#I just thought it was a cool name!!!!!!!!

[coryndoll]

in which you’re a rising music star who navigates playful tension with actor drew starkey, and your flirtation turns into something deeper amid a viral music video and your grammy win.

content: diff style writing, drew being cute n following readers lead for the mv

authors note: will lowkey write a part 2 and/or the music video version of this if requested but idk, hopefully it was kinda understandable!! i just wanted the pov as if u were watching the yt video for the behind the scenes footage omg

you’ve known of drew starkey—how could you not? he’s a rising star, a name that keeps getting bigger, a face that’s starting to dominate everyone’s celebrity crush list whenever you scroll through tiktok. the kind of guy that gets cast in fan-favorite shows, whose off-screen personality makes people love him even more. charming, funny, effortlessly likable. he’s everywhere.

but what you couldn’t have imagined is that he knew of you first.

it started small, almost too subtle to notice. a clip of him in an interview, sitting back in his chair, nodding as he listens to a question before casually mentioning that he had just discovered a new artist, you, and couldn’t stop listening. he called your music addictive, something about the way you write lyrics just clicked with him. maybe it would’ve gone unnoticed if he hadn’t mentioned it again.

a month later, another interview, another confession. a different setting, a different outfit, but the same topic. only this time, the interviewer caught onto it.

“seems like you’re a fan.”

drew, red in the face, grinning but flustered, just said, “yeah. yeah, i am.”

he didn’t say much else, but he didn’t have to. the internet picked up on the pattern. his name was suddenly linked to yours, your fans and his fans overlapping, people tweeting at you to collab when?, digging through every interview and live stream to see if he’d mention you again. edits of him set to your songs started appearing on every social media feed. some even made it look like you were the leads in some slow-burn romance movie, just from your music videos and his show clips.

and you? you didn’t think much of it. it was flattering, sure. entertaining, even. but you’d never spoken, never met, never had a reason to. it was just one of those internet things, something people liked to fantasize about but wasn’t real.

until about a year ago.

red carpet event, flashing cameras, voices shouting your name. you were mid-step, smiling for a picture when an interviewer stopped you, microphone extended.

“if you win tonight, who’s getting the first thank-you?”

you barely thought about it. “oh, obviously. my parents, my team, everyone who worked on the album . . .” a pause, a flicker of mischief as the words slipped out. “and drew starkey!”

then you scurried off, leaving the interviewer blinking after you. you didn’t look back, but you knew exactly what you’d just done. by the time you got home, twitter had already lost its mind.

so with all that history, all those years of almosts, how could you not end 2024 and start 2025 with a steamy, intimate music video starring your one and only secret admirer?

the behind-the-scenes video you upload to youtube starts with a simple title card—bts: filming my new music video with bae—before fading into a clip of you on set, bundled up in a puffer jacket, arms wide as you greet drew with an easy, “hi!”

it’s the first time meeting him in person. you’ve known of him, obviously, but standing here now, seeing the way his face lights up at the sight of you, it’s different. the camera catches his initial reaction. he smiles wide, like he’s trying to keep himself from grinning too hard, nodding like he’s trying to play it cool. you hug, brief but natural, before the video cuts to your interview.

you’re curled up in your seat, dressed down in sweats, looking entirely comfortable in front of the camera like you’ve done this a hundred times before. one leg is crossed over the other, your head rests against your palm, and the other hand is tucked between your thighs, playing absentmindedly with the fabric of your hoodie. you’re practically beaming as you talk.

“he’s cute. but no, getting drew to agree to the video was no problem,” you admit, a small laugh slipping through. “it just made sense. everybody on twitter and everybody on tiktok can calm down now.”

you grin at the camera before adding, “plus, my mom loved his last movie.”

your friend behind the camera immediately jumps in, amused. “did she?”

you snicker, nodding your head like the answer is obvious. you don’t even need to say anything. your smile says it all.

cut to: on set at night.

you stand close to drew, explaining your vision, the two of you tucked into a quiet corner of the closed-off street. it’s late. you’re talking, hands moving as you try to get the words out just right, and drew listens intently, nodding along, before huffing out a laugh at something you say.

the next shot is of you in position, standing just outside the entrance of a nightclub. the scene is meant to be electric, with the music pounding inside, the city buzzing around you. you refilm the shot a few times, stepping out of the alleyway and onto the sidewalk, pausing just as drew and ‘his group of friends’ step onto the curb from their car. the camera zooms in on your expression, catching the exact moment your character notices him.

you give him a look, one of intrigue, curiosity, a silent pull that makes drew’s character do a double take as he follows his friends inside. but as you turn and walk away, he hesitates. his friends don’t notice, but the audience is supposed to.

although the music is supposed to cut through, they’ll be able to see him say the words, “wait up for me, i’ll catch up.”

he stays behind. he follows you.

the cameras catch him walking past the frame, but in the behind-the-scenes footage, you’re already waiting for him off-camera. you’re standing just around the corner, out of sight, and the second he’s done with his take, he breaks into a grin, beaming as he jogs over to you.

“was that good?” he asks, a little breathless, still caught in the rush of the scene.

and off-camera, you laugh.

the next shot starts with a handheld camera capturing you inside a dimly lit bar, the neon glow from the signs reflecting off the polished counter. you’re perched on a stool, fingers curled around a glass, not drinking, just holding it for the scene, your expression unreadable as the camera focuses on you. the shot lasts for only a moment before it abruptly cuts away.

to: drew’s micro interview.

he’s leaned back in his chair, relaxed, but there’s a knowing glint in his eyes, something playful lurking beneath his words. “she made me flustered super easily, yeah,” he confesses, mouth curving into a smirk as he glances off-camera toward your friend conducting the interviews. “she just has that effect to her.”

to: the first night scene.

this time, the energy is entirely different. the camera moves with purpose, following drew as he catches up to you, his hand grasping your arm, tugging you into another alleyway. the moment is fast, urgent, his body pressing yours up against the cool brick wall, his lips finding yours without hesitation.

the camera doesn’t linger on the kiss itself. instead, it captures the details, like the way drew’s fingers tighten around the fabric of your clothes, the way your hand slips into the back of his hair, curling at the nape of his neck. the shot pans downward, exposing the closeness between your bodies, the breathlessness of it all, before the scene suddenly fades.

you’re sitting up straighter this time in your interview immediately after the clip, legs crossed, hands in your lap, but there’s a mischievous glint in your eyes. your tongue presses against your top teeth as you chuckle, fully aware of what you’ve just filmed. you don’t say much, but the knowing look on your face says enough.

the final shot of this segment shows you and drew after the director calls cut, the tension immediately breaking as laughter spills between you. you pull away first, eyes bright as you turn toward the monitors, eager to check the footage.

drew, still lingering in place, rubs his bottom lip with his thumb, watching you for a beat before finally trailing after you, taking his time.

the next shot follows your character, leading drew by the hand, weaving through the streetlights, your destination clear in your mind, and you toss him the car keys without hesitation. drew catches them, glancing between you and the keys in his hand, a flicker of disbelief crossing his face. the trust is unexpected, almost daring. but after a brief hesitation, he gives in, climbing into the driver’s seat while you swing into the passenger side, watching him with a smirk.

the screen quickly shifts to behind-the-scenes footage—handheld, slightly shaky, like a friend capturing the moment on their phone. you lean halfway out of the car window, hair tousled from the wind. your voice is light, playful, as you drag out the words dramatically, “we’ve been filming for the last six hours! i wanna go home.”

you make a face at the camera, and off-screen laughter follows. just as the camera pans back toward the car, drew reappears, slipping into the driver’s seat after what was clearly a break. he clocks the camera almost immediately, smiling as he watches you slide back inside, adjusting in your seat like you’re preparing for another take.

to: the car scene.

you're in the passenger seat, lip-syncing the lyrics, the camera catching you. your expression shifts between something teasing and something more heated, fingers toying with the hem of your dress as drew grips the wheel beside you.

then, another interview clip overlays the scene. you sit comfortably, your grin almost mischievous as you speak, “i wanted this music video to be very, very horny. like, so horny but also so fun, and freeing too.”

you pause, laughing as you push your hair back, “i really wanted to capture that feeling of instant attraction. like, that moment when you lock eyes with someone across the room and just know something’s about to happen. the whole video is about chasing that rush, that tension of being drawn to someone you shouldn’t want but not being able to stop yourself.”

“so, yeah. i wanted it to feel intense, a little dangerous, a little intoxicating . . . like a night you’ll never forget, even if it only lasts ‘til sunrise.”

it cuts to a different segment of the micro interview. you’re sitting casually, your thumb nail between your teeth as you listen to your friend. the vibe is lighthearted, almost too laid-back, until your friend says, “you should call him if you win that grammy.”

you freeze for a second, eyes widening slightly, then burst out laughing. sitting up straighter, you give her a look, almost like she’s lost their mind, “are you serious?”

the final shot in the behind-the-scenes video captures you dramatically collapsing onto the mock-bedroom set, letting out an exaggerated groan as you flop onto the bed, completely wiped from weeks of filming. you’re on your back, hair splayed out around you like a halo, eyes half-closed as the exhaustion hits you full force.

drew, on the other hand, leans back against the headboard, legs sprawled out casually as if he could take on another round of filming, but still, his hand reaches out, and you take it without hesitation. your hands clasp in a silent victory, both of you relishing in the fact that you’ve wrapped up the last take of the day.

“is that it?” you ask, glancing at the crew who are already packing up, and when they confirm it, a smile breaks across your face. you raise a fist in the air, a mock victory pose, causing a few of the crew members to chuckle behind the camera.

the camera cuts back to you, but just a few minutes later, still lounging on the bed with drew, who’s now looking at you with that signature grin of his. you sit up, stretching your arms over your head, and your voice is light as you ask, “was that fun?” you’re genuinely checking in, making sure drew’s feeling good after all the intense shots.

drew pauses for a beat, then lets out a little laugh, clearly still feeling the buzz from the shoot. “i had . . . a blast,” he says, but there’s something about the way he says it, maybe it’s the glint in his eyes or the slight inflection in his voice, that makes you burst out laughing.

you start to get up from the bed, your laugh still lingering in the air as you move out of the frame. the camera stays on drew as he watches you go, looking like he’s still processing the day. just as you move out of view, someone walks in from the side to start cleaning up the set, but drew doesn’t miss a beat.

“i’m being so honest right now, dude,” he says, his grin turning playful, and you hear the laughter behind the camera as they capture this moment.

after the music video shoot wraps, you and drew keep in touch. with the release of the video just around the corner, your team suggests posting a teaser to build hype on social media. it’s the perfect opportunity, so you agree.

another mini shoot is set up for the teaser. drew and his team arrive, and even though this shoot is way more relaxed than the last one, the excitement is still palpable. you’re going to film a short, tantalizing snippet.

the plan is for the camera to follow your feet clicking against the floor as you walk down a hallway, but your face won’t be seen. you stop in front of a door and knock before the cameras on you now.

the moment the door opens, your smile is real as you grab his hand. you pull him with you down the hall, and the camera focuses on the back of his head, leaving fans to wonder who he is. as you pass the wall, the words of the song title come to life to tease which song its for.

as soon as the video drops, the internet blows up. fans can’t stop guessing who your mystery man is.

‘ its drew isnt it ’

‘ PLEASE TELL ME THATS WHO I RHKNK IT IS ’

‘ y/n y/l/n u did NOT. ’

others speculate wildly, throwing out all kinds of guesses. you both meet up to hang out during the lead-up to your album release, laughing about the crazy theories online. some fans are dead sure it’s him, while others debate who it could be. the excitement only grows, and you secretly enjoy the fun of keeping them guessing.

but everything falls into place when you win that grammy. it’s the culmination of everything you’ve worked so hard for, and as the announcement echoes through the room, you’re overwhelmed with emotions. you honestly didn’t expect this, especially as a first-timer. they are hard to come by, and you’re honestly convinced this is going to be your one and only.

the wave of emotion hits you as you hug your loved ones, the tears welling up in your eyes. you quickly pat under your eyes with your fingers, trying to compose yourself as you walk toward the stage. all eyes are on you, and the spotlight is so bright you almost can’t bear to look directly at it.

you hold the grammy in your hands, trying to keep your composure as you deliver the half-planned speech you’d scribbled down earlier. it’s all so surreal.

“god, i actually thought i was about to pass out when they said my name,” you admit, and the audience of familiar faces laughs.

“i just can’t believe i’m standing here right now, receiving this. i have poured my heart into this album, into my music, and i never imagined it would lead me here. to my team and family, you’re the reason this dream is even possible. to my fans, thank you for making this journey so worth it. this award is for us. i love you all, and i’ll keep making music as long as you’ll keep listening. thank you all so much.”

eventually you’re off the stage and sitting at your table, still processing everything that's just happened. there are few who still congratulate you from their seats around you. your friend, sitting beside you, gives you a look, the kind that says it all. you know what to do.

you hesitate. was she serious about what she said before about if you won? you roll your eyes, but you can’t ignore the pull of it. you grab your phone and turn it on briefly, waiting for an appropriate moment. your thumb hovers over the keyboard for a moment before you type out the message to drew:

hey. can i call u tonight?

a/n: such an abrupt ending LOL but i have to cut it off here bc i have my first day of my new class tmr n im supposed to get up in 2 hours 💔 ILL REWRITE THIS OR DO A PART 2 IF I REREAD THIS LATER N NOT LIKE IT

[ekster--exotic]

I thought of mine at like 12 in the morning, so it isn’t very creative lol

Ekster is the name of my magpie/vampire oc (Ekster actually just means magpie in Dutch)

Exotic is the name of my main oc, she’s a crow Avian. Exotic was also a part of my first mc gamertag. I just like the word, I think it looks cool :D

@analoghorrorisyummy @bread-sheeran @forest-creature-thingy @stickmandennt @unenthusiasticcoffeeholicghost @jasperthecapser

Tag game🎉

Tag your moots and ask them where they got the idea for their tumblr accounts name!

For my name it was a nickname I was giving back in middleschool! One of our teacher had a system where we worked with 'wifi' eachtime we talked in class we lost a bar of the "wifi" (was a weird joke and we never held count on that) All the kids usually joked if they needed 'wifi' , they would borrow mine if they wanted to talk more. (I was incredibly shy in middle school, I only talked to like 3 people at school;^;)

They called me Ms. Wifi because of that. I just thought it would be funny if I put 'miss' instead of 'ms' because of my terrible actual wifi connection I have at home lol.

That's my story! Now moots, only if you guys want to, tell us your story.

Tags-> @slipping-lately @firequeenofficial @noagskryf @twinklstarrrr @halfbakedspuds @polterwasteist @rokushi-san @mygedagtes +anyone that sees this and wants to do this as well

[vatelixx]

Ton 618,

S3-S4ish Spencer Reid x Reader (no mention of gender).

Fluff (no angst… surprisingly). Autistic Spencer (present in all of my one shots bcos it’s canon to me).

──── domesticated time inbetween cases & blind adoration.

Warnings: literally none (who am i???), brief mention of past trauma (Hankel).

w.c: 1.5k

— They’re both nerds who are a little too invested in space. Light biblical imagery & Greek mythology references. My writing has been sufficiently domesticated (dw i’ll be back to angst soon, war is not over.)

Loosely inspired by:

a/n: just giving him what he deserved to have.

────────────

For the first time, in a long time, there is little residing in Spencer’s mind. Beyond warm hands, and soft skin, and the pulse of someone else’s body. Obsessed is one word for it, a textbook definition that can’t truly articulate the ache he derives from the thought of you. Obsessed, fatefully ruined, if this is the work of divine intervention, then consider him, once obstinate in his atheism, entirely, profusely devout.

