#Now I'm going to be thinking about this for a long time

[tiramissyoucake]

when do you think that viltrumite mark realized he was in love and how did he first process that??

FUCK YEAH i got carried away here im sorry, dkskfke I had some trouble thinking of this, how would he know reader? Why would he want them? Then this post came to mind.

Something tells me Mark would believe that earth is beautiful, yes. But there's too many evils persisting and leeching off it that it's dying a slow and painful death, he believes he's your liberator.

"So, where IS Viltrum?"

Mark looked up from the telescope you provided, blinking twice. "... it's... very far from here." He didn't elaborate as he leaned down to fit his eye into the glass of the telescope. "You should visit sometime, I hear humans landed on Mars?"

You shrugged as you approached him with an open bag of chips. "I think so, but if its light years away, who's to say how long till we get there?"

He hummed in response, chewing a handful of chips as he offered you the telescope. "Okay, don't move it. But this is what I wanted to show you, that twinkling above one of your constellations is a planet filled with rabid creatures resembling your blobfishes."

You restrained a laugh as you looked in, your smile warmed his heart. "Seriously? Do they like... crawl on land or something?"

"They cling to your skin and bite through flesh, hurts like hell." Mark smiled as you gave a grossed out look. "Like oversized pink leeches."

He barked out a laugh at your description, colorful. "Close enough! Sure!"

"I wonder if there's a space equivalent of sea bunnies..." You murmured, removing yourself from the telescope to glance up at him, he had a wistful expression on his face.

"... I meant what I said before."

"About earth being insignificant?" You recalled as he nodded. "All this technology, this... resilience to power through dark times, yet you haven't discovered a fraction of the vastness that I saw in these galaxies."

The way he looked up at the stars was new, usually he didn't care about them, but now? After spending time with you? It was special. "Yeah, you have to look past that, for all our arrogance, humans aren't that bad."

"Yeah, you're definitely not." You didn't notice when he glanced away from the night sky to smile in your direction.

. . .

The screaming, crying, people panicking as they scrambled to find some sort of safety penetrated the walls and shot into your eardrums no matter how much you cowered in a corner of your house, no matter how hard your palms pressed against the sides of your head. No one expected this— where were you supposed to go? One of those bunkers that have been infiltrated? Your family's home so you could die with them under one roof? Find your friends and escape to some corner of the earth? It's over. This was it.

A creaking noise, gentle but ominous, made itself known. It stood out among the muffled booming and dying screaming. Someone was here.

You covered your mouth and held back your tears, it was one of them, those things, you knew it was aliens, but from where? You had no clue, maybe it was those Flaxans Mark told you about.

"(Name)?" Mark called out, his voice soft as he glanced around. "Come out, it's safe."

Relief flooded your chest as you got up from beneath one of the furniture, hurriedly approaching him and hugging him. "Mark! You're okay— thank God you're okay!" You heaved, his arms circling you and his palm rubbing your back.

"Of course I'm okay," he smiled, taking a comforting whiff of your hair. "We can cuddle later, you have to come with me."

You blinked, confused. "What? Where? Mark—" you grew quiet as you heard a squelching noise when you separated from him, a scent quickly flooding your nose. You looked down at his clothes that were usually a pure and glossy white, a classic Viltrumite uniform, it was now stained with a disgusting red of various shades, old blood, fresh blood, mixing with soot and ash. You glanced down at your own clothes and hands, the blood staining you like a vile infection from the hug you gave him seconds ago.

"You don't have to worry." You looked up, eyes wide and lips trembling. "It's not mine."

"Wh.. What did you do..?" His expression was indescribable, lips pressed to a thin line as he stood his ground. "What I had to, what a Viltrumite has to."

Your home was already dark, the red lights seeping in from the chaos outside made him look otherwordly; some kind of demon, horseman of the apocalypse.

You took a few steps back, your body repulsed by who you assumed was a friend. "Don't look at me like that," he gritted out, approaching you. "Don't look at me like this hasn't been a long time coming, your planet was dying anyway."

"Are you insane?! This isn't your world to declare when it dies or lives!" You found your voice as the fear was replaced with betrayal and rage, disappointment infused among them.

"This is how your world was built, the rich and powerful survive while the lesser fortunate people are forced to die, everything is catered to the strongest." He lifted a bloody hand. "Right now, I'm the strongest thing on this planet-" he gestured to the outside. "-so what I say, goes."

You didn't know what to say, had you taught him that? Was that all he learned from his time on earth? In your house, among your friends, in your favorite places?

"You're killing people," you strained. "Innocent people, it's not fair— the powerful few shouldn't decide for innocent millions!"

"No, I'm liberating your world, but don't worry." He moved too quickly for you to see, using his superpowers on you always left a bad taste in his mouth, but he had to for now, restraining you like some cornered rabbit "You won't miss this planet, Viltrum will suit you better."

That was your last day on earth, cold, scared, covered in blood, and cradled by a murderer.

[sularis]

God, what have I gotten myself into.

I have never run this fast. Even back when I was on my school's running team, I've never been able to reach this speed. Maybe then I was too young, or maybe now I have somehow more energy? Doesn't matter. That's not something I should be thinking about in the face of death.

Since leaving my old job, I've been getting stalked. I don't know by who, but I have my suspicion. They have enough power to have me whipped off the face of this earth, but instead they resort to terrorising every facet of my existence. I think I realise now that if they will kill me in that way, it won't be questioned. I gave them my medical report. They know about my heart condition. And now, they know how to use it to their advantage.

I'm a whistleblower for one of the largest food companies in the whole country. Soon, though, I might be found dead in a ditch. Or not found at all.

As I'm running with all I have, I hear the voice of my roommate; it rings clearly in my mind: "A walk won't do you any harm and the fresh air may cool your nerves." Now I wonder if she was in on this whole thing as well. Everything that she has said to me returns in an instant, I think I could easily pinpoint the day she could've received an offer to off me. Should've trusted my gut. Should've known that no one will be on my side when the other is offering them money for my life.

I got out of my apartment complex while it was still quite bright outside. The sun was slowly going down, but I believed that if I returned home before it got dark, nothing too bad would happen. Nobody could attack me, because someone could see me, right?

I don't know how long I ran, but I know I ended up outside my city somehow. That sure is some distance. The place I was in now was full of trees and only a singular road was crossing this forest. It was very dark already and I suspect that the person who was after me now is in the car that sped towards me a moment ago.

It didn't take me long to realise I was being followed; it took me longer to finally think I lost whoever was after me. Until he leaped at me from a side alley and almost stabbed my chest. I'm so grateful that out of all the responses, I got the "flight" instead of "freeze". Never would I suspect that the moment I started running would prolong for this amount of time and distance. He started running after me, but disappeared soon after, only to reappear somewhere else, where I didn't expect it. It could've been more than one person, but in my panic I couldn't see clearly.

They never stopped pursuing me. And I never stopped running.

Even now, as the terrain gets more unpredictable and I can't tell a tree from a person and any sound is ten times louder, I don't stop running. I don't and I can't. Because if I stop, I won't live to see the next day.

I don't know if anyone is behind me, I don't see any lights, nor do I hear any steps. Maybe I could hide somewhere? Only now I start feeling the exhaustion, but I can't stop, no. I can't let me be killed like that. Not tonight. Not ever.

The moon has come up. Lucky me, I can see what's before me. The trees are much clearer and I can avoid them easier. I can search for places to hide. I might survive and not collapse.

Unlucky me. The moon is out. I am seen in it too.

There's a small clearing in front of me, and a watch tower in the middle of it. I could run ad hide there. I shake that thought off immediately. I will be seen, so easy to spot. Need somewhere else. I am so, so tired.

My legs start to shake as I slow down. Please not now. All of the trees are thin, the bushes won't hide me if they have torches. I don't see lights behind me, though. I'm barely walking, everything hurts. Suddenly, a large tree trunk, I can see it close to me. There seems to be an opening there. I need to get inside but I can hardly move. I must've sprained an ankle because it hurts to walk so bad.

I'm about to reach it, and safety, when I hear something. The leaves are rustling. It isn't windy. Whether it was an animal or not, I'm not risking it. I start running again, through the pain, through the tears streaming down my eyes. I'm once again reaching speed I never thought I could reach. Like a deer I traverse the forest that I never was in before. I don't let my imagination let any more creeps scare me, I've enough of them trailing me and then--

I fall. Face first into the forest floor. The ankle, that I thought was sprained, hurts so much more right now. The pain is so horrid that it doesn't register at first fully. I'm disoriented, but the pain is clear and it's sharp and oozing. Warm and cold. Do I even have my foot still?

Finally, I reach down to see what's going on. I feel cold metal on my fingertips and some liquid on it. Oh, it's so clear now. A bear trap. That's how I die.

I try to move my leg, but the trap is chained to a tree nearby. Breaking free would be nearly impossible in this condition. I'm so tired, I lay on the ground battling sleep when I hear rustling again. I can't move, this is my death. With all my might I crawl and cling to the tree that will accompany me in the last moments I'm alive. I will die here, either of blood loss or whatever the man chasing me will do with me.

I'm struggling to do anything. Breathe. Look before me. Not sleep. It all feels like an impossible task. May the death come sooner? I'm starting to get cold.

Hugging the tree, I feel something in my jacket. Right, my phone. And wallet for whatever reason. I wanted to buy myself a drink before I returned from my walk, but currently, it feels silly to have it with me in my last moments.

My phone is useless here too. Nobody, who once cared about me, does any more. Family is long gone, further relatives got paid to forget me. So did my friends. Roommate. Before police would find me here I'd already be decaying. I'm doomed, and nobody sees it as a loss.

Suddenly, a thought flashes through my brain. Many of them, honestly, the life I led is playing for me and somehow it feels like a short film. One of the memories is important. A girl at the bar, piece of paper, numbers...

Wallet. Oh, how I beg it is still there.

I search through every pocket in my wallet as the memory plays on. "Here you go" she said "Use it whenever you like. Whatever you'll need will be answered if you call it." I thought she was flirting. "Don't take it for granted, girl. It might save your life one day."

I found it. The numbers are as clear as day. I check around, looking for movement. Nothing. I check my phone. It's half way charged. I thank God silently as I put the number in and hit the call button. I put it to the ear closer to the tree, I need the other one to hear threats approaching.

Calling....

There's signal!

One....

Two....

Three....

Pick up. Pick up whoever you were, girl. Pick up.

Four....

Suddenly, it connects. There's silence on the other side. Then a hesitant:

-... Hello?

It is not a woman's voice. Doesn't matter. I breathe is shakily, my throat feels on fire. I need to talk.

-I need help. Please.

I don't know how I said it, but it resulted in another while of silence.

-What's going on? How did you get this number?

He sounds serious. Did I annoy him? I need him to help me.

-A girl at a bar. She gave it to me... years. Years ago. I don't know why she gave me yours, but it doesn't matter. I need your help. I might die soon if I don't...

I sound pathetic. Begging for help from a total stranger. What did my life come to? My voice broke and the tears nearly chocked me before I could finish my sentence.

-Die? What? Is this a joke?

-No, I swear. Please don't be mad and don't end it. I'm sorry but this is the only number I could call. There's someone after me. He's been chasing me from the city and into the forest I'm in now. I need help. I can't run any longer. I'm trapped. Please, please, don't hang up. Please help me.

He didn't respond. I heard his breathing, though.

-Please....

I cried. I just needed him to stay with me. Even if he couldn't help, all I needed was for him to stay on the call. To be there with me. So I wouldn't die alone, forgotten.

-Where are you right now?

His voice. It was much gentler. I still sobbed.

-Forest. North of Tulan. The right side of it from the street.

-Tulan....

He repeated quietly.

-Are they still after you?

-I don't know... They tried to run me over with their car... I ran into the forest but I don't know if they went after me. I'm alone now, though...

He sighed heavily. I heard a mechanical keyboard in the background. Was he typing something?

-Are you hurt? Will you be able to hold on for a while longer?

-My leg's in a bear trap... I'm tired and cold, but otherwise fine.

-Bear trap?... Oh, I've got it.

He sounded so sure. Does he know where to find me? Is he sending help?

-Prepare the men and the helicopter.

Was there someone else with him? Helicopter? Who did I contact?

-The help is coming. Hang in there and don't fall asleep before you hear us coming.

Us? Is he coming too? Will they find me before my pursuers?

-Thank you...

I mutter before the call ends. And once again I am alone. Everything is quiet and I wonder if that's how death is. I wait in anticipation but there's no new sounds. I don't hear a helicopter for sure. The minutes drag out and I'm feeling worse than before. Please find me sooner than the Reaper.

Now that I'm alone with my thoughts again... Wasn't his voice familiar? I've had to heard it before, but where?

I hear rustling. Steps. Breaking branches. Chatter. I cling closer to my tree. My only solace right now.

It's getting closer. There's light appearing. There's more of them than necessary to kill me. I close my eyes and make myself smaller. Maybe they won't find me in the shadows. I feel the bright light suddenly falling on me and a loud yell right after.

-She's here! Get the medic!

Medic? Is it...?

I open my eyes slowly, getting them used to the light as I hear more footsteps coming towards me. Some are approaching faster than the other.

-Oh, thank God.

I hear a sigh of relief coming from a person in front of me. It's the same voice I heard through my phone. It's much clearer now and I recognise it much quicker. It's much more... soft, than how I hear it usually.

I can't see the person well. I know who he is. He approaches me with someone else. The other person immediately examinates my leg. All while the man I know, more or less, wraps a warm blanket around me and crouches to my side.

-How's it look like?

He asks the medic. His voice, it's... soothing, yet strikes concern, fear maybe, it's much different than when it's directed towards me. It's one of a ruler. The one in control.

-It's not good. Sprained and now this. We need to take her to our ward.

The response wasn't of a fearful subordinate. It was of a professional working alongside someone trust worthy, reliable. It was of someone who wasn't treated like a pawn, but a friend, colleague, someone who knew whatever he said would be taken seriously.

-That's what I thought.

The man muttered. I could see much clearer now. His hair is shorter than I remember. Sharp pain strikes my ankle again. I curl up and grit my teeth to deal with it. A groan escapes my mouth and tears well up in my eyes again. I breathe in and out, trying to ease it somehow. The trap is off and the wound was treated with a disinfectant.

Then I feel something else. His hand grabs mine. It's grip is strong, but not crushing. It's comforting. I finally start feeling safe. It's the first time in months that I do.

In no time my leg is bandaged and secured. He ordered his men to get something to transport me safely to his helicopter. It's apparently parked in the clearing. Clear in sight. How far must I have ran from it that I couldn't hear the machine approaching?

Everyone else is busy with something else. The medic went back with others to pick up the right gear. I'm exhausted. I feel myself falling, slipping away, before I gently land on something soft, stable, warm. I can finally relax, I feel. I don't think I can think of anything right now. I feel right, though.

I'm safe and I feel that. I close my eyes against my better judgement. I don't notice the man is looking right at me. I don't feel his arm wrapping around me and pulling me closer. I don't feel his hand gently wiping my wet cheek. Neither do I hear him ask me:

-What the fuck have you gotten into, Carrie?

He doesn't expect me to answer. At least for now. But he'll know soon, and that'll make a change in his life. And mine. And it won't ever be changed back.

You met a girl at a bar who gave you a number. Turns out, she has a superpower; Any number she gives out to others turns into the number they needed to call the most. You call it, and it forwards you to the most powerful supervillain in the world.

