore. His shoulders drop in defeat. The crowd shallows him with many comments and questions:
“Bro what the fuck man. Why would you do that to her?”
“I didn’t think you’d be that bad.”
“Of course. I knew he was too good to actually be good.”
“I feel so bad for Y/n.”
“Yo, that was insane!”
Amber successfully dragged you to the front of the school. A place where there are no students currently. You sob uncontrollably. You feel so frustrated, betrayed, and embarrassed. You attempt to push away from Amber. To hide your face and run away from everyone.
“Hey, hey stop it,” Amber begins. She holds you to catch a glimpse of your face. You fight against her. Nearly knocking her over.
“Y/n,” She begs. You surrender and let her do whatever she wants. You are too emotionally unstable to do anything. She brushes her thumb across your cheek. You whimper in an attempt to stop crying. Your lips quiver and her eyes soften. You sniff as tears continue to roll down.
“I am so sorry this happened to you,” All you could do is nod.
“Take me home,” Your voice coarse.
The whole car ride was quiet. Amber would glance over worriedly once in a while. You stare out the window. She nibbles the bottom of her lip. Her grip on the steering wheel was hard. After a while, she finally makes a turn into your house. You sit in silence in her car. She shifts in her seat to face you. You can hear her breathing.
“D-do you want me to stay with you tonight? You can come over to mine tonight if you want. My parents went on a business trip,” She whispers.
“No. Thank you, Amber. I will see you tomorrow,” You answer, unbuckling your seatbelt. As you reach for the door, she holds your arm.
“Text me tonight okay?” She requests. You didn’t answer, but she knew you would do it.
-
You walk into your room and collapse onto your bed. You could no longer cry. You were so tired you had to close your eyes and sleep. About a few hours later you hear many knocks on your door. You stir awake feeling sick and uncomfortable. The pounding continues, forcing yourself to get up and towards the door. You open the door and see Ethan. His hair is messy and he sweats through his shirt. Seems like he has been running. You swing to slam the door shut, but he blocks it.
“Please let me explain,” He begs. You’re so sick and tired of hearing him. Sick of hearing his voice. You release your grip on the door. He walks into the room and takes a deep breath. He wastes no time seeing that this is the only chance you would let him speak.
“It’s Amber,” He confesses. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion.
“W-what?” You breathe.
“The girl in the picture. It’s Amber,” He could no longer look you in the eye. Your eyes begin to water again. A painful ache rises in your heart.
“Why? Why would she-”
“I don’t know. She wanted to have sex all of a sudden. We did it once. I swear,”
“She wouldn’t do that to me,” You deny. He ruffles his hair and shakes his head.
“She did. But she… This is so fucked… She kept moaning your name,” He rasps. His cheeks turn red.
“What the fuck are you saying?” You cuss. This makes no sense to you. In fact, it is starting to creep you out. How many secrets did your close friends keep? How many more lies are there to break your heart?
“Talk to Amber. She’s insane in the head. She’s obsessed with you, Y/n!”
“Get out,”
“I will. I am so sorry for everything. Part of it is my fault. I am weak and I fell for her seduction. Please confront Amber. She has to tell you the whole truth,” He emphasizes. He leaves the room in a hurry, leaving you in disbelief. You collect your thoughts and take deep breaths. You are no longer sad. You are furious. Your body shakes in anger.
-
You pound against her front door. Not caring how much it hurts your fist. The door swings open revealing a smiling Amber. God, you are so angry.
“Jeez Y/n, you’re gonna wake up the whole neighborhood! I said text me, not show up in front of my house like this. Not that I am complaining,” She jokes. You push her into the house, slamming the door behind you. She widens her eyes and furrows her eyebrows.
“Tell me the truth,” You demand. She crosses her arms and shakes her head. She smiles revealing her teeth.
“What truth?”
“I am so sick of the lies. Ethan told me,” You fum. Her smile drops and she looks emotionless. She swallows a lump in her throat.
“It was you, wasn’t it? The unknown caller. It has always been you,” You accuse. She blinks her eyes which threaten to glisten. Her lack of answers speaks volumes.
“Do you hate me that much?” You whimper. Her facade breaks and she looks absolutely hurt.
“Hate you? I love you!” She cries out. She paces back in forth in front of you, clenching her fist. You stare at her in shock.
“No, no this was not supposed to happen! Did it seem that way to you?! That I hate you? I tried so hard to reveal how much I care and love you,”
“You fucked my boyfriend-”
“Do you know why?” She giggles, getting close to your face. Her pupils were blown wide and dark. You stumble backward, but she continues to follow until you hit your back against the door.
“I wanted to feel you. That lip of his has kissed you all over. He told me how you like to get kissed on the neck and down to your collar. That hand of his would grip your hips and pull you close to his body. His bulge would stick uncomfortably in his jeans. Your hands would unzip his pants and play with his staff. His dick burying deep inside you,” She lets out a soft moan. You clench your teeth.
“Feeling your wet cunt rub against his dick… I can’t help but crave it. I don’t care about Ethan. Never. I cared about how I got to feel what's been in you. It turns me on so much. If I could not have you, I will take the nearest thing that got the privilege to touch you. You drive me insane. I want you,”
Her head dips towards your neck and she licks a long line up your throat. You grunt, squeezing your legs together. She leans back and hovers her lips over yours. There is no longer any personal space. Her body presses against yours.
“The only way I can get rid of him is to expose his lack of self-control to you. I didn’t do anything wrong. He failed to deny me. I knew he was not perfect for you. I am. I was the only person you trust to read the ‘unknown’ caller texts. I was the only person you ran to for help and comfort. You picked me, Y/n. I did this for you. For us,” She purrs. She lingers a little longer over your lips before leaning to your ear.
“Kiss me please,” She blushes, “Please Y/n. Kiss me and I will do anything for you.” You tilt your head up to clear your head from her scent. She’s drowning your sense of morality. She took that opportunity to kiss your neck. You moan. You can feel your walls starting to break down.
“That’s it, baby. Kiss me back,” She moans. Her mouth leaves your neck and returns back to hovering over your lips. She smiles brightly after making eye contact with you. Your eyes look just like hers. Dilated and glistening. You’re turned on and she knows it. Your heart hammers against your rib cage. You push yourself off the door and crash your lips against hers. She chuckles in bliss and grinds your body on top of hers. Her hands glide up the back of you, making you arch into her.
“Fuck Amber,” You gasp. She pulls away from your swollen lips.
“Keep saying my name. I want to be the only name you moan from now on. Stay with me and I will make you the most loved person on earth,” She promises. You nod your head rapidly. Lust clouding your mind.
“Yes,” You blush.
She pulls you by the hand towards the stairs and up to her room. She locks the door as you glance around her room. You’ve been here many times. The picture frame of you and her smiling sits on her desk. You hide your smile behind your hair. You suddenly feel her arms snake around your waist. She nuzzles her nose into your neck. She inhales your scent and sighs.
“Are you ready?” She whispers. You turn around and wrap your arms around her neck. You refuse to admit that her stalking and obsessive behavior are attractive out loud. It will be the new secret you will keep inside.
“Amber… I want you to show me how much you wanted me,” You express.
“I will,” She smiles. She plays with the rim of your shirt. You eye her lovingly, waiting for her. She pulls up your shirt, leaving you in just a bra. The coldness of her room makes you shiver. Your skin raises goosebumps. She analyzes your body down from the waist and up.
“You’re so beautiful,” She confesses. You reach under to pull her shirt off. The chain heart necklace hits her collarbone. She quickly unclasps your bra and your nipple hardens. She brings her hands to cup your chest. She giggles in excitement. You walk backward til your heel hits the bed frame. You flick your fingers for her to follow. She comes close and kisses your collarbone as you start to lie on her bed. She kisses down from your collarbone to your chest. She sticks out her tongue and draws light circles around your right nipple. You suck in a sharp breath. She continues kissing down to your hip. Her fingers hook around your pants to pull them down. You help her by lifting your ass up.
“I’ve been dreaming about this,” She breathes. She slightly nips the skin on the inner of your thighs. Leaving her mark. Her nose brushes against the material of your underwear.
“Fuck me, Amber,” You gasp. She pushes the material to reveal your lovely folds. She slightly slides her fingers along them. A silky clear substance coats her middle finger. The scent of your arousal makes her drunk.
“You’re already so wet,” She giggles.
“So embarrassing,” You spill, covering your face with the back of your hand. She reaches up with her other hand and grabs the hand covering your face. Your fingers interlock.
“Don’t hide your face baby. I want to see you,” She smiles.
#amber freeman#amber freeman x reader#amber freeman x y/n#scream 5#amber freeman smut#im reposting (this was my old fanfic i deleted)#miss me?#amber freeman fanfiction#mikey madison#lgbt#yandere
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Rise August: Secrets
Story included under cut!!!