He’s still thinking about you. What’s new? The memory of your lips pressed against his, the tattooed promise of more, more because it will never be enough. He wants, god when has he ever wanted? Life before appears bleak now, black and white. Academia, pursuits of knowledge, lonely nights and the transient fear of forever being stuck in a cyclical cycle of loneliness.

You think he’s pretty. He smiles on the way home from work, Morgan pressing him, because ‘kid you can’t be that happy for no reason.’ There is a reason, a monumental, life-altering one that waits for him at the door. He likes that, the domesticity. He’s never asked for much, content in his mishaps of intimacy, always baring the weight because he wants needs to be good. For the people around him, for the home he’s carved into his skin, for anything that starves off the decades of isolation.

When he threads his arms around your waist, leaning all of his weight into the contact, you both go stumbling back.

He’s soft. Of course he’s endured more than anyone should, the sharp edge of addiction, the stifling weight of a morbid job that has him fixated, hook line and sinker, compass pointing South every time he’s thrown into the field. But for all of that, he still obtains naive, blinding light.

He burns. Or more so, he warms.

“Hi, hi. Sorry— that wasn’t very eloquent. Can I try again?” He’s halfway out of the door; you have to lean forward, grip his wrist, tug him closer, “Okay.” He laughs, “I’ll take that as a no?”

He’s certain your name is imprinted onto his heart. Carved just for you alone. There is no one else. There could never be anyone else.

That night he falls asleep on your shoulder. Hands interlocked, body splayed out across stressed leather, abandoning his book for the soft drab of safety. There’s a tangled wire of headphones draped between you, knotted further when you pull him, half conscious to bed. He follows mindlessly.

You spend his allocated time off as recluses, abandoning civilisation. No sunlight, his apartment is permanently drenched in molten light. Scattered lamps, balancing off stacked books and messy surfaces. Every morning he’ll wake you with butterfly kisses and the promise of a breakfast he will consistently burn. He’s content, over the moon, to forget the world around him. For it to just be, just the two of you.

Today, as usual, you eat his charred attempt at food. He’s trying, he’s definitely trying, even if the end result is… a health risk. Still, you eat it regardless, without complaint, you eat it.. and then he’s just… kissing you senseless in the middle of his kitchen. Cold tiled floor, and mismatched socks. Fuck, he loves you, he’s never loved someone the way he loves you.

“I’ve been dreaming about falling into black holes recently,” he says when you cradle his face. Pretty features besotted with the sight of you. “Weird. Kinda cool. Please don’t eat anymore of my food.”

“No promises,” you grin, and he has the audacity to pout.

Because that’s not fair, burnt food can cause carcinogens to form, to obstruct digestion and metabolism. “My cooking is going to kill you. Your death will be on my hands. The grief will be immeasurable. I’ll become a hermit, never leave my apartment again. Don’t do that to me.” hands wrapped around your wrists, he preserves the contact. “Please don’t do that to me.”

“Well only because you said please—“

He sighs, audibly, ”You just died, you’re dead, and the only thing you can focus on is a word. A word I very generously repeat, at any given moment.” — he’s polite, he will use his manners, and he will unceremoniously echo please please please to obtain even a fraction of you.

He’s senseless. Too far gone.

You take his hand, press it against your heart. “Still alive. I think?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “For now.”

“You’re dramatic—“

He cuts you off, “Did you know one of the largest black holes ever recorded is 66 billion times the mass of the sun? Ton 618.” Pausing to kiss you (a vital necessity), his hands play aimlessly with your hair, strands sliding through the crevices of his fingers. “Imagine falling into that—“ kiss, “You would die obviously,” kiss, “But it would be a pretty cool death.” Kiss. 

Time dilation, worm holes, cosmic demise, you. Sigh— you.

“It would take over 10 billion years for its light to reach earth.” you say, and yeah. Okay. Just casually recite facts to him. That’s okay. He won’t melt, because he’s a rational, dignified, highly-cerebral adult.

Lie. You always know when to talk, sometimes, sometimes, he gets so lost in thought-loops and spirals of intellectual confusion that you have to draw him back to the present. He disintegrates. Every. Single. Time. One intelligent word and the threads of him are woven tightly around your finger.

”You’re stealing my job. And—and you’re doing it better than me. I’m taking a vow of silence. No more words. I’m becoming a monk. Except, maybe without the celibacy?”

“Whore—“

“For you? Always.” he says, knocking his shoulder into yours, “You’re missing the important aspect to this. Don’t discard my threat.”

“Spence, if you ever stop reciting random facts to me at..” you scramble to check the time, early morning, it’s hard to differentiate the hours when they all bleed into one convoluted mess of intimacy. “At 9AM, we will have serious issues. I might get HR involved.“

He’ll ramble about the laws of thermodynamics. Dedicating hours to the philosophical differences between determinism and free-will. You’ll call him a nerd, and he’ll laugh, muffling your protests with his mouth. It’s routine. Something to fall back onto.

 “Hey! Don’t drag HR into our domestic affairs! That’s—“ he interrupts himself to kiss you, again. Just because he can.

Once he’s satisfied that his lips will ache for the next millennium, he continues. “Anyway. I think we should get old together, and then, when we’re losing our minds, and we can’t tell the days apart, we just.. take a casual trip to space, travel through Ton 618. I’d be scared, so I’d hold your hand when we fall. Getting sucked into eternal darkness would be an acceptable way to go.”

He laughs, “You know, as long as you’re by my side, or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” you repeat, before holding out your pinky. “Deal?”

He feeds his own through yours, “Deal.” 

Yeah, just promise eternal devotion to him. That wont have any lasting, fatal effects on his sanity. It’s not like he’ll cling to it for the remainder of his ephemeral existence.

Later that night, when you’re draped in limbs, skin pressed against skin, you sigh against the warm slope of his neck. “You’re reciting the periodic table in your sleep again..”

It’s a habit. A permanent, engrained idiosyncratic that he’s endured since adolescence. He stirs awake, turning to face you in the hazy light. Features swollen, sleep-soft and pretty. “Was I?” He murmurs, finding the audacity to ask, “What element was i on?”

Because that’s clearly essential.

“Osmium,” you say, tucking strands of tousled auburn behind his ear. “Gonna continue?”

“Mhm— yeah. Iridium. One of my favourites, thank god you woke me up before I got to it.”

You humour his tendencies; you’re nothing if not a condoner of his weird quirks. “Discovered by Smithson Tennat in 1803.” is your response, “The name comes from Greek Mythology, Iris. Two stable Isotopes, 191 and 193.”

There you go again. Fracturing his mind, and stealing his information before it can fall from bruised lips.

He thinks you might be cut from the same cloth. He thinks he was probably just made for you. “I like the way you say Isotopes.” He mutters, “Like the way you kiss. You always take my top lip.”

There’s no epiphany. No sharp blade, dragging, penetrating, skin, forcing you to confront stifled feelings. They’ve always been there. Red string of fate, Plato’s Symposium: Aristophanes’ account of the ‘other half.’ Hero and Leander. It doesn’t matter. There’s only the here and now.

He does this thing. Often. Where he’ll moan into your open-mouth. Fingers sunk deep into your hair, keeping you impossibly tethered to him. You’re not sure what planet he fell from, but you’re glad they deported him, if only for your selfish benefit of circuiting around him.

“I’m in love with you,” the admittance is easy. Maybe the words have always been waiting for you to verbalise, bated breath, inexorably interlinked. Maybe they’re long overdue. Something pleading to be let out. But, maybe, it matters more to wait until this, when everything is soft and untouchable. Fresh, untainted. He’d like to live in your skin.

Here’s the thing, Spencer always thought he would be the first one to say it. Reciprocation was always a fantastical hypothetical, something he could only blindly hope for. But, to have his illimitable feelings, in their extensive capacity, matched? That’s— more than he ever thought he deserved.

He presses his forehead to yours, “Saying ‘i’m in love with you’ doesn’t measure up, doesn’t articulate even a fraction of what I feel for you.”

He’s pretty sure he could die right here, in this one fragile moment, and be happy with everything he’s accomplished.

[kedreeva]

Well, I've had a bit of a rough week. A deer totaled my (new-to-me I've-only-had-it-a-year) car when it rammed headlong into to side of it on a dark back road, and set off the passenger side side airbags (on the doors, not the dashboard ones). Thankfully I was completely unharmed aside from ringing ears and it did not do a whole ton of damage running into the side of the car (as opposed to the damage that would have been done the other way around, if I had hit it), but unthankfully it hit the airbag sensors and the airbags going off made it unable to be repaired for less than the cost of the car. The deer did not even have the decency to drop dead on the spot so I could eat it, it took off running back into the woods (at least according to the guy behind me that saw it hit me, because personally I thought someone had fuckin' shot my car, because the airbags are apparently explosively powered and smell like gunpowder and smoke).

So, I've been away dealing with that and looking for another car. I was not in love with the Patriot, even though I stuck cool jurassic park stickers on it (rather, I stuck cool jurassic park stickers on it because I was not in love with it), and I was still badly missing my Liberty. So imagine my surprise when I found a new listing for a 2010 jeep liberty with nearly the exact same number of miles on it (70,139) as the patriot I just lost (70,106). It looked practically pristine, came with a clean bill of health from Carfax, and was within a few hours drive to go get. On top of that, it was listed as marked down because it was at non-same dealership that wanted space back, so it was less than the insurance payout. I still called, and I still asked them to do me better than what they had it up for, and the guy was SO busy explaining how much trouble it would be to give it to me for the price I asked with all the taxes and fees and stuff included but that he would valiantly go talk to his manager that I didn't get a chance to say I MEANT just the car price not including those things. So he came back with a price, I asked again for lower again if I could bring cash today (offering the price I wanted to pay total in the first place, had he stopped to listen) and they accepted it.

So, I drove down in my mom's car with her, and took him out for a spin. He drives like a new car. Whisper quiet compared to the lawnmower of car the Patriot was. Tight steering, gas, break pressures, good wheels, great pickup and go, rides high like my old Liberty did, huge backseat/trunk space for caging and hay and stuff. They had detailed the inside so it was pristine and even smelled like new car. Stunning little beast.

When I climbed in to drive home, I found a heads-up penny sitting on each front seat. I think probably the dealership guy put them there in reality, but I choose to believe that it was a peace offering from the universe. Or perhaps the car trying to tell me his new name: Lucky.

I managed not to cry about having a car so much like my good boy Colt back under my hands, but it was a close thing. Anyway, here's to the next 200k miles! Let's see if we can beat Colt's record :)

[deadpcnned]

you're so vain (jj.m)

coming soon!

general masterlist | join the taglist

pairing: jj maybank x reader (au)

synopsis: for as long as anyone can remember, jj maybank has been a ladies’ man—willing to charm any girl with a pulse. you, on the other hand, have never been easily won over, shutting down unwanted advances without a second thought in the name of higher pursuits.

so when his friends bet he can’t get with you, he sees it as just another challenge. what he doesn’t know is that you have a bet of your own—act like the worst girlfriend possible, and prove that guys don't just stick around for looks.

at first, it’s just a game. your weird quirks and stubborn attitude are nothing he can’t handle, and his flirtations are nothing more than motivation for you. but with every passing day, it all seems less like a game and more... real. what happens when winning the bet means losing each other?

* this series is inspired by 'how to lose a guy in 10 days' *

content warning(s): au, drugs, alcohol, language

author's note: uh oh, another series... like most girls, i am such a big fan of this movie and i couldn't resist adding my own spin to the plot. this series won't be starting until probably the end of february, but i wanted to go ahead and post it!

“I seriously doubt a guy would stick around if he were fishing out spinach from my mouth every time we kissed,” You mumble, rolling your eyes at Ruthie as you return to tightly winding Sarah’s hair around the curling iron. Your grip tightens around the pink handle, more from exasperation than focus. Topper seriously needs to reconsider his recent taste in women.

Ruthie pushes herself up from the bed and saunters over to the two of you, a spark of mischief shining in her eyes that catches your attention in the mirror. Without warning, she scoops the ottoman from under your knee, ignoring your annoyed huff as she plops down. “You don’t get it, do you?” she says, shaking her head as if she’s explaining something painfully obvious. “Boys are simple. They’ll do anything for a good fuck.” 

“Ruthie!” 

“Sarah!” You exclaim, pulling away the curling wand hovering dangerously close to her turned cheek. “Stop moving! I almost burned you!” You cautiously rest your curling wand on the vanity, crossing your arms as you address Ruthie’s tireless campaign. “Ruthie, that’s just not true. Men suck, but they’re not that desperate.” 

“Care to test it?” The look she gives you, so full of unwarranted confidence, makes it tempting to agree blindly to whatever nonsense she’s about to spew. But in the short time you’ve known her, you’ve gathered jumping headfirst into whatever she plans is maybe not the smartest thing to do. 

“How would we do that?” You arch a brow, playing it cool, the picture of nonchalance. Girls like Ruthie want you to bark when you should be biting back. The best way to handle them is to beat them at their own game. It doesn’t matter how uneasy her grin makes you. You have to look like the picture of perfect insouciance. 

“Easy. You reel in some sucker and make him regret it. Clingy, loud, jealous �� I’m talking full nightmare fuel.” 

“Me?” You scoff, reaching for the iron. “Sarah, I swear, if you move–”

 Sarah hums in acknowledgment but doesn’t angle her face towards the circular mirror like you need her to. She’s too busy watching Ruthie, waiting for her following words. 

“Yes, you.” 

“Why do I have to be the guinea pig?” You fuss, shifting your position to continue working on Sarah’s hair. You twist Sarah’s blond hair around the silver rod as you suggest, “You test it out with Topper. You’re the one with something to prove.”

“I’m actually serious about Topper,” Ruthie counters and you have to physically bite your tongue from making a snarky comment. “And you’re perfect for this. You’re objectively hot and leaving at the end of the summer. No strings with a hot chick? Guys eat that up.” 

“Ruthie, remind me again why you’re with Topper if you have such a low opinion of the entire male species,” Sarah asks. Sarah eyes Ruthie with a mix of genuine curiosity and plain judgment. Ruthie doesn’t dignify Sarah with a response, upholding the same catty attitude she’s maintained with her since the start of the evening. “Or not.” 

You and Sarah share a long look, not hiding your indignation, but you can’t deny that beneath you’re irritation, you’re a little interested. You would be in the Outer Banks for three months; you might as well find a way to kill time. 

“Done,” You announce, pulling back and smiling at your handiwork. As Sarah fluffs through her hair, you ask, “So, I just pick any guy and make him miserable?” 

Sarah spins around at a dizzying speed, her jaw dropping open. “You’re considering it? Like, actually?”  

You give her a sheepish shrug and look to Ruthie for confirmation. 

“No, I get to choose.”

“What, why?” You scoff. 

“Cause you’d choose someone you already know, and those guys have been harboring unrequited crushes on you since you were, like, twelve.” You try not to betray your surprise. Somehow, Ruthie knows more about your life than you want her to. You weren't sure how Ruthie knew this about you, but it wasn’t entirely untrue. 

“Fine,” You huff, flopping down onto your bed. “Who, then?”

Ruthie’s smile is one you could only describe as downright devilish as she leans in, lowering her voice to a lethal whisper. “Who else but Kildare’s biggest fuckboy? JJ Maybank.”

taglist: @rinaarii @kaisgirlie @loophole3 @flourelle @xobeautifulfaith @brooklyn789 @jjscoquette

*if you would like to be removed, pls lmk!