[cherrygirlfriend]

touchy subject III pairing: reader x exfiancé!rafe synopsis: seeing your ex-fiancé after four years. warnings: angst and comfort. fluff. mentions of miscarriage/stillbirth and DUI. wc: 2.7k part 3 and the last part of touchy subject! click here for part 1, click here for part 2 i really liked writing for them and honestly i'm considering occasionally writing blurbs for them and what their relationship would shape into, lmk if you'd be interested!! originally posted 11/28/2024

part I & part II

seeing you in front of that store felt like it might've killed rafe. the first face he fell in love with, the woman who'd left him with nothing but scars and an engagement ring. somehow, he still managed to stay alive.

but hearing you say his name in the soft voice he hadn't heard in over four years, the same one that you used to tell him you loved him every single night before your body went slack in his arms, that might have been the final blow.

"what are you doing here?" you managed to mutter, your hand instinctively going to your locket, squeezing it in your hand, and the gesture didn't go unnoticed by rafe.

"what's this?" rafe asked as the two of you laid in bed, his finger tracing the patterns on the heart-shaped locket resting on your chest, the one you'd worn around your neck for as long as he'd known you.

"this?" you asked, opening the locket, displaying two pictures; one of them was of you when you were a little girl, standing between your parents with a wide, toothy grin on your face, and the other was a picture of you and rafe, taken at midsummers. "i got this from my mom. it's a family heirloom of sorts. when she's born," you looked down at your stomach, "we've gotta get a picture taken of us three so i can put it here."

he let out a small chuckle, "i'm honored that you want me in your heart."

"i think you're always going to be in my heart," you rolled your eyes, "whether i want it or not."

"i'm here to see you. i thought that'd be obvious." rafe said without an ounce of emotion in his voice, the sound causing a shiver to run down your spine. grieving your daughter on what would've been her fifth birthday wasn't a moment you exactly wanted your ex to witness, but this was still rafe. the man you loved for so long, the only man you ever loved, the one you were going to marry, and this was still the house that was supposed to be your home.

so you stepped aside, pulling your cardigan closed as a way to close yourself off from the man as you walked further into the house, not daring yourself to look back at him, fearing the urge that still remained in your chest to just pull him close to you and be in his arms.

you heard the door close, pressing your eyes shut as you stood in front of the fireplace, your arms crossed in front of your chest as if defending yourself, the man's footsteps echoing in the room, "it's cold in here."

"the radiator's broken."

"can you just, at least look at me, or something?"

"do i have to?" you chuckled humorlessly, and when you felt his hand on your shoulder, it felt like the room got ten degrees colder, the man slowly turning you around to face him, and when you refused to look up at him, focusing on the baby blue sweater he was wearing, he brought his hand to your chin, gently lifting it up, just like he did every time he was about to kiss you.

"we need to talk."

if someone was to ask you what would be the most uncomfortable situation you had ever been in, this would be among the top 3, right after you got the 'birds and the bees' talk and the time you said your goodbyes to the same man now sitting beside you, the space between you two big enough to fit another person.

"why did you come back?" rafe asks, without even sparing you a glance. you decide to do the same, your gaze staying on the fire crackling in front of you.

"i don't know. a part of me thinks it's because i missed home."

"and the other part?"

missed us. missed her. "missed my mom, i guess."

your mother had driven you home from the hospital, insisting that she'd stay with you for the next few days; you still hadn't seen rafe. you couldn't face him, couldn't face the guilt you carried around for being the reason your daughter would be coming home in an urn.

she'd gone to the store for groceries, leaving you to sit on the couch you and rafe had picked out, staring at the engagement picture that hung above the fireplace.

you didn't know how it started, how every single vase ended up as nothing but shards of glass on the floor, how the coffee table had ended up as planks of wood, how your fists were bruised from beating them against the walls, your knees bloody from when you'd collapsed on the ground amongst all the glass.

"do you know what day it is?" rafe asked with a weak voice, and you could hear him try to swallow down the emotion crawling up his throat.

his question made you want to let out a small, humorless laugh. you don't know how you could ever forget. "of course." the day i killed her.

rafe stood up, running his hand over his chin before trailing over the short strands of hair on his head, "why did you do it?" he looked to you. "why did you leave?"

"i had no reason to stay." you say emotionlessly, your fingers intertwined as you kept your eyes on them as if you were praying.

"you had me. you would've had me if you just let me be there."

"rafe, i killed our daughter."

"what-"

"i'm the reason our daughter isn't here. i'm the reason she doesn't exist. i'm the reason that today isn't only her fifth birthday, but also the fifth anniversary of her death."

rafe kneeled down in front of you, his hands cupping your cheeks, not caring if it made you uncomfortable, or that this was the first time he'd properly touched you in over four years, the only thing that mattered to him was that you listened.

"you did not kill our daughter."

"i did."

"no." he scoffed, "you aren't the reason she's dead. the reason is the drunken asshole who drove at you. you loved her with your entire being, with everything you had, even before she was born. you would've been the most amazing mother in the world. don't you dare blame yourself for something you had zero control over."

"i shouldn't have driven in that weather. i knew it was gonna be raining, that the roads would be slippery-"

"no." rafe said sternly, "look at me."

your eyes moved to look into rafe's steel-blue ones, shimmering with unshed tears, his jaw clenched, and only then did you realize that he was cupping your face in his hands, his touch somehow managing to make you feel warm even in the cold apartment.

"i won't have you blame yourself for something you had no fuckin' control over. evelyn was so wanted, by both of us. she would've been so loved. we would've done anything to protect her, and to keep her safe. if any fucker even thought about hurting her, i would've made sure they'd regret ever being born. but you are not to blame for her not being here."

rafe's hands moved from your cheeks to your hands, the man instead taking your clenched fists into his, letting out a small sniffle, and when he pressed his eyes closed and let out a sigh, a tear rolled down his cheek.

"yeah, you could've not driven in the rain. but i should've been the one to drive you to your mom's, you were eight months along, an insane man would make you drive yourself, or i should've made sure you got home before it was dark, or i should've picked you up myself. there are so many things we could've done differently, but that doesn't mean that either of us is to blame for it."

"i spent so long blaming myself for what happened, but not even for a moment did i blame you. you did everything to keep her safe, and i know it, and i'm sure that she knows it too. you loved her more than anything, and i won't let some drunk driving idiot make you feel like you did anything wrong."

slowly, you opened your fists, half-moon prints on the palms on your hands caused by your nails, and without even realizing, tears had been rolling down your eyes the entire time that rafe had been speaking, the man standing up and pressing a kiss on your forehead that felt like it burnt and would leave a mark that'd be there forever, before he settled down next to you.

a strand of hair was stuck on your cheek, almost glued on there by the tears you shed, the blonde man tugging it behind your ear, his eyes still on you, his hands still cupping yours.

"i don't blame you for what happened, nor do i blame you for pushing me away. but i wish you would've let me in, to be there for you, instead of leaving. so we could've grieved her together."

"i think we should break up, rafe."

"what?" rafe turned to look at you; this wasn't what he had been expecting to hear after two months of silence, "if this is about the baby-"

"i can't do it anymore." you closed your eyes, letting a tear run down your cheek, "i need to leave. start over."

you turned your head to look at him, his words feeling like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, and even though you tried to find it, there was nothing in his eyes that said that he was lying.

"you don't blame me for any of it?"

your voice was weak and feeble, as if a part of you was expecting him to tell you that he did, but when he pulled you into his embrace, he told you the truth in the best way he knew how to: without saying a single word.

you didn't know how long you had been in rafe's arms; it felt like hours, while also feeling like the moment had lasted mere seconds, like you two lived in your own bubble. it felt like the last four years hadn't happened, like you had never left.

but when he pulled away from the embrace and looked down at his watch, letting out a sigh, you knew what was coming. the bubble burst.

"i should probably get going." rafe let out an exasperated sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose before starting to get up off the couch, stretching his long limbs.

"yeah, yeah." you said softly, clearing your throat, trying to act like nothing had happened, like you hadn't gone through every memory you shared while he was just holding you to comfort you, "your girlfriend's probably waiting for you."

rafe stopped in his tracks, turning to look down at you, "girlfriend?"

"shit," you chuckle softly, fidgeting with your hands and chewing on your lower lip, "i guess she's your fiancée, now."

he sat down on the couch next to you while you simply avoided his gaze, not wanting him to read everything you were feeling like he so often seemed to do, but your attempt was unsuccessful, the man bringing his hand to your chin and gently turning your head so you were forced to look at him, his brows slightly furrowed while he looked at you pointedly.

"what girlfriend, or fiancée?"

you didn't know if rafe was acting stupid, or if he was genuinely confused, but you could still remember the woman with him at the jewelry store, the woman who had managed to make him smile, whose back rafe placed his hand on.

"you know," you clear your throat, taking his hand off your chin and turning your head away from him, not wanting him to see the tears brimming in your eyes as you thought about him waiting at the aisle for another woman, "the woman at the jewelry store."

rafe let out a soft laugh, and when you turned your head, facing him, he was nearly keeling over in laughter, his head in his hands.

"what?"

"that-" rafe said inbetween laughs, "that wasn't my girlfriend."

"what?" you mumbled softly, your brows furrowing, "what do you mean, rafe?"

"sorry-" he continued laughing for a while only to be stopped by a soft smack you delivered to his shoulder, before the man took a deep breath, looking at you with a small smile gracing his lips, a sight that still got your heart to flutter, "that wasn't my girlfriend, or my fiancée."

"then... who was she?"

"that was," rafe let out another chuckle as if you had said something foolish, taking one of your hands in his and intertwining your fingers, "wheezie's girlfriend."

you tried processing the words that had left his lips, but no matter what, they didn't seem to make since. "why were you in a jewelry store together? wheezie's only like-"

"wheezie's nineteen." rafe shook his head, "her girlfriend, lucy, asked me to help her pick out a ring. sarah was supposed to go with her, but she had some preschool stuff to deal with relating to jack, so i got stuck with that duty…"

"isn't nineteen a bit... young?"

"it is. but you remember how young we were when we got engaged? or sarah?" a fond smile took over rafe's lips as he turned to look at the fire that was slowly burning out, letting the next words out in a hushed tone. "guess it runs in the family."

"guess so." you say, biting down on your lip, turning to look at the fire with him, your cheeks warm as you felt like an idiot for your assumption.

"i still haven't moved on." rafe said, letting out a breath, "i don't know if i can. i don't think i even want to." you turned to look back at one another at the same time, both of you seeing the same melancholy in the other one's eyes, "there's no one i would ever want to be with other than you."

you took a deep breath, his words ringing through your head as you looked at him, a damp trail running down his cheek was still visible from the tears he had shed, and you took a deep breath, making a decision that you knew would impact the rest of your life.

"me neither, rafe."

you brought your hand to his cheek and felt the tear he had shed under your touch, pulling his face to meet yours until your lips clashed, feeling the exact same that it did four years ago, making you wonder how you ever let it go.

SIX MONTHS LATER...

you laid on a blanket in the middle of a field of sunflowers, your arms crossed behind your head and your eyes pressed closed, letting the sun beam down your face, warming you up as your bare feet were being tickled by blades of grass.

your daydreaming was interrupted by the sound of footsteps, and you opened one of your eyes to see rafe stumble through the long flowers into the small clearing you'd found, a small chuckle leaving your lips.

"don't laugh at me." he scolded, shaking his head as he landed on the blanket next to you, letting out a soft grunt.

"why not?" you asked, sticking your tongue out at him, your boyfriend gasping in feigned offence, about to quip back at you, only to be stopped by the small, chaste peck you pressed on his lips, even the small display of affection managing to leave him speechless.

as he settled down next to you, you smiled while looking up at the sky, white clouds covering a part of the beautiful icy blue nothingness that was so much like rafe's eyes, your thoughts on her. you took rafe's hand in yours, keeping your eyes trained up while you let yourselves just exist together.

"you're always going to be in my heart, evelyn louise cameron." you said softly as you traced the patterns on your locket, rafe turning his head to look at you, a somber expression on his face as he pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"yeah, she will. and neither of us will ever forget her."

[yanderedrabbles]

Thinking about getting into an accident - nothing too bad, just a little fender bender. But you've had a long day, and you give the guy a lot more attitude than you should.

Snapping that this wouldn't have happened if he didn't brake check you. Asking if he can even afford insurance or if you're supposed to pay for this shit out of pocket. Snarling that your daddy is going to sue the living daylights out of him.

Thinking about the yandere mechanic just off his shift who's too fucking tired to deal with your bullshit. Prissy fucking thing, ain'tcha? Thinking you're so much better than him. Sneering at his truck and his clothes like honest work is the filthiest thing you've ever seen.

Yandere mechanic who's been on the end of his rope for a while now. Pay is shit, boss is shit, can't hold onto a girl for the life of him. All he wants is to go home and have a cold beer. But no. Some little bitch is yelling at him.

Yandere mechanic who's spent his entire life on the the wrong side of the tracks. Kind of guy who's had more than a few run ins with the cops. Who's probably served a year or two in corrections, and who's barely holding onto his parole.

Yandere mechanic who finds himself reaching for the tire iron peeking out of his toolbox without even realising it. God, girls like you are the fucking worst. Prancing around in your short skirts and high heels and turning your nose up at anything that bothers you. Daddy's money bitch that needs to be taught a lesson. Needs to brought down a few pegs. Needs to be fucking humbled.

Yandere mechanic who swings the tire iron right at your temple, and never mind that his mama told him to never hit a woman.

You fold like a fucking marionette, passed out as his feet in less than five seconds. Still breathing, not convulsing. Good. Didn't hit you too hard.

Yandere mechanic who shoves his tools off the backseat and tosses you into his truck. Not so fucking mouthy now, are you? Who rips a pack of zip ties open with his teeth and ties you up with the same casual efficiency he uses to change a tire.

Your skirt rides up a little when he hauls you onto his backseat, and he runs his palm down your thigh before he slams the door. God, you've got such nice skin. Bet you taste like sugar and vanilla.

Yandere mechanic who takes you home and then comes back to dump your Audi way out in the sticks. Anything coulda happened to you. And if he's smart about it, no one will ever catch on that he was involved in your sudden and tragic disappearance.

I'm especially thinking about what it must be like to wake up after he knocks you out.

Your head pounding, your eyes aching. Confused. Disoriented. Not sure where you are or why you can't move your hands.

Thinking about noticing him for the first time, sitting in an armchair a little ways from the bed, legs spread and a beer dripping condensation at his feet. The room dark, the only light coming from the moon and his cigarette.

A real blue collar bastard, still in his wife beater and work pants, stained black with grease.

Just watching you.

The tip of his cigarette glowing with each pull and giving you a second or two to see his face - the mean smirk, the too jaded eyes.

"Not so fucking mouthy now, are you?"

You scream.

No use. It's muffled by the gag. Some random scrap of cloth that tastes of motor oil and digs into your cheeks. You try and sit up, but he's got you trussed up good and proper.

He watches you try and get loose, watches you thrash and scream and cry. Until your hair is all over your face and clinging to the tears on your cheeks.

Thinking about the way he grinds out his cigarette. Thinking about that last bit of light going out and the way it's like a kick to the face.

Thinking of the way he finally stands, and you realise just how big he is compared to you. Not pretty boy gym rat muscles either. But the hard shit you build hauling machinery and parts all day.

Thinking of the way he walks towards you, boots so damn heavy on the floorboards. Already reaching for his belt buckle.

"Gonna take real good care of sweetheart. Just gotta fuck all that attitude out first."

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDS React to a Reader with a Skin Condition

Request: Anon- Would you be comfortable writing headcanons about how the boys would react to you having skin problems? Like acne and eczema. I get really self conscious about my skin and I just feel like they’d know just what to say.Whether or not you choose to write this thank you for taking the time to read this. I really appreciate all you do, you’re an incredibly talented writer and you’re such a wonderful part of this community. 💕

AN: Hi anon, thanks for requesting! As someone with psoriasis this is close to home. I hope you like this >< evil laughter because I changed the OG reaction order

Pairing: LaDS boys x fem reader

Ingredients: 90% comfort, 10% sulking

My Fav: None. I felt writer's block writing this :(

Caleb:

He’d seen you grow up with psoriasis.