Draxum was in his apartment sorting through a box of old potions and scrolls and loose mystical items left over from when his lab was destroyed for the third time, during the Shredder's invasion. He'd been putting this off for far too long. Amidst the chaos of his collection, there were medical files on his past experiments, DNA samples of the turtles, a couple ancient relics he'd managed to keep ahold of during the whole 'banished from the Hidden City' fiasco, and... a doll. Small, scorched, threads and yarn coming loose from where time had worn them out. It was a small item, inconsequential upon first glance. But it was possibly the most precious possession Draxum owned, if only because it was the last reminder he had of a former life. The doll, stitched and crocheted with care, resembled a miniature turtle. Draxum pressed the doll close to his chest as he'd done countless times before, holding it by his heart and silently praying to any god that would listen to him. And he sat, hoping his prayer would be answered, and a single message could be relayed to the spirit of the one who'd made the doll for him all those years ago.
He was so sorry.
It was then that his phone began to buzz, bringing him back to the present. He tried ignoring it, but the infuriating noise continued.
BZZZ. BZZZ. BZZZ.
He growled, admitting defeat in the battle of wills against the irritating little machine, and picked it up. Leonardo was calling. Had BEEN calling him repeatedly. Along with Michelangelo, who'd called a total of three times within the last minute and a half. Hmm, odd. Donatello had called once, too. What could they want? It wasn't a training evening, or one of those cumbersome 'family bonding nights'. But it must be important if they were willing to call SIX TIMES IN A ROW. He cautiously pressed the little green button.
"Baron Draxum speaking--"
"WERE YOU GOING TO TELL US THAT WE HAD SECRET SIBLINGS?! OR WERE WE JUST SUPPOSED TO LEARN THAT ON OUR OWN?!"
Draxum pulled his ear away, flinching at the noise. It was Leonardo, all right.
"What?" Draxum groaned, trying to combat the sudden deafness he just received in his left ear. "What is going on--"
"Dad just told us about our secret SISTER and secret BROTHER!" Leo yelled again. "Did you ever plan on bringing this up?! Where will the secrets END with our family?! Do you have ANYTHING TO SAY?!"
Draxum grumbled angrily.
"That conniving actor... I can't believe he..." How dare that former action star spill all his secrets without telling him he even KNEW those secrets! How did he find out?! "Put the rat on," he demanded. "I will discuss this breach of trust with him."
"I..." silence. "....I can't."
"Why not?" Draxum asked, noticing the sudden change in Leonardo's voice.
The mutant slider turtle took a good long while to answer. In the background, Draxum could make out the sounds of weeping and wailing. Michelangelo. He'd recognize the youngest's voice anywhere. Leo's breaths were shaky as he struggled to string together a sentence.
"...Draxum... Dad can't... he isn't...." a pause, a deep inhale. "He... he's dead," Leo whispered hoarsely. "He died half an hour ago."
Dead...?
Barry knew the rat was old and weak, and had been growing sick... but... And he'd told them. On his deathbed. He'd planned this, a dramatic reveal for the king of drama. One last spiteful incursion against the great Baron Draxum. He'd told the boys about their 'secret siblings'. How could he have known?? How did he ever find out? The how and why hardly mattered now. He'd told them. And... it was about time they knew.
"...I'll be there in fifteen minutes," Draxum stated before hanging up abruptly.
Baron Draxum spent the first five minutes just standing in the middle of the room. Thinking. Contemplating. This was going to be a very difficult conversation. For a multitude of reasons. Draxum spent the next five minutes gathering all the supplies he would need. Reports on the mutagen and ooze. Scans of the experiments. DNA samples, tests, any information on the two subjects he had left. Receipts of their existence. Proof.
The doll, the last remnant and possession of the most precious thing he'd ever lost.
And then Draxum spent the last five minutes rehearsing. Going over every little detail and thinking the history through. He could guess what they would say, what they'd ask, and how they'd react. There was no way he was ready for this.
His fifteen minutes were up. It was time to go.
Draxum stood stone still, arms full of documents, in the center of his apartment.
It was now twenty minutes. Draxum opened a magenta portal and stepped through.
The lair was darker than usual. And quiet. Usually there were string lights and neon signs illuminating the halls, but they'd been turned off. And there was always something playing in the background, a tune from the radio or a movie left on in the living room. But it was eerily silent, apart from the sound of people crying. Draxum followed the sounds of grief into the living room, Splinter's favourite space. It was dimly lit by candles, a scene of mourning like something from a film. Of course, that was how he'd want to go out. Dramatically.
The children were all surrounding his favourite armchair, Leonardo standing at a distance and tapping his foot impatiently as he stood guard over the room. Donatello was sitting in a corner, looking unsure of how to feel, or how to process what he was feeling. Michelangelo was sobbing in Raphael's lap, crying uncontrollably into his shoulder as the eldest rocked him back and forth, trying to comfort the youngest while also holding back his own tears in an attempt at false bravery. April O'Neil -- who was also here, among others -- had taken the initiative to drape a long white sheet over the body, out of respect.
Seeing this... seeing the outline of Splinter's body laying still... the scene became all too real all at once, and Draxum's planning and pre-prepared speeches were lost in the realization. His sons just lost the man they called 'father'. The person they loved most in life. And now, he was all they had left. And that terrified him.
"You're late," Leo growled, turning to look the sheep man in the eyes.
"Apologies," Draxum sighed. "I needed to prepare. Sit down, I'll try to explain it all."
Leo and April gathered the rest of the family into the kitchen, where Draxum began to pass out the papers and documentation.
"Okay, Draxum," Leo spat, sitting himself down at the table. "TALK. What did Dad mean by a secret sister and secret brother?"
Draxum inhaled deeply, readied himself, and began.
"You DO have a brother and sister. That is true."
"Why didn't you ever tell us?" Mikey asked, voice wet and wobbly from crying. "Why didn't Splinter??"
"I can't say why the rat --" he paused, cleared his throat. They dead deserved more respect than that. "...Why Splinter didn't tell you beforehand. I didn't even know he knew. But I hadn't told you because I saw no reason to."
"No reason?!" Donatello gawked. "They're our secret family members!"
"Yeah, do you have ANY IDEA how many family members we have?!" Leo added. "Zero! And now we have two?! This is kind of a BIG DEAL, BARRY!"
"Technically, we always had two secret family members but --"
"Not the time for grammatical correction, Dee."
"Would you allow me to continue?" Draxum yelled over the argumentative boys.
The room fell silent.
"Thank you. The main reason I never told you was... because they are... dead."
Leo's hands, which had been folded together and holding his chin up, fell to his sides as his eyes widened.
"Dead? How?"
"It's a long story," Draxum began, taking one of the many sheets and passing it around the table. "When you were first mutated, I also mutated a fifth turtle, though she was contained in a separate tank. During the destruction of my lab, I managed to escape with her while your father escaped with you. Three years later, with my lab restored, I began my research again and decided to try mutating a sixth turtle."
"Our... brother?" Raph asked, pretending to read a sheet full of medical notes and toxicology readings he didn't understand at all.
"Yes," Draxum nodded. "Though, technically, he is your half-brother."
"How does that work?" Mikey asked.
"I didn't have any DNA remnants of Lou Jitsu left, so I had to find the next best warrior to use," Draxum explained, gesturing to himself. "So I used my own DNA for the recreated formula. I called the two turtles Venus De Milo and Machiavelli."
"But what happened to them?" Mikey asked nervously. "How did they..."
Draxum cleared his throat as he went over the old memories. Even after all these years, they still hurt.
"I was not in the good graces of the public. The Council of Heads disapproved of my illegal genetic experimentations, and as such my work was in danger. The two experiments were in danger. That was when Big Mama showed up."
"Of course she did!" Leo groaned, throwing his hands in the air. "That woman! Pizza supreme, I swear she preys on opportunity like... like a... like a creature that prowls or... something..."
"Do you mind if I go on?" Draxum growled. "As I was saying, she promised to help smooth things over with the council and the public eye if I let her take custody for one of the experiments."
"Why would she want that?" Donnie wondered as he looked over Venus' paperwork. "And why would you agree?
"She said that if she were to truly be in league with me, she'd need an equal share of the project. She argued that it would only solidify her standing with me and make us equal partners with equal footing. And an equal portion of responsibility and investment in the project. And I had no choice, I needed her sway with the community. She took Venus from me, and I never saw her again. Big Mama was only meant to keep her for three years, but when the time came she told me that Venus had died from complications due to the mutation."
"Was that true?" Raph asked.
"I don't know, I never found out. If it was false, Big Mama made her virtually invisible. I've no idea of what became of Venus. But after that, I became far more protective of Machiavelli. I trained him, schooled him, kept him safe from prying eyes. And as time went on, he became very important to me. I was invested in his wellbeing, and... and..."
Michelangelo perked up, seeing a familiar but rare side of Draxum show itself. A softened expression, a gentleness in his voice. A deep and harrowed regret.