[7-deadly-cats]

killing me softly (part one)

part two (soon)

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!introverted!kook!reader

cw: swearing, very indirect subtle mention of sexual activities (no actual scenes), mention of drug usage (no actual scene)

synopsys: it's the last year of high school and y/n is paired up with rafe cameron for a 2 week project in art class. this wouldn't be a problem if y/n wasn't awkward as hell and well ... if there wasn't her big fat crush on him.

word count: 2144

a/n: i haven't written this kind of stuff since like 8th grade (i recently graduated from university sooo yeah) but i kinda felt like it now and idk. there are so many smut involved fics on here (which isn't bad, i just need more softer slow burn stuff). not saying there won't be any smut in future parts hihihihi. also i have no clue how the american school system works (i'm from europe) so pls just accept this lol. and kelce's last name is statter bc apparently it was never mentioned in the show. anyway, this is for all my introverted and overthinking girlies (who may or may not be little freaks) <3

*****

Fuck my life.

That was the only thing on your mind as Mr. Smith announced the partners for the upcoming two-week art project. In pairs, you were supposed to create a reinterpretation of the Greek gods.

The assignment wasn’t the problem. In fact, it actually sounded kind of fun. But your partner? Yeah, that was the real issue.

Fucking Rafe Cameron.

Of all the people in this class, it had to be him. You didn’t even know why he'd chosen this class. Rafe was probably the last guy you’d expect to take an art elective—well, right after Kelce Statter.

He'd probably thought it was an easy class to boost his GPA. Rookie mistake.

Okay, whatever, it was just a small project. You could handle this.

NO, YOU COULDN’T, HOLY SHIT.

The thought of working with Rafe Cameron made your skin crawl. In all your years at Kildare Academy, you'd maybe exchanged two words with him—and that was only because he'd mistaken you for another girl.

"Y/N, right?" Rafe appeared at your desk at the end of class, a bored expression on his face.

Okay, okay, just act normal. Be nice. You nodded. "Yeah."

Rafe stared at you for a moment, like he was waiting for you to say more. His eyebrows furrowed slightly before he tilted his head. "Cool, okay. Let’s just meet up during lunch break and get this over with."

Did he seriously think you could finish a two-week project in one lunch break?

When he saw the look on your face, he raised his brows in amusement, his tone teasing. "What? You too busy?"

Your cheeks heated up as you shook your head. "No, lunch sounds good."

"Okay, then let’s meet after the fifth period." Before you could ask where you should meet him, he turned around and disappeared out of the classroom.

You frowned. This was off to a great start.

Just two weeks, you reminded yourself as you slung your bag over your shoulder and headed to math class.

On the way, you unlocked your phone to text your bestie Cara:

You shoved your phone away and tried to ignore the uneasiness creeping into your stomach.

You didn’t usually have trouble talking to guys but Rafe Cameron was a whole different story. Not because he was "too cool" or some dumb shit like that.

No, Rafe was just... intimidating. Not in that bad-boy, cringe Wattpad kind of way. It was something else, something you couldn’t quite put into words.

He wasn’t arrogant—he was proud. He was loud, but not in the annoying way Kelce Statton was. He wasn’t rude—he just said whatever the hell was on his mind.

He was just ... himself. And yet, somehow he wasn't. It felt like there was a lot more going on beneath the surface.

Maybe that was what made him so interesting to you. Sure, he had a nice face and a well-known name, no doubt about that. But more than anything, you wanted to know why he was the way he was.

Was he just a blunt person who didn’t give a fuck, or was there more to him than his looks and his last name?

So yeah, maybe a part of you was curious about him. But he had such an overwhelming presence, you wouldn’t even know where to start.

In the past, he'd had a few friends-with-benefits situations, but none of them had lasted long. And that was definitely a path you didn't want to go down. Under different circumstances, maybe you could but you've never even held hands with a guy, let alone kissed one or—yeah, no, not going there.

Okay, chill. Internally, you cursed Cara for fueling your delusions.

You had more important problems at right now anyway. Like math class with Mrs. Richman. And no one could claim you were a star student in that subject.

----

The lesson dragged on, your thoughts constantly drifting. After class, you were supposed to meet Rafe.

Rafe, who had PE right now.

Shit. You tried not to think about a sweaty, heavy-breathing, and—NOPE, NOT NOW.

"Okay, that’s it for today. Don’t forget about the math test next week. But for now, go enjoy the nice weather," Mrs. Richman announced, dismissing the class.

Your hands felt clammy as you got up to leave. What the fuck is wrong with me?

You headed to the restroom and washed your hands. Why were you so nervous about spending one lunch break with Rafe Cameron? Fuck you, social anxiety.

"Everything okay?" A soft voice pulled you from your thoughts. "You look kinda pale."

You turned to see the pretty face of Molly Crane. Red hair, cute freckles, and a super charming smile. She was one of the few Kooks (if any existed at all) who was genuinely nice.

You forced a smile. "Yeah, yeah, all good. I think I just ate something bad for breakfast."

Molly didn't look convinced. "You sure? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

"Really, thanks, Molly. I’m fine now." With an awkward smile, you excused yourself and headed out—only to realize that, well… great, you and Rafe had never picked a meeting spot.

Brrrt.

Your phone had been buzzing since math class. Of course, it had been Cara.

You rolled your eyes with a smile and texted back.

Should you really wait in front of the gym? That felt weird af. But at the same time, you didn’t want to miss him and end up having an awkward conversation about it in the next art class.

The dining hall would've been the most obvious meeting place, but would Rafe actually look for you there?

You pressed your lips together. Fuck it.

Heart pounding, you headed toward the gym.

Good thing your body totally knew how to distinguish between social interaction and actual danger.

When you arrived, you heard muffled voices of the boys inside, along with Coach Brown’s instructions.

Just breathe, it’s just one lunch break, you told yourself. Then again, this was probably how the next two weeks were going to feel.

You held your breath as the gym doors swung open, and a crowd of sweaty—oops wrong, freshly showered—boys streamed out.

You awkwardly stepped to the side, ignoring the curious glances thrown your way.

No sign of Rafe yet. A sick feeling settled in your stomach. Even worse than being here and having to explain HOW you knew that he would be here, would be explaining why you were standing there if he didn’t actually have PE right now.

But then relief washed over you when you spotted Kelce Statter and Topper Thornton. And right behind them—Rafe Cameron.

You tightened your grip on your bag. Okay, okay, I can do this. They’ll probably say bye to Rafe and leave for lunch now.

They didn’t. Great.

When Rafe saw you, something flickered in his gaze that you didn’t want to analyze. You expected him to just walk past you but instead, he headed straight toward you—with Kelce and Topper right behind him.

Just smile. No, not like that, you probably look like a creep. Oh god, okay.

"Hey," Rafe greeted you with a slightly puzzled smile as the three of them stopped in front of you. "I didn't expect you here."

In other words: Did you stalk me or how did you know I was here?

Kelce and Topper eyed you with amusement. This is so unbelievably embarrassing.

Blushing, you pointed at the gym bag slung over his shoulder. "Well, I saw you bringing a sports bag today, and PE is usually scheduled right before lunch ... so I just assumed you’d be here."

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Kelce stifling a laugh. You wanted to disappear from Earth, no from this universe. No way anyone would believe--

"Right," Rafe replied with a lopsided grin. "I would’ve just waited in the dining hall."

So you had been right. And you could've saved yourself this painfully awkward moment. G-r-e-a-t.

"Good thinking though. The faster we get this project over with, the better."

Shit, did Rafe just compliment you? Then again, why did the last sentence sound like he didn't want to work with you?

You smiled awkwardly. "Exactly."

"You're Y/N Y/L/N, right? Your mom owns Y/L/N Yacht Sales." Topper’s voice cut in, and you were grateful for the topic change.

You nodded. "Yeah."

Was that admiration on Topper’s face?

"Ohh, a business Mommy, I like that", Kelce said, and both Topper and Rafe eyed him with shaking heads.

Topper blinked at him annoyed. "Bro, shut the fuck up for once."

Kelce just laughed.

"My dad bought a Grady-White from you guys recently," Rafe remarked, and your gaze flicked back to his blue eyes.

Jesus, he wasn’t just looking at you—he was staring into your soul. If he was always looking at girls like that you'd gladly be his friends-with-benefits-girl.

You prayed to whatever gods were listening that you didn’t blush. "I remember. A 456 Canyon."

The corner of Rafe’s mouth twitched up. "Yeah, a pretty model."

Your cheeks warmed, and either he didn’t notice, or he chose not to comment on it.

"Oh shit, that sounds like a boat party," Kelce chimed in with a grin and looked at you. "If I were you, I’d have thrown a dozen parties by now. So many possibilities…"

Rafe scoffed amused. "Good thing she isn’t, or her family would be broke by now."

You allowed yourself a small smirk.

„Hey, I’m just saying.“ Kelce raised his hands innocently.

Topper tapped him on the chest with the back of his hand. „Okay, dude, and I’m saying we’re leaving now before you say more stupid shit.“ Then he looked at you apologetically and turned his gaze to Rafe. „See you later.“

Rafe just gave him a short nod, his expression hard to read, before turning back to you with a tired smile as Kelce and Topper disappeared behind the gym. „So, you hungry?“

Why did this situation suddenly feel so… intimate? It wasn’t. Definitely not. There was absolutely no reason to feel weird about this. And yet—standing here alone with Rafe Cameron was… a lot. Maybe it was the way he looked at you—calm, focused, as if he was actually paying attention.

Or maybe it was the damn wet strands of hair falling into his forehead after his shower.

Get a grip.

You nodded quickly, trying not to overthink it. „The cafeteria has quinoa veggie bowls today. Or fries, if you’re not into influencer food.“

Oh God. Was that your attempt at being funny? Tragic.

Rafe’s lips twitched with amusement. „So, you’re assuming I don’t like quinoa bowls?“

Oh. Oh no.

Heat immediately rushed to your face, and you could feel your cheeks burning. Why the hell did you say that?

„No—I mean…“ You let out a nervous laugh, which sounded more like a weird cough. „Not that you wouldn’t like it, but you’re just more like—uh, not that I’m putting you in a box or anything, but you don’t seem like someone who… uh…“

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. „Someone who eats quinoa?“

You sighed. „Forget it. I’m just talking nonsense.“

„No, no, now I’m curious.“ His voice was amused, almost teasing. „How exactly do I seem?“

You swallowed. Shit.

„Uh…“ Your eyes flickered over him for a second—his broad shoulders, the damp strands of hair falling into his forehead, the fresh polo shirt fitting way too well against his body—oh God, wrong direction.

„I just meant…“ Maybe you should just stop talking and dig your own grave. You sighed and smiled awkwardly. „Okay, look, I'm sorry if you’re actually a secret quinoa veggie bowl advocate. I didn’t mean to sound condescending.“

Rafe laughed. Not in a mocking way—no, it was real, warm, which somehow made it worse because it only made you more nervous.

„No, no, I get it,“ he said, shrugging with an amused smile. „I guess I need to work out more if I’m giving off ‘fries guy’ vibes.“

Your eyes widened, and you quickly shook your head. „That’s not what—“

„Relax, I know what you meant.“ He cut you off, tilting his head toward the dining hall. „Come on, you can keep judging me in there.“

I am the most embarrassing person alive, you thought, face still burning.

Still, you fell into step beside him, gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter. Brain, could you please shut the hell up? Thanks.

It didn’t.

Because why did Rafe’s presence feel so overwhelming—in the best way possible? And why did his ridiculously good aftershave still linger in the air between you, like some kind of cruel distraction?

And most importantly—how the hell were you supposed to survive two whole weeks of this?

[leeeedith]

STRAY KIDS reaction (texts) to their S/O walking out after a fight

Bang Chan 🐺

At first, Chan lets you go, thinknig you need space to cool off. But the second the door shuts, guilt washes over him. He paces the rooom, running a hand throught his hair, overthinking everything he said. After a few minutes, he grabs his phone and sends you a message: "Come back wen you're ready. I'm sorry. I just don't want to lose you over this."

Lee Know 🐰

Minho stays still, arms crossed, jaw clenched. His pride keeps him from calling after you immediately, but as soon as he hears the door close, regrets settles in. He sighs heavily and sinks onto the couch, staring at the spot where you stood moments ago. He won't chase you right away, but after some time, he'll text you: "Are you safe? Let me know. I'll wait for you."

Changbin 🐷

The second you turn to leave, Changbin's heart drops. He reaches out instinctively, but his frustation keeps him from stopping you. The moment you disappear, he punches a pillow in frustation before sitting down with his head in his hands. He debates running after you, but he doesn't want to push you further away. Instead, he types and deletes multiple messages before finally sending: "I didn't mean to hurt you. Please come back so we can talk."

Hyunjin 😺

Hyunjin's emotions are all over the place. Wen you walk out, he calls your name, but his voice breaks halfway through. He stands frozen, staring at the door, blinking rapidly to stop himself from crying. He doesn't know whether to run after you or give yous space, so instead, he grabs his sketchbook and starts scribbling aimlessly—his way of processing the pain. Later, he sends you a voice message: "I hate fighting with you... please come home."

Han 🐿️

At first, Han lets out a frustrated sigh, throwing himself onto the couch, muttering under his breath. But after a few minutes, panic sets in. What if you don't come back? What if he messed up too badly? He grabs his phone and calls you, pacing the room while waiting for you to pick it up. If you don't answer, he send a series of messages: "Are you okay?" "Where did you go?" "Please answer me." "I love you, okay?"

Felix 🐥

The moment the door shuts, Felix feels a heavy weight in his chest. His hands shake slightly as he stared at where you just stood. He's not one to handle conflict well, and the thought of you being upset with him makes his eyes sting. He curls up on the couch, hugging a pillow, waiting for you to text him first—but after a while, he gives in and sends you a soft message: "I'm sorry, love. Can you come home so we can fix this?"

Seungmin 🐶

Seungmin watches you leave with a blank expression, but inside, his heart is racing. His logical side tells him to give you space, but his emotions scream at him to fix things right away. He sighs and leans against the wall, staring at his phone, debating what to say. Eventually, he settles on something simple but sincere: "I know I upset you. But pleace don't shut me out... Let's talk when you're ready."

I.N 🦊

Jeongin doesn't expect you to walk out, and when you do, he just stands there, completely frozen. His throat tightens, and for a moment, he wonders if this is the end. He waits a few minutes, hoping you'll come back, but when you don't, he anxiously grabs his phone and sends a text: "I didn't mean to hurt you. Please, just let me know you're safe."

[hellsite-detective]

the fan spun slowly and lazily above my head. the sound of rain pounding on the window just beyond the blinds, while normally soothing, now only added to the sense of isolation. on my desk, strewn across it and the rest of the room, were cases. unopened, forgotten. a glass of liquor sat half filled on the only clear space on that desk, the rest having gone down my gullet and straight to my head. projects unfinished, my novel barely touched, life preventing me from continuing…

i considered, for a moment, locking the doors of the office for good. shutting it down and leaving this all to the rats. setting fire to the remains and walking off into the fog one last time. but then i thought about the cases. those people who needed my help, lost without their posts. it made me feel wrong for abandoning them in their time of need, like i was no better than the crooks who hid their posts away in the dark recesses of the city.

so the thought of what to do lingered in my mind, what to do, how to move forward. those cases sat on my desk untouched, my coat and hat unworn, and my whiskey cabinet nearly empty. the faces, the names of all those people i helped and all those i had yet to help. the service i provide is a necessary one, fight back against the evil of this city’s algorithm.

then i thought of my schedule crossed my mind. the old schedule of three cases per day was efficient, but unsustainable. but perhaps if i solved one post per day, this would be significantly easier to ensure the schedule can be maintained. a singular burst of motivation on one day per week would cover me indefinitely…

i stood from my desk, grabbed my keys, coat, and hat, and approached the door. was i really about to do this? was i about to make this call and reopen my office and offer my services to the world? my heart pounded as i slid my key into the lock. there was a hell of a lot of work to do, but dammit if it wasn’t worth it. to have purpose again, that’s what really mattered here. i turned the key, opened the door, and stepped outside onto the street.

the rain fell slower now, as if the heavens themselves could feel my spirits lift. the air was cool and brisk. fall was coming on fast. the paperboy came along to drop off the news when i called out to him…

“ay, boy! spread the word!” i said to him. “the Hellsite Detectice is back on duty…”

[hjvi]

𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝑼𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅

Pairing: Bsf!Chris Sturniolo x Fem!Reader

Summary: After burying your feelings for Chris for years, you're caught off guard when jealousy resurfaces, watching him with another girl. requested

Word Count: 2k

You’ve known Chris for as long as you can remember. His laugh is unmistakable—the kind that echoes, rich and deep, bouncing off walls and filling every corner of the room with warmth. He’s always been loud, full of life, and incredibly magnetic, effortlessly drawing people in with his charm. But for you, it was always more than that.