He remembers the way you never let go of your long sleeves. The way your friends’ eyes lingered in the summer, glancing at your covered arms with quiet curiosity. The way your smile would dim when someone’s gaze lingered too long.

Hell, he was the one who held you when you sobbed, terrified before every new school year. The one who sat with you in silence while you rubbed at your sleeves until the fabric thinned.

But he had also seen you change. Watched as long sleeves were traded for shorter ones. Saw how you learned to love your skin through the endless cycle of steroids, topicals, and shots.

Flare-up or not, you were strong. You became more than the spots on your skin. And he was proud.

The person he once comforted no longer needed saving. You had learned to love yourself.

But even now, if you stumbled, if you slipped, he’d still be there. Not because you needed him. But because he never stopped wanting to stand beside you.

And when you catch him watching you, when you raise an eyebrow and say “What?” he just smiles.

"Nothing." He wraps his arms around you, his hands mapping your arms with utmost focus. He watches the way you don’t flinch anymore. The way you let him touch you without hesitation.

"You’re just beautiful."

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks flush. He sees the quiet pleasure in the smile on your lips.

"I mean it." His pulls you closer, against his chest, burying his face in your shoulder.

Zayne:

He held your hands, applying the topical carefully. His fingers moved slowly, brushing over the irritated skin with quiet precision. Your fingers twitched in his grasp, skin red and peeling. It looked painful.

Just a night out had done this. The restaurant soap had reacted poorly.

And now here you both were.

"I'm sorry, Zayne. I was stupid." You whisper, trying to pull your hands back. "I ruined our plans."

His grip tightens slightly, keeping you from slipping away. His breath steadies as he rests his forehead against yours. Warm. Soft. Familiar.

"You have nothing to apologize for." His arms circle around you, pulling you carefully into his lap. His hand slides to your wrist, thumb brushing over the curve of your pulse.

He blows gently over the drying cream on your skin. His breath ghosts over your fingers, the warmth easing the sting.

"I prefer this." His lips brush your temple. "How else do I get to hold you like this?"

Your breath hitches. His mouth curves faintly against your cheek.

"And kiss you however much I want?"

You laugh weakly. "You’re ridiculous."

"Probably." His lips trail down the side of your face, soft and deliberate. His touch light and careful as he smooths over the cream.

"But you think too much." His forehead presses against yours. "You didn’t ruin anything."

"Zayne, it was your time off in so long, and we-"

His fingers lace between yours. His thumb strokes along your palm, calm, steady. "I’d rather be here with you, holding you, than anywhere else."

You close your eyes, breath slowing beneath the weight of him.

"So stop apologizing." His voice drops to a whisper. His mouth hovers over yours. "You’re already giving me exactly what I want."

Rafayel:

He finds you crouched in the closet. Crying. Clothes scattered around you in every direction.

"I look awful." You look at him tearfully. "Everything looks terrible with the breakout. I can't go to your exhibition, Rafayel."

Your face crumples, eyes red and swollen. Your period isn’t helping, it makes you even more susceptible to unwarranted emotional breakdowns every passing hour. You bury your face in a dress and sob like a kicked puppy.

Rafayel stands there for a second, his brow furrowing. Then he sighs and sinks down beside you, his knees brushing against yours.

His hands rise to your face, caressing your cheek with care. "My bodyguard always looks the most beautiful." He tilts your chin to kiss the tears away.

"Don't kiss me, I feel gross." You try to pull away. "And look at all this acne. How can you even...?"

"I'm not kissing the acne." Rafayel smiles faintly. His eyes soften as he takes in the sight in front of him. "I'm kissing you, you dummy."

"And right now?" His grin sharpens as he leans back slightly. "You look adorable."

"I can’t go to the exhibit, Rafayel." You whine annoyed by the sound of your own voice as overstimulation crowed your senses.

"Good." His voice is lazy, his arms sliding beneath your legs. Without warning, he lifts you effortlessly, adjusting you against his chest like you weigh nothing.

"Rafayel this is ridiculous." You bury your face in his chest.

"Shhh." He silences your protests with a peck to your lips. His arms tighten around you, carrying you toward the bed.

"You know how much I hate those things." His tone is light, but his hand slips beneath the curve of your knee, holding you securely. His mouth skims the side of your temple. "Honestly, you just gave me the best excuse to skip."

"But..."

"Nope." He sets you down on the bed, brushing your hair back from your face. "We’re staying in."

He slides in beside you, one arm looping beneath your shoulders. His hand splays low across your back, pulling you closer.

"If you feel awful, the least you can do is suffer with me." His mouth tilts against your temple. "And if you think this breakout makes you less beautiful, I guess I’m going to have to kiss you until you figure out how wrong you are."

"Starting now." He pulls you into an onslaught of kisses.

Sylus:

You drag another air purifier into the room, sneezing hard enough to make your head spin.

"God, this sucks." You flop onto the floor between the circle of purifiers, rubbing at the irritated skin of your neck. "How did natural selection fail this badly?"

Your breath hitches, throat burning. You close your eyes. Maybe if you just stay here, the purifiers will summon clean air or a new respiratory system.

That’s when you feel him.

"Did I interrupt your ritual, darling?"

You crack an eye open. Sylus stands above you, arms crossed, looking thoroughly amused.

"This is serious." You sniff, voice wrecked.

"Sure it is." He crouches down, invading your circle of air purifiers. "Should I sacrifice a goat or something?"

"You could bring me a tissue."

Sylus grins. "Or…" His hands slip beneath your arms, lifting you effortlessly. "I could just kidnap you and nurse you back to health myself."

"Sylus, what are you...?"

Without a word, he drops you onto the couch, pressing his hand against your forehead. His eyes narrow. "Hm. You might not survive the night."

"Stop it,"

"I’ll have to keep you in bed." His mouth curves wickedly. "For observation."

"Sylus!" You protest, trying to get up.

"No talking. Doctor’s orders."

His lips press against your burning cheek. His hand slides through your hair, nuzzling into you. His smile softens at the sound of your stuffy breath.

"Just relax." His voice lowers. "I’ve got you."

Xavier:

"You don’t have to stay." You reason trying to get your boyfriend out of your misery cave. "You’re tired. You’ve been running around all day."

"So?" His voice is quiet.

You glance at him through swollen eyes. Your skin is blotchy from the allergic reaction, red patches climbing up your neck and across your cheeks. You feel gross.

"So you don’t have to deal with this."

Xavier sinks down onto the floor beside you, resting his head on the bed where you lay draped. His gaze drops to the irritated skin on your throat.

"I’m not here because I have to." His hand lifts, hesitates, then curls gently around your hand. His thumb traces the tender skin of your palm.

"You look uncomfortable." You wince, voice thin.

"Yeah. I am." His smile is faint, almost fragile. "Because I hate seeing you like this."

You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off.

"Not because of how you look." His hand rises to your neck, cupping it carefully. His thumb brushes over a reddened patch of skin. His eyes darken. "Because I hate not knowing how to make it better."

"It’s just allergies."

"I know." His breath steadies. His eyes soften. "But I still wish I could fix it."

"You’re not going to scare me off." His voice drops lower. "You don’t have to look perfect for me to stay."

"But I feel—"

"I know." His thumb brushes your cheekbone. His breath catches as your gaze meets his. "Stay with me anyway."

[powderpinkprincess]

Irresponsible [Lando Norris x reader]

description: Lando has an irrational fear of a cab driver kidnapping you once- Or something like that.

Lando usually didn’t mind when you went out without him. You had your own group of friends in Monaco, and as long as your best friend, Sasha was there, Lando didn’t worry much. He really liked her because she was nice and responsible even when she drank, keeping you away from trouble.

What he did mind, however, was you taking a cab home alone. It didn’t matter how safe Monaco was or how many times you had done it before - just the thought of you, possibly even drunk, sitting in the back of a stranger’s car made his stomach twist. What if the driver wasn’t who they seemed? What if something happened, and he wasn’t there? Lando knew it was probably just in his head, but that didn’t make it any easier. It was the one thing he hated about your nights out - waiting for that text saying you were home safe, hoping that nothing had gone wrong.

At least now that Lando finally had a whole week at home, he didn’t have to worry about that, and he could just pick you up himself. Besides training, he still had tons of work to do on his laptop, so he was busy, but he was available.

He didn’t mute his phone when he went to sleep as he usually did, so you could reach him whenever you wanted. However, when you left you noticed how exhausted he looked, so you didn’t want to bother him. At 2 a.m. you were more than ready to leave, and that was when you noticed your credit card was almost empty. You had two credit cards, one to use in your day-to-day life and another one for clubbing.

You didn’t want to wake Lando, but eventually you had to. He was fast asleep when his phone rang. He picked it up half asleep when he saw your number come up. Sitting up, he wiped his eyes and yawned. “Hey babe, is everything okay?”

 “Uhm, hi, sorry to wake you up,” you started.

 “No, no,” he said, slowly coming to his senses. “It's okay,” he added with a yawn. “What is it, love?”

 “Could you maybe send some money to my blue card?” you sighed. Lando knew exactly what you meant as he used the same method when going out. If the card got lost or stolen, it was a much better situation when it was not the majority of your money disappearing.

Lando stifled a sigh as he turned the light on. “Why, did you forget to transfer money again?” he asked while he opened the bank app on his phone. Lando was a bit annoyed at you for being careless with your stuff again, but he sent some money to you anyway.

 “I’m sorry,” you replied, noticing the tone of his voice immediately.

 “Don’t apologize, just try to pay attention the next time.” He suppressed another yawn. “Are you guys going to stay out?”

 “No, I was just about to call a cab,” you explained.

He was silent for a minute, then you could hear the soft ruffling of the sheets as he moved. “Why didn’t you call me before? I would have come to pick you up.”

 “Cause you needed rest,” you mumbled. You knew he didn’t like it when you took a cab, so you expected the question.

 “Well, I'm up now, so I don't think it matters anyway,” Lando said with a hint of sarcasm. “I would have come to pick you up at any time for you, love, you know that,” he added, trying to sound sincere. He didn't want to pick a fight now that he was awake, but it was a bit of a sensitive spot for him. Lando didn't like that you would just jump into a car with a stranger. He worried about your safety more than you realised.

 “I know,” you sighed.

There was a brief silence on the line. Lando knew you were being considerate by not calling him earlier, yet he couldn't help but feel a bit frustrated. He wanted to voice that but held back, knowing it would lead to a pointless argument. “Where are you, anyway?” he asked instead.

  “At Aurora. We're still inside at the smoking area cause it's quiet and warm here,” you added. “Why?”

 “Just wondering. Aurora is on the other side of the city, and at this time of night I'd rather not send you in a random cab,” Lando replied, his concern growing. “Are the girls with you?”

 “Yes, they are. But you really don't need to come,” you pushed.

Lando knew you were trying to not bother him, but he also knew that this was pointless to argue about. Besides, he would be restless if he just stayed home now that he was up. “I'm coming,” he said with a finality in his voice.

 “Baby…” you sighed.

Lando was already getting up and putting on some clothes. “Stop protesting, Y/N. Half of the cab drivers barely even speak English here,” he retorted. “You’ve been drinking, you’re wearing that small dress, and you’re- You’re not going to call a cab. Just stay inside. I’ll be there soon.”

For a moment, you didn’t know how to reply. You could hear the frustration in his voice, but it somehow warmed your heart. “I love you,” you spoke eventually.

 “Love you, too. See you at the club,” he added before he ended the call.

He didn’t know how to explain what he felt. It was just that- So many things in his life could be taken away within a second. And he barely had anything stable to hold onto, considering how much he had to travel. He knew what people and social media were capable of, and he was just so afraid of you getting hurt. You’ve been dating over three years now, so his followers knew who you were, and he was also aware that people didn’t always have good intentions.

Twenty minutes later he was parked outside the club. He called you, so you quickly grabbed your belongings, hugged the girls goodbye, and then hurried to his car. You sat in and closed the door behind yourself.

Lando winced at the sound. “Hey, careful.”

He had taught you not to smack the door of his car, but apparently you were too drunk to notice or remember.

 “Oh, sorry,” you bit on your lip when you realized what you had done.

You checked your phone to see the time, and that was when you saw the notification of your bank application. You frowned and checked your account. Lando sent you money despite that he decided to pick you up, but you only expected an amount that would cover a cab ride. You huffed when you saw the numbers.

 “Baby, I wanted to call a cab for a ride home, not to buy the driver with the car,” you glanced at your boyfriend, who had just started the engine.

 “Consider it as a precaution,” he replied, his eyes never leaving the road as he started driving. He was still a little frustrated. “Better safe than sorry. And you know I don’t like you being in cabs with strangers at night.”

 “I know, but this is extensive. Did you think I’d have to pay a ransom for myself or what?” you sighed. “You know I have my own money, right? Just not on this card.”

 “I know,” he said, with a hint of annoyance in his voice. “But sometimes you can be irresponsible when it comes to money, like leaving your card behind or not checking your balance,” he said, recalling past incidents.

You just hummed. That was right.

 “Besides, this most likely wouldn’t be enough for a ransom,” he added.

 “I was just joking,” you mumbled. He wasn’t in a funny mood tonight.

 “I know,” Lando sighed. He stepped on the break at a red light and looked at you. “Y/N, I don’t even know how to approach this anymore. I’m not saying that I would pick you up because I’m trying to be nice. I’m saying it because I’d much rather pick you up by myself than wait until some creep kidnaps you. I know, you’re a strong, independent woman, but can’t you just let me have it my way for once?”

Your eyes widened slightly at his words. “No one is going to kidnap me.”

 “Y/N,” he pressed. “Please. Seriously.”

You couldn’t force back a small smile. Even though he could annoy you to death by being overprotective sometimes, he was still very cute.

 “Okay,” you replied, shrugging your shoulders. Meanwhile, the light has turned green again.

 “Okay?” he glanced at you again quickly before looking back at the road.

 “Yeah. Okay.”

His shoulders visibly relaxed and he sent you a small smile back. Oh, how you loved him.

[spyroforlife]

I don't like this.

It's good that AO3 is putting effort toward trying to stop the spam problem, but quite frankly, this isn't the way to do it. I sincerely hope this is a VERY temporary measure that gets rolled back, because as it stands, this will do nothing but hinder people who are genuinely using the site to engage with their favorite fics or to respond to people commenting on their own fics.

People who might want to comment on every single chapter of a multi-chapter, or on multiple one-shots in a row in a series, are now gonna be stopped if it takes them any faster than fifteen minutes to get through each chapter or fic. And depending on word count, that's very much a possibility. It would be incredibly frustrating to go to leave a comment only to get hit with a message to try again, and have to wait fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes when they likely want to keep reading ahead, and then they finally DO get to leave their comment and go to the next part, read it in five or ten minutes, comment again.. and another waiting period.

It would be exhausting. It's tedious. Who wants to spend hours waiting around to be able to leave their comments? Plenty of people are fast readers and fast writers, just wanting to engage with the community, and this makes it feel like they're being punished for that.

And what about the authors themselves? Authors who prefer to bulk reply to their comments before posting another update, and are now being throttled by this new system? At the very least, authors responding to comments on their own fics should be exempt from this, though I don't know how feasible that is to code.

But quite frankly, I don't think any rate limiting needs to be done. I don't know about y'all, but I would much rather get the occasional spam comment I can immediately report and get rid of, than have to wait so long between every single comment and reply. Because if my inbox has say, ten comments sitting in it, and I need about fifteen minutes between each reply, that's 150 minutes. Over two hours. To do something that would otherwise take me like twenty minutes, maybe less depending on how much I'm responding to. That's ridiculous.