"You... you loved him, didn't you?" the box shell turtle asked. "He became like a son to you, didn't he?"
Draxum nodded sadly.
"But I was a warmongering fool back then. Afraid and angry, I projected my frustrations out onto Machiavelli. I tried to mold him into a warrior, but he... he wasn't like that, he was kind and... you all would have liked him." Draxum smiled, turning to look at each of the boys. "He was creative, smart, loved playing games and making jokes... And despite my ignorance, he saw me as a father."
Leo glanced from a sheet containing science-y mumbo-jumbo back to the disgraced baron. He looked so old, so tired. In his hands, he clutched a secret and sacred doll. Leo's gaze rose from the hidden treasure back up to Draxum's face, which was clouded over with old grief.
"What happened to him, Barry?" Leo asked cautiously. "What happened to Machiavelli?"
Draxum squeezed the handmade doll. His brow furrowed, his jaw hardened. His voice was low as he forced the words out.
"...It was a few years ago. One night, we had an argument over training. I don't remember exactly what was said, only that we fought over his purpose. I was adamant that his destiny was to be a soldier, nothing more, and I said as much. I told him we'd discuss it further in the morning. But that night... the lab... there was an explosion, and... his bedroom was right beneath... he didn't make it out."
The room was silent. Draxum sat, twiddling his thumbs as he thought of his son's face. There were no pictures, no images, no drawings left to depict him. Only this doll, made in his image as a gift for his father. But he didn't need any reminders. He remembered him perfectly. He remembered it all.
"...How long ago was this?" Donatello asked.
"...Almost three years ago, by now," Draxum whispered.
"An explosion in your lab that occured over two years ago," Donnie repeated. "This... this wouldn't have happened to be during a stand-off between you and four mutant turtles, would it?"
Draxum stayed silent. He knew this was coming. Hence why he never brought it up. He felt every eye on him. He couldn't answer. Yet they needed one. He slowly nodded.
"...So it was... our fault?" Raph asked, voice low and hushed. "The lab explosion we caused... it was because of us he died?"
"No," Draxum assured them, finally looking up. "It was my fault. If I had not been so stubborn and had let go of my irrational hatred of the humans, none of that would have happened. I would never had created the oozesquitos, nor kidnapped the agent Mayhem, and none of the events that followed would have come about. It was not your fault. It was only mine."
Mikey stood up and rushed over to Draxum's side, wrapping his arms around him and crying into his robe.
"I'm sorry," Mikey whimpered. "I'm sorry that happened..."
"And I am sorry I did not tell you about your sister and half-brother sooner," Draxum sighed. "I wasn't sure how to bring it up. And... I was not ready to reopen old wounds."
"I guess it's okay," Leo grumbled, waving his hand at Draxum. "I'm glad you told us now, at least."
"It would have been cool to have more siblings, though," Raph smiled. "I wonder if I'd still be oldest..."
"According to these, 'Venus' was older than you," Donatello read aloud. "And Machiavelli was born three years after our mutation--"
"Wait, this means I have a younger brother?! I'm not the youngest??" Mikey exclaimed.
"You're still the youngest, Mikey," Donnie explained.
"Nuts."
"This might be a dumb question, but are you sure that they're dead?" Leo asked, scanning the sheets over again. "I mean, plot twists seem to be a running theme in our family. Could they still be alive?"
"It's possible that Venus might be alive," Draxum shrugged. "Big Mama is nothing if not a swindler and a liar."
"What about Machiavelli?" Mikey wondered. "Could he have made it out?"
"I don't see how," Draxum answered dejectedly. "I barely made it out alive. With no warning, and his room directly underneath... no. If he had survived, I would have found him by now. And... it's too late. Three years have weathered away any hope I had."
"You never know," Mikey offered. "I mean... it's possible, right?"
Baron Draxum knew this was a vain hope, one he didn't have the strength to allow any indulgence in.
"I do not wish to give myself false hope for what I know to be a fantasy," Draxum scolded. "But..."
But... he could hope, nonetheless. And perhaps one day, he really would see his son once more.
@sariphantom
(While I don't actually accept the whole Splinter's death from the anniversary comic as canon, I only accept it in this AU universe because it allows for Draxum to finally tell his kids about his other kids)
#rottmnt#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#rise august 2024#rise august art challenge#rise august#secrets#tutant meenage neetle teetles#rottmnt fanart#rottmnt au#rottmnt baron draxum#rottmnt draxum#velcro duo#velcro au#short story
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I would love something with Mr. Charles Leclerc. He's been away for 21 DAYS due to the triple header and his wife (the reader) has had enough. She puts on a special lingerie set she recently bought in a colour she knows Charles will love and waits (im)patiently for her lovely husband. The moment she sees him coming through the front door wearing the outfit shown in the photo I attached to this request, she can't take her hands off him. (His arms in that photo make me drool) She needs him right there, right now. So Charles gives her everything she wants including an orgasm for every single day they weren't together and the filthiest dirty talk in French. Thank you very much ☺️.
We all want to put our teeth in his biceps, don't we? warnings: 18+, google translated french (mon dieu), charles being so hot and getting deserved head, him giving it raw (be responsible irl please) and giving orgasms that are illegally good.
Your body collides with Charles with a soft oof, but he catches you effortlessly nevertheless. He laughs as he spins you around in the hallway, your face buried in the soft material of his shirt, the bare skin of your thighs wrapping around the linen pants he was wearing. He could barely make the sentence I missed you so much from your muffled voice, your lips pressing to his neck to reclaim him as yours. "I missed you more, baby," Charles replied, his other arm wrapping around you after he dropped his bag in the hall. "An eight time Grand Prix came back home to me," you purr, your ankles locking behind his back as he hadn't moved from his position in the hallway yet. "I'm so proud of you," you continue, happily accepting the kiss he pressed to your lips. Charles shifted you a little in his arms to hold onto you better, hands finding the bare skin under the silk robe you were wearing.
The robe fell open with the slightest movement, revealing the pretty set you were wearing, the see-through lace doing little to cover your tits properly. You grew hotter under his eyes, his pupils widening and the crystal colours fading into a dark swirl that caused a shiver to run up your spine. "Charles..." you hum, your fresh manicure tickling his biceps when you ran your hands over him, feeling the taut muscles before your palms warmed his chest. "Don't make me wait," you finish. "You're that needy?" he breathes, his lips brushing over yours, leaning back when you wanted to kiss him. You whine in response, your lower lip jutted out slightly. "Tu es tellement nécessiteux que tu veux que je t'emmène ici?" Charles asks, his palms kneading your ass, pulling you over his growing erection as your back hit the wall in the hallway.
"Oui," you reply with a small voice. "Need you here, now," you feel out of breath without having done anything. Your lips mold together in the most delicious kiss you could have wished for after not being able to kiss him for 21 days. Charles groans against your mouth when your hands continue to run over him, riding up his shirt, feeling his abs, your nails scratching his pecs. "Want if off," you muttered, gasping when his lips kiss down your throat to your neck next, the stubble on his jaws and cheek tickling your skin. Charles put you back on your feet, complying with your request to get his shirt off, swinging it over his head and dropping it somewhere. You slipped your arms out of the robe, letting it fall to the floor as well. "Putain, tu es tellement belle," he whistles through his teeth, his hands feeling you up, pulling you against him again. Your fingers dance across the waistband of his sweats, pulling on the string to loosen it.
You don't waist time sliding down to your knees, dragging his pants down and freeing his awfully hard erection from his shorts. Your pussy clenches around thin air at the mere sight of his cock, the shape so perfect, the girth making your mouth water, the slick leaking from your cunt ruining the fine lace of your thong. No sight was as pretty as looking up at Charles while you had his cock between your lips. The sigh that escaped him was enough to make you whine around his cock while your hand stroked him, your tongue lapping around the sensitive tip before you took more of him. He plants a hand against the wall behind you, muscles in his upper body flexing while the other hand moved into your hair in the back of your neck. Charles grunts as he keeps your hair out of your face, his hips rolling forward with each flick of your tongue and bob of your head.
Charles' abs clench as he watches you gag and struggle, your eyes glistening slightly as the corners started to water. "Prends-moi bien, bébé," he compliments through gritted teeth, watching you gasp for air as you pull back slightly. He's obsessed with seeing you like this, looking up at him with big eyes, your lips glossy from your spit, swollen from sucking him so well. Your hand glides over his cock again, you're about to take him back in your mouth as he pulls you up. "J'ai besoin de te goûter," he mutters, taking his turn to get on his knees, moving one of your legs over his shoulder. You could barely register the moment he pulled your thong aside, his hot mouth landing on your pussy without a warning, his tongue diving between your folds and licking you up. Your back arching off the wall and your fingers curling into his hair. "Charles..." you moan, the coil in your lower abdomen tightening when he sucked your clit into his mouth. His stubble scraped over your thighs, roughing up your soft skin.