You knew him long before you started feeling this way—long before his tousled brown hair, with the hints of sun-kissed highlights, started looking a little too perfect in the way it fell over his forehead. Before his blue eyes started making your stomach twist in a way you could no longer ignore. Before you started noticing the little things, like the warmth of his hand when it brushed against yours, the way he’d throw his arm around your shoulders during movie nights with the group, the way he’d pause mid-sentence, just to smile at you like he couldn’t help himself.

For so long, you’d been his best friend—the quiet one, the one who had always been there for him, laughing at his jokes, listening to his stories, offering support. But recently, it started to feel different. You started noticing things—small things—that never bothered you before. His smile. How it lingered just a little longer when he looked at you, how his eyes would soften when you spoke about something that mattered to you. The way he would rest his hand on your shoulder casually when you were hanging out, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

But you couldn’t admit it—not even to yourself. Because how could you? He was Chris, your best friend. Your partner in crime, the one you could tell everything to, the one who made you laugh when you felt like crying. If you told him how you felt, you were terrified it would ruin everything. You couldn’t lose him, not like that. Not over something as silly as a crush.

Ever since Chris and I were kids, he had the biggest crush on me. His brothers would tease him relentlessly, making exaggerated kissing noises every time he so much as looked at me for too long. Everyone knew. It was an unspoken truth, something that just existed between us, a constant presence I never had to question.

It lasted for years. And I never thought much of it—Chris always asking me dumb questions just to talk to me, always finding excuses to sit beside me, always looking at me like I hung the stars in the sky. It was just Chris being Chris.

Until he stopped.

I don’t know exactly when it happened, but one day I realized he didn’t ask me those corny things anymore. He didn’t try to sit closer. He didn’t stare at me like I was his entire world. And I should’ve been relieved, should’ve been grateful that the teasing from his brothers had finally died down.

But I wasn’t.

I missed his attention. I missed knowing I was the center of his focus..

I remember the first time we formally talked about our crushes. It was in middle school, sprawled out on his bedroom floor, tossing a stress ball back and forth.

"I kinda like Sophia," he had admitted, his voice casual, like he wasn’t saying something that made my stomach twist.

Sophia. The blonde that every guy liked. The one with the kind of effortless beauty that made people gravitate toward her. Of course, he liked her.

I had forced a smile, nodding. "Yeah? She’s cool."

Chris studied me for a second before tossing the ball again. "Who do you like?"

I froze. My heart stuttered, my mind scrambling for a name that wasn’t his.

Because for the first time, I realized—I liked Chris.

And it terrified me.

"I don’t know," I lied, shrugging. "Haven’t really thought about it."

He smirked. "Liar."

I laughed it off, quickly changing the subject, but the truth sat heavy in my chest.

The weight of unspoken words had never felt heavier than it did now. For as long as I could remember, Chris had been my person. My best friend. The one I could always count on to make me laugh when the world felt unbearable. The one whose presence alone made everything feel lighter. But somewhere along the way, things had shifted. My laughter lingered a little too long when he cracked a joke. My heart raced a little too fast when his hand brushed against mine. My eyes searched for him in every crowded room, drawn to him in a way I knew wasn’t just friendly.

I had fallen in love with him.

And I never told him.

I buried those feelings so deep inside me, convinced that if I ignored them long enough, they would disappear. Because why would someone like Chris ever look at me that way? He deserved someone beautiful, effortless—someone who didn’t trip over their own words when he smiled at them. And if I ever told him, it would ruin everything. So I stayed quiet. I convinced myself that being his best friend was enough.

But then, Leah came into the picture.

At first, it was just a passing thought. You knew about her, of course. She was friends with the group, always hanging out with them, just like you. But over the past couple of weeks, things had changed. You’d noticed the way Chris started talking about her more—how he’d smile a little brighter when her name came up, how he’d mention things they’d done together, and how his eyes would light up when he talked about her, in a way that he’d never looked at you.

It was a gradual shift, but one you couldn’t ignore.

It started small at first. The way he talked about her. A girl whose name I had never needed to remember before, but suddenly, it was everywhere. Her laugh, her texts lighting up his phone, the way his eyes sparkled when he mentioned her. And then I saw it—the way he looked at her, and it shattered me.

I had spent so long pretending that I was okay just being his friend, but now, I couldn’t pretend anymore. Every time he smiled at her, it felt like a knife to the heart. Every time I saw her name flash on his screen, I wanted to disappear. Because it wasn’t me. It would never be me. And the thought of that—of watching him fall in love with someone who wasn’t me—was unbearable.

So I started pulling away.

At first, Chris didn’t notice. He’d text me, and I’d reply hours later, blaming school or sleep. When he called, I let it ring until it stopped, my fingers hovering over the answer button, aching to hear his voice but knowing it would only hurt. I started making excuses, avoiding plans, choosing solitude over his company.

But Chris wasn’t stupid.

It was a Thursday when everything came to a head. The weather was unusually warm for an early spring evening, the sunlight streaming through the window in Chris’s room as you sat next to him, legs stretched out on the floor. Chris had his headphones on, scrolling through his phone while you were lost in thought. The space between you both felt wider than ever, like something had shifted and you couldn’t put it back.

He was talking, his voice full of energy, but you weren’t really listening. You were too focused on the way his laugh sounded when he mentioned Leah’s name—how much joy seemed to be wrapped in that one syllable.

“Yeah, Leah and I were talking about going to that concert next month,” Chris said, not even noticing the way your heart dropped at the mention of her.

You forced a smile, trying to keep the sadness from showing. “That sounds fun,” you said, trying to keep your voice light. You bit your lip, fighting the tears that were threatening to spill over. It was becoming harder and harder to control them.

Chris pulled his headphones off and turned to you, his eyes narrowing in concern. “You sure you’re alright?” he asked, his voice softening. He reached out to touch your arm, and his touch made your heart race for all the wrong reasons.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, your throat tight. You didn’t know how to explain it to him—not without feeling like a fool. How could you tell him that you were in love with him, that every moment with him was a reminder of what you could never have?

This was just the beginning of the interrogations

“Okay, what the hell is going on with you?” he asked one evening, barging into my room without warning, his blue eyes sharp with concern.

I sat frozen on my bed, my laptop open in front of me, though I hadn’t typed a single word in the past hour. My heart slammed against my ribs. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb, dude. You’ve been weird. Distant. You barely talk to me anymore.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Did I do something?”

Yes, I wanted to scream. You fell for someone else. And you didn’t even notice it was breaking me.

But instead, I shook my head. “I’m just busy, Chris.”

“Bullshit,” he shot back immediately, crossing his arms. “You’re avoiding me.”

I swallowed hard, looking anywhere but at him. “I’m not.”

He sighed, stepping closer, his voice softer this time. “Then why won’t you look at me?”

Tears burned at the back of my eyes. I clenched my fists, willing myself to keep it together, but it was useless. The pain, the jealousy, the heartbreak—it was all bubbling to the surface too fast for me to stop it.

“Chris,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Please just drop it.”

“No,” he said firmly. “I won’t. Because you’re hurting, and I don’t know why.” He hesitated, searching my face. “Is it something I did?”

The lump in my throat grew, and before I could stop myself, a single tear slipped down my cheek. “You didn’t do anything.”

Chris’s face fell, his expression crumbling as he reached for me instinctively. “Then why are you crying?”

He leaned in closer, his warm blue eyes locking with yours, and you could feel the weight of his gaze. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

He froze, and you felt his hand gently tug at your chin, pulling your face back toward him. His eyes were wide with concern, his usual teasing expression replaced by one of deep, genuine worry.

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, everything felt too heavy. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, and the vulnerability you’d been hiding for so long threatened to break free. You looked at him, his face so close to yours, his genuine concern written all over his features, and it hit you like a wave.

And just like that, the dam broke.

I sucked in a shaky breath, my entire body trembling. “Because I can’t do this anymore,” I admitted, my voice cracking. “I can’t keep pretending like it doesn’t kill me to see you with her. I can’t keep acting like I don’t care when you talk about her, when you smile at her, when you—” I broke off, covering my face with my hands. “God, I’m so stupid.”

Chris stood frozen, his breath catching. “Wait,” he said slowly. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

I let out a bitter laugh, wiping at my tears. “I’m saying I love you, Chris. I have for a long time. And I never told you because I was terrified of ruining this—ruining us. But now, it doesn’t even matter, does it?” My voice cracked on the last words, my heart breaking all over again. “Because you’ve already found someone else.”

Chris’s expression shifted, his brows furrowing deeply. “Wait—what?” His voice cracked slightly, the shock evident on his face. He pulled you closer, his hands gently cradling your face. “You... you’re in love with me?”

The words felt like a breath of fresh air—like a confession you had kept locked away in the deepest part of your heart. But even as you said it, you weren’t sure what would happen next. Would he push you away? Would he laugh? Or would he... understand?

Silence.

My chest heaved, the room spinning around me. I didn’t know what I expected—maybe for him to let me down gently, to tell me he was flattered but his heart was elsewhere. Maybe even for him to walk away. But I didn’t expect what happened next.

Chris stepped forward, closing the distance between us. His hands cupped my face, forcing me to meet his gaze. His thumbs brushed away my tears, his touch so unbearably gentle it made my breath hitch.

“I—I’m sorry,” you stammered, wiping at your eyes, trying to suppress the tears. “I never wanted to say it. I didn’t want to ruin things between us.”

Chris was silent for a moment, his brow furrowing as he stood up slowly. He walked over to you and gently took your phone from your hand, placing it on the coffee table. His touch was light, his hand brushing against your fingers in a way that sent warmth rushing through you.

“Hey,” he said softly, kneeling in front of you so you were eye-level. “You don’t have to apologize for your feelings. It’s okay to feel what you feel.”

But you couldn’t stop the tears. They came in waves now, the floodgates opening. “I just thought… I thought I was fine,” you whispered through the sobs. “I thought I could handle it. But seeing you with her, seeing you get so close to her, it just—it hurts so much. I… I don’t know how to be around you anymore.”

Chris’s expression shifted from concern to something deeper—something you couldn’t quite place. He gently cupped your face in his hands, wiping away the tears with his thumbs. His eyes were intense, a mix of confusion and something else—something you couldn’t decipher.

“You’re an idiot,” he whispered, shaking his head.

“You think I don’t feel it too?” he murmured, his voice rough. He gently pulled you into his arms, holding you close, his warmth enveloping you. “I’ve been trying to figure this out, too, you know.”

I opened my mouth to protest, to explain how I had felt so invisible, so forgotten. But his next words stopped me.

“I’ve been in love with you for so long, I’m pretty sure it’s written all over my face,” he said, his voice raw, unguarded. “But I never said anything because I thought you didn’t feel the same way. I didn’t want to mess everything up. But the truth is... I can’t stand seeing you hurt. I can’t stand the idea of losing you. I need you, and I always have.” Chris’s hands gently ran up and down your back, the touch comforting yet charged with emotion.

My breath caught in my throat, my heart hammering against my chest as his words sank in. I blinked rapidly, trying to process them, to keep my composure, but it was like everything inside me finally cracked open. All the years of pretending, of burying my feelings beneath layers of friendship and doubt, had been in vain. Chris—Chris felt the same way.

“You... love me?” I whispered, still not quite believing it, my voice trembling as I searched his face for any sign of doubt. But there was none. His gaze was steady, unwavering.

“I love you,” he said, more firmly this time. “Always have. Always will.”

The realization hit you then, like a weight lifting from your chest. He had been feeling the same way all along, hiding his feelings just as much as you had.

Without thinking, you pulled back slightly, looking up into his eyes, and that was when everything seemed to come together. The pain, the confusion, the years of silence... it all fell away. The only thing that mattered now was the connection between you two.

“Chris... I’m scared,” you whispered, your hands shaking slightly as you cupped his face.

He smiled softly, that familiar, reassuring grin that made your heart race. “I know,” he murmured, brushing your hair out of your face. “But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

My chest swelled with something I couldn’t quite name—relief, hope, joy—until it all broke free in a rush of emotion. Without thinking, I stepped forward, closing the distance between us. My hands found his chest, pressing against the solid warmth of him, and before I could stop myself, I was kissing him—softly, tentatively at first, as though testing the waters after a lifetime of waiting.

The moment our lips met, everything else faded into the background. At first, it was slow—tentative. His lips were soft against mine, his breath warm and steady. I could feel the tension in his body, like he was testing the waters, unsure if this was real. And then, just like that, it deepened. Chris’s hand slid to my waist, pulling me in closer, until there was no space left between us. His touch was gentle but firm, like he needed me, like he was afraid to let go. His lips moved against mine with a tenderness that made my heart flutter, each kiss a promise, each one a reassurance that this moment was more than just a fleeting desire.

I melted into him, my fingers finding their way to his chest, lightly gripping the fabric of his shirt. His heart was racing beneath my touch, mirroring mine. The kiss grew more urgent, but there was still a sweetness to it, a softness that made everything feel like it was happening in slow motion, like we had all the time in the world. His lips were warm and sure, coaxing mine to respond, to give in, and I did, losing myself in the sensation of him, in the feeling of finally being close to the one person I had secretly longed for.

But eventually, I had to pull away, gasping for air. The intensity of the kiss left me breathless, my body trembling from the closeness of it. I couldn’t think, couldn’t process anything beyond the overwhelming feeling of his lips on mine, of the warmth of his touch.

I pulled back just enough to catch my breath, my chest heaving as I looked up at him. His eyes were still closed, as if he were trying to hold onto the moment just a little longer. But when he opened them, he locked his gaze with mine, and in that moment, I saw something in his eyes I hadn’t expected—something so tender, so vulnerable.

He reached for me almost immediately, his hands gentle as he cupped my face, pulling me back toward him. His lips found mine again, but this time, it was softer—gentler. He kissed me with a tenderness that spoke volumes, as if he needed me as much as I needed him, and as if he had been waiting for this moment just as long as I had. His touch was no longer desperate, but filled with a quiet longing, a reassurance that we were in this together, that we had both found something we couldn’t bear to let go of.

His breath mingled with mine, warm and slow, as his forehead rested gently against mine. His hands moved to my back, holding me close, as if he never wanted to let me go. I could feel the warmth of his chest against mine, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under my fingertips, and it was like everything in the world had finally fallen into place.

“I’ve been wanting this for so long,” Chris whispered, his voice soft, almost a little shaky. “You’re everything to me, you know that?”

I nodded, my heart swelling with emotions I couldn’t quite put into words. The love in his voice, the way he held me like I was fragile, like I was something precious—it was everything I’d ever wanted. He gently brushed a strand of hair from my face, his fingers lingering against my skin for a moment longer than necessary, as if he was memorizing the feel of me, like he never wanted to forget this moment.

“Don’t pull away,” he whispered again, his voice thick with emotion. His eyes searched mine, the intensity in them soft but unwavering. “I need you here. With me. Always.”