All this is gonna do is cause less engagement, as people get frustrated and just don't bother to comment, and authors stop replying to their readers because they just don't have the time to wait around.

I really, sincerely hope this gets changed, because all it's doing is punishing the people who are actually using the site properly and wanting to engage with the fics, and meanwhile these spam accounts (that are likely bots anyway) will just keep posting from multiple different accounts unhindered.

If anything, maybe have some sort of internal system that will ping the staff if a brand new account is leaving several comments all over the place within minutes of each other, and then the staff can investigate it behind the scenes and get rid of the account if it's spam comments, or unflag the account if it's confirmed genuine. Otherwise, just leave it to the users to continue reporting and deleting spam comments as we have been doing.

Again, I'm glad the spam problem is on the radar, but dealing with spammers shouldn't come at the expense of the usability of the site. And those are my thoughts on that.

Comment Rate Limits for Logged-In AO3 Users

In the next few days, #AO3 will begin rate limiting comments from logged-in users to help combat a wave of spam comments: https://otw-news.org/4m69w8dr (We'll let you know when the change is live!)

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[nicksolemnlyswears]

FORGED UNDER FIRE

THE UNPLEASANTRIES OF A SURPRISE

blurb: the sorrengail siblings reunite...what starts as a joyous surprise turns into an unpleasant moment as the realization of what brennan did sinks in

pairing: brennan sorrengail x rider! reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings: nothing crazy, some violence and cursing, iron flame spoilers

a/n: hello, hello! sorry it took me a couple weeks to update, i've been studying for an exam and i was also catching up with some of my other writing. i had a long fic to update and a marcus acacius oneshot to write for a challenge but that is done!

i'm back and i hope you enjoy this part of forged under fire. it's not that long but it captures the essence of what needs to be said. you can now find a more detailed masterlist of this series on my main masterlist under fourth wing!

enjoy and let me know what you think at the end!

At the mention of a riot, Brennan sprung into action, calling out orders to the cadets under his care and the guards under his command. He knew the time would come when the Navarrians would find them, but he didn't expect it to be so soon.

Brennan curses when Violet speeds past him, running towards the courtyard and calling her dragon. He wishes to follow, but he has a protocol and orders to give. If it were up to him, he'd be following her and calling Marbh to meet him in the courtyard ready to battle.

"It is not a riot. More are coming to join us, forty of them. Teine leads them," Marbh tells him through his link.

"Mira?" Brennan whispers, the corner of his lips turning into a smile. The arrival of his sister is a welcomed surprise.

With a string of new orders and the reassurance they won't go into battle any time soon, he follows after Violet. He's excited to see Mira, his younger sister who he shared a childhood with. At one point, she was his best friend.

The two bickered more than acceptable, but it was part of their dynamic. At the end of the day, Mira and Brennan were each other's biggest supporters.

Brennan smiles when he steps outside, spotting his sisters together. He hurries down the steps, eager to join them and have a proper family reunion.

Teine has put a considerable amount between him and Tairn, considering the bigger dragon had his jaw around his neck not long ago.

Mira falters at the sight of Brennan. Her face pales as her brother, who was supposed to be dead, gets closer. The image of him is clearer and clearer. The sleep deprivation must be getting to her because it simply can't be him.

"Hey, Mira," he says as he approaches, preparing to give Mira the biggest hug.

His voice just about confirms his status as alive and breathing. Her older brother is alive. Her partner in crime.

Deep inside, she's elated that he's alive, that she didn't lose him, but there are layers of anger and resentment to sort through. He's alive, but at what cost?

Memories of her grieving and burning his belongings flash through her mind. Her mother's distance, her father's death, her sister-in-law's suffering, and her nephew growing up without a father figure. They all dealt with his death while he was hiding.

Without much thought, she allows that anger to flow straight through her as she lifts her fist and swings. A satisfying crunch and blood pouring from Brennan's nose lets her know she hit true. It's not the first time she's broken his nose, and it certainly won't be the last.

Violet guides them inside in a flurry, shooting orders left and right. Brennan clutches his nose with a handkerchief as blood pours down his face while Mira glares at him and everyone who tries to touch her.

Once they are alone, an argument ensues between the three siblings. Different questions arise about Brennan faking his death, the rebellion Violet is seemingly leading and their status as family. Violet may have forgiven Brennan, but his betrayal is too fresh for Mira.

It is chaotic and messy, but it describes the Sorrengails perfectly.

Xaden joins them in the office, watching amusedly at how they argue. Perhaps it's for the best he doesn't have siblings. The resemblance between them can be seen perfectly in how their mannerisms overlap and mimic each other.

The room turns quiet at Violet's order. The siblings all stare at each other. Mira ignores the fact that Violet has more guts than she used to. They've changed so much over the years, yet they are the same.

"How is she?" Brennan breaks the silence to ask about his wife. The last time Violet was here, he didn't get the chance. They were in and out in a hurry.

Not a day goes by when he doesn't think about you. Leaving you is his biggest regret. Your relationship was a pillar that kept him strong for so long. You often discredited yourself by thinking you needed him more than he needed you. You were wrong. Brennan needed you just as much.

The moment his signet manifested he stopped being Brennan. All they saw were his healing abilities and how they could use him in their battles. He loves his signet, but it felt dehumanizing when all they saw was a tool.

Except you always saw him as Brennan. You never asked to be healed by him. You’d rather bandage your injuries and deal with the pain. He never let you. If there’s anyone he’ll heal without protest, it’ll be his family.

"Who?" Mira asks, crossing her arms and raising a judgemental eyebrow at him. She knows exactly who he's asking about.

Brennan rolls his eyes, "My wife. How is she?" He asks directly at Violet this time. Reasoning with Mira will be impossible when she's in a mood.

Violet's expression softens, but before she can answer, Mira interjects, "Your wife? You don't have a wife, do you, Lieutenant Colonel Aisereigh? Brennan Sorrengail had a wife, but he's dead."

Mira sneers at Brennan her anger eating at her fervently. She doesn't understand how Violet forgave him so easily. Doesn't she realize the gravity of what their brother has done?

"Mira, come on! Enough of this." Brennan pleads, driving his hand through his hair. A sign he's stressed out by the situation.

There were so many times he wanted to reach out to his family. To tell them he was alive and well and that he missed them. It was not realistic when telling them would've endangered them further.

Navarre doesn't want its citizens to know about the venin and what's going on outside the borders. Telling them could've led them to be charged with treason. That is, if Lilith Sorrengail admitted to the information she kept secret.

"You really want to know? Fine, she's dead, Brennan!" Mira exclaims, giving her back to him.

"What?" Brennan pales and falls back on his seat, burying his head in his palms. It can't be. You can't be dead. His heart pounds in his chest at Mira's words, the world spinning around him. The one thing he always counted on was you outliving him by staying safe within Navarre's wards.

"Dead to you! You lost the right to know when you faked your death," Mira says, spinning back around to stare accusingly at him. Maybe that will give him some idea of how they felt when he faked his death.

Violet and Xaden stare at the pair with wide eyes. That was cruel even for Mira.

"Fucks sake, if you think leaving her, leaving any of you, was easy, then you're wrong. I know you're upset, but I had to do this. I couldn't ignore the threats outside of Navarre. Threats our parents were hiding," Brennan shouts back, his chair tumbling to the ground as he stands.

His face matches Mira's as they glare at each other and share the same flushed complexion. It reminds Violet of the good old days when they'd argue about the smallest things.

"You didn't stop to think about me or Violet? You were my brother Brennan, my best friend!" Mira yells, pointing at him accusingly, "And then you try to hug me like everything is okay? This is all levels of fucked up."

Brennan sighs in defeat. "I really am sorry."

Mira looks down and says, "You didn't just leave us. You made us believe you were dead and that we'd never see you again. We mourned you: Dad, Mom, Violet, your wife, and the worst part of it all is--"

She almost told Brennan about his son but couldn't tell him. Mira can't bring herself to tell him about the best thing that happened to their family since he 'died.' It's not her call, and it's not like he deserves to know, either. He gave up that right when he chose to fake his death.

Brennan waits for her to finish her sentence, expecting a string of words to pour more salt into the wound.

"You don't really realize everything you've given up," Mira says ominously, standing across from her brother, no longer pointing fingers or looking to argue. Mira is tired. It's been a long day.

"Will you hate me forever?" Brennan asks her.

Mira smiles sadly, "I don't hate you, Brennan. I love you, but this hurt more than you can imagine."

Brennan opens his mouth to apologize once more, but a knock on the door interrupts him.

"Lieutenant Colonel Aisereigh, a word?" One of the Aretian soldiers asks. Brennan nods, telling him to wait outside.

"I hope you know I really am sorry. I hope we can work through this because I missed my best friend." With that, he steps outside the room, Xaden following him.

Brennan is sorry, but he doesn't regret it. It was a sacrifice he had to make. He's hopeful Mira will come around and understand his intentions were good.

"You didn't tell him," Violet speaks softly, glancing at the closed door.

"Neither did you," Mira rolls her eyes, leaning back against a desk, "Not like it matters, he'll find out very soon."

"What do you mean?" Violet asks instantly.

"Because she's coming here," Mira says, playing with a paperweight, "Mom convinced her it's for the best, but she had to go get Benny before coming."

Lilith Sorrengail gave the riders a choice. They could stay in Navarre or join the rebellion. You chose to stay with her, not because you believed in Navarre but because you owed Lilith a lot. She deserved to have someone in her corner. So, it came as a surprise when she insisted on you joining Mira.

"How do you think he'll take it?"

"I'm not worried about Brennan. I'm worried she'll lose her shit and make Calliss eat Brennan," Mira responds with a smile at the imagery she's made up in her head.

"He'd deserve it," Violet laughs, knowing Calliss won't eat Brennan. "On the bright side, I'm excited to see the little bugger."

Little Bennett and Violet share a close relationship. Violet looked after him constantly, and Benny became attached to his aunt. She missed him most when she left for Basgiath.

"You can't be his favorite forever," Mira chimes, determined to take the title from her sister.

Violet laughs, and Mira joins her. It's crazy to think their family will be together soon. That is, if you don't murder Brennan first.

oop were getting closer to readers reunion with brennan! ain't that exciting! for the next one i think i'm bringing it back to when brennan and reader were in basgiath. i want to talk a bit about her signet so yes!

let me know in the comments or in my asks if there's a specific bit between them you'd like to see! i don't know if this is dragging for you guys, i personally love it but if you'd like me to just write them meeting up then let me know too.

tag list (if you'd like to added to future parts let me know!) : @berry-marys @cherubinn7 @ladynyx91 @kylaisra @detectivehailey @liahaslosthermind @thebreadisthetruevillian @bbkissme99 @honethatty12 @sunny1616 @akshstudios @yadirrez @xoxomoonlightbabe @jaynawayna @littlepippilongstocking @itsmytimetoodream @honethatty12 @poseidont @lveegsoi @cheappremingerfromdelululand @tattee-18 @bxm-2121 @hannahjsworld @holb32 @hannah-schooler

[cameronsbabydoll]

SUGAR-COATED CHAINS — CHAPTER TWENTY

WARNINGS — some family tension, possessiveness, acts of “claiming” (?) smut mdni 18+

The chapel is bathed in warm, flickering candlelight, the scent of roses and polished wood curling through the air like something sacred. The aisle stretches endlessly before you, soft white petals cushioning each step.

It’s beautiful. Perfect.

And yet, the weight in your chest is unbearable.

You feel it pressing against your ribs as you move forward, step by step. You feel it in the murmurs around you, the subtle tension of your family’s presence—watching, but never truly seeing.

But most of all, you feel it in Rafe’s gaze.

He stands at the altar, broad and certain, his navy suit crisp against the soft gold hues of the room. He looks at you like he’s already won. Like this isn’t just a wedding—it’s a claiming.

Your heart hammers against your ribs when you reach him.

The officiant begins speaking, but the words barely register. Everything narrows to him. The way his fingers flex at his sides. The way his breath comes slow and deep, controlled. The way his eyes darken when the moment comes.

"Do you take this man—"

A pause.

Then, Rafe leans in, his voice nothing but a breath against your lips—

"Say it, angel. Say it like you mean it."

It’s not a question. Not a plea.

It’s a demand.

Your throat tightens.

"I do."

The moment the words leave your lips, something shifts.

Rafe exhales, his grip tightening when he pulls you into a kiss—deeper than necessary, longer than appropriate. The world erupts into applause, but you barely hear it over the pounding in your ears.

Because just before he pulls away, you hear it—softer than a whisper, darker than a promise.

"Mine."

And you know, this isn’t just a wedding.

It’s the final binding.

—

The reception hall glows with golden light, laughter mingling with the clink of crystal glasses and hushed conversations. It’s a picture of perfection, yet there’s an unspoken weight pressing against you.

Your family is here, but they feel distant.

Your father watches with quiet scrutiny. Your mother’s smile is careful. Your brother leans back in his chair, swirling his drink with lazy amusement.

"Didn’t think you’d go through with it," he muses, tipping his glass toward you. "Thought maybe you’d realize you weren’t built for playing house."

Your breath catches.

But before you can speak, before the sting can settle—

"She’s got more strength than any of you ever gave her credit for."

Rafe’s voice is firm, measured—but there’s something dangerous in the way his fingers curl around his glass.

Your brother raises a brow, but Rafe doesn’t flinch.

And later, when one of his friends nudges him, smirking—

"Married, huh? Thought you’d get bored of the whole ‘good girl’ thing."

Rafe doesn’t even hesitate.

"Watch what you say about my wife."

It’s not loud. Not a spectacle.

But it’s final.

And for the first time, you realize—he’s standing with you, not just for you.

—

The hotel suite is vast, drenched in golden light, the city glowing through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Rafe closes the door behind you, locking out the world.

Silence.

Then, his voice—low, rich, curling around you like silk.

"Come here, angel."

Your breath catches as you step forward, your gown trailing behind you. His hands find your waist, fingers pressing into the delicate lace.

"Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this?" he murmurs, his lips brushing your jaw.

You shudder.

He moves slowly, deliberately—undoing buttons, peeling away fabric, kissing every inch he reveals.

By the time he lays you down against the bed, his body slotting between your thighs, you’re already trembling.

"You're mine now," he breathes, "Say it."

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, pleasure sparking like a wildfire.

"I'm yours."

"Again."

"I'm yours, Rafe. Always."

His grip tightens. His movements are slow, deep—possessive.

You shatter beneath him, and when he follows, his lips crash against yours, sealing everything.

Not just love.

Ownership. Control. Finality.

And you don’t fight it.

Not yet at least.

—

The villa for your honeymoon is beautiful.

Private beaches, silk sheets, candlelit dinners on the water. It’s indulgent, extravagant—untouchable.

And Rafe keeps you wrapped in it.

"I booked a spa day for you, angel. You deserve it."
"That dress is nice, but I already had something picked out."
"You don’t have to think about anything—I’ll handle it."

It’s easy to let go.

Easier to let him take care of everything.

And when night falls, his hands trace over your skin, his lips pressing soft promises against your neck.

"You don’t need anything else, angel. Just me."

You tell yourself you believe him.

Because right now, it’s easier that way.

—

After the honeymoon Rafe immediately takes you to the home he bought you.

The house is perfect.

Handpicked, designed, curated by Rafe down to the last detail.

The nursery, too—quiet, waiting, expectant.

You step through the doorway, the scent of fresh paint still clinging to the walls. The silence is thick, wrapping around you like something permanent.

Rafe stands behind you, hands warm on your waist.

"Our home," he murmurs. "You like it?"

You hesitate. Just for a second.