His palms kneaded your ass again, pulling you more over his mouth. He licked, slurped, sucked, like you were the first thing he ate after a twelve-hour journey back home, making you whine and mewl with desperation to cum. And he wanted you to cum on his tongue. Charles' pace quickened when he noticed your short breaths, the frantic pulling on his hair. White-hot pleasure clouded your vision when your body reached a peak it had been craving since the morning he left for the triple header. He had been too busy for phone sex and your fingers simply couldn't do what he could. Your knees buckled with a difficulty to keep standing up, so he got up as well, his body pressing against yours to keep you up right. You weakly moaned against his mouth when he kissed you, tongue brushing over your lower lip before deepening the kiss, fingers dancing down your stomach and past the elastic band of your thong.
"F-fuck," you tremble when two of his fingers enter you, easily finding home between your slippery walls. "Shit, baby, you're so fucking wet," he muttered, pulling his fingers out of you to lick them clean before he gently let them enter you again. "Look at me," Charles demands, making you lift your eyes to his as he starts a pace that has you on the brink of an orgasm embarrassingly fast already. He curls them up against your g-spot, fingertips massaging the sensitive spot inside you. You're a mess when you cum on his fingers, an arm around your waist making sure you don't fall over. "Need to be inside you," his voice rasps. "Need you inside me," you emphasize, causing a small smirk to curl his lips before he turns you around, forcing your back to arch a little so he can easily pull your hips back. "Mon dieu, I missed this pussy," Charles growls, sinking into you deeply with a swift thrust of his hips.
Your eyelids flutter as he spreads you open, the sensitiveness of your previous orgasm and the burn of your stretching walls causing your lips to part with a nearly pornographic moan. You're slightly disappointed he turned you around to fuck you from behind, as your fingers were itching to dig into his shoulders, to claw at his back. Charles' first thrusts were slow, and he was taking in the feeling of your perfect cunt around him, squeezing him tight, inviting him to push in deeper, before he quickened the pace to fuck you hard and deep. You couldn't keep your sounds down anymore, skin to skin sounds filling the hallway, the wall becoming nearly uncomfortably hard as you leaned your forearms against it. "That's it, baby. You're so good to me," he praised, knowing you were close as you cried out his name when his fingers landed on your clit.
You felt on the edge of passing out, the pleasure curling your toes and swirling up your nerve system, a hand reaching back for him letting him know you needed a couple of seconds. Charles grew possibly even harder at seeing you struggle to take him, your hand landing flat on the wall in attempt to steady yourself, moving your balance from one leg to the other, his cock still inside you. He had to pull out briefly to turn you around, lift you up against him. Your arms curled around his shoulders, ankles locking behind his back again. He moved you up and down his cock, struggling to hold himself together as well, feeling on the brink of his release for a couple of minutes already, but he needed to make you cum again, needed to make up for the time he was gone. There was nothing he loved more than taking care of his girl. "Charles, baby," you whined, nails digging into his arms that were holding you tightly.
Your tits were bouncing as he fucked you harder, the straps of your bra had fallen down your arms, the lace of your thong stretched so far you were sure it was ruined forever now. You looked so gorgeous to him, so fucked out, cock drunk, overstimulated. Nothing felt better than his body tensing against yours, hot seed painting your walls and his grunts against your mouth. You ran your hands over his broad shoulders, feeling his skin that was slightly damp with sweat now. "Welcome home," you said, a little out of breath. A smile curled his lips as he let out a small chuckle. "I missed you," he repeated, kissing your lips sweetly before letting you slowly down the floor. "I'm so happy you're back," you added, kissing him once more. "You don't think I'm done with you, right?" Charles' lips trail down your jaw again. "I sure hope you're not," you hum, feeling him getting hard again.
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♡ TO BE LOVED BY
characters. albedo zhongli diluc alhaitham x gn!reader genre. romantic fluff + hurt/comfort. 1.6k words. an. part 1 , part 2 coming soon!!!! | to be loved by genshin men who appreciate art forms – where their favourite piece of art is you. ; reader is insecure + has low self esteem, and the men help them think otherwise. | please reblog!! im getting back into writing and reblogs with tags and comments will make me want to write more :D
the painter
to be loved by albedo, the painter — people realise that the faces that he paints every day seem to resemble one person and one person alone. the high cheekbones, the crooked smile, the monolids — its either the artist has a case of the same face syndrome, or there is only one source of inspiration for him . . .
albedo sits by his artistry room, the window tinting golden light that shines onto your features. it highlights parts of you that you dislike, you argue, but he tenderly kisses each spot that brings you distaste. if you cannot love yourself, then let him love you extra. if you cannot see yourself the way he looks at you – with all the love and admiration and sweet infatuation in the world – then let him paint you in the way he so lovingly sees you so.
he motions for you to tilt to your left with a flick of his finger, not looking up from the blended paints on his wooden palette. you freeze – you don’t want to make him unhappy by not complying but complying also means seeing the ugliness of you. you don’t want him to see you ugly.
“i don’t like that side of me,” you whisper blankly. “it doesn’t make me look good.”
it is at these few words that albedo looks up from his painting.
“you are beautiful.”
he says the three words so matter-of-factly that you wonder if he even means it at all. they are so quick to fall out of his mouth – does he love you too little to properly regard them so, or does he love you so much that it requires no hesitation on his end to reassure you?
“albedo, thank you, but i am not-”
“you are so beautiful, my love,” albedo repeats. “and it pains me so because you don’t seem to believe it for yourself.”
“i am not-” you blink back salty tears.
“do my words hold no weight to you?” he asks, not unkindly. there’s an awkward stare that the both of you share before he lets a soft sigh part his lips, and he gathers you in his arms.
you look at him tiredly. this was not the battle you wanted to fight today, you think to yourself.
“i am beautiful.” you repeat after him. maybe, just maybe – if you say it enough, you can believe it just as wholeheartedly as albedo believes so. you can see the corners of his lips turn upwards into a soft smile – your lover smooths back your hair, planting a sweet kiss in the middle of your forehead.
“i love you, my muse. it’s alright if you don’t believe it just yet. you’ll have me to remind you that you are beautiful, every day.”
the poet
to be loved by zhongli, the poet — the words he spins materialises out of his infatuation for you. at first glance, the words seem so bombastic – so huge, so big, that they don’t make any sense. but they are beautiful; his words are so sweet and lovely, endless love poems addressed to the one person he has fallen harder and harder for every single day. you.
“are you sure that’s a real word?” you laugh lightly, peering over his shoulder to glance at the newest word on his yellowed paper. eudaimonia, you read curiously.
“my dear, i would assume so,” he replies, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “i believe it means for a person to be of a flourishing, happy state. the thesaurus that tartaglia had obtained for me says so, but if you think otherwise, we can most certainly track down the author to contest that.”
“i trust the author.” you giggle.
“as do i.” zhongli presses a kiss to your forehead, and turns back to his pen.
you watch as he strings together sentences – sentences so lovely, you could never have ever imagined them to be about you. he describes the slight smile on your face when you reread one of your favourite books, or the fact that your laugh has two sounds – one like the tinkling of wind chimes, the other a boisterous, unbridled roar. his pen greets the paper once again, and you hear the gentle scratching of the tip against the sheet.
you are the reason i am able to rest at home with eudaimonia – my pillar, my rock, my lifeline.
“that’s beautiful. your writing is lovely as always.” you whisper, wrapping your arms tenderly around him from behind. he leans into the warmth of your touch, sweetly, lovingly, falling into your embrace.
“well, my dear – it would only make sense for my words to reflect the most pleasing of things to me.”
the photographer
to be loved by diluc, the photographer — you are his model, day and night. he carries his camera when he can, and needless to say . . . more than three quarters of his camera roll is filled with pictures of you. they’re not perfect pictures, but they’re beautiful to him. and that is the only thing he cares about.
”diluc, don’t! i don’t look nice here.” you giggle as he, in a rare bout of unbridled playfulness, pretends to be your personal paparazzi.
“you look good in every photo, my love.” he chuckles, and runs you through the most recent photos he took.
it’s blurry. your cheeks look huge. your chin… “you look good” – was diluc blind, or lying?
you tighten your smile and turn back to your work, waving away thoughts that turn into jealous green monsters over others who would look good in his camera, no matter how imperfect their pose was.
“hey,” diluc sees the frown on your face. “i mean it. you look wonderful.”
“how?” you blink back frustrated tears.
“diluc, open your eyes. my eyes are uneven in this one. my cheeks look like a chipmunk’s. my chin.. i don’t even want to think about my chin. i don’t look good at all, diluc.”
he stays quiet for a moment, and you wonder if that was the right thing to say at all. maybe just keep quiet next time, (y/n). don’t insult his work – your insecurities are yours to hold alone, right? he tucks your hair away from your eyes and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.