I looked into his eyes, feeling the sincerity in his words, the depth of his feelings for me. His hands were still on my waist, holding me close but with a softness that made me feel safe, cherished.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered back, my voice a little shaky as I cupped his cheek, running my thumb across the stubble that had started to form there. “I’m right here.”

And with that, he kissed me again, slowly this time—more like a promise than a question. His lips were gentle against mine, like he was savoring the moment, making sure we were both fully present in it. There was no rush, no urgency, just the quiet certainty that we were exactly where we were meant to be. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me even closer, and I let myself get lost in him, in the feeling of finally being with the person I had loved for so long.

When we finally pulled away again, I could see the faintest smile tugging at his lips, and I knew that whatever came next, we would face it together. His hands gently cradled my face, and I could feel the tenderness in every touch, every look. He wasn’t just kissing me; he was showing me that he needed me, that he loved me, in a way that words couldn’t fully express.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I'm sorry if this feels a bit rushed – it's because, well, it kind of is. This was a requested piece, and I apologize it's not a full-length fic, but I really hope you still enjoy it! Things have been pretty busy on my end, but I'm hoping to dive into future requests with more plot and depth. Thanks again for your patience and support!

tags - @swagalicious260 @watercolorskyy @coquettechris @lovesturni0l0s @christmastreecake @ellbowmacaroni @blog-luvdance @sophand4n4 @meg4-matt44 @mommymomm @chriss-slutt @humpster35 @courta13 @idkwhatthisis2009 @yourfavoritefangirl @slutformatt17 @watercolorskyy @mylifeisevenstranger @suyqa @junnniiieee07 @thecrawlys

╰┈➤𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒚, 𝒉𝒊𝒗𝒊

[jazzy96scorpio]

The Black Rose and the Star

Chapter 1 Unspoken Words

Description: Landing a job at SNL is huge for you as photographer, but the real surprise comes in when you met ridiculously charming actor [Pedro Pascal]. From secret studio dances to late-night pizza and poetry, your connection is undeniable. Turns out, the best things in life are totally unplanned.😉 It's a slow burn and so fluffy. For now 🫣

I think we all have delulu dreams of Pedro so here is mine 😊

Pairing: You / Pedro Pascal

Word count: 2,319

It was Friday, you were in studio finishing your work, you were happy, you are going to rest finally. When your phone rings. It was your boss. SHIT you thought.

"Ugh, seriously?" you groaned, already picturing your relaxing Friday night going up in smoke. Your boss's voice on the other end of the phone wasn't promising anything good. "What's the fire drill this time?" you ask him.

"Lorne Michaels' office called," he explained "They need a new photographer. Mary Ellen's sick."

Your heart skipped a beat. Mary Ellen Matthews. The legendary SNL photographer. "And…?" you prompted, barely daring to breathe.

"Lorne's seen your work," your boss continued. "He specifically requested you."

Your breath hitched. Whoa.

Lorne Michaels himself had seen your work? That was…insane. "Okay," you managed, trying to sound cool and collected when inside you were freaking out.

"Oh, and there's one tiny detail," your boss added, and you could practically hear the smirk. "You'll be working with Pedro Pascal."

Your brain short-circuited. Pedro Pascal. Pedro Pascal. The name echoed in your head like a beautiful melody. You loved his work. You loved his everything, honestly. The thought of actually meeting him, working with him… it was too much. A giggle threatened to escape, and you bit your lip to keep it in. "Okay, cool," you mumbled, trying to play it cool.

"Be at Studio 8H at NBC on Monday," your boss instructed.

"Will do," you replied, your mind already a million miles away. Studio 8H. SNL. Him. It was all so ridiculously exciting. You hung up, a huge grin spreading across your face. Friday night plans? Forget about it. Monday couldn't get here fast enough. You were going to meet him.

The whole weekend was a wash. Sleep? Forget about it. Your brain was a non-stop party of "OMG I'm meeting him" on repeat. Monday morning finally rolled around, and you practically bounced out of bed, dragging your assistant along for the ride. The studio was buzzing, the kind of organized chaos that comes with live TV. You met the producers, the crew – everyone was super nice and professional. And then… he walked in.

Holy crap.

Your brain just…froze. He was even more amazing in person. Seriously, spectacular. He said hi to everyone, that smile of his making your heart do a weird little flip-flop. Then he vanished into an office with the producers, and you tried to, you know, breathe again.

A few minutes later, he came back out, and one of the producers waved you over.

"Pedro, this is the photographer," he said.

You stuck out your hand, trying so hard not to be a total mess. "Hi, I'm…," you managed, getting your name out without too much stammering. He shook your hand, and whoa, that touch. Electric.

"Nice to meet you," he said, and his voice was just as warm and charming as you'd hoped.

"You two are working together tomorrow," the producer said. "We're shooting the promo pics."

"Alright," you replied, trying to play it cool. Inside, you were screaming. He smiled again, and you were pretty sure your knees almost gave out.

Then he turned to the crew, and they all started talking about the script. The vibe shifted, everyone getting down to business. You watched him chat with everyone, so relaxed and enthusiastic. You couldn't help but wonder what tomorrow would be like.

Shoot day 📸

That day was a trip. You were floating, high on the excitement of him, and trying to play it cool. Today was that day – the photoshoot. You practically leaped out of bed (okay, maybe you snoozed the alarm once or twice), picked out your best outfit (but, like, a cool, casual best), showered, and even put on some makeup (but, you know, the "I woke up like this" kind).

When you arrived at the studio, he was already there. Coco, his groomer and friend, was working on his hair. You introduced yourself to her; she was lovely. Then, you told him you'd wait until he was ready.

Half an hour later, you were setting up your camera, a little shaky despite having worked with big names before. This was different. This was him. And then he walked in.

Oh. My. God.

He was…gorgeous. His hair… you had a sudden, almost overwhelming urge to run your fingers through it. That cute face tucked between my… "Girl, are you alright?" Emma, your assistant, nudged you, her eyes wide. "Yeah, fine," you mumbled, but you knew she'd never seen you like this.

You started shooting, and he was a total pro. So talented, so gorgeous. It was easy, actually. He listened to your directions, and the camera just loved him.

Finally, the shoot was done. You walked over, thanking him.

"I'd love to see the pics," he said.

You showed him your laptop, and as you scrolled through the photos, he leaned in close.

His cologne smelled insane, and you were trying really hard not to just melt on the spot. "These are awesome," he said, grinning. "I love them."

And then, he put his hand on your shoulder. Fuck. You were pretty sure you were melting. "You did an amazing job," he whispered in your ear.

"Well," you managed, your voice a little husky, "it was you. You're incredible. It was pleasure working with you."

And then he left winking at you, leaving your heart pounding like a drum solo. You were officially a mess.

You sat at your table, fingers flying across the keyboard as you edited the photos. He was close by, at the next table, going over the script with the crew. Emma, your ever-attentive assistant, came over. "Need anything?"

"The strongest coffee you can find," you groaned, rubbing your burning eyes.

"And an energy drink. I haven't slept in days."

"That's not healthy," she scolded gently.

"Well, I've gotta die from something," you mumbled, only half-joking.

She giggled. "What kind of coffee?"

"Black as my soul and cold as ice," you replied.

Emma, being the absolute gem she was, turned to Pedro and the crew. "Anyone else need anything?"

"I'll have what she's having," he said, looking over at you and smiling.

You were like Wait, did that just happen? He smiled at me?

Emma brought the coffees, and you thanked her profusely.

"Seriously," she said, giving you a concerned look. "You need to do something about this insomnia. Have you tried sleep pills?"

"Yeah, they don't really work," you sighed.

"What about tea?" she asked.

You gave her a look. "Do I look like tea is going to calm me down?"

She laughed. "Good point."

"I hate tea," you confessed.

"Okay, okay," she said, still chuckling. "Just trying to help."

"I know, and I appreciate that thank you." you said, giving her a grateful smile. She was the best.

About an hour after Pedro was leaving with his friend, he strolled back in. And, to your surprise, he actually said goodbye to you. You felt your cheeks warm up a little. Right then, the producer showed up. "Hey, those photos and videos," he said. "Think you can get them to us by morning? We need them for tomorrow."

"Yep, I can do that," you said. "Just gotta finish up here."

"Awesome! Thanks," he replied, looking relieved.

Hours later, you were finally almost done. The program was rendering, and you were just chilling, waiting for it to finish up so you could send everything off. You were beat, but figured you'd put on some tunes to keep you going. A few minutes later, you were totally in your zone, dancing and belting out the lyrics, not a care in the world. You were alone, after all, and enjoying the moment.

Then, boom, he was just there. Pedro. He was cracking up.

"Those are some serious moves," he said, grinning. "Uh, I just forgot my glasses and script."

You froze, totally embarrassed. "Oh my god," you mumbled, your face getting hot. "I didn't realize anyone was around."

"No worries," he chuckled. "Your secret's safe with me. Unless… you want to give me a lesson?" He gestured playfully. "I've always wanted to learn how to… uh… do that." He attempted a little hip swivel, which came out more like a shimmy, and you couldn't help but laugh.

Your heart did a little flutter-kick. "Oh, please," you said, trying to play it cool. "You'd probably break something."

"Hey, I'm a fast learner," he protested, grinning. He was already shuffling closer, trying to copy your earlier moves, though not quite as gracefully. "Come on, show me what you got."

"Okay, fine," you laughed, showing him a basic step. He was actually into it, and before you knew it, you were both laughing and twirling around the studio to the beat of the song."Wow," you said, impressed. "You've got some serious rhythm. Those hips don't lie." He was a good dancer, you had to admit.

"You know," he said, his voice a little breathy, "for someone who claims to be tired, you've got a lot of energy." He moved even closer, a playful glint in his eyes. "And," he murmured, his voice dropping, "you smell amazing."

Fuck, you thought. I really want this man.

"It's called the power of RUN-DMC," you replied, trying to sound casual even though your insides were doing a wild dance.

He was so close, and at one point, he lightly touched your waist as he spun you, and whoa. "You dance like this always?" he asked, his eyes locking with yours. "You're good."

"No," you replied, a shy smile playing on your lips. "Only when I'm alone."

He grinned, a genuine, warm smile that made your heart melt. He was enjoying this moment with you, you could tell.

It was a perfect, crazy, unexpected moment… until your phone rang, totally killing the vibe.

Your phone wouldn't stop buzzing. "You should probably answer that," he said, nodding towards the insistent ringing.

You sighed and picked up. After a brief, tense exchange, you hung up, but the conversation clearly wasn't over. He left to find his glasses and script, but he came back just as your ex’s voice boomed from your phone.

"I told you, we are done. Don't call me ever again!" you snapped, your voice rising. Pedro’s face creased with worry as he overheard the shouting.

You slammed the phone down on the table, fuming. "Everything okay?" he asked, his brow furrowed. "Who was that?"

"My ex," you said, still trying to control your anger. "Long story..I don't want to mention him."

"Ok," he said, shaking his head. "You shouldn't be treated like that. Seriously. If you need anything, anything at all, I'm here."

"Thank you," you said, the sincerity in your voice palpable. "That means a lot." You glanced at the time. "I should probably get going. I'm finally done here."

You both left the building together. "Thanks again for the dance," you said, a small smile playing on your lips. "I actually had fun." He says "I enjoyed too."

You started to walk away, but he called after you. "Hey, where's your car?"

"It's in the repair shop," you explained.

"Oh," he said. "It's pretty late. I don't want you taking the bus alone. Let me give you a ride."

"Really? You don't have to—"

"No, I insist," he said. "It's the least I can do."

You got in the car, and the ride was comfortable, easy. You chatted about everything, the earlier tension fading away. When you pulled up to your apartment building, you thanked him for the ride.

As you reached for your stuff in the backseat, he was already opening the door for you.

"Allow me," he said, flashing that charming smile.

Such a gentleman, you thought. "Thank you," you said, feeling a little flustered. Then, a slightly crazy thought popped into your head.

"Hey," you blurted out, "are you hungry? I was planning to make a pizza." You were immediately nervous that you were being too forward.

He chuckled, noticing your hesitation. "Actually," he said, "I'm starving. And pizza sounds perfect. I'm a sucker for a good pizza." He grinned. "Especially when someone else is preparing it."

"Great!" you said, relief washing over you. "Come on in." And just like that, you were walking into your apartment with him.

💓

You get into your apartment. "Make yourself at home," you said. "I'll grab you something to drink while I prepare the pizza."

He wandered over to the bookshelves that lined one wall. "Wow, you've got quite a collection," he commented, running a hand along the spines. "You're a reader?"

"Yeah, books and movies are my two favorite things," you replied.

He chuckled, his eyes landing on a shelf crammed with everything from classic literature to steamy romance novels.

"Crime and Punishment right next to… those," he said, a playful smirk on his face. "I like your range."

"Hey, a girl's gotta have options," you said, grinning."Sometimes you need Dostoevsky, sometimes you need..well, you know spicy stuff."

"I get it," he said, still chuckling.

His gaze drifted to the small table by the wall, where a single black rose stood in a glass vase. "Wow," he said, his voice softer now.

"That's… striking. A black rose. I've never seen one before."

"They're my favorite," you said, walking over to the rose. "They're from Türkiye. They're unique. And so beautiful to me." You say "They just feel…special."

"They are special," he agreed, coming to stand beside you. "They suit you."

You looked up at him, surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah," he said, his eyes meeting yours.

"They're beautiful, a little mysterious… just like you."

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words. "Thank you," you whispered.

"That's… really nice of you to say."

"I mean it," he said, his voice low. "Everything about this place…it feels like you.It's… I don’t know… comfortable."

So, you are movie buff too? What are some favorites?"

"Ugh, that's the hardest question ever," you groaned. "I love anything with a good story, but I'm a sucker for good comedy and, you know, movies with twists that make your jaw drop."

You hoped he wouldn't pull out one of the spicier books, but of course, he did. He picked up one with a particularly intriguing title and flipped it open. He read a few lines, his eyebrows shooting up. "Whoa," he said, a grin spreading across his face. "This is…descriptive"

"Put that down," you said, laughing and playfully swatting his arm.

"You're going to corrupt my innocent image."

"Too late," he said, still grinning. "The image has been corrupted."

"Pizza will be ready in about fifteen minutes," you announced, settling on the sofa next to him. He was still holding the book.

"So," he said, flipping through the pages. "This one's yours?" He pointed to a slim volume bound in soft leather.

"Yeah," you said. "It's my… poetry journal. I write all my favorite poems in there."

"Mind if I take a peek?" he asked.

"Sure," you said, a little nervous. It felt weirdly intimate, sharing your favorite poems with him. He flipped through the pages and then stopped. "This one," he said. "Read this one to me."

You took the book, your heart pounding a little. You cleared your throat and read him your favorite poem, the words flowing easily off your tongue, even with him sitting right next to you, listening intently.

"All I want, is to lose myself in your eyes, to forget the world and feel like I belong to something real, something I can't escape, even if I wanted to."

You finished the poem, your voice soft.

"That's… really beautiful," he said, his gaze fixed on you.

"This one's my absolute favorite," you said, turning the page.

"It's called 'I Love You From Afar.'" And then you began to read:

"I love you from afar

without being able to smell your scent

to embrace your nape

to feel your face

I merely love you

from afar, I just love you

not holding your hand

without touching your heart

nor dissolving in your eyes

in spite of today’s three-day love fads

not wildly but like a woman, I love you

I just love you from afar

without wiping off the two tears running down your cheeks

not joining you in your heartiest laughs

nor crooning together with you your most favorite song

from afar, I just love you

without disappointing,

not pouring out anything

without destroying

not making sad,

nor causing a cry, I love you from afar

I just love you like that from afar;

by shredding in my tongue

every word I want to tell you

I love you

I love you on a white piece of paper

while my words fall down, drop by drop…"

When you finished, there was a comfortable silence. He was looking at you, his expression thoughtful. "That's… intense," he said, a small smile playing on his lips. "Really beautiful, though." He paused. "It's, like, really vulnerable, too."