His grip tightens slightly. His lips brush against your temple, voice a whisper of finality.

"Good."

The walls seem to breathe around you, the silence deepening, stretching.

And for the first time, you wonder—

Is this a home?

Or is it something else entirely?

—

Outside, the world keeps turning.

People laugh, live, love—free.

But here, inside these walls, inside his arms—

You are his.

Always.

Forever.

And there is no escape.

[simp-for-love]

Devil's Advocate

Mattheo Riddle x FemReader

You never expected to need a lawyer — let alone him. Mattheo Riddle is infamous, both for winning impossible cases and for being insufferably arrogant while doing it. You don't trust him, but with your ex tightening his grip, you’re running out of options

Warnings: lawyer!au, psychological manipulation and emotional abuse from ex, swearing, power dynamics, legal drama, sexual tension, kinda slow burn. It's a mix of a modern!au and the wizarding world that is set after Hogwarts, ignoring the war.

Word count ~2,8k

A/N: I'm so excited about this one. Hope you'll like it too! And Enzo's girlies, I'm sorry. He's a bad guy here🤭

You used to think Lorenzo Berkshire was perfect.

Charming, attentive, the kind of man who remembered all the little things — a preference for fresh lilies over traditional red roses, the way you took your coffee, the book you offhandedly mentioned wanting to read. He was sweet, too. Thoughtful. A boyfriend from every girl's dream.

Until he wasn’t.

Until you realized the carefully curated perfection wasn’t for you, it was for his control. And Enzo was very, very good at control.

It took too long to see past the honeyed words and the expensive gifts, the way he made you feel like the most cherished person in the world. It took too long to recognize the patterns. The slight gaslighting, the ever-so-subtle isolation from your friends, the way every ‘coincidence’ seemed to align just right in his favor. By the time you did, you were trapped in a web you didn’t know how to escape. Every your step was controlled, carefully calculated by Enzo's sweet smiles and cold eyes.

And now? Now you were in trouble.

You wanted out. No, you needed out. But Enzo wasn’t the kind of man to just let go of what was his. He had money, charms, connections, and the ability to make things disappear. Every lawyer you approached? Gone before they could even hear your full case. Either bribed or scared off. The ones that weren’t? The ones that actually seemed interested? Well, they quickly lost that interest as soon as the stakes became clear and your ex's name left your lips. Unfortunately for you, Enzo had that effect on people.

All but one.

Mattheo Riddle.

You weren’t even sure why you went to him at first. Maybe desperation. Maybe because his reputation preceded him. Maybe because he was the only one left.

You knew his name since the school, of course. Everyone in the wizarding world did. But now people knew him for a whole different reason. He was the defense attorney who won cases no one else would dare touch, to even look at. The man who had beaten aurors, ministers, and more corrupt officials than you could count. People said he had no fear. That he never lost. That he only defended those he deemed worthy, not caring much about the consequences. That money couldn’t buy his loyalty.

And that last part was crucially important to you.

The sound of your heels echoed through the sleek marble floors of the law office, each step deliberate, controlled. You had to be. Because if you thought too much about the weight of the situation, about how you'd gotten here, you might just turn around and leave.

But you couldn't. And you wouldn't. Not when this was your last chance to break free.

The receptionist, an immaculately dressed woman with piercing eyes and a deep cleavage that could hardly be called decent, barely looked up from her 'Witch Weekly'. Her voice was lazily bored. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No." You swallowed, straightening your shoulders. "But Mr. Riddle is waiting for me."

Then her appraising gaze darted upward. She elegantly raised her perfect-shaped eyebrow as if reading and analyzing a potential competitor. There was disbelief and a hint of mocking in her gaze that said, 'How could he be waiting for you?'

"What's your name?" she said almost reluctantly.

Usually, you would flip people off for that gaze or tone. But now was not the right time or place to be bitchy. You gave her your name, your voice steadier than you felt, and after a beat, she inclined her head toward the heavy double doors at the end of the hallway behind her. "Go right in."

That was how you ended up here, standing in front of the office door, nerves coiled in your stomach. The brass nameplate on the door gleamed under the bright hallway lights.

Mattheo Riddle, Esq.

You felt your palms getting sweaty because of your nerves. But he was your last hope against Enzo. You couldn't back down now. So you took a deep breath, squared your shoulders, knocked softly, and opened the door.

The office was a sharp contrast to the pristine sterility of the lobby. It was warm wood-paneled walls, dark leather furniture, and a faint scent of smoke and something deeper, richer. Like expensive whiskey and old books. A single wall of floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the city skyline, and in front of them, seated behind a mahogany desk, was the man himself.

In that moment when you stepped into Mattheo Riddle’s office, the thought that you were in the wrong place crossed your mind. Not because you didn’t need help, your current predicament demanded it, but because everything about him, from the smug smirk to the unbuttoned collar of his tailored dress shirt, almost screamed trouble.

He didn't look up immediately, fingers tapping absently against the desk as he skimmed over a file. But then his dark eyes flicked up, locking onto yours with a sharpness that made your breath catch. His gaze flickered with recognition, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

“Well, well,” he drawled velvety, leaning back in his leather chair, fingers steepled together as he observed you like a cat might be looking at a particularly interesting mouse. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

'Fuck, he'd changed', you thought immediately. His features became more mature, sharper. Broad shoulders were wrapped in an expensive suit, as if his body and the costume were created to attract hungry or jealous glances. Plump lips, now without permanent cuts and wounds like in Hogwarts, were stretched into a familiar smirk that was both charming and mischievous. The only thing that remained unchanged were his eyes. Dark, piercing, captivating, as if they knew all your dirty secrets that you trying to hide.

You exhaled, gathering your thoughts together, and stepped further inside, not letting your nervousness show. "I need your help."

Mattheo leaned back in his chair, regarding you with an expression you couldn't quite read — amused, curious, or something else entirely. Then, with a slow and smug smirk, he gestured to the chair across from him.

You hesitated only a fraction before lowering yourself into the chair opposite him. It was plush, expensive, and did absolutely nothing to ease the tension coiling in your stomach. Mattheo watched you with the kind of patience that wasn’t patience at all. More like a predator toying with its prey, waiting for it to make the first move.

"You need my help," he echoed, that infuriating smirk not leaving his lips. "That’s interesting. Because I don’t usually take clients who walk in off the street without an appointment."

You felt a pang of irritation. 'Off the street? Like you were some kind of a homeless dog,' you scoffed mentally. But you convinced yourself to inhale deeply and regain your composure. You needed his help, and you honestly expected him to act all cocky. He'd always been like this, even as a teenager at Hogwarts.

The deep exhale left your lips as you forced yourself to meet his gaze directly. "I didn't have much of a choice. Every other lawyer turned me away. Or, more accurately, they were turned away for me."

His eyes flickered with a mix of something — amusement, intrigue, calculation. "Hmm, let me guess," he purred lowly with a knowing smirk. "Lorenzo Berkshire?"

You nodded, your fingers tightening into your lap involuntarily. "I assume you already know what he’s capable of."

Mattheo let out a low chuckle, tilting his head slightly in amusement. "Oh, I do. We go way back, Enzo and I. Hogwarts days, old friends, that sort of thing."

The words sent a chill down your spine. Fuck, you totally forgot about the fact that they were close. And now that meant he wouldn’t take your case. That meant he—

"But we aren’t friends now," Mattheo continued, his tone shifting, something dangerous and razor-sharp creeping beneath the previous amusement. "Haven’t seen him for three years," a dark and almost maniac flash flicked in his onyx eyes. "Which only makes this more… intriguing."

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to remain steady and not to show your relief too obviously. You didn’t want him to see how desperately you need his help. "He's been bribing and scaring off every lawyer I’ve tried to hire. And I can’t— I won’t stay trapped like this. I need someone he can’t buy," you said carefully.

Mattheo hummed, drumming his fingers against the desk. His lips tugged into a smug grin. "And you came to me. The unshakable, indispensable, and incorruptible Mattheo Riddle."

You arched a brow at his words. That arrogant prick. You wanted to shove his shit-eating smirk deep in his handsome ass. But instead you remained calm. You needed him. "Something like that," you mumbled almost reluctantly.

He grinned even wider, and damn him, even under these circumstances, even through your irritation and annoyance at his attitude, you could see why people were drawn to him. There was some dangerous charm to Mattheo, a confidence that didn’t just border on arrogance — he wore it like a finely tailored suit.

"Tell me everything, sweetheart," he mused finally, his tone playful yet calculated. Like he was amused and intrigued by this situation, but he also already had all the cards in this game. "Leave nothing out."

You swallowed, gathering your thoughts and nodding, and then began to speak.

As you recounted everything, how perfect Enzo had seemed at the very beginning, how he slowly and gradually tightened his grip on your life and choices, how things spiraled until you realized you were caught in something you couldn’t escape — Mattheo listened. Not just passively, but with an intensity that made you feel unease and your skin prickle. His dark eyes stayed locked onto yours, unblinking, absorbing every word, every pause, every unspoken fear woven between your sentences.

When you finally finished, Mattheo leaned back slightly, exhaling through his nose and rubbing his lower lip in thought. "He’s meticulous. I’ll give him that. But he made one mistake."

Your breath hitched. But you didn’t want to let your hopes up. He hadn’t said 'Yes' to you yet. So you asked a bit hesitantly and carefully, "What?"

"He underestimated you." Mattheo's smirk returned, sharper this time, like he was a predator who was ready to hunt their prey. "And now, he has to deal with me."

If you weren’t in this dreadful position right now, his dark and hawkish gaze'd probably intimidate you. But you were, so relief crashed through you so fast that you almost felt lightheaded. "So you’ll help me?"

Mattheo tilted his head, considering. "Oh, sweetheart, I was always going to help an old friend of mine. The moment you walked through my door and made this infinitely more interesting for me?" He leaned forward, his voice dropping just slightly, sending a shiver down your spine. "Enzo just became my newest problem. And I do love a good problem," he said with a playful wink.

You swallowed hard, heart pounding. You weren’t sure if you’d just made a deal with salvation — or with the devil himself. But in your desperate situation, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to care.

When you came home to your rented apartment later in the evening, where you were almost shamefully hiding from Enzo's all-seeing grab, you replayed this meeting in your head over and over again. The way Mattheo had grown up, how smug and lazily confident he was, the way his eyes changed color in the room's dimness. You quickly realized that your thoughts were going in some dangerous directions. So you shook your head in annoyance, turned on your side, and tried to sleep.

The next time you saw Mattheo Riddle, it wasn’t in the dimly lit intimacy of his office but in the cold sterility of a high-rise conference room. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the skyline behind him, the city sprawling out in golden lights as dusk settled. The room was all glass, steel, and polished surfaces — a battlefield for people who fought with words and knowledge instead of their wands.

You had expected to feel anxious, maybe even regretful about involving him, but watching him now, prowling the space with effortless confidence, you felt something else entirely.

Mattheo was in his element.

Seated at the massive conference table, you were flanked by paralegals and junior associates, people who worked for him, who hung onto his every word. They were efficient, sharp, and ruthless, but none of them commanded the room the way he did. Dressed in a crisp black suit, his tie slightly loosened, Mattheo carried an air of calculated chaos, as though he could dismantle the entire legal system with nothing but a boyish smirk and a well-placed argument.

You were only halfway listening to the conversation when you realized you were shamelessly staring. Not at his face, exactly, but at the way he moved and held himself. The sharp flex of his fingers against the table as he spoke, the way his lips curled around every word, the smooth confidence in his voice as he tore through the evidence presented before him, the silent but almost palpable respect of his subordinates who listened attentively to his every word. It wasn’t the same smug arrogance from before — this was precision, intellect, power. And it was intoxicating.

You realized almost reluctantly that you were turned on.

By his mind. By the way he held himself. By the way he had the attention of the whole room without even trying. By the way he saw everything ten moves ahead. By the fact that, for all his showmanship, Mattheo Riddle was undeniably, inescapably brilliant.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Mattheo murmured, sliding into the chair beside you during a brief break in the discussion. His cologne was expensive and subtle, something dark, woody, and spicy that made your stomach tingle. “Second thoughts?”

You exhaled, hoping he wouldn’t catch the way your pulse jumped and your eyes were glued to him during the discussion. “No,” you said, forcing your voice to stay level. “Just observing.”

He hummed, glancing at you with something amused and knowing in his dark, onyx eyes. “And? What’s your verdict?”

You should have played it safe, should have kept your expression neutral, but instead, your mouth betrayed you, saying the next words against your will. “You’re good.”

His smirk was slow, devastating. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured smugly, his voice nothing but a smoke curling under your skin. “You have no idea.”

Your throat felt suddenly dry, making you swallow slightly. “I think,” you said carefully, not wanting to show just how much he affected you, but failing miserably, “that you might actually be worth all the fuss around you.”

Mattheo leaned forward, close enough that you could see the flicker of something dark and knowing in his gaze. “Careful, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice like silk wrapping around a blade — captivating yet dangerous — making heat pool down in your stomach. “Another praise from you, and I'll think that you might start to like me.”

You weren’t sure if it was the arrogance in his smirk or the glint in his eyes that made your skin heat, but there was something about Mattheo Riddle in his element that was utterly infuriating. And unfortunately, undeniably hot and attractive.

And in this moment, you realized with a sinking feeling that pushing those thoughts aside was going to be impossible. Because watching him like this — ruthless, brilliant, completely in control over the situation, over the room, over you.

It was maddening.

You should have been focusing on the legal strategy, on how he was about to dismantle Enzo's grip on your life. But instead, you were hyperaware of the way Mattheo thrived in this setting, his words sharp as a blade, his presence overpowering.

And worst of all? He knew it too.

Because at one point, as you shifted slightly in your seat, trying to shake off the heat curling low in your stomach and between your thighs, his eyes flicked toward you, just for a second. A knowing, dark, amused glance, like he could sense the shift in your thoughts. Like he could hear them, taste them.

That absolutely insufferable, arrogant bastard.

You cleared your throat, straightened your posture, and forced yourself to focus. This wasn’t the time. This wasn’t the place. You were here to win your freedom back, not to get distracted by the handsome man who was helping you achieve it.

But then, as Mattheo turned back to the discussion, his voice a low, smooth, lazy drawl, you had a sinking realization.

This might just be the beginning of an entirely new kind of trouble.

[spiderb00bs]

- DAMN RIGHT

Jenna Ortega x Reader

"Jenna just wanted you to beg for her"

Genre - smut 18+ MDNI Warning - strap referred to as your dick

Now Playing - Dawn Right, by JENNIE ft. Childish Gambino & Kali Uchis

"Let me do my thing, make you hear the angels sing"

“baby, please…” You begged, swallowing as you felt the sweat dripping down your forehead.

Jenna's hands were running through your muscles, it was almost as if she was trying to map your entire body. Your hands were raised above your head, tied to the headboard of the bed - with the tie you had worn earlier that night - that you shared with your girlfriend. Jenna ran her nails down your biceps, down until her hands were on your breasts.

When you received an invitation from your girlfriend to accompany her to the screening of her new movie, you imagined that the evening would be a bang, but not in this sense. You weren't complaining, of course not. You didn't complain when Jenna started caressing your thigh in the middle of the movie, you didn't complain when Jenna pulled you into the car as quickly as possible, and you certainly didn't complain when she got on top of you.

But you knew your girlfriend better than anyone, you knew she had a real thing for making you beg, and of course she was going to make you get on your knees for her tonight. The leather of the strap rubbed perfectly against your clit, and every time the brunette rolled on top of you, you felt yourself getting closer and closer to cumming. But it would never be enough.

You wanted it all.

“Please what, baby? Let me hear you…” The smile on your girlfriend's face made you whimper, you knew she was going to make you suffer in the most pleasurable way possible.