“i urge you – look again, (y/n).”
“you didn’t edit anything, diluc.”
diluc thumbs away a stray tear as he cups your face – a betrayal to your plea to your body to keep quiet. just keep quiet, (y/n). your lover takes your shoulders and sits you down gently, kneeling next to you, camera in hand.
“you don’t look good, you say? interesting.” diluc has a placid smile on his face as he runs through his camera roll again – you are afraid of angering him, of doubting his craft – but how can you see those pictures and be immediately satisfied with what they are?
“why don’t you believe me? i’m the one who sees it.” you reply indignantly.
“i don’t believe so, not at all. you see it, but i see that you are smiling in each and every one of them, my love. you are happy and you are beautiful, my sun. undoubtedly so – for that is what the camera captures. is that not what matters the most?”
the writer
to be loved by alhaitham, the writer — people often wonder who sparks these passionate feelings of infatuation in his writing; all they need to look at is the person he leaves his gaze to linger on for a little while longer. his smile seems to brighten a little when he’s talking with you . . .
he describes a love scene so tenderly. a man and his partner, dancing in the stillness of a living room in the witching hours of the night – sweet, loving words fall clumsily out of the man’s mouth – it’s obvious he’s infatuated with his partner. two words, my angel, stands out in the manuscript you read.
“hayi, why do you never call me your angel? ever?” you ask, a slight pout on your face.
“because you are not a metaphor for me to use,” he counters, not unkindly. “you are not someone who i want to compare a mere object to.”
you see the slight disappointment in his face, and you hate yourself for it.
“maybe being compared to something would be better.” you reply softly.
“you are so much more than that,” he cradles your face in his palm, so gently it hurts.
you don’t deserve this gentleness, do you?
“who am i to take that away from you?”
the silence that follows seems louder than anything else you have ever heard. he sighs softly, not with frustration, but with a tenderness that only alhaitham can muster. he gathers you in his arms – he is so, so much bigger and taller than you – he never wants to crush you. never with his anger, nor his fear, or his hurt or his sadness.
“i’m sorry for always asking that. i don’t want to be annoying.” you murmur, blinking away tears.
“you will never be annoying to me, (y/n).” he exhales.
another quiet moment is shared between the two of you – it’s healing. the silence seems to nod to a shared understanding of a love that need not be said.
“i love you, (y/n), most magnificently so. and if it would take a lifetime for you to remember that, i would like to ask for a chance to spend that lifetime with you,” he whispers these words with a quiet fierceness, burying his face into the crook of your shoulder.
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reblogs w/ tags & comments are highly appreciated !!! <3 every reblog with a tag or comment gets a cookie from me hehe
#[📝 stewardess' notepad!]#astronetwrk#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin x gn reader#genshin impact x gn reader#albedo x reader#albedo x gn reader#albedo fluff#zhongli x reader#zhongli x gn reader#zhongli fluff#diluc x reader#diluc x gn reader#diluc fluff#alhaitham x reader#alhaitham x gn reader#alhaitham fluff#long post
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i'm there regardless of the pain
pairing: alexia putellas x reader
notes: this is more r focused and very short, mentions of death, idk i don’t like it but whatever
Dropping down onto your bed, you let out a breath you've been holding for the past three weeks. It's been three long weeks since that phone call with your father, three weeks of being home and trying to pick up the pieces of your family's life, shattered by the sudden death of your mother. It's been three incredibly difficult weeks, and despite the fact that you've been longing for Alexia ever since you've left Barcelona, you make no move to reach for her as she slides into bed beside you.
"Do you want to talk about it?", she asks, hesitation in her voice. The two of you haven't been dating for that long, haven't been dating long enough for her to finally be introduced to your family, not even long enough for you to tell your parents.
Do you want to talk about it? Not necessarily. All you've been doing for three weeks is to talk about it. To welcome all the neighbors into your home who dropped off food as an excuse to sneak in on your life, gather information to spread it through the neighborhood, all with a fake smile and goggling eyes.
"No."
You don't think you can talk about it anymore. All of the words have left you already, have left you after accepting every wish of condolences at the funeral, have left you at the reception afterwards, have left you since you've read the eulogy you'd prepared on your own. Even if you open your mouth, you're not sure a single word about your mother would escape.
Alexia deserves to hear about her. To hear about the incredibly kind woman who raised you, who gifted you with so much love and support all throughout your life, who was the absolute anchor of you and your brother's life, who was the love of your father's life and left him behind shattered. You wish you could tell your girlfriend all about her, make up for the fact that you are the reason she never met the woman, but you can't.
"Do you want to take your mind off it?"
It surprises you. You don't think you've ever heard your girlfriend string more than one sentence of English together without the odd Spanish slipping in between. It makes you smile, but even the knowledge that she is really trying to help you can't mend the pain in your chest.
Truthfully, there is no taking your mind off it. Your mother's ghost floats in front of you every time you close your eyes, her voice whispers into your ears constantly, if you try hard enough, you can feel the traces of her arms around your frame. She is everywhere, yet she is buried in the ground somewhere in your hometown, left alone under the cold mud and an arrangement of flowers, rain casting over her.
"No."
Alexia doesn't reply for a second, and the room is so silent you want the bed to swallow you, you want to drop under the mattress and let the darkness engulf you. There is no taking your mind off it, perhaps for the rest of your life. How are you supposed to carry on when everything pulls you back?
"Do you want me to leave you alone?"
At that, your glance across the ceiling lowers. Alexia looks up at you with her wide, stormy eyes and for a second, you feel your breath falter.
"No."
You never, ever want Alexia to leave you alone. Despite the fact that you went to your own apartment with an Uber, not even caring to let your girlfriend pick you up from the airport, only letting her know you arrived back in Barcelona and leaving her to guess your whereabouts, despite the fact that you sent her a total of five messages and declined every phone call for three long, impossibly difficult weeks, you never, ever want Alexia to leave you alone.
She seems to believe you, despite the fact that you make no effort to look at her again, and settles her head on your shoulder, using her hand to provide a little cushion.
You missed her return. You missed her comeback to the pitch, one that the two of you had been anticipating for a few months. You missed Barcelona's first Champions League quarterfinal, and if Alexia has any say in it, you will miss the next one as well. Because despite the fact that your breathing is calm, that she feels your heart beating regularly in your chest, she knows just how heavy the burden is that you are forced to carry. She feels the gravity of it all, sees it in your eyes, despite the fact that you won't look at her. She is not just your girlfriend, she is also your captain, and both of her positions worry about you immensely.
"You never got to know her."
Admittedly, you told Alexia you didn't want to speak about it, so the breath she draws in doesn't shock you. You don't want to talk about it, but if it's occupying your whole mind, what else are you supposed to speak about?
"I know."
There it is again. The Spanish accent that rolls off her tongue so easily, slipping in between the words.
"I told my dad. About us", you say next, and once again, Alexia draws in a sharp breath.
You met Alexia's family regularly, having been accepted as one of their own by both Eli, Alba and the rest of her relatives, but Alexia wasn't even a known name to either of your parents, at least prior to last week. It's not that you are ashamed of her - quite the opposite of it, actually. It's rather that sometimes, you feel ashamed of your family. They accepted it when you came out, but they never mentioned it again. You are bi, not gay, and so at every opportunity, they would throw men your way, you figure in hopes to keep the image of a normal family. Alexia doesn't deserve to know the critical gazes of both your parents, although you figure your mother would've accepted her happily. Your father-
"What did he say?"
You shrug.
"I don't even know if he heard me. He was crying, no- screaming, for someone to make the pain stop. I don't know if he heard me, but if he did, he didn't mention it again."
It gives Alexia just an idea of how horrible the past three weeks of your life must have been. She saw it as well- when her own father passed, yet her mother kept herself together enough to be strong for her children. His death was inevitable, and although it pained Alexia to this very day, she knows it's nothing like your situation. Your mother just fell asleep one day, and the next morning, she was dead. She still is.
"Amor, I am so sorry."
"It's fine. I don't want to talk about it", you huff as Alexia tentatively stretches an arm across your chest, placing it in the centre to feel your heartbeat. It is still regular.
That's how you spend the next few hours, your stare fixed on the ceiling, Alexia's alternating between your features, the ceiling and her hand on your chest. You are in an unbearable amount of pain, your girlfriend knows, she feels it weighing down on you, feels it sitting on your shoulder and snarling into your ear. Regardless, she is there. She will always be there. Even if you don't want to talk about it. Even if you don't want to take your mind off it. And even if you had wanted her to leave you alone- she would be there, regardless of the pain.
#woso community#woso#woso imagine#woso one shot#woso fanfics#barca femeni#barca femeni x reader#barca x reader#barca women#alexia putellas one shot#alexia putellas x reader#alexiaputellas#alexia putellas
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Hiii congrats on your new job, we love a employed queen 🙌. I hope I’m not bothering you with requests my marauders brainrot is taking over. Could I please perhaps request headcannons and whatnot about the boys as dads, individually and/or the different polys you write for? If that’s alright, your latest fic brought this on I suppose 😭. Bye bye now lovely, enjoy your dayyy
marauders brain rot is taking over for me too babes, no worries.