You shrugged a little. "Yeah, well," you said. "Poetry. It's kind of my thing."

You paused, then added, "I think that kind of love, the 'from afar' kind, is the purest, biggest love a human being can feel. But also the one that's hurts the most. It's all about the heart, no expectations, no conditions."

He nodded slowly. "I can see that," he said. "There's a certain… power in that kind of selfless love, isn't there?"

You nodded back. "Yeah." You felt a little exposed, but it wasn't an uncomfortable feeling. It was… nice.

You stood up and checked on the pizza. Perfect. You set the table, and he came over, a smile on his face."Smells amazing," he said.

He took a bite, his eyes widening. "Wow," he said. "This is… seriously good. Best pizza I've had in ages." He polished off a slice.

"You've got some serious culinary skills."

"Thanks," you said, pleased. "It's my secret recipe."

You grabbed a beer from the fridge, handing it to him. "Perfect pairing," he declared. You shook your head, still a little in disbelief.

"I still can't believe I'm sitting here, eating pizza with you," you said, laughing a little. "This has been the best night. Thank you for keeping me company.”

"The pleasure was all mine," he said, his eyes meeting yours. "I really enjoyed tonight, too. The dancing, the poetry… the pizza." He grinned. "It was all perfect."

After you finished eating, he picked up the poetry book again. "Mind if I borrow this?" he asked. "I'd love to read some more of these poems."

"Of course," you said. "Just promise you'll give it back."

"Wouldn't dream of keeping it," he said, carefully tucking the book into his jacket.

As he stood at the door, ready to leave, he turned back to you. "Thank you again for tonight," he said, his voice warm. He stepped closer and, before you knew it, he pulled you into a hug. It was quick, but it was…..AMAZING.

His arms around you, the scent of his cologne… it was the best feeling ever. "Good night," he whispered.

"Good night," you replied, your heart still doing a little happy dance.

He was gone, and you were left standing in your apartment, a dazed smile on your face. It was late, you were exhausted, but you couldn't quite believe what had just happened. Pizza, poetry, dancing, a hug… with him. It felt like a dream.

The next two days were a blur of rehearsals and prep for Saturday's show. Friday was pretaping, and you mostly tried not to just stare at him the whole time. Seriously, he was so captivating to watch. Just pure talent.

After filming wrapped, he came over to you, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I've been reading your poems," he said. "They're… really something. You should publish them. Seriously."

You felt a blush creeping up your neck. "Oh, come on," you said, trying to downplay it. "They're not that good."

"They are," he insisted. "They're honest and raw and… beautiful. You have a real gift." He paused, a playful glint in his eyes. "And," he added, "I was thinking… maybe we could have a pizza and poetry night sometime? Just the two of us?"

"Sure," you said, trying to sound all chill. "Sounds fun. But next time, we're watching a movie. My pick."

"Okay, deal," he said. "I'm down for that." He leaned in a little. "You know," he murmured, "it's been really nice getting to know you. I feel… comfortable around you. It's cool."

"Yeah, thank you" you said, your heart doing a little flutter-kick. "I'm glad to hear that." You were trying so hard to play it cool, but inside you were doing a happy dance. You couldn't wait for that movie night.

🎥🎬

Saturday night was electric. The studio buzzed with energy, and you were right in the thick of it, helping the crew wherever you could, but mostly, let's be honest, you were watching him.

He walked in, all in black, those gorgeous curls framing his face, that "dad bod" he rocked so perfectly… you couldn't take your eyes off him.

"Honey, you are so in love," Emma whispered, nudging you playfully.

"I mean, who wouldn't be?" you replied, only half-joking. "That man is a Zaddy."

Emma laughed. You started humming.

Sex bomb, sex bomb, you're my sex bomb

And, baby, you can turn me on.

And before you knew it, you and Emma were belting out the song, doing a little impromptu dance party.

Then, the stream ended, and he walked up, having clearly heard your little performance. His face was serious. "Who's the sex bomb?" he asked, his voice low.

Oh crap you thought. Emma froze, her eyes wide. You turned around, and there he was.

"I… I'm sorry," you stammered. "I just… couldn't help myself."

He burst out laughing. "I'm just kidding," he said. "I love that song. And, if I may say…" He touched your shoulder lightly. "You're the one."

Your mind went blank. Did he just…?

You managed a "Thank you," your voice a little shaky.

"Are you coming to the after-party?" he asked.

"Nah," you said. "I'm not really a big party person."

"Me neither," he said. "But… would you come with me? Just for a little while?"

Oh my god, is he… asking me out?

"Yes," you managed, trying to keep your voice steady. "I'd love to."

After everything wrapped up, he came over. "Come on," he said, taking your hand. "Let's go."

Walking into the after-party with him was surreal. Everyone was looking at you, and you suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious. He got you a drink, and then, he asked you to dance. It was a slow song, and when he took your hand and pulled you close, his hand resting on your waist, you thought you might actually melt. Oh my god. His body was so close to yours, and you felt your heart pounding in your chest.

What is this man doing to me? You had never felt like this before.

Pedro POV ❤️‍🔥

The music swirled around us, a slow, pulsing beat. She moved with a quiet grace, her body swaying in time with the rhythm. God, I thought, she’s stunning. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but there was something about her… something mysterious, intriguing. I’d been drawn to her from the moment I’d seen her .

And then I’d heard her poetry…raw, honest, beautiful. Even her slightly awkward, goofy humor. And her food. Everything about her was captivating me in a way I didn’t quite understand.

I pulled her a little closer, my hand resting lightly on her waist. Her perfume was intoxicating. Damn, I thought. I wanted her. Badly. But I didn't want to rush things. There was something special about her, something I didn't want to mess up. Her eyes… those intense eyes, and that soft hair… and that silly, unguarded side of her, the way she’d just been dancing and singing without a care in the world. It was captivating.

"I think you're gorgeous," I murmured, my voice low. "I haven't met anyone like you before."

"Thank you," she said, a little breathless. "You're pretty incredible yourself. Seriously, this week has been amazing."

"Mine too," I said, my eyes locking with hers.

When the song ended, a wave of nervousness washed over her. "I should probably get going," she said, suddenly feeling shy.

"I'll drive you," I offered.

She nodded, grateful.

❣️

At your apartment door, he handed you back your poetry book. "Thanks for the dance," he said, a warm smile gracing his lips. "And for a beautiful night."

"It was… the best night ever," you blurted out, then immediately cringed. Smooth.

He hesitated, his breath catching a little. You saw something shift in his expression. Then, he leaned in, cupped your cheek in his hand, and kissed you. It was a sweet, tentative kiss, like he was testing the waters. He pulled back a little, looking almost nervous. "I'm sorry," he stammered. "I didn't mean to—"

Before he could finish, you grabbed him and kissed him again, harder this time, all that pent-up energy finally finding an outlet. You didn't want him to apologize. You wanted this. You pulled him inside, kicked the door shut, and suddenly, it was just the two of you. The air between you was electric.

Thanks for the reading ❣️ Please like, reblog or comment. I appreciate it alot. 💖

Chapter 2😉🫦

@pedrohub @pedgito @littlemisspascal

[ladykailitha]

The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 21

Wow! It always amazes me when story gets past 20 chapters. It makes it ending even harder. But ending it is. I completed the final chapter yesterday. It will have 24 chapters and then it one of the other fics I'm currently working will replace it.

Chrissy makes good on her promise to blow each of the kids' minds.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

~

By invite only is what Chrissy said. Holy shit. There were actual famous people here and Steve was freaking out.

Steve, Robin, and his kids were picked up in a shiny, black limo and taken to Wayne’s ranch. There the amphitheater was set up for Corroded Coffin to play. As evidenced by the black and gold drum kit with their logo slapped on the bass drum.

There were actors and other musicians there. Some pretty big names too. So that got Dustin and Mike sorted. They were freaking out and geeking out about each new person they spotted.

Then Max was tugging on Steve’s arm. “Steve. Steve I can’t believe it. He’s here.”

Steve looked over to see a man, maybe a little bit older than he was standing there talking to Jeff’s dad. He didn’t look like much, but the way Max was vibrating next to him, he knew the guy was famous in a way only see would recognize.

“That’s Steve Caballero,” she sighed wistfully. “When I was out in Cali, he was pioneering the skateboard scene. He’s so awesome.”

And then it hit him. What Chrissy met when she said that she could do something special for each of the kids with one event. And this was Max’s.

“Come on,” Steve said brightly, tugging on her arm. “We’re going to go say hello.”

Max stared at him in shock and tried to tell him she wasn’t going to do that, when Steve yanked on her arm and lead him over to Mr. Lawrence and Steve Caballero.

“Hey, you’re Steve right?” he said with his most charming smile. When the guy nodded, he continued, “My friend here is a huge fan. This Max Mayfield.”

Steve looked her up and down. “Long or standard?”

“Standard,” Max said immediately. “I’ve been working on my kickflip and I’ve almost got it down.”

Steve C. raised an eyebrow. “Where do you go to skate around here?”

Max chatted excitedly with him. “Doing street is the best I can hope for in Hicksville, but there is a quarry nearby where I go to practice my bigger stuff.”

“You should really show me while I’m in town...” Steve C. said as Steve wandered off.

Will was talking to a man and woman and so Steve started walking over that direction.

Will spotted him and pulled him over. “This is Stephen Cosgrove and Robin James. They do the Serendipity books.”

Steve turned his head to the side as he thought about it for a moment. “Is that the one with big pink and green sea dragon or whatever?”

Stephen smiled. “Sea dragon is a much nicer term than sea monster, but yes. That’s us.”

Steve snapped his fingers. “I’ve been meeting a lot of Steves today. First Steve Caballero who skateboards and now you.”

Robin and Stephen shared a glance.

“I’m a Steve too.”

They both “ooh’ed” and nodded.

“This young man was telling us that he wanted to illustrate children’s books,” Robin J. said with a smile.

Steve ruffled Will’s hair. “He’s really good, he was even teaching me a thing or two over the summer.”

“There’s children’s illustration exhibit in Indy while we’re here,” Stephen said brightly. “I think he’d be very interested in seeing it.”

Will looked up at Steve, hopeful.

Steve ruffled Will’s hair again. “We’ll have to ask your mom, but yeah that sounds great. If I can get the information from you.”

And both Stephen and Robin J. hurried to do just that with Robin J. handing Will her personal business card. “When you get a little older, give me a call,” she said with a wink.

Will waved dorkily at them and then let Steve lead him away. “This was so cool, Steve. Thanks for inviting me. I’m more of a ‘The Clash’ fan, but meeting my heroes is so mind blowing and to go to see the exhibit would be the icing on the cake.”

Steve smiled, putting his arm around the kid. “We’ll have to see. Your mom is still mad at me for the whole Eddie is a sugar daddy fiasco.”

“Which is bullshit,” Will huffed. “Even Jonathan thinks Eddie is sweet and this was before you got him that camera. As he pointed out Eddie was out of town and a lot of the gifts were cute and not over the top expensive.”

“I wish Jonathan had been successful,” Steve said dryly, “and the whole mess with Scoops would have been avoided.”

“Yeah,” Will said dourly. “Hop is still mad at her for the whole assault thing. Eddie was taking care of you and yes, she might have not have known who it was at the time, but the fact that you could come and go as you pleased, you were able to spend the money on whatever you wanted, and were really happy... like she should have let it go.”

They went to go find Mike and Dustin. It wasn’t long to find them, they were chatting away with Brian and Gareth.

Brian threw his arms out and cried. “Stevie! The man of the hour! Eddie was excited when you agreed to come out to this.”

Steve smiled at the bassist. “Like I could ever turn down a chance to see you guys play live. I did like the music when I heard it the first time.”

“Eddie told us about your musical indoctrination,” Gareth said with a huff of laughter. “You actually went out and bought heavy metal albums of your own accord, so I’ll give you that. Because I always assumed you liked us live because you liked the outfit Eddie wore.”

Steve quickly covered an ear each of Dustin and Mike and yanked them to his side. “There are children present!” he scandalized with a wry smile.

Brian and Gareth cackled as Dustin and Mike struggled to be released.

“Let me go!” Dustin huffed, pushing at Steve’s side. “I’m not a child!”

Steve let them both go laughing. “Yeah, than tell me what Gareth was referring to and maybe I’ll believe you, dweeb.”

Dustin shrugged. “Probably the same reason my likes Elvis. Young Elvis. The long legs and hips.”

Gareth and Steve shared a wide-eyed glance.

Gareth nodded appreciatively. “I can see why Robin calls you the genius child. Right in one, kiddo. How about you, Mike? You in it for the music or Eddie in tight pants?”

Mike stuttered and sputtered as he turned bright red.

“The tight pants for sure,” Brian teased, elbowing Gareth who was giggling.

“But I like girls!” Mike finally managed to spit out, his eyes wide and his fist clenched.

Dustin raised a confused eyebrow. “My ma is always talking about David Bowie and how he likes both men and women and doesn’t matter who his partner is, he’s not gay if he’s with a man or straight if he’s with a woman, he’ll always be bisexual.”

“I think I want to meet your mom, kid,” Gareth said with a low whistle. “I’d like to shake her hand. Sounds like the best mom, ever.”

Dustin blushed as he flashed a big grin.

“You can be both?” Mike whispered, suddenly shy. He ducked his head and picked at his nails.

Brian put an arm around his shoulders. “Let me introduce you to Jeff, he’s bisexual too. He’ll be able to answer all your questions.” Then he quietly led him away from the group.

“Congrats on blowing that kid’s mind,” Steve said with a huff of laughter. Gareth just grinned back.

Dustin scoffed. “I’ve known Mike liked boys since the fourth grade.”

Steve blinked at him for a moment. “Well then. Still he’s about to be opened up to a world of possibilities he’s never even considered before.”

“If he’s not as big an ass he likes to pretend he is,” Dustin said rolling his eyes, “then hopefully he’ll have asked Will out by the end of the concert.”

Steve burst out laughing. “I love you optimism, bud. But I think it’s going to take Mike a little bit longer than that.” He held up his finger and thumb and pushed them really closed together.

Dustin just shrugged and then started yapping poor Gareth’s ear off on whether or not the EP Kas’s Revenge counted as their first album or not, so Steve wisely made his escape. It was that he didn’t care about that sort of thing, but it looked like it was about to get into a lot technical stuff that would go over his head.

Lucas peeled away from Brian, Mike, and Jeff and spotted Steve. “Hey, man! Thanks for this! This is cool, too!”

Steve smiled. “You’re welcome. It might be a little unfair you getting two events like this, but I with all the stars and shit here, everyone is getting their own double dose!”

“Eh,” Lucas said, cocking his head to the side, “I’m not too bothered by that.”

Steve laughed. “You are such an asshole sometimes, you know that?” he said, squeezing Lucas’s shoulder.

“Hanging out with Dustin and Mike,” he said with a shrug, “it tends to rub off on you whether you want to or not.”

“That’s true,” he murmured looking around. “Hey, I thought your sister came, too. I don’t see her.”

Lucas looked around frantically. “Shit. I don’t see here either. I thought she was right there with me talking D&D with Jeff. I didn’t even realize that she had wandered off.”

Steve stopped looking for Erica and started looking for Eddie. He knew this place better than Lucas or him. He spotted him getting a drink at the buffet table and made a beeline for him, with Lucas hot on his heels.

“Hey, Eddie,” Steve said a little panicked as he neared the rockstar. “Have you seen Erica? Little black girl, pink dress, hair in corn rows?”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie said with a grin. “Come follow me.”