But Jenna's hands caressed your breasts, teasing the nipples from time to time. The smile on her lips was beautiful, and for a moment all you could think about was how that woman had you in the palm of her hand.

“Baby, let me touch you! Please!” You begged, pulling at the restraints, making red marks start to appear on your wrists.

Laughing at your desperation, Jenna moved her hips harder, making you moan. “Do you want to touch me, mi amor?”

“Fuck, yes!” you gasped. Jenna leaned in and captured your lips in a lust-filled kiss.

The feel of Jenna's hips rolling on top of you, along with the feel of her hands caressing your tits made you feel like you were in heaven. Her lips were soft as a cloud and you couldn't even feel her untying you. When she pulled away from the kiss, a thread of saliva left the two of you connected, breaking only when Jenna smiled proudly at you.

“Do your best, baby.”

Realizing that you were finally free of your bonds, you quickly grabbed your girlfriend's waist. Your arms lifted the woman slightly off you, without taking your cock out of her, only for you to slam into her all the way back. Jenna opened her mouth in a silent moan, lying on your shoulder and scratching your back as if her life depended on it.

“Fuck baby! So deep, I can feel you so deep inside me!” Hearing that made your ears perk up, causing you to start pounding into your girlfriend at an unbelievable pace.

The muscles in your abs ached, your arms ached from holding Jenna for so long, and your back ached from the scratches - which probably oozed blood - that your girlfriend was making on your back. The material of the strap stimulated your clit perfectly, and you moaned along with your girlfriend.

“Baby, I'm gonna cum!” You said, holding Jenna tighter in your arms, hugging her small body as you tried not to stop the movements with exhaustion.

“Me too baby!” Taking her head off your shoulder, the woman looked into your eyes, lifting her hand and brushing your hair out of your eyes. Her eyes were mesmerizing, and tears - probably from the stimulation - began to well up in them.

“Fuck!” Going faster and harder, you and Jenna screamed together, thanking the gods that you had your own house, where no one would complain about the noise.

Jenna's body began to spasm, as did yours. You could feel your orgasm leaking into the leather of the girdle, while you could see your girlfriend's juices pooling around the strap.

Lying on the bed, with the woman still on top of you, you let Jenna breathe, nestling into your chest. Kissing the top of her head, you stroked the brunette's hair, making her relax completely - although some spasms were still present.

“I'm so proud of you, my star.”

“I love you!”

“I love you more, Jenna.”

Hello everyone. I'm just posting this 'cause after the exams I had a severe creative block. I'm still recovering, but I wrote this with the help of my obsessions.

Jenna and Jennie.

Jenna is looking amazing at the premieres of her new movie, and Jennie just released one of the best albums I've heard this year. So why not put the two of them together and make something for you?!

Anyway, that's it. Drink water and stay safe

xoxo, spider.

[suiana]

yandere! soldier who can't help but miss you every time he heads to work. what? it's a normal thing for him. if it was up to him he wouldn't be working in the first place. what better place to spend than with you?

yandere! soldier who comes home as soon as he can, holding flowers and gifts as he daydreams about you, his lovely spouse. bro is this emoji '😍' and he is NOT ashamed of it. like??? he's finally allowed to go home to his beautiful amazing absolutely gorgeous spouse??? how do you expect him to be normal.

"i love my darling." "alright, we get it." this is probably the third time he's said it. his poor friend doesn't know whether he can take another word out of your husband's mouth. it's not even halfway through the day and his ass is already talking about going home to his spouse. "my darling is the best, y'know? they're so pretty... and ah... I can't wait to go home." "we get it." what else is he supposed to say? shut the fuck up you don't have to rub your marriage in my face? if he tries to scold him... god knows what would happen. "i love my darling❤️" "we get it dude. you love your spouse." man, i think your husband is is going to be the death of this poor lad. fuck being the single friend dawg, imagine having to hear your bestie yap about their bf or gf everyday💀

yandere! soldier who's the type of guy to wear a heart shaped locket with a picture of you inside. yeah, romantic huh? wait until you realise he kisses it and holds it tenderly between his fingers on the nights when he gets dispatched on long missions and cannot see your face.

it's been two fateful weeks since he last saw your face. two long gruelling weeks without the touch and presence of his beautiful loving spouse. "i think I'm going insane." a curt chuckle leaves his throat. hah. he doesn't remember the last time he had gone so long without... without you. it's actually pure torture, he thinks. he's existed so long, refuelling himself with your loving touches, and slightly shaky reassurances... yes, he knows you're still wary of him but you're loosening uo now and that's all that matters. "i miss you, my love." the locket rests gently between his fingers, his lips cold from the lingering touch of the gold jewelry. inside is a picture of you. beautiful you. it's something he never takes off. too precious to risk anything, after all. "I'll be home soon."

yandere! solder who would lowkey actually stab someone with his knife if they dared to approach you 😂🤣 haha... that's funny... they thought you, his beautiful amazing gorgeous silly spouse, were single? haha well, not so funny now that they're on the floor huh?

yandere! soldier who is FINE SHYT😍 and loves looking handsome for you. look man, he knows you're scared shitless of him but he had to do it! he had to kidnap you from your fiancé, okay? he had no choice! why would you willingly spend your entire life on that mid ass man who doesn't even treat you right??? clearly you were forced into that relationship 🤬 meanwhile HE on the other hand... he knows how to treat you right, in fact, he'll treat you MORE than just right. this man LOVES you, okay? and he isn't afraid to show it at all. plus he looks handsome as hell in his uniform so if he's crazy at least he's crazy hot😍

[1982grapejuiceblues]

The Mistake

Series Masterlist

Summary:

She sat at the wrong table. He didn’t tell her. It was supposed to be a mistake — a mix-up, a meet-cute with no consequences. But something about him lingers. And something about her makes him stay. One unexpected conversation. One missed connection. And two people who can’t quite let it go.

A/N: This is the first part in my first Harry fic! I'm so excited, this has been a labor of love and an outlet for my creative juices. I hope you guys love these two as much as I do.

Word Count: 5.2K

Warnings:

• Emotional miscommunication

• Mild angst

• Anxiety spiraling / fear of rejection

• Self-doubt

• No physical touch — only emotional intimacy

• Delayed gratification (they do not kiss in this part!)

• Vibes: if-you-like-to-suffer-softly™

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Tuesday 9:06 a.m. - Milk & Honey

Y/N was late, and it was entirely, stupidly, predictably her own fault.

She’d set her alarm. Gotten up early. Even made a checklist. But then she’d done the thing she always did — convinced herself she had just enough time for a homemade coffee and a quick scroll through email.

Which became a not-so-quick scroll. Which turned into a rush out the door, half-dressed and under-caffeinated, with a latte that was more oat milk than espresso and an anxiety level creeping into the red.

She was now power-walking down a narrow Notting Hill side street with her bag bouncing against her hip and her phone buzzing in her coat pocket like it had something judgy to say.

9:06 a.m.

The meeting had been set for nine sharp.

Her boots slapped the pavement as she skidded around a corner and spotted the café ahead — Milk & Honey, of course. Brody Talbot would only agree to a meeting at a place that sounded like it was trying too hard to be whimsical.

It was charming in that perfectly curated way: potted plants in mismatched mugs, fairy lights in the windows, chalkboard menu with extra loops in the cursive. Inside, it was a mosaic of indie girls, old couples with newspapers, and creative types nursing cappuccinos like they held life-altering secrets.

Y/N paused at the door just long enough to press a hand over her chest and try to slow her heart rate. She could do this. It was one meeting. With one very opinionated, very overrated, very tortured author.

She scanned the tables.

And there he was.

In the corner by the window.

Notebook open. Black jumper.

Curls falling lazily across his forehead as he scribbled something into the page.

Sleeves pushed to the elbows. Rings catching the morning light.

God help me, that is absolutely a Brody.

She approached.

“Hi!” she said, breathless and maybe too bright. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Y/N, from Primrose Literary.”

The man looked up. Slowly. Casually.

Like he had all the time in the world.

And that’s when her brain stalled out.

Because holy shit, this man was beautiful.

Not just attractive. Beautiful. In a way that made time hiccup for a second. Green eyes sharp and calm, mouth soft at the edges, a face that somehow made you want to confess something. And a dimple. Of course there was a dimple.

He blinked once, then tilted his head slightly. “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped.

“You’re… not Brody Talbot?”

He smiled. Just a little. “Nope.”

Her entire soul tried to crawl out of her body.

“Oh my god,” she said, already backing up. “I’m so sorry. I thought you were— You just looked very—”

“Writer-y?” he offered, amusement curling around his voice.

“Yes! Exactly. You looked like someone who would write emotionally devastating fiction and judge me for being late.”

“I mean, I can judge you, if that helps.”

She groaned, covering her face. “Please don’t. I’m begging you.”

“I’m just saying,” he added, “you walked in with the energy of someone who’s about to pitch a debut novel and cry about the advance.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “That’s painfully accurate.”

“I’m Harry,” he said, offering no last name, no explanation. Just that — warm and simple and a little too easy.

“Y/N,” she replied, like they hadn’t already been through this part.

“I know. You introduced yourself. Very professionally.”

She gave him a flat look.

He grinned.

Harry watched her flounder with the kind of amused stillness that only someone deeply confident — or deeply entertained — could pull off.

Y/N, on the other hand, felt like she was unraveling in high definition.

“I can’t believe I just sat down across from a stranger and announced my job title like it was a secret code.”

“To be fair,” he said, “you had a very convincing entrance. Firm intro. Apology with just the right amount of panic. Strong eye contact. That’s the kind of energy I want from my wedding speeches.”

She blinked. “You’re married?”

“What? No.”

“You write wedding speeches?”

He nodded, unbothered. “Professionally.”

“That’s a real job?”

“Apparently. People pay me to make them sound like they understand their own feelings.”

“That’s…” She narrowed her eyes. “Honestly kind of amazing.”

“I get that reaction a lot. Right after ‘you’re making that up.’”

She raised her brows. “You are, though.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Cross my heart.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It is,” he agreed, “and also mildly lucrative.”

Y/N laughed — really laughed — and something about it lit him up a little. She saw it. That flicker in his expression like he hadn’t meant to enjoy this quite so much.

“I don’t usually do this,” she said, waving a hand between them.

“Crash tables?”

“Talk to strangers.”

“You sat down like you knew me.”

“I thought I did.”

“Well,” he said, “I’d argue you weren’t completely wrong.”

She tilted her head.

“You said I looked writer-y,” he said. “Broody. Like someone who’d glare at you for being late.”

“Right…”

“I do write. Just not fiction.”

“Wedding speeches,” she said again, still incredulous.

He nodded.

“What does one even say in a speech like that?”

“Depends on the person,” he said. “Some people want heartfelt. Others want funny. Most people want to sound like they’re not terrified.”

“And you… translate that for them?”

“I take their chaos,” he said simply, “and turn it into something that sounds like love.”

That landed like a stone in her stomach.

“That’s…” she started, then stopped.

He just looked at her — patient, still, a little too knowing.

“Sorry,” she said quickly, looking down at her latte. “That was more profound than I was prepared for on a Tuesday.”

Harry smiled. “You’d be surprised how often that happens.”

Next thing she knew, she was fifteen minutes in. Still sitting. Still talking. Still not texting her boss to say yes, I found Brody Talbot and no, I haven’t fantasized about throwing a drink in his face yet.

She didn’t even know what she and Harry were talking about anymore. Favorite cafés. The ethics of ghostwriting love. Whether or not books were better when they made you cry.

(He said yes. She said sometimes.)

There was something about him — his ease, his warmth, his unhurried way of speaking — that made the air around them feel like something different. Not romantic. Not exactly.

But charged.

Familiar.

Safe.

Dangerous.

And then the door opened.

She didn’t have to turn around to know it was him. Brody Talbot radiated disdain like a cologne.

Harry followed her gaze. “Is that…”

“Yep,” she said, standing too quickly. “The real Brody. The one I was supposed to impress instead of, you know, you.”

“I’m flattered,” Harry said, not moving.

She grabbed her tote. “Thanks for not being weird about this.”

“Thanks for making my grocery-list-writing morning wildly more interesting.”

She paused. Hesitated.

“You know,” she said, “you’re very good at putting people at ease.”

He looked up at her with that soft, crooked half-smile.

“That’s literally my job.”

And that was the problem.

Because he meant it. And she kind of wished he didn’t.

9:43 a.m.

Y/N turned toward the door.

Brody Talbot had spotted her, of course — standing with his arms crossed and a frown like someone had given him almond milk instead of oat. She gave him a short wave and started across the café, but paused — just for a breath — and turned back to Harry.

He hadn’t moved.

Still in the corner booth, arms resting lightly on the table, watching her with a soft kind of curiosity. Not clingy. Not expectant.

Just… present.

“I hope your client’s less of a diva than mine,” she said, half-joking.

He quirked an eyebrow. “You were kind of my favorite meeting of the week.”

She blinked.

“I’m not saying much,” he added, “but still. Thought I’d mention it.”

She smiled, a little caught off guard.

“I hope they know how lucky they are,” he said, more seriously this time.

Something fluttered low in her chest.

“They don’t,” she replied before she could stop herself.

And then, before the moment could stretch too long, she offered him a final, crooked smile — one part thank you, one part I wish this were different — and turned away.

She walked toward Brody like someone crossing a tightrope: careful, deliberate, already regretting it.

Harry watched her go.

Didn’t stop her. Didn’t call after her.

But something in his chest pulled taut, like he’d just been written into a story and cut from the next chapter before it started.

He opened his notebook.

Wrote:

“She sat down like the seat was waiting for her.

She left like the moment didn’t mean anything.

But it did.

I know it did.”

10:14 a.m.

Brody Talbot looked like he hadn’t smiled since the 2012 Booker Prize shortlist.

He was tall, pale, and sharp-edged — not in the sexy, mysterious way, but in the “I’ve definitely written a twelve-page takedown of a debut author on my blog” way. His coat was expensive and unnecessary. His frown was immediate.

“You’re late,” he said, voice flat as his espresso order.

Y/N inhaled through her nose and gave him a polite smile. “Yes. Sorry about that. The tube was a nightmare this morning.”

“I don’t take the tube,” he replied. “Claustrophobic.”

She nodded like he hadn’t just said something wildly out of touch. “Shall we sit?”

He dropped into the seat with a sigh like he’d already decided the meeting was a waste of his time.

Y/N followed, clutching her tote like it might protect her from his disdain.

“You’re younger than I expected,” Brody said, after a long sip of coffee. “Your boss said you’d handled difficult clients before.”

“I have,” she said smoothly, sliding out her notebook. “And I’m still here.”

He didn’t smile. But something flickered behind his eyes.

She knew the type. Egotistical, overly precious about his work, probably obsessed with the phrase art for art’s sake. A man who thought deadlines were suggestions and notes were personal attacks.

“My last agent,” he said, “wanted me to do social media content. Can you imagine?”

“The horror,” she said dryly.

“She suggested a giveaway. Like I’m a bloody influencer.”

Y/N scribbled nothing in her notebook. “We’d never ask you to give away your soul for engagement, Brody.”

“Thank God.”

He paused, then added, “Unless you liked the book.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“She didn’t like my last manuscript. Said it was ‘too internal.’”

“Isn’t that sort of your whole brand?”

That earned her a sharp glance.

She stared back, unbothered.

He set his coffee down. “You’ve read it?”

“All of them,” she said. “I liked the second. The third needed a stronger editor. The first one tried too hard.”

That startled him.

“You asked,” she said, flipping a page.

He crossed his arms. “Maybe you’re not a total waste of my morning.”

“Thank you,” she deadpanned. “I’ll put that on my business card.”