James:
cries constantly. baby is upset? he's crying. baby is adorable? he's crying. baby learns something new? James is crying.
tummy time is daddy time because James is on his stomach in front of the baby too - his partner will make jokes saying that James and their five month old are working on their gross motor skills together
loves playing pretend; get's in arguments with the child if he doesn't think they're imagining 'properly' (his partner has to scold James for ruining the fun)
the dad-friend; kids will run up to the door to ask if your kid and James can come outside to play - plays manhunt, nickie nine-doors houses with the kids, is the best dad to go trick-or-treating with, his kids friends come over to hangout with his kids and him
cries at every single milestone: first steps, first word, birthdays, plays/awards or recitals or sports games etc, graduations, first dates, school dances etc
begs his partner the second his kids move out for more (regardless of how old they are at that point) "we can adopt! yeah? what about foster - why don't foster kids? please?!"
then he becomes a grandpa and the whole damn thing starts all over again
Sirius:
I see Sirius as a bit of a worrier - constantly in his head about what he's doing, if he's doing it right, if he's being a good enough dad, etc etc
stuck like glue to the kid the second they're born - takes night time feedings and every diaper change because he doesn't want to be absent like his dad (and maybe mother? probably had nannies in muggle AU or relied on Kreacher for child rearing) -> Sirius wants to be there for it all; he wants his child to know that their dad was there
does stuff with the kid that's a little too old for them lol - five month old wearing a leather jacket, buys a motorcycle helmet for a 1.5 year old (partner had none of it!), buys them their first bike at 3, etc
BUT then....as the child get's older - refuses to believe that they're that old. "a cellphone?! what do you need a cellphone for!? you're seven!" "dad, I'm 13." "since when!?!?!?"
definitely wants his kids to learn how to play an instrument (he doesn't even care which instrument; he just wants to share his love of music with them!) but doesn't want it to be a chore/burden like learning the piano was for him and Reggie (and many children world wide lol), so gently encourages through out their whole life and buys them any instrument they're interested in and let's them change their minds 700 times (even though it breaks his heart a little bit each time)
pretends not to cry when he sends them off to school (in kindergarten or college in muggle AU or Hogwarts)
cheers the loudest and most obnoxiously at all sports games/recitals/awards etc even if he has no fucking clue what's going on (OMG, I just thought - I used to work at a dance studio and he was be the best fucking dance dad!!!!!)
known as the cool/hot dad amongst his kids' friends
Remus:
so incredibly freaked that something this small and perfect could possibly exist - moves in slow motion for the first month of the babies life because he's afraid of dropping it or shaking it unintentionally
talks to the infant like it's a regular person/adult; running joke in the family (i.e., friend group) that the baby won't have a first word - they'll just one day start stringing full sentences
swears constantly in front of the kid - one of their first words is fuck which Sirius and James find hilarious and never let Remus forget it (and they actively encourage the kid to continue it too because they love to see Remus sweat every time it happens)
insists the kids know how to play outside and get dirty - (jokingly) admonishes them if they come inside after playing and don't have dirt under their finger nails.
loves to build forts (inside and outside) and I could see him liking to hike with the kids (nothing huge, but down to streams and such), teaches them to catch (and release) frogs, bugs, etc, they take pictures of bugs they find on their walks so they can look them up when they get home
reading, arts and crafts, paintings, etc
keeps every single painting and drawing they've ever made - keeps them in a filing cabinet organized by child, age, and type
if James is the fun dad, Remus is the chill dad; all the kids in the family go to him for advice, if they are in trouble (e.g., need a ride from a party that their parents don't know about), to complain about their own parents
never not telling the kids how much he loves them and how proud he is of them
Regulus:
runs immediately to James and Sirius for advice - does not want to be an apathetic parent
deep anxiety/lots of overthinking
very gentle and delicate with his babies - afraid of hurting them and finds them to be just the most precious little things...like they're sacred and need to be handled with the utmost care
keke & I headcanoned that his partner would often find him in the middle of the night playing the piano quietly with the baby laying on top of the piano to feel the calming vibrations if he got up with them
reads baby books and parenting books front to back like they're novels - takes notes, highlights, stickie notes etc
LOVES STRUCTURE - routine is so important to Regulus as a dad; his friends end up needing to learn his child's schedule in order to ever see Regulus
his kids may find him to be a bit more strict, but he's also a bit of a pushover; will buy his kids whatever they want - his partner ends up having to yell at him and tell him that he's going to raise spoiled brats....he buys them a diamond tennis bracelet to make up for it
works really, really hard to be different than his parents; Sirius tells him constantly that he's doing a very good job of it (and they both pretend that Reg doesn't cry about it)
Barty:
had a bit of a chat about this in this post, but basically...
the most hands on and involved dad to ever walk the earth - will not go to any place that isn't child friendly or catered to children
the most proud of everything that his kid does: sits up on their own? can hold their head up? holding a fork? knocks over a block tower? can point to their nose? He's fucking celebrating, like, throwing a party over it
I could see him being like an instagram dad - constantly taking pictures and bragging about how awesome/smart/cute/perfect his kid is (but his partner had to tell Barty to stop telling other parents that this meant their kids were inferior to his......even if they were)
get's faaaarrrrrr tooo involved with playtime, one of my mutuals made some really sweet comments on the post linked above that I might turn into a quick blurb
cannot for the life of him be bad cop - he thinks everything his kids do is awesome/spectacular (even the bad stuff) -> tries to play it cool in front of his partner/co-parent but will absolutely fold the second they leave or the kid's lower lip wobbles or the give him those doe eyes
most hated parent on the PTA [parent teachers association] but volunteers for everything - every school field trip, every bake sale etc
fucking ridiculous when his kids start dating - no one is good enough for them, pouty when the kids want to spend an evening or whatnot with their new fling instead of him
takes it as a personal offence (or at least acts like it) when the kids move out/go to college
what do you all think? any other head canons I should add to this list?
#ask elle#marauders era#marauders au#reader insert#self insert#sirius black#remus lupin#james potter#regulus black#barty crouch junior#marauders headcanon#elle's headcanons#dad!barty crouch junior#dad!sirius black#dad!james potter#dad!remus lupin#dad!regulus black#dad!marauders#dad!marauder headcanons
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Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 02
adult content | minors do NOT interact.
⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.
⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending but you still need to support each other for the band.
⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, bad words, drug addiction, betrayal.
It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.
On the bus, you were focused on your notebook, while Jolly played a few chords on his guitar, and together you started shaping what seemed to be the melody for a potential new project. The label was pressuring for a single with a different energy than what had been done on the last album—you needed to reach a new audience, and it wasn’t the time to settle into a comfort zone.
“I like this,” Jolly commented with a faint smile on his lips.
You felt a flicker of hope that you were still capable of writing something worthwhile. In your recent attempts, everything had seemed awful, and your head was always too clouded to try again.
“I like it too!” Ruffilo chimed in, sounding excited as he grabbed the notebook from your hands to take a closer look. “If we make the guitar riff heavier in the chorus, we’ll have the perfect song without losing our identity. You take the lead, and Noah handles the growls.”
“Thanks, guys!” you said shyly, tugging at the sleeve of your sweater and clutching it in your hands. Your head ached from the drinks you’d had the night before, and you could hear your stomach growling loudly. “It’s just a draft; there’s still a lot to improve.”
“It’s too melancholic,” a voice cut through the space just as the bathroom door slammed shut.
Noah walked toward where everyone was gathered, his hands still buried in the pockets of his hoodie. Tilting his head slightly, he surveyed the group with disdain.
“If we’re aiming for something different, I don’t agree with sticking to what we did in The Death of Peace of Mind. It had all those elements, and I don’t want to replicate the same formula,” he said, yawning between sentences. You felt your face flush with embarrassment. “This band doesn’t just write about messed-up heads and broken hearts. It’s time to move on.”
Amazing how he could make you feel ridiculous with just a few words.
“Noah’s got a point…” you started, but Jolly quickly stepped in, cutting you off.
“No, he doesn’t!” Jolly’s tone was firm as he stared down his friend, who was idly fiddling with the string of his hoodie. “Our strength lies in being experimental, mixing sound textures and shifting genres in each track—from melancholic to hardcore. This lyric is perfect, and everyone here agreed it’s powerful enough to deliver what the label wants. But of course, you’d be the only one to disagree.”
“I didn’t agree because I don’t want to do the same work as if we weren’t capable of venturing into something new.”
“Well, Folio’s asleep, so we’ve got three votes against one. We’re producing this song, and it’s up to you to decide whether you want to be part of the process or not.”