Steve and Lucas shared a glance but did as they were told. Eddie led them around the house to a part of the property that Steve hadn’t seen before. Out here was more like what Steve had expected when he was told Uncle Wayne lived on a ranch. There were sprawling pastures and a beautiful bright red barn, like something out of the movies.

A little distance away Steve could see Erica with Uncle Wayne feeding a carrot to a blue roan, while a spotted brown and white horse tried to steal from it.

“Erica!” Lucas breathed out and he trotted up to her. “You need to tell someone before you wander off...”

Wayne looked down at her with a glare. “I thought you told me you had told Steve where you were.”

Erica turned back slowly to Wayne, wide-eyed. “Oh, maybe it was Eddie I told. Or, um...”

Eddie put his hands on his hips. “I know for a fact you didn’t tell me, the only reason I knew where you were is because I know a horse girl when I see one.”

“Uh-huh,” Wayne said eyeing her warily. “I’ll let it slide this time, Missy, but I catch you lyin’ to me again and I’ll revoke your horse visiting privileges.”

Erica pouted. “I’m sorry, Uncle Wayne. I’ll be sure to tell people where I’m going from now on.”

Wayne nodded curtly and went back to feeding the horses. “I don’t think you’ve met my horses the last time you were here, Steve.”

Steve smiled at him. “No, sir. Wasn’t even brought up.” He cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow to emphasis his point.

“Ah,” Wayne said pursing his lips together. “I guess I was a tad remiss in my duties then. These are two of my rascals. Jadis and Fledge.”

Steve snapped his fingers as he thought. “Those are from the Chronicles of Narnia, right?”

“Eddie came by his love for fantasy naturally,” Wayne said with a smile. “But why don’t you boys head back to the party, I’ll watch this one and make sure we get to the concert just fine.”

“With the promise I get to bring her back at later date so we can both see the horses,” Steve said with a grin.

Erica looked up at Steve with unbridled glee. “Oh can we?” she asked Uncle Wayne.

“As long as your parents say you can,” Wayne said with a solemn nod, “than that’s a promise.”

As soon as the three of them got back to the party Robin came dashing up to them all bright-eyed and excited.

“Ellie is talking to the Diane Von Furstenberg,” she said breathlessly. “Can you believe that?”

Steve only knew who that was only because his mother hated her.

Eddie lit up. “I’m glad she was able to make it. She’s Chrissy’s favorite designer. I hope Ellie gets a lot of good tips from her.”

“Can I run away with you?” Robin asked in wide-eyed seriousness. “I’ll continue to PA for you, I don’t care. But you know some of the coolest people.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh. “Turn eighteen and we’ll talk then.”

Robin jumped up and down clapping. “You coming with me.” She grabbed his arm and forced him to introduce her to some of the other greats that were there.

Chrissy came bounding up to him all smiles. “So did I win back the favor of the fair prince?”

Steve grinned. “Hell yeah you did! All of them have had their minds blown and then are going to be treated to one of the best live shows I’ve ever seen. And when I say that, that’s not hyperbole, me and my now ex-boyfriend went to a lot of concerts growing up. There is no doubt Corroded Coffin blows them out of the water.”

She grinned up at him. “Hell yeah they do.”

~

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @wheneverfeasible @zerokrox-blog @beelze-the-bubkiss @blondie1006

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @themoonagainstmers @cryptid-system @maya-custodios-dionach

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1

5- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

6- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

7- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @w1ll0wtr33 @sticknpokelightningbolt @just-a-tiny-void

8- @scoops-aboy86 @kurofuckingshi16 @watermelonmite @eyehartart @dreamercec

9- @little-birch-boy @yearningagain @micheledawn1975 @sadisticaltarts @steddieislife

10- @fearieshadow @kultiras @thesecondfate @tartarusknight @genderless-spoon

[visenyaism]

the way they adapted myranda is maybe one of the wildest choices got made like?? why did they do that was Iwan playing ramsay a bit to gay so they gave him a girlfriend and took the name from one of sansa vale character very strange move

Do you wanna know a secret? I have never actually seen season five through seven of Game of Thrones. I did not watch any of the show until 2019 when the bass trombonist next to me in college orchestra decided to watch seasons one through four to prep for season eight coming out that June and offered me an AirPod to watch it off the stand during rehearsal. This is terrible rehearsal etiquette I know and I would not have said yes except for she was really pretty and I thought she was cool plus I played the tuba which in full symphonic orchestra repertory meant that no one really ever needed me for anything other than bottoming out chord support so like once every 45 to 50 minutes so I was like sure. And it was really good.

But then it was June and I was like well. I’ll just watch season eight now so I don’t get spoiled I read like half of a feast for crows in middle school so I’ll get back to the rest of it. And season eight was so abysmal in every way. And since then I’ve just been like well what’s the fucking point I can’t watch them butcher my favorite book so I just never bothered to watch it.

All this being said they did WHAT to Myranda????? She’s Ramsay’s SAW TRAP GIRLFRIEND???

[wordsofelie]

🔭mars

part of my observatory event, requested by @dearru <3

iwaizumi hajime x f!reader

summary: you have the biggest crush on your neighbour—turns out he goes to the same gym as you.

content warnings: time skip setting, fluff, iwaizumi hajime is too beautiful for this world

words count: 1.3k

“I swear I’ve never seen something so magnificent,” you say in a fierce whisper.

Your best friend groans on the other end of the call. “Are you talking about that guy again?”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“What is ridiculous?” she asks, already exasperated, hoping you’ll finally change the subject.

“His awesomeness. This morning, he was on his balcony, hanging out the sheets and still he looked so cool and-”

“Oh god, I’m hanging up now.”

She should be used to it by now. For weeks, your not-so-subtle (and maybe slightly overdramatic) crush on your new neighbour has been the only thing on your mind—and on your lips. But you’re not the one to blame. The man is a pleasure to your eyes—in an unfair kind of way.

You first noticed him when he moved in two months ago.

His arms were stacked with cardboard boxes, his short hair was tousled from the summer heat and a few strands were clinging to his forehead. You were heading to the lift when he walked past, barely glancing up as he unlocked the apartment right next to yours. His brows were knitted in a frown, but the moment he noticed you, a quiet smile tugged at his lips. And you swore you’d never seen such beauty before.

You mumbled something like “good morning”, although you don’t even know if it reached his ears since you hastily turned your gaze away and stepped into the lift.

Then, you started noticing him everywhere.

In the hallway, where he nodded politely but never said much. At the mailboxes, where he always grabbed his letters with an effortless coolness. On his balcony, where he stretched after runs, wearing nothing but a tank top and shorts that should probably be illegal.

His balcony isn’t directly aligned with yours—it’s angled just enough that, from your couch, you can see straight into his living room. So really, it’s not your fault if you watch him sometimes. And yes, on the rare nights when you let curiosity get the best of you, you find yourself peeking through your window, catching glimpses of him under the soft glow of his apartment light. Tapping on his laptop. Making coffee. Just being there.

Not that you’re spying. That would be creepy. You’re just—observing.

The gym is the one place where you can let go. Since work has been demanding, you figured exercising might help you find some balance. Physically, maybe—but mentally? Not a chance. Because ever since you laid eyes on him, your mind has been an absolute mess.

Which is how you find yourself, mid-run on the treadmill, calling your best friend for the fourth time this week just to talk about your hot neighbour.

“Wait! Please, don’t leave me alone in this crisis,” you whine into your earphones.

Your best friend sighs. “Crisis? You’re staring at a hot guy and refusing to do anything about it. That’s not a crisis, that’s just cowardness.”

The thought alone makes your heart racing faster in your rib cage. “I am not refusing. I just- I don’t know where to start.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe by asking his name?”

“No, no, no. I could never.”

“Come on, you’ve been eating, sleeping, and breathing this guy for weeks, and you don’t even know his name. I told you—coward.”

You step off the treadmill and catch your breath. Your voice hovers somewhere between a whisper and a complaint as you wipe your forehead with a towel. “Excuse me, but I am not—”

“Hey,” a deep voice interrupts.

Your heart stops.

Your best friend is still talking in your ear, but you don’t hear a word. Slowly, so slowly, you turn your head—

And he’s there.

Right in front of you.

All lean muscle, sun-kissed skin, and olive-green eyes that are even more stunning up close.

Since when does he come to your gym?

“I, uh-hi,” you stammer, yanking out an earbud.

He nods toward the treadmill. “Are you still using this?”

"Yes-I mean no. I-I…"

The corner of his lips turns upwards. “Yes or no?”

Everything in your head seems to come out scrambled, in the wrong order. "No! I mean-I'm done! It’s all yours!"

“Is it your neighbour?” Your best friend, still very much on the call, says. She doesn’t wait for your answer to add, "Ask his name."

"Shut up!" you blurt out and you feel heat scorching your face when you realise what you said out loud. You wave your hands in panic and rush to explain, “Oh my god, not you. Sorry”

Your neighbour looks somewhere between amused and mildly concerned. "Uh… right. Thanks." He still remains polite, almost too kind even though you just made a fool of yourself.

And just like that, he steps onto the treadmill, setting up his workout while you remain frozen in pure, undiluted mortification.

You spin on your heel and flee.

And for the next week, you avoid the gym like the plague and close your curtains.

It’s late Friday evening when the universe decides to ruin you again.

You step into the apartment complex’s lift, pressing the button for your floor. Just as the doors begin to close, a hand shoots out, stopping them.

You don’t even have time to react before he steps in.

The hot neighbour, whose name still remains a mystery.

He barely spares you a glance as he enters—until his eyes flick toward you, lingering just long enough for a smirk to tug at the corner of his mouth.

"You quit the gym?" he asks after a moment of silence.

You nearly choke. "What? No! I’ve just been… busy. With work. I work a lot… these days."

His smirk deepens. "Right. Then that’s even more reason to go back. It's good not only for physical health, but also for mental health.”

You clear your throat, grasping for composure. “You talk like a true professional.”

His eyes widen, you’re not sure why but he suddenly seems uncomfortable. He scratches the back of his neck and his eyes fall to the ground. “Sorry, that sounded like I’m mansplaining or something.”

“Not at all.” You smile a little. “But I guess I don’t have much of a choice now, do I?”

He immediately lifts his eyes and there's relief on his face, the frown that had formed a few seconds earlier, go away. You can see him tilting his head slightly, considering you.

"I’m going tomorrow morning. You coming?"

You swallow. "I-yeah. Sure."

"Cool," he says easily. Then, after a beat, "Wanna grab a coffee after?"

Your heart stumbles.

"Like… together?"

He huffs a quiet laugh. "Yeah. I mean, no pressure, you can totally say no."

You open your mouth, then close it again. A week ago, you were a coward who wished to never bump into him again. And now—now—he’s standing in a lift, casually inviting you for coffee like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

"I-yeah. That’d be nice."

The lift dings. He steps aside, letting you go first. It only takes a few steps to reach your door, but somehow, it feels incredibly long. You finally turn to wish him a good night, but his voice cuts through the quiet first.

“Oh, and I’m Iwaizumi, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

You take a second to breathe in his words, his name.

You say yours in return—and you swear you see his cheeks redden just a little.

"Then, see you tomorrow, neighbour." He exclaims, throwing you one last glance over his shoulder.

And just like that, he disappears into his apartment.

While you stand there, staring after him, pulse thudding in your ears.

You finally know the name of your hot neighbour.

And he just asked you on a date.

You call your best friend that night to tell her everything. “What should I wear? More like casual? Or classy?” You ask her at some point.

Though she’s away, you can sense the smile on her face. “Gosh, I really should get paid for this.”

a/n: writing for iwaizumi hajime 27 athletic trainer is the best therapy

special tag for @sahrii im glad i can share my iwa obsession with you <3

[noir-lullaby]

The Spotlight is Ours Pt. 1

Pairing: Aaron Pierre x Black Original Character

Summary: Two rising Black British stars in Hollywood. One fateful night at the NAACP Image Awards. When actress Sienna Sinclair presents the award for Outstanding Actor in a Limited Series, the winner is none other than Aaron Pierre. The chemistry is instant, the banter is effortless, and the connection? Dangerous. But in an industry where everyone is watching, some things are better left unsaid… or are they?

🔸 Warnings: Heavy flirtation, mutual pining, and the start of something messy. 🔸 Author’s Note: Welcome to the beginning of a very questionable love story.

The NAACP Image Awards were in full swing, a night dedicated to celebrating Black excellence in entertainment. The grandeur of the Pasadena Civic Auditorium was amplified by the shimmering gold and deep purple stage design, and the room was alive with applause, camera flashes, and the palpable energy of some of the biggest names in Hollywood.

Seated among the nominees, Aaron Pierre adjusted the cuffs of his custom black tuxedo, keeping his expression cool despite the slight thrum of anticipation in his chest. He had been nominated for Outstanding Actor in a Limited Television Series, Special, or Movie for his role in Rebel Ridge, a project that had tested his limits as an actor and elevated his career. Winning would be monumental, but he wasn’t the type to get ahead of himself.

As he sat waiting, his attention flickered to the stage where the next presenter was being introduced.

“Please welcome, the incredibly talented, Sienna Sinclair!”

Aaron’s brows lifted slightly as he watched Sienna Sinclair glide onto the stage, radiating effortless grace and confidence. He had heard of her, of course—the Oscar-winning British actress whose career had skyrocketed after her powerful performance in a historical drama. He had seen her on magazine covers, watched her interviews in passing, but seeing her in real life was… different.

Dressed in a form-fitting, midnight-blue gown, she exuded a kind of cool, magnetic energy. And then she spoke—her London accent cutting through the air, smooth yet commanding.

“Alright, alright. Let’s get to it,” she said, flashing a teasing smile as she opened the envelope. “The nominees for Outstanding Actor in a Limited Television Series, Special, or Movie are…”

Aaron barely heard the rest of the list. His focus was on her, the way she carried herself, how her presence seemed to pull attention like gravity.

Then—

“…and the NAACP Image Award goes to—” She paused, drawing out the suspense, her dark eyes flickering toward the camera with playful mischief.

“Aaron Pierre, for Rebel Ridge!”

The crowd erupted into applause.

Aaron blinked once before allowing a slow, satisfied smile to spread across his face. He stood, adjusting his suit with ease before making his way toward the stage, dap-ups and handshakes following him on the way.

When he reached the podium, he took the award from Sienna's hands, and for a brief moment, their fingers brushed. It was subtle, fleeting, but enough to make Aaron glance up and fully take her in.

Up close, she was even more stunning.

“Congratulations,” Sienna murmured, her voice just low enough for him to hear.

“Appreciate it,” Aaron replied smoothly, his deep voice wrapping around the word in a way that made Sienna’s lips twitch slightly.

Aaron turned toward the microphone, delivering a speech that was humble, thoughtful, and reflective of his journey. He spoke about the importance of storytelling, about the shared experiences of Black British and African-American actors carving out spaces in Hollywood, about how recognition like this was both an honor and a responsibility.

“I didn’t get here alone,” he finished, his rich voice sending a hush over the room. “To every young Black actor watching, to every kid dreaming beyond what they’ve been told is possible—we are the blueprint. And the best is still yet to come.”

Thunderous applause.

Sienna clapped alongside the audience before leaning into the mic. “And on top of all that… he’s also Mufasa.”

The crowd roared with laughter, and Aaron exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.

Sienna smirked at him. “Had to.”

Aaron gave her a look—amused, but also intrigued. “We’ll talk about this backstage.”

Sienna tilted her head, watching him as he walked off. “Looking forward to it.”

--

The post-win chaos was already unfolding backstage—cameras flashing, journalists waiting for quotes, production assistants ushering talent from one place to another. Aaron had barely had time to process the moment when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

“Well, well, look at you, Mr. Award Winner.”