10:46 a.m.

They spoke for another twenty minutes. He talked in circles. Repeated himself. Lamented the collapse of intellectualism like he wasn’t sitting in a café filled with people reading real books.

Y/N nodded and made all the right noises, but her brain was elsewhere. Somewhere softer.

Back at the other table.

Harry.

The quiet way he watched her. The way he’d smiled when she said he was charming. The way his voice dropped when he said, “I like putting feelings into words.”

It was completely irrational. She didn’t even know his last name. But something about him had made the morning feel fuller.

This? Felt like a chore.

She realized with a jolt that Brody was still talking.

“—so obviously it’s not commercial, but it’s important.”

She blinked. “Of course.”

“You weren’t listening.”

“I was.”

“What did I say?”

“That it’s not commercial, but it’s important.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re good at bluffing.”

She smiled tightly. “You’re good at monologuing.”

A beat. And then, to her surprise, he laughed.

It was short. Clipped. But real.

“You’re a pain,” he said.

“You’re a lot.”

“This might actually work.”

She wasn’t sure if he meant her representing him, or something more ominous — like emotional warfare.

Either way, she was ready to get the hell out of there.

10:56 a.m.

They stood. He offered a curt nod and handed her a business card with only his name and a lowercase email address on it.

“I’ll send the manuscript,” he said. “You can send your notes. But I won’t read them.”

“Perfect,” she said. “I love being ignored.”

“You’re going to do well,” he said, oddly sincere. “Just don’t lose your edge.”

She wanted to say, I left my edge in the corner booth with a man who made me laugh before nine a.m.

Instead, she said, “I never do.”

He left without another word.

She counted to five. And then, before she could change her mind, she stepped back inside the café.

10:59 a.m.

He was gone.

She didn’t know what she expected — a note, maybe. His number on a napkin. His voice, still lingering in the air.

The booth was empty.

The seat was cold.

And Y/N realized something that she really didn’t want to admit:

She hadn’t just walked away from a stranger.

She’d walked away from a spark.

And she might never get it back.

10:48 a.m.

He saw her before he left.

She was sitting at a new table, diagonally across the café. Her back was straighter now, her shoulders squared in that quiet, professional way people do when they’ve put their walls back up. Her face was calm, practiced — polite in the exact way it had not been with him.

The man across from her looked like he came with footnotes. Expensive glasses. Sharp lapel. Frown lines carved into his face like he’d earned them. He gestured with his spoon when he spoke. The kind of man who probably didn’t ask questions so much as wait for silence so he could fill it.

Harry didn’t need to guess who he was.

Brody.

Y/N didn’t look miserable. But she didn’t look like the girl who’d laughed into her latte twenty minutes ago, either.

She wasn’t touching her drink. Wasn’t gesturing. Wasn’t letting herself take up the same space she had at his table.

Something about that bothered him more than he expected.

Harry lingered by the counter with the remains of his flat white in hand, watching the espresso drip into someone else’s cup. He should’ve left already. He knew that.

He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for.

Maybe a glance. A nod. A half-second acknowledgment that she still remembered what it felt like to talk to him instead of the person she was supposed to be meeting.

But she didn’t look up.

He considered staying — for real. Sitting back down in the booth they’d shared, pulling out his notebook again, letting the day stretch. But something about it felt… off. Intrusive. Like pushing his luck would break whatever weird little moment they’d already had.

So instead, he quietly reached into his pocket, pulled out a crumpled five-pound note, and left it folded under his cup on the counter.

He passed the table on his way out. Let his eyes linger for the span of a breath.

She was mid-sentence, eyebrows raised at something Brody had said. Not smiling, not quite frowning. Just… present. Distantly.

Harry stepped through the door, letting the bell chime softly behind him.

He didn’t look back.

11:52 a.m.

He walked. Aimless, slow, hands in his pockets, mind full.

Past the florist next door. Down toward the canal. A street performer was tuning a guitar just outside the station, playing half-chords that didn’t go anywhere.

Harry kept walking.

She hadn’t looked up. And why would she?

She was doing her job. Meeting her author. Handling her morning like the competent, sharp, slightly chaotic literary agent she clearly was.

What they had — that half-hour window of strangeness and connection — it didn’t mean anything.

Except… it kind of did.

He hated that. The way it clung to him. Like fog in his chest. Not heavy, just… present.

He pulled out his phone and opened Notes.

Typed:

I shouldn’t care.

But she made me want to listen to myself speak.

That doesn’t happen often.

Deleted it. Started again.

There was something there. I know there was.

It felt like breathing with someone else in the room.

No. Too much. Too abstract.

Deleted it again.

12:43 p.m.

He sat on his sofa. One leg curled under him, tea on the coffee table. Notebook open to a blank page.

He stared at it for a long time.

Then wrote:

She sat across from me like it wasn’t a mistake.

Like the seat had always been mine.

Like maybe I was supposed to be there.

Then:

I wanted to ask her to stay.

I didn’t.

She left.

I watched her walk toward someone else.

And I didn’t stop her.

Because I didn’t think I had the right to.

He closed the notebook before he could second-guess it.

Ran a hand over his jaw. Pressed the heel of his palm against his eye.

It was nothing.

A stranger. A spark. A moment.

But still… he felt off.

Like something had been almost real, and now it was out of reach.

3:10 p.m.

He passed the café again.

Didn’t even plan to — he was just walking, really. But when he saw the familiar string of fairy lights through the window, his heart gave a little thud he pretended not to notice.

He slowed down.

She wasn’t there.

Different crowd now. A group of friends chatting over croissants. A man in a suit reading a thick paperback. An older woman sipping something bright green with both hands wrapped around the cup.

The booth was empty.

He stood at the edge of the window, looking in for a second too long.

And then kept walking.

He didn’t know what he was hoping for.

He just knew that nothing else that day had felt as vivid as the first five minutes of it.

6:03 p.m. - Y/N's Flat

Her flat was too quiet.

It wasn’t usually a problem — she liked the quiet. She’d picked this place because it was small and cozy and didn’t echo when she walked barefoot across the hardwood floor. But tonight, the silence felt different. Like it was waiting for something she hadn’t said yet.

She stood in the kitchen, staring at the stovetop like it had personally offended her. The pasta was overdone. The sauce was barely warmed through. She didn’t even bother with a plate — just poured it into a chipped ceramic bowl and sat at the kitchen table with a glass of wine she didn’t remember opening.

The light above her hummed faintly. Her phone buzzed once. Then again.

Two new emails. Both boring.

She didn’t open them.

She stared down at her bowl, fork dangling from her fingers, and let the weight of the day settle on her shoulders.

It wasn’t supposed to matter this much.

But it did.

6:16 p.m.

She hadn’t meant to sit with him.

That was the thing she kept circling back to — the randomness of it. How easily it could’ve gone another way. If she’d arrived five minutes earlier. If she’d looked left instead of right. If he hadn’t looked like a writer.

But he had.

He’d looked like the kind of person who knew how to listen — really listen. The kind of man who wrote longhand and drank coffee slowly and said the word romantic like it wasn’t embarrassing.

She hadn’t expected to like him.

She definitely hadn’t expected to leave the conversation feeling like she was walking away from something unfinished.

It was a mistake. A mix-up. A one-off interaction.

But she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Not in the swoony, fairy-tale way. She wasn’t an idiot.

It was just… something shifted.

And she felt it.

Still felt it, hours later, like an echo.

6:42 p.m.

The water was too hot, but she didn’t get out.

She lay still, arms floating, trying to focus on the quiet splash of the bathwater against the tub. Her phone buzzed on the counter. She ignored it.

Tried to think about work. About the manuscript she needed to review. About the client who’d ghosted her for a week. About Brody, whose ego was roughly the size of London.

But instead, she thought about dimples.

And green eyes.

And that line — “People don’t know how to say what they mean.”

And the way he’d looked at her when she told him his job was weirdly romantic.

He hadn’t laughed it off.

He’d just… seen her.

And now he was gone.

And she didn’t know how to explain why that mattered.

7:12 p.m.

She curled up on the couch, still damp from the bath, oversized jumper sleeves pulled over her hands. The wineglass was on the floor beside her. Her planner was in her lap. She hadn’t written anything yet.

The page was blank.

She flipped back a few days, just to ground herself. Checked her own handwriting like it might remind her who she was before this morning happened.

But all she saw was white space.

Like something had started today — and she didn’t know how to write it down.

Eventually, she opened a new page in her notes app. Started typing, slowly.

Today I made a mistake.

Sat down at the wrong table.

Met a stranger.

Talked about nothing.

Felt more like myself than I have in weeks.

Then, under that:

It shouldn’t matter.

But it does.

And I don’t know what to do with that.

She didn’t delete it.

She didn’t send it to anyone.

She just stared at it until the screen dimmed.

8:04 p.m.

She poured another glass of wine and walked into the bedroom. Turned on the fairy lights. Crawled into bed fully dressed, covers pulled up over her legs like armor.

She opened Instagram again. Searched Milk & Honey Café. Scrolled. Searched her own photos, wondering if maybe she’d caught him in the background of something — a ghost of him somewhere.

Nothing.

She didn’t know why that stung.

She reached for her planner again, flipped to Sunday, and wrote:

Milk & Honey – 9:00 a.m.

Then circled it.

Then added a question mark.

Just to keep herself honest.

9:12 p.m.

She turned out the light and lay in bed, wide awake.

And when she finally drifted off — slow, heavy, unwilling — she dreamed about a corner booth, a cold cup of coffee, and a man with ink on his fingers who smiled like he already knew the ending.

Wednesday 8:04 a.m. — Y/N's Flat

The sun had the audacity to be golden.

The kind of light that filtered through gauzy curtains and made everything feel softer than it deserved to be. The kind of light you woke up to when something good was supposed to happen. Not when your stomach was twisted and your brain was still playing back a voice you barely knew but couldn’t forget.

Y/N lay in bed longer than usual.

Eyes open. Motionless. Staring at the ceiling like it might offer some answer to a question she hadn’t asked out loud.

What was that?

She didn’t say it. But it sat there — right in the center of her chest, heavy as anything.

It wasn’t supposed to matter. It wasn’t even supposed to happen. But now it lived somewhere in her, and she didn’t know how to unfeel it.

She finally got up around 8:17, shuffled into the kitchen barefoot, and stood in front of the kettle like it owed her something.

Her planner was still on the table.

The line she’d scribbled the night before — Milk & Honey – 9:00 a.m. — stared back at her like a dare.

She hadn’t crossed it out.

She hadn’t meant to write it seriously. It was just a fleeting, impulsive maybe. An if-I-see-him-it-was-meant-to-be kind of note.

But now it was morning.

And maybe that felt too loud.

8:34 a.m.

She brushed her teeth with one hand and scrolled through her calendar with the other.

Two calls. One deadline. A reading sample from a client who “just wanted to see if the concept made sense” and had sent twelve pages of character backstory with no plot.

But still — her eyes kept flicking back to the corner of the mirror. To her own face.

She looked the same.

Except she didn’t feel it.

Her reflection stared back, still and a little guarded. Like she was waiting for something.

You’re not going.

It’s stupid.

It wasn’t real.

She picked out jeans and a soft jumper. The same coat she wore yesterday.

Told herself it was just what was clean.

8:59 a.m. — Y/N's Street

She wasn’t walking fast. That would make it obvious.

She wasn’t checking her watch, either.

She wasn’t doing anything except… heading in that direction. Coincidentally. Casually. Just in case she wanted another coffee.

That’s what she told herself.

But her heart sped up as soon as the café came into view.

And that’s when she saw it.

The booth. The table. The seat by the window.

Empty.

Just like yesterday.

No curls. No notebook. No dimple half-hidden behind a coffee cup.

Nothing.

She stood outside for a second, frozen, her hand half-raised toward the door.

And then she turned around.

Walked straight past it.

Didn’t look back.

10:24 a.m. — Y/N’s Office

Y/N stared at the blinking cursor in her inbox like it was mocking her.

Subject: Quick follow-up on Brody

From: Her boss, naturally

Message: Did you manage to get anything useful out of him yesterday?

She could answer that.

She could talk about his refusal to cut the prologue, his disdain for all marketing language, the fact that he referred to himself as “a vessel for unfiltered emotion” without irony.

She could even mention that he called her “tolerable,” which, from Brody, might actually be a compliment.

But she didn’t.

Because none of that felt like what the meeting had really been about.

She minimized the window and leaned back in her chair, letting her gaze drift toward the stack of manuscripts on her desk. Normally, she found comfort in them — in the work, in the flow of someone else’s story.

Today, it felt like static.

She pulled out her phone.

Scrolled to the planner photo she’d taken the night before. The one where she’d written:

Milk & Honey – 9:00 a.m.

She hadn’t gone in.

She couldn’t bring herself to.

But now she was sitting at her desk feeling like she’d missed something. Not just a second chance, but… clarity.

10:46 a.m. — Harry’s Flat

He was still wearing the same coat.

It was too warm for it now, but he hadn’t taken it off after he got home — hadn’t really done anything except move around his flat like a ghost.

He picked up his phone three times.

Didn’t text anyone.

Didn’t open Instagram.

Didn’t write.

The ache wasn’t sharp anymore. Just dull and lingering. The kind that makes everything feel one step to the left — like you’re moving, but nothing’s quite aligned.

He sat on the floor, back against the couch, notebook open in his lap.

Blank page.

The pen hovered for a long time.

Then he wrote:

What’s the word for when someone leaves and you don’t even know them well enough to miss them but you do anyway?

And then:

I think I was waiting for something and didn’t realize it until I thought it might show up again.

He stared at the page.

Then scribbled it out.

11:12 a.m. — Y/N’s Office

She tapped her pen against the side of her desk.

Five times.

Then she stood up. Pushed her chair in. Walked down the hall to the break room. Poured coffee. Didn’t drink it.

When she got back to her desk, she opened a new tab and typed:

Milk & Honey café Notting Hill staff

She didn’t even know what she was hoping to find. A name? A website? A list of people who worked there? Maybe some kind of event listing with his name on it?

But it led nowhere.

The café had no online footprint beyond its Instagram — and the last post was a photo of a croissant three weeks ago with the caption “Little joys.”

She stared at it for too long.

Then finally, quietly, she whispered:

“I should’ve stayed.”

And it wasn’t about the coffee.

11:38 a.m.

He found himself back at his desk.

Laptop open. Cursor blinking in the middle of a speech he was supposed to have finished yesterday.

He typed:

“Sometimes you meet someone for five minutes and they rearrange your furniture without touching a thing.”

Paused.

Deleted it.

Rewrote:

“You made me feel like the room had better lighting.”

Nope.

Backspaced again. Too sentimental. Too obvious. Too—

His phone buzzed.

Client.

He ignored it.

He flipped back to the page from earlier. The one with her name at the top.

Y/N

Didn’t stay.

Maybe she thought it was nothing.

Maybe she was right.

Maybe I just want her to be wrong.

He closed the notebook.

Stood up.

This time, he didn’t think about where he was going.

11:59 a.m.

She didn’t even grab her coat.

Just her bag, her phone, and a sharp tug of instinct.

The manuscript on her desk could wait. Brody’s ego could wait. The emails, the edits, the never-ending cycle of deadlines — they’d all still be there in an hour.

But the pull?

That what-if?

That felt time-sensitive.

She was halfway down the block before she even checked the time.

12:03 p.m.

His steps were steady, but not rushed.

He didn’t think she’d be there. That would be too neat, too cinematic. And he didn’t believe in timing like that.

But he still wanted to sit at the table again. Just to remember. Just to feel it.

That energy. That pause. That maybe.

12:06 p.m. — Milk & Honey

Y/N rounded the corner just as Harry stepped up to the door.

They saw each other through the window first.