Noah’s expression shifted from disinterested to furious. He hated being overruled, especially on matters involving the band. Of course, the final word always had to be his, no matter the circumstances. But you couldn’t help feeling a flicker of satisfaction, seeing the guys finally speaking up for themselves.
Still, you knew this wasn’t the end of it.
A coffee at a shady diner in Dallas was exactly what you needed. As soon as you stepped off the bus, you checked your pockets, made sure everything was in place, and headed inside.
Drinking wasn’t enough anymore—alcohol no longer took the tension out of your body the way it once had. Over time, you’d started seeking something stronger.
After snorting the thin white line on the bathroom sink, you lifted your head, tossing your hair back as you stared at yourself in the mirror. Your reflection didn’t seem as drained now, and the world around you no longer looked as gray as before.
Leaving the bathroom, you adjusted your clothes and pulled the oversized hoodie tighter around yourself. When you sat down at a table, his eyes were the first thing you saw.
Noah knew you well. He could tell when something was off, and the way his brows furrowed spoke volumes about his thoughts.
“I already ordered for you,” he began flatly, scanning the menu without much interest. “Chocolate cupcake and a cappuccino.”
Your favorites.
“I’m not hungry.” You craned your neck, scanning the room for the guys, but there was no sign of them. Resigned, you sighed. “You can have my share.”
The diner smelled great, but the scent of coffee turned your stomach, empty for nearly two days. You had no appetite, and the unease in your chest seemed to seep into every part of your body. Across from you, Noah ate like a starved man.
You almost laughed, noticing how ravenous he must have been as he downed two sandwiches in record time.
"Since when did you start biting your nails again?" Noah asked, pulling you out of your thoughts as he gestured with his chin toward your hand, partially hidden by the hoodie’s sleeve.
You used to bite your nails until the skin around them was raw and scabbed, a habit born from your anxiety. When Noah noticed, he helped you stop, gradually teaching you to redirect that nervous energy. Writing, singing, breathing, thinking of things you loved.
It used to work.
“I…” You took a deep breath, almost forgetting to exhale as your eyes met his worried expression. Noah wiped his fingers on a napkin, and that’s when you noticed the silver ring on his index finger.
The ring you’d given him.
“I was just bored.”
“We have a radio interview at Rock FM today. Just you and me,” he said, the words heavy as if speaking them required effort. “If you’re not feeling up to it, we can reschedule.”
“I feel fine.”
“That’s not what it looks like.” Noah placed his coffee cup on the table, his gaze sharp and steady, his voice dropping to avoid attracting attention from other patrons. “You can fool Matt and the guys with your excuses, but not me. I know damn well why you’re anxious and why you’ve lost your appetite these past few days, so don’t treat me like I’m stupid!”
“You’re making assumptions about me and don’t want to be called stupid?”
“Caring about you and what’ll happen if you keep acting like you’ve got infinite lives isn’t making assumptions!” he shot back through gritted teeth, pointing a finger for emphasis. “Do whatever the hell you want with your life—you’ve made it clear you don’t give a damn about what I think—but the band is still our only connection, and you need to respect that!”
You rubbed your face, trying to rein in your frustration before meeting his gaze again. Noah was a puzzle. On one hand, he was openly admitting to a sliver of concern for the self-destructive path you were on. On the other, it was clear his priority was keeping the band out of jeopardy.
“Yes, sir.” You saluted sarcastically, pushing back from the table to stand. “Don’t worry, I’ll show up for the damn interview.”
Blowing out a puff of cigarette smoke on the balcony, you caught the signal—it was time to head inside for the recording.
The Rock FM studio was a small room on the top floor of a downtown building. You and Noah arrived just in time, waiting as they finished soundchecks before starting.
Both of you worked hard to keep the cracks in your relationship hidden during public appearances—interviews, performances, band meetings, recordings. Together, you mastered a façade worthy of applause.
Noah took his seat, and you settled into the one next to him. After adjusting your headphones and pulling the mic close, you exchanged a fleeting glance before turning your attention to the interviewer. Noah, wearing a cap and sunglasses, was grinning so enthusiastically you had to check if he’d been abducted by aliens.
Meanwhile, you couldn’t stop fidgeting—tucking strands of hair behind your ears, crossing and uncrossing your legs, licking your lips, and biting the inside of your cheek. Thankfully, your own sunglasses shielded your expression, offering a small barrier of composure.
“Hey, everyone! Today we’re joined by the two vocalists of the most talked-about metalcore band of the moment, Bad Omens! First off, thanks for being here. As a fan, it’s an honor to have you in our studio!” the interviewer began.
“Thanks for having us,” Noah replied with a grin.
“To kick things off, I’d love for you to talk about the band’s creative process. We’ve watched your sound evolve, how you experiment with new collaborations, mixing styles, and pushing boundaries in your productions. How do you pull all of that together into such a cohesive final product?”
“We like to draw inspiration from just about anything, even things that seem totally irrelevant,” Noah said. “The sound of an egg frying, a broom sweeping, a slap on my dog’s belly—if you work with it creatively, it can turn into something really cool. Our lyrics aren’t always tied to real emotions, either.”
“Noah speaks for his own lyrics,” you interjected, your sarcasm cutting through as you flashed a smile that made him shift in his seat. “As for me, everything I’ve written for the band has always been deeply emotional. Real feelings. Real words. I want our fans to hear something I can stand behind with pride—something they can listen to and say, Yeah, that was written by her.”
"Wow! That’s amazing!" the interviewer concluded, oblivious to the tense atmosphere that had settled in the studio. "Could you tell us which composition had the biggest impact?"
"I believe it’s the song I’m currently writing," you replied confidently. "It talks about feeling trapped, but not exactly by visible strings. In real life, there are so many things that immobilize us—whether it’s a crappy relationship, a bad job, or a toxic friendship. Things that don’t let you break free from cycles because, in some way, you need them. These things keep you alive."
"Lyrics like these are interesting to experiment with sonically. Slow beats and intense growls post-chorus," Noah added.
"Let’s just say Noah isn’t much of a fan of lyrics like that," you teased. "He’s the kind of guy who prefers to mask his feelings with heavy and contradictory lyrics."
You heard Noah cough and couldn’t help but smile, knowing you’d hit the target.
"I don’t think this is the ideal place to debate my musical taste," Noah said with an awkward laugh. "But yeah, I don’t believe a song can define me—that’s something personal to me."
"Dude, that first segment was incredible, and it’s so cool to get inside the minds of the people behind our favorite songs!" the interviewer exclaimed.
He was trying to contain his enthusiasm, but honestly, it was starting to get on your nerves.
"But I couldn’t avoid asking something that’s been a hot topic on the internet for a while: There’s been a rumor that your relationship has been strained since the last Sick New World festival, and some cameras caught an intense argument backstage. After that, countless pages started reporting that you had a relapse with your alcohol and drug issues, blaming Noah as the cause of it resurfacing. How do you feel about that, and how do you ensure these kinds of distractions don’t affect the band?"
You felt the ground disappear beneath your feet.
The live stream of Rock Radio had over 100K people watching the interview in real time. He had just brought up a subject you’d been avoiding for months, the one that made you disappear from social media. You couldn’t bear the weight of guilt, having all those people point fingers at Noah as the culprit. You couldn’t stand being so weak as to relapse. You couldn’t handle having so many strangers scrutinizing your relationship until the day it ceased to exist, leaving nothing but a painful scar on your chest.
Your body froze, and you couldn’t manage a single word.
Noah's hand touched your leg, and you heard him softly say you didn’t need to answer any of that. Your heart was pounding so hard, and sweat beaded on your forehead, even though you weren’t hot.
On impulse, you stood up and stormed out of the studio, running down the hallway. Tears streamed down your face, and you watched the drops fall onto your jacket. Your chest burned, and you felt so lost wandering the streets that a taxi almost hit you as you crossed the road. The blaring horn snapped you out of your daze.
You felt an immense emptiness.
You felt guilty for the ruin of everything you’d worked so hard to build over the years, dragging along the people you loved in the process. Yet nothing seemed enough to pull you out of the quicksand that kept dragging you down.
At the bar, you bought a bottle of whiskey to drink alone, staring out the window at the storm forming outside while the men around you cheered for the football game score. The liquor burned your throat as you gulped it down, ignoring all the calls making your phone vibrate.
You just wished the feeling would pass and, for one minute, you could stop being yourself.
Hours later, after finishing the bottle, you tossed it at the first street corner. You were drenched from the rain, your makeup completely smeared. Standing on an avenue you knew well, you recognized the perfect destination since you couldn’t take another step.
Stepping out of the hotel elevator, you walked right past your door and headed for his.
You just wanted a crumb of comfort. You wanted him to tell you the same lies he always did—the ones that somehow managed to calm your heart. You wanted the touch, the kiss…
The kiss someone else was receiving when you opened Noah’s door and saw him on top of another girl.