Aaron turned.

Sienna Sinclair stood there, arms crossed, watching him with a smirk.

Aaron couldn’t help but let his gaze linger for half a second longer than necessary. “Didn’t expect to see you back here so soon.”

Sienna shrugged. “Had to personally congratulate you. You know, since I had the honor of saying your name on stage.”

Aaron nodded, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. “You did say it well. Very elegant.”

Sienna raised an eyebrow. “I do everything elegantly.”

Aaron exhaled a quiet chuckle. “Not doubting it.”

She tilted her head slightly. “So… how does it feel? Winning?”

Aaron glanced down at the trophy in his hand before looking back at her. “Feels good. But I won’t lie—hearing my name come out of your mouth might’ve been the highlight of the night.”

Sienna sucked her teeth, shaking her head, though there was something in her expression—something that said she wasn’t entirely unaffected by him.

“You’re full of it,” she teased.

Aaron leaned in slightly. “Am I?”

Sienna, ever the quick-witted one, smirked. “Yeah. And I can’t believe you let me call you out in front of everyone like that.”

Aaron shook his head. “The Mufasa jingle?”

Miracle nodded. “You knew I had to bring it up.”

Aaron narrowed his eyes playfully. “You enjoyed that way too much.”

“I did,” she admitted, her smirk widening. “And let’s be real, you love it. Don’t lie, you’ve sung it to yourself at least once.”

Aaron rubbed his jaw, his expression unreadable. “I’m not dignifying that with a response.”

Sienna laughed, tilting her head. “It’s alright, Aaron. Aaron Pierre, that’s Mufasa—it’s got a nice ring to it.”

Aaron exhaled a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You know, it’s unfair how much pleasure you’re getting out of this.”

“Oh, trust me, I could get pleasure out of a lot more than that.”

Aaron’s jaw tightened slightly, the air between them shifting from playful to something heavier.

Sienna’s eyes held his, dark and teasing. “But I’ll let you enjoy your win first.”

Aaron huffed a laugh, nodding. “So generous of you.”

She smirked. “You’re welcome.”

The moment stretched just a second longer than necessary—his gaze still locked with hers, her breath just a little deeper.

From across the backstage area, a production assistant called out to Sienna, signaling that she was needed elsewhere.

She exhaled, shaking her head as she took a step back. “Well, Mufasa, I’ll see you around.”

Aaron tilted his head slightly, watching as she turned and walked away, her presence lingering even after she disappeared from sight.

“Yeah,” he murmured to himself, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “You will.”

[devotedlyandrogynousyouth]

Sugar, Baby

Chapter One- Shaken, Not Stirred.

Bruce Wayne x Sugar Baby! Reader

Not really sure if I'll make another part to this or not, buttt...

WC: 1000~

Summary: Paying for College in a city like Gotham is difficult, to say the least. Between classes and extracurriculars, you found the time to work partime as a bartender at none other than a Wayne Gala.

You never thought you’d find yourself behind the bar at Wayne Manor, pouring overpriced cocktails for Gotham’s elite. But college tuition didn’t pay itself, and neither did the rent on your tiny apartment in the Narrows. So, here you were, dressed in a sleek black vest and white button-up, trying to look composed while serving billionaires and socialites who probably spent more on their outfits than you made in a year.

Your hands shook slightly as you polished a glass, not because you were nervous—okay, maybe a little—but because of the sheer gravity of your surroundings. The Wayne Gala was Gotham’s biggest event of the season, a dazzling display of wealth and power. The chandelier overhead sparkled like a sky full of diamonds, the live orchestra played something elegant and expensive-sounding, and everywhere you looked, people in designer gowns and tailored suits laughed over champagne flutes.

You had worked fancy events before, but this? This was another level.

And then, as if your night couldn’t get any more surreal, he walked up to the bar.

Bruce Wayne.

You knew it was him before you even fully looked up. The room seemed to shift in response to his presence, like the very air recognized his importance. The low hum of conversation faltered just slightly before resuming, as if everyone had taken a collective breath.

You swallowed hard, straightening your posture as you reached for a cocktail shaker. Play it cool.

“What can I get you, Mr. Wayne?” Your voice was steady, professional. Good.

Bruce Wayne leaned against the bar, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sent an unexpected shiver down your spine. Up close, he was even more devastatingly handsome than the tabloids suggested—tall, broad-shouldered, effortlessly charismatic. His tailored black suit fit him too well, like it was made just for him. It probably was.

“Just Bruce,” he corrected smoothly, a hint of amusement in his voice. “And what do you recommend?”

You blinked. The world’s most eligible billionaire was asking you for a drink recommendation?

“That depends,” you said, reaching for a bottle of bourbon. “Do you like it strong, or do you want something that’ll sneak up on you?”

His lips quirked into a smirk. “I think I’ll trust your judgment.”

You nodded, slipping into the familiar rhythm of bartending as you poured the liquor into the shaker. You added a splash of vermouth, a dash of bitters, then stirred it carefully before straining the amber liquid into a crystal tumbler.

Sliding the drink across the bar, you met his gaze again. “Old Fashioned. Classic, smooth, and strong.”

Bruce lifted the glass, inspecting the drink before taking a slow sip. His expression didn’t change, but you noticed the slight raise of his brow, the subtle nod of approval.

“Impressive,” he murmured.

“Glad you think so,” you said lightly, though your pulse was doing something ridiculous in your throat.

His eyes flickered to your name tag. “You’re not just a bartender, are you, sweetheart?”

Your breath caught. “Excuse me?”

Bruce tilted his head slightly, studying you in that way that made you feel entirely too seen. “You carry yourself differently. More aware. And you keep looking around, analyzing the crowd.”

You hadn’t realized he’d noticed that. You were always watching, always observing—years of growing up in Gotham’s rougher neighborhoods had made sure of that.

“I’m a student,” you admitted, trying not to sound defensive. “This is just to help pay for school.”

He nodded, seemingly pleased with your answer. “What are you studying?”

“Journalism.”

His smirk deepened. “A bartender and an aspiring journalist? You must hear some interesting things.”

You shrugged. “People talk more when they think no one’s listening.”

Bruce chuckled, a deep, warm sound that sent a surprising thrill through you. “I’ll have to be careful, then.”

Before you could respond, a man in a navy suit approached, clearing his throat. “Mr. Wayne, sorry to interrupt, but we need you for a photo with the mayor.”

Bruce sighed, setting his glass down. He glanced at you one last time, something unreadable in his expression. Then, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill, sliding it across the bar.

“For the drink,” he said. “And for the conversation.”

You hesitated before picking up the bill, your fingers brushing against his for the briefest second. “That’s a ridiculous tip.”

He smirked. “Then consider it an investment.”

And just like that, he was gone, swept up into the sea of Gotham’s elite, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, wondering what exactly you’d just gotten yourself into.

Masterlist

[twdfemmefetal]

Yup, s’all mine

Summary: Shane, try’s to make a move on reader when Lori takes Rick back, only to find out she’s already taken…by Daryl.

Era: Quarry

Warning: MDNI, Age Gap between Daryl(40) and Reader(mid 20s), possessiveness, swearing, suggestive content.

Shane couldn’t fathom the idea of Lori and Carl being reunited with Rick. He sneered at the thought of his name itself. Walking around the quarry to try to keep his head clear of the invasive thoughts of hurting rick, his mind suddenly drifted to the beauty just a few feet ahead of him.

Shane was so wrapped up in his whole affair with Lori that he had never taken the time to actually get to acknowledge you. Shane bit his lip watching you from behind one of the trees of the Georgian forest.

You were writing in a pink journal, with a pink pen, that had a silly little fluffy ball on top, which waved around every time the ink hit the paper.

He bit his lip, seeing your legs crossed over each other, exposed to the bright sun, in your short little denim skirt, which seems to compliment your curves and round ass perfectly.

He felt his pants tighten slightly when he looked over your pronounced breasts in the small white tube top that wrapped around them securely. He thanked god for the cool Georgian breeze making your nipples hard. His mouth practically watered, imaging how they would feel in between his teeth as he sucked on them.

Shane hasn’t realized how much he really started to admire you. His heart slowly increasing, as he observed more of your features. The way your wavy long hair flowed in the breeze, your glittery glossy lips puckering or forming into the shape of a thin line as you thought of what to write next. He couldn’t get enough of your beauty.

“Tha fuck ya’ think yer’ doin’ er’ Shane?!” The sound of a familiar southern drawl interrupted Shane lewd thoughts as he stalked you from afar. Shane furrowed his brows in slight anger as he was interrupted from being able to admire you.

“Honestly Daryl, it’s none of your business.” Shane then proceeded to try to walk past Daryl, but he stopped him by putting his hand on his shoulder roughly and looking at Shane, with dark eyes full of anger. “Don’ bother with er’ she’s mine.” Shane scoffed defensively and shaked Daryl’s hand off his shoulder. “Fuck off redneck, I can do what I want.” And with a sinister smirk, Shane walked back to the camp. Now feeling ever more fueled to per-sue you. What one thing Shane loved most than messing with a marriage, is chasing after someone like if was a game.

Daryl felt uneasy, at the sinister look that Shane carried in his eyes the whole time he was watching you, trying to stay hidden in the treelines.

He couldn’t help but feel so angry not even being able to think of what sinister thoughts Shane most likely was thinking as he watched you.

After the short heated exchange between the two Daryl quickly walked down the small hill and past the tree line to reach you.

Your head quickly snapped at the sound of someone’s steps emerging from beside you, causing you to quickly get up from the rock you were sitting on and pull out your hunting knife that Daryl had bought for you.

Your heart thumped when you saw the archer-your archer emerging from the tree line. The look of his stoic expressionless face causing your eyebrows to furrow in confusion at what he could possibly be bumming him out.

Daryl quickly wrapped an arm around your waist, roughly pulling you closer to his chest, “what’s wrong Daryl?” You asked while softly putting your arms around his neck.

He ignored your question while his lips roughly latched onto your neck, attacking every inch of skin you had exposed, roughly sucking and bitting on it, purposely leaving sloppy hot wet kisses and hickeys on you. You threw your head back when you felt one of his hands roughly grope your ass, eliciting a soft moan from your lips.

You had no idea what had gotten in to him, being used to Daryl only being able to touch and kiss you in the privacy of your tent. He wasn’t big on PDA, or showing anyone you guys were even a couple so him being this greedy with you in a big open space by the quarry left you a bit puzzled.

“S’all Mine… all fuckin’ mine.” Daryl groaned out as he softly lifted you up and layed you down on the rock you were sitting on as his lips left a trail of his sloppy kisses from your neck down to your chest, and onto your exposed stomach.

You squirmed slightly feeling more aroused at his roughness, and how eager he seemed to want to claim you.

“Daryl, fuck….” You couldn’t help but moan at the feeling of his hands all over you. But you had a feeling something was up with him, and as much as you were enjoying his affection for you, you had to ask him once more.

“Daryl baby, stop.” You managed to let out with a strangled moan, to your surprise Daryl growled and quickly got up from his position on top of you, his gaze on you darkened in annoyance as you fixed your top that managed to slip a bit, almost revealing your nipples to the world. You pulled down your skirt and flattened your hair as you now stood up in front of him.

He was glaring at you, and had crossed his arms in front of his chest defensively, waiting for you to speak.

“Daryl what’s wrong?” You asked softly placing a hand on his cheek. He scoffed and quickly backed away from your touch, slightly causing you to feel a slight sting to your heart- you didn't take it personal, knowing how he used this as a defense mechanism.

“I want ya to stay away from Shane alrigh’? He’s fuckin’ weird, don’ want him around ya.” He anxiously bit the inside of his cheek and wrapped his arms across his chest, clearly uncomfortable with what he was saying. He was ready for any sort of outburst or reservations you would have against his warning against shane. Everyone in the camp idolized him like a good, but Daryl couldn't stand him and was the only one to see right through his facade. But to his shock you smiled softly at him and agreed with him.

“Okay Daryl. I’ll stay clear of him, can I ask why though?” Daryl bit his lip as he watched over your expressions.

“Since Lori is fuckin her husband again, I think that prick is desperate for some other kind of attention.”

You nodded, understanding his tension and why he was so hesitant to speak to you about the subject. Your lips curls up at how overprotective he had gotten with you, “s’my good girl.” Daryl said softly as he rubbed his knuckles on the side of your face, causing you to lean into his tender touch.

Later that day, Daryl has gone hunting, we were running low on meat for dinner. He was hesitant on leaving you alone, especially with Shane being around but had to get the job done. He offered to take you with him but you refused, you didn’t really have anything that was ‘hunting’ appropriate, which made you mentally remember to pick up better clothes for the future, you had to get out of the habit of your old lifestyle and cursing yourself for not bringing any appopriate survival clothes once you left the city. The world has changed and is all about pure survival now, not a fashion show.

As you sat in front of Daryl’s tent reading a book on a log, you heard footsteps approaching you. Not caring to look up, assuming the person was just walking by, you’re eyes widen when the person was toe to toe with you. Your eyes slowly trailed up to the figure and saw Shane staring back at you, his eyes full of lust as you looked through his darken gaze.

“Can I help you?” You asked rather rudely, catching him off guard. Causing him to scoff and give you an amusing smirk.

“What are you doing over here?” His eyes narrowed at you, “reading a book? What’s it look like?”

He rolled his eyes slightly, his lips turning up into a curl.

“Nah girl, what’s a pretty girl like you doing around Daryl Dixon? Ya know he’s not safe to be around.” You couldn’t help but chuckle at his comment, seriously? Daryl wasn't safe to be around was he joking?

“Honestly, I dont think its any of your buisness.” After your curt response he crouched down to you until he was eye level with you. His nostrils flared as he snatched your book out of your hands.

“Shane!” You yelled out trying to grab the book from behind him. Shane maliciously then held it above his head, making you get on your tippy toes to try to snatch it back. He smirked at your failed attempts and quickly wrapped an arm around you, puling you close to him.

"What the fuck? Get off of me!" You tried your hardest to get out of his grasp but failed miserably in his strong grip.

"He's trailer park white trash darlin', wasting your time being with someone like that." You couldn't believe what he was saying and at this point, you were over him.

You raised your hand and slapped him as hard as you could, leaving a print of your handprints and nails on his cheek. He ragefully let you go with a shove, then causing you to back up as far as you could from him.

"y/n?" you turned at the voice, knowing it was your man. "Daryl." You replied softly and hurried up to his side, Daryl quickly checked you over for any sort of injuries, his features then softened when he saw the look of fear in your face. Becoming enraged, Daryl quickly flashed Shane a harden glare causing fear to emerge in his eyes as he quickly looked away and hurried out of the secluded area.

"Fucker wouldn't leave me alone, I hope that slap showed him who he's messing with." You were fuming, beyond angered at how Shane was trying to get into your pants.

"I'll kill em'"Daryl threatened with a low growl but you softly placed a hand on his bicep, stopping him from doing anything irrational. He tensed up, jaw clenched still trying to fight his urges not to go after him.

"Im all yours, he just can't seem to get the hint, maybe we should show him how serious we are huh?" You smirked thinking of a wonderful idea to get it through his thick head.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻

"Fuck! Daryl! Keep going...Dont stop baby." You moaned out loud from a part of the woods that you both knew he would be around.

Daryl kept thrusting into you from behind as he bent you over a rock.

You heard a twig snap, knowing it was Shane who was trying to see what the noise was about.

His eyes widen when he got a glimpse of Daryl, pants pooled to his ankles, and you on your tippy toes-bent over a rock as he was fucking you from behind. You were screaming Daryl's name and moaning as he fucked you mercilessly.

Shane quickly averted his eyes and looked away, feeling embarrased beyond belief. Now knowing to steer clear from you.