Slowly, you chose to close the door, not waiting for Noah to say a single word.
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Hi this is my first time requesting anything but would you be able to do single mother!reader x the F1 grid. The love interest could be anyone you like xx
In Your Arms
2023 F1 Grid x Leclerc!reader, Max Verstappen x Leclerc!Reader
Genre: flangtsy (fluff and angst, get it? I'm a genius)
Request: yep :) Though I'm not sure if this is exactly what you wanted. Sorry if I didn't get it right 😥
Summary: Max Verstappen takes on the role of lover and father to the girl he’s seen go through hell
Warnings: mentions of r*pe and SA but no graphic depictions. Mentions of being drugged.
Notes: this feels heavy in the beginning. Written in second person
Masterlist
You didn’t know how it happened. It was supposed to be a safe place. Security is everywhere.
Though security probably didn’t have reason so suspect an engineer of doing something so awful. Defiling someone’s body without their consent.
You’d come to see Charles’ home race. Granted you live in Monaco and spend majority of your down time with drivers, their partners, and families. You’d grown up around them having gone with to see Charles race and then Arthur.
Your three older brothers had promised to keep you safe. Lorenzo felt that he had to fill your fathers shoes after his passing. Not that he saw you as helpless, but you’re always going to be his baby sister.
You wonder where they are now as you sit in Charles’ driver room. Your clothes crumpled around your body and hair tossed in every direction. You want nothing more then to peel away your own skin.
Something was in your water. She blamed it in chemicals or something, but the more you drank it the thirstier you became. Having downed the whole bottle in five minutes.
The dizziness set in after that. Body now lax and head foggy.
Charles had picked up in your now rather sick complexion and suggested you watch from his room in the motor home. An offer you gratefully took.
Right before the race, someone came to the door and opened it without knocking. A stranger in red who’s face you can’t make out.
Your phone had been buzzing nonstop with texts from your family about her location. Texts you didn’t answer. Limbs to heavy to reach for the phone.
One thing stuck in your mind is what Max is going to think of you now. You’d only been dating for a year. Would he look at you with pity in his eyes? Wonder why you didn’t fight back?
It was funny how you and Max came to be. Much if it having to do with Charles being sick of you two making heart eyes at each other growing up. He’d went as far as to throwing you in Max’s driver room and telling the two of you to confess.
Needless to say it worked.
The hours seem to drag on. Your phone still buzzing. You want to answer but you can barely move. The vertigo no letting you move further then an inch at a time.
Charles is the first to find you. Though you don’t know it’s him. The voice at the door sounds like it’s underwater and your brain can’t make out his face. For a minute, you panic. Charles’ hands are on you, trying to get you off the floor but your wailing at him to stop. Slurred words that he can’t understand fall from your mouth.
Charles can barely get close to you. So he switches tactics. Your family meets him at the door and takes one look at you. Immediately, your moth has a sense she knows what happened.
She’s so gentle. Careful not to touch you and she examines your face. She knows she’s going to have to get you to a doctor. That’s a given. However, she doesn’t know how to do so when you keep flinching at all your brothers who are wearing Ferrari red.
For now, she tries to get water down your throat.
~
The Leclerc’s find themselves waiting at the hospital. The best news being that you weren’t overdosed, but definitely close to it.
Charles is pacing furiously. Angry that the security around the paddock didn’t see anything strange. Arthur is trying to piece together how it could have happened and Lorenzo has been stringing together angry sentences in French over the phone.
It all comes to a halt when Max comes barreling through the door. He looks scared. Charles had called him to tell them where they were but had given him no details.
“What happened?”
~
Everything feels wrong. Your throat is sore. Your head hurts. Your muscles ache. Thoughts seem to be stuck somewhere.
It all comes rushing back as you remember what happened earlier that day. The room is dark, so you assume she slept for a while, but you can’t get her heart to slow down.
Max is stroking your hand gently. His eyes are sad and you can tell he's been stressed. "Nobody is telling me what happened. They said it should be you."
Some part of you is relieved, and the other is wracked with guilt.
"We don't have to talk about it now if you don't want to." He's still running his fingers along her arms.
"He was wearing red." Your nails start clawing at your skin.
It clicks and he's angry.
~
It's been a month and a half.
It's a slow process of getting out again.
Max refuses to leave you alone because you've been sinking further into herself. Then you're always around people. Out in the open. Stuck to someone you trust.
This morning is spent at home in bed. Max's arm tucked gently around around your waist, pulling you further into him.
It's the overwhelming feeling of nausea that has you diving out of bed and into the bathroom. Her stomach contents now not wanting to be in her body.
Max feels her panic and runs after you, trying his best to shake the sleep from his eyes. As soon as he figures out what's happening, he's holding her hair back and rubbing comforting circles on her back.
~
You clutche the pregnancy test in your hands. It makes her sick again. Five positives and a single negative. Three different brands.
Just when you feel you're getting better, now you have to tell everyone you're pregnant, and it's not Max's. Sobs overcame you before you can get up from where you sunk down to the floor.
Max finds you hours later, still on the floor looking and the blue lines.
"I'm so sorry."
"Nothing to apolize for, lovely. Just know I'll support you on whatever decision you make."
~
It's not an easy decision to keep the baby, but she can't see herself parting with them.
The sucky part is knowing that the biological father is still in the Ferrari garage somewhere. Charles, despite his best efforts, could not catch him. He must be some really nice guy that everyone likes. It's always the to nice ones that end up being evil on the inside.
Max has decided he'll take the role of father if you let him. He's been attentive. Making sure your every need is taken care of.
He's also still looking for the man who decided to take something that wasn't his. He's in the Ferrari paddock or hanging around the garage with Charles to see if anyone even looks at you funny.
~
Eight months in, and you're exhausted. Your mom has been staying with you while Max is traveling for races. He calls every chance he gets to check in on you.
Carlos has been sending you videos of why he is going to be a better uncle than Lando. Then Lando goes and brings you food and baby things to prove him wrong.
It's night, and you're tucked into bed, wishing Max were here cuddle with you. Then, the sensation of water leaking down your legs makes you call for your mother.
You stay calm while she drives to the hospital. You were expected to carry to full term. Neither of you expected the baby to come a month early.
You're calling Max repeatedly. The time difference puts him at prime sleep time.
Eventually he answers.
He's on the next flight home.
~
You waited as long as possible. Max had gotten there in the nick of time. He held your hand the entire time.
You were in labor for over a day. The pain getting unbearable at times.
When you finished, you were holding a healthy baby girl.
~
Isabella is your everything. Practically attached to your hip. She took more of your traits than you were expecting. Something that you're grateful for.
Your brothers spoil her to peices. Charles rarely says no to her, Lorenzo loves to show her how to boss the other two around, and Arthur has expanded her vocabulary is ways that are less then ideal.
Oscar was probably the most reliable to leave her with if Max or your brother aren't available. Having sisters comes in handy when he's combing through her hair. She falls asleep in his lap during almost every race weekend at some point.
Her favorite place is either on top of Landos shoulders or in Max's arms.
Max treats her like his own. He's said she's his daughter on multiple occasions. It was nice like this. Creating your own little family.
~
It takes two years after she's born for someone at Ferrari to ask you about her. Personal questions that were starting to make you uncomfortable.
Memories you'd locked away quickly find themselves flooding into your brain. Why is he so familiar?
You're outside the paddock, thankfully. People are within view.
"I want my daughter." He rasps. He is very much in your face now and You can feel his breath sticking to your face.
Your brain and chest short circuit. You send a silent prayer to whoever is listening that someone comes to save you. Thankful at yourself for leaving Isabella with Lando and Oscar.
Max had managed to catch a break and was on his way to find you. A small hop in his step at the thought of finding you and the little girl.
He freezes as he comes around the corner. His legs are carrying him faster than his mind can think. Max's hand finds his shoulder, effectively shoving the man away from you.
It takes everything in you not to fall into him as he slides in front of you protectively.
Your quick to take the opportunity to text someone to come help. Your definitely not strong enough to break them up if this gets physical and you don’t want to risk Max getting in trouble.
It's not long until Charles is barreling around the corner. Lando and Oscar close on his heels.
"You're trying to take away something that's rightfully mine." His voice is scratchy and angry, dripping with venom.
"Just like you took someone's body? I'm pretty sure taking a child is kidnapping." Max is practically growling.
Lorenzo comes running around the corner, Isabella running around the corner away from him and straight to you.
She's too far gone to stop. You lean down and scoop her up in your arms. Holding her head into her shoulder.
Max is still in front of you and her protectively. "You messed up, and now you're missing out." He spits.
Security is able to pull the Ferrari man away. Much to your relief because Charles was getting ready to swing.
You break in Max's arms once he's gone. Isabella is confused at the sadness but is still trying to cheer you up.
Max just holds you. Both of you.
"It's okay now, I'll always keep you safe."
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