He froze.

She did, too.

Time paused — not dramatically, not in a crashing, heart-stopping way. Just… softly. Like a breath held a beat longer than it should be.

And then he smiled. Small. Gentle.

Like he couldn’t quite believe it.

And she smiled back.

Like maybe she could.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Part 2

[cha0s-junkie]

platonic yandere! bird hybrid dad x reader (pt.2)

Here's pt.1!

warnings; infantilism, yandere behavior

--

"Dad? What's that?"

His father walks in with a small bundle of...something in his arms. Whatever it was was covered by his wings, not allowing any of them to see anything. Kyren, the oldest of the two walks up to him to find out.

"It's a little surprise, sit back down." He has a grin on his face. Kyren looks at him suspiciously but doesn't say anything and sits down near his two younger brothers.

Finally, his wings open up and reveals a small human sniffling in his arms.

"Dad what-" Kyren is interrupted by his brother.

"Why do you have a human?" Way to ask, he shoots a glare at his brother. Eiden just rolls his eyes and looks back at his father who was still cooing at the terrified human.

"Well, this chick was just wandering around the forest all alone. I couldn't just leave them there." He sits in the nest, allowing the rest of his family to crowd around him.

"It's a human." Eiden states again. "I dunno if you can tell by the lack of wings and all."

"Don't be mean, chick." He chides again.

Huh, they both think. So he's gone off the deep end, bringing in a human this time. He croons softly when the human flinches a little, they look back down at the two boys staring at them with wide eyes filled with fear.

"Be nice, alright? I have to get some food for us tonight, they're small so don't be too rough." Their father reminds them as he lets you down, Kyren half expects you to bolt out of the nest but you stay there frozen.

Their father finally leaves after ruffling their hair affectionately. It's only them and you now. Now you start to ramble in a panicked tone, scrambling to get out.

Kyren quickly acts, grabbing you and shushing to try and get you to calm down. "It's alright- uhm, human, dad will be back soon."

"I don't think they want him to be back." Eiden remarks, snickering at his older brother's attempts at comforting the your distressed self.

"You're not being helpful Eiden- shh, shh it's okay. You're fine." He tries to be soothing but it doesn't do anything, the human just seems even more eager to leave the nest. He feels empathetic to their stress but he can't let them go.

He's been with his father long enough to know that escaping never ends well, it never works either. Kyren and Eiden have both tried and failed various times. Each time they keep getting dragged back, he would try and explain it to you but, you don't understand them.

"Please don't cry, oh no." Fat tears roll down your face. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry."

"They literally don't understand you," His younger brother groans, moving closer to you. He stares at you for a second, his expression unreadable as he wipes away your tears. "Calm, alright?" He gestures for you to breathe.

Eiden still is wary of you but, he watches you follow his movements and take in deep breaths and finally calming down, he can't deny the fact that you are cute.

"Wow, they like you." Kyren comments, earning a nudge from his unaffectionate brother. "Just saying."

"I'm just better with human children than you, clearly." He's smug now, Kyren rolls his eyes in response. You did finally calm down, but you weren't calm. Far from it, you just stopped crying hysterically.

You were so not calm. This is fucked up. Three bird...people were crowding you. All trying to comfort you in their own way, the only reason why you even calmed down eventually was because you finally got some space.

You flinched back when the older one pulls a blanket from somewhere and drapes it over you. He pats you softly, as he says what you assume to be comforting words, at least that's what you can tell from his tone.

You didn't know. You didn't care, what you did care about was to get the fuck out of the nest.

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

De-aged Danny shenanigans with an adult Damian taking after his father.

Danny, about 6: *drigging through the trash*

Damian, 26: Hello? Are you alright?

Danny, whips around to look at him with glowing green eyes: hissssss

Damian, blinks: Oh, dear....Are you hungry?

Danny, suspicious:... yeth

Damian, nods: If you come with me, we can either go to a batburger down the street or my apartment a block over. I have a washer and dryer I can run your clothes through while you bathe.

Danny: Are you trying to kidnap me?

Damian: If I was, I'd be a fool to say so

Danny: mm twue...why else would you want to help me though?

Damian: one. It would be irresponsible of me to level a toddler alone, in an alley, in Gotham.

Danny, pouting: I'm not a toddler

Damian: Two. I will never hear the end of it from my siblings whether or not I help you, but it'd be more teasing than lecturing if I do help you.

Danny: Why would they do dat?

Damian: If you don't have any place to go, I might just tell you. But only if I can make sure you don't tell the wrong person.

Danny: I'm good wif secrets!

Damian, amused: We shall see. And now third and final reason. Are you aware your eyes are glowing green?

Danny, gasps and slams his eyes shut: You're not supposed to see!

Damian, softly: It's okay. I understand what that means. One of my elder brothers' eyes glow the same way. It must have been very scary for you to die

Danny, sniffling: It was... does his eyes weally glow green?

Damian: They do. His usually glow when he gets angry, is it the same with you?

Danny, now blinking blue glowing eyes at Damian: mmm? No? Green is too much bad emotion

Damian: Bad emotion?

Danny: Mad, um, strezz? No, the bigger one!

Damian: Panic or anxiety?

Danny, points at him with a bounce: Yeah!!

Damian, amused and concerned: I see

Danny: mmm let's see, um, and scared?

Damian: Interesting. Jason's eyes are usually an indicator of angry, but I know he likes to cover his fear and concern with that same anger. I shall look into it. On that note. And what does glowing blue mean?

Danny, blinks: Blue?

Damian: Yes. Did you know your eyes are glowing blue now?

Danny, shocked: No! They didn't do that before!... At least I don't think they did?

Damian: Well, they're a very pretty shade of blue.

Danny: Maybe... Maybe that's how my parents noticed...

Damian, trying not to frown: What did your parents notice?

Danny, turning his big teary eyes on Damian: That I'm not fully human anymore. They didn't notice. They never noticed!

Damian, slowly reaching out to the kid to see if he'd accept a hug: Sounds like your parents didn't deserve you.

Danny, giving into his childish instincts and flinging himself into Damian's arms to sob his little heart out: They didn't even know I died! It's not fair! I'm not weally human and it's their fault! I hate their stupid po-po- THING! It shocked me and it hurt and now I'm dead and it's their fault!

Damian: *gently rocking Danny til he tires himself out*

Danny, sniffling: It's not fair...

Damian: Something I've found is, it never is. Every stray my father has housed has had an unbearably harsh life, and I, being his blood son, was no different. My mother and her father raised me for the first ten years of my life, and I've come to understand that my childhood was not a good one. It took me a long time and a lot of patience from my eldest brother to come to realize what I was missing.

Danny: Like, Jazzy?

Damian: mm? Who's Jazzy?

Danny: My big sister. She's a big know it all, but she tries...

Damian: Well, that's-

Danny, jolts in Damian's hold: Tried! *GASP* Jazzy doesn't know mom and dad didn't kill me!! *pause* um, kill me again?

Damian: Well, we'll have to tell her, won't we? You wouldn't happen to know her full name? I can ask my family to contact her while we get you cleaned up

Danny: Yeah! Her name is Jasmine Fenton! She goes to a big big school here! That's why I came here! I just... I got lost..

Damian: That won't do

Damian, pulls out his phone and calls Barbara while starting to walk to his apartment: Gordon. I have a request.

Barbara: Yeah? Whatcha got, baby bat?

Damian: Can you look up a Jasmine Fenton? I have something she will probably want back.

Barbara: Holy shit! Is that a child??

Damian, sighs: Yes, it's her little brother. He ran away from a bad situation with his parents and got lost trying to find his elder sister.

Barbara: Alright. I'll check out her entire life to make sure she's safe to- wait. Damian, is that kid's name Danny?

Damian, realizing he never asked: One moment.

Damian, looks down at a sleepy, but curious Danny: Is your name Danny?

Danny, beams: Yeah!!

Barbara: Caught that, but, uh, Damian, Danny is supposed to be 20, not...4? 5? Not a tiny child

Damian: umm... Danny did you used to be older?

Danny, shrinks into himself and his eyes turn green: Ye-yeah... I don't know why I'm little... mommy did something and it Huuurt and hurt til suddenly I was free and I ran and hid in a bus

Damian, soothingly petting his back: Okay, it's okay, we'll figure it out.

Barbara: Take care of him for the night, we'll contact his sister tomorrow at a reasonable time. I'm not finding anything too concerning on her yet so she's probably safe

Damian: Copy that. Goodnight, Gordon.

Barbara, teasing: Goodnight, mini-Bruce!

Damian, flushes, but doesn't deny it before hanging up and glancing towards Danny: That was Barbara Gordon. A family friend. She'll help us find your sister, but you'll be staying with me for tonight.

Danny, sleepy: Okay..

Damian, slipping into his apartment lobby and going straight up the stairs, ignoring the gaping attendants: Don't fall asleep just yet. You will be fed and bathed first

Danny, huffs, but straightens up: What food?

Damian: That depends, I only really have vegetarian food so I suppose we'll have to find something you'll eat

Danny: Sam is vegetarian! I eat vegetarian sometimes with her!

Damian: hm? Very good, then it should be easier for me to feed you

Damian and Danny have a wonderful time. Danny is fed, watered, and cleaned up before being set up with a quiet sound machine to sleep. Damian has a crisis over wanting to keep Danny and suddenly understands his father's adoption habit. He sets alarms to check on Danny throughout the night, but it's otherwise uneventful.

[formulakracing]

i. now or never - t.w.

pairing -> student intern!reader x toto wolff

word count -> 1.7k

warnings -> cursing, age gap relationships, power imbalance, a little bit of toxicity, toto being sexy (as always), world-building, mentions of marijuana use, mentions of alcohol use, allusions to sexual fantasies, SLOW BURN (fr this time) yadayadayada (if i missed somethin’ lemme know)

a/n -> i apologize in advance if the internship i write about is nothing like an actual internship for mercedes LMFAO also, bear with me. i know it starts slow but it will pick up!

"oh, great. you're bringing up this fucking internship again. why are you always going on and on about this stupid program?"

swallowing thickly, you drum your fingers on the table, shrugging ever so slightly, "why not? i think it would be a great opportunity for not only grad school, but for career advancement. do you know how many doors that would open for me if i—"

"you'd be gone for an entire year. that's why i don't think it's a good idea."

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ��� ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺

inhaling sharply, you bite down on your tongue, suppressing a sharp retort.

why does it matter if i have to leave for a year? it's not like you care enough about my interests anyway.

he arches a brow, cocking his head, "why aren't you saying anything?"

"because it's not worth bickering about," fingers curling around the misty glass, you swirl it around, watching as the bubbles float to the surface, "you're right. i'd be gone for a year. it's such a competitive program. i don't even think i'm good enough to get in. they probably prioritize european students anyway. the deadline for the application is due in a week. there's no way i could get everything together in time. it's not worth all the hassle."

"good girl," he hums in approval, shoving a few fries in his mouth, "you know i support you throughout everything you do. i just don't want you to pour all of your energy into this one project just to be rejected. i know you. you'd be devastated. you wouldn't leave your apartment for weeks."

do you know me though? do you really?

the waitress slips by the table, sliding a receipt toward the middle of the table, "here's the bill, as requested. have a great night! be safe getting home!"

gnawing on the inside of your cheek, you wait until her back is turned. exhaling, you pick up the bill, "i'll get it."

"you sure?" he presses, "i'll cover the tip then."

"sounds good."

fishing your phone out of your pocket, you let it hover over the qr code. typing in your card information, you can't help but notice him fumbling with his pockets, searching for his wallet.

puckering your lips, it's your turn to tilt your head, "did you forget your wallet at home?"

"yeaaaaahhhh," his lower lips quivers, forming a pout, "would you mind? i can just venmo or cashapp you later."

"sure," clicking your tongue, you select the tip percentage on the screen, ensuring that the waitress receives a few more dollars than suggested, "okay, it's paid for. let's go."

he follows in suit as you slide out of the booth, shoving your arms in your jacket. pulling his phone out, his attention is fixated on the dim screen, fingers a flurry as he types away.

"hey, one of the boys is going through some shit. you mind if i catch an uber over to his place? i'll be home later."

"like how late?"

"i don't know," he shakes his head, gaze glued on whatever he was possibly reading, "it's matteo. his girlfriend cheated on him. it looks like he could use cheering up."

"i don't care," your eye twitches, yet you wave a hand, "as long as you don't wake me up when you get back."

"of course baby," he coos, placing a tender peck on your cheek, "get some safe, okay?"

"i will," you nod, "love you."

"love you too!" he beams, pulling you in for a quick embrace, "i'll be back before midnight."

"okay."

it's a quiet trek through the parking lot.

a breeze rolls through the cars, promising of frigid weather. tangerine rays filter through the trees, the sun making its descent toward the horizon. the sky is a blanket of a tranquil blue, with traces of lavender and magenta as dusk transitions to night.

clicking your key fob, your vehicle chirps, the engine roaring to life. opening the door, you nearly collapse into the seat, your vision blurred by tears. sniffling, you ensure your seat belt is on, shifting the gear into reverse.

as you pull out of the parking lot, you catch a glimpse of your boyfriend as he clambers into the uber. you try to wave, to muster some sort of smile, but he is not paying any sort of attention as your car soars by.

at that, the tears erupt into sobs.

by no means was your boyfriend a terrible man. he was more than adequate, actually. however, the sheer disdain in his voice over the idea of your pursuing this internship left a sour taste in your mouth.

to be honest, it was more like an awful, putrid taste, bile rising up in the back of your throat as you wallow over the interaction, knuckles turning white as you grip the steering wheel.

the internship in question?

well, it was more like a job opening.

you left that part out, just so that your family and boyfriend would be more apt to the idea. after all, they did not need to know all of the particulars.

all they needed to know is that you were prepping for the opportunity of a lifetime.

an opportunity overseas to work with the mercedes amg petronas formula one team as a member of their media crew.

the internship spanned over the course of several months, following the team throughout the season. from what you could make out from the application, you would start just shy of the season opener in melbourne, around march third. the end date was unclear, but you figured it would end around the time the season was over in december. in all, you would be away from home for nine months.

and your internship duties? all you had to do was travel to luxurious cities, meet fans, promote the team across their social media platforms, and most importantly, film the races.

and the best part? it was a paid internship. mercedes would not only pay you for working with them, but they would also cover travel costs, food, and even software upgrades. additionally, you would receive a monthly stipend for your own personal spending, just so that you could "enjoy your time with us to the fullest."

it was everything you could have dreamed of and more.

so, what was holding you back?

well, there were a few things.

one, was your boyfriend. he was not keen on the idea of you leaving the country, even if it was only for a few months. he was very adamant that if you were to take this internship, then he would end your relationship.

according to him, nine months was too much for him to do long distance. although, the two of you had temporarily engaged in a long distance relationship before he transferred back home.

two, was your family. similar to your boyfriend, they were not happy about the idea of you leaving. they felt that formula one was too flashy. too extravagant. you would not fit in with all of the wealthy moguls and influencers.

you belonged here, in your mediocre college town where no one ever left. you would fare much better spending every weekend frequenting the same bars over and over again, running into the same people, making awkward, monotone small talk. besides, what if the internship was a scam? what if it wasn't everything you hoped it would be?

and the third reason?

well, it was a bit more complicated.

you had a bit of impostor syndrome, as you felt your skills were not good enough. your editing was too choppy. your transitions were not quite neat enough to fit the speed of the cars. since you were an amateur, your work was mainly posted across your instagram and tik tok accounts. your resume was nowhere near as elegant as the other potential applications.

so, why even try? why apply to something like this?

well, ever since you were a little girl, you dreamed of working in motorsports. you weren't quite sure of what you would do at the time, but you knew that it was your calling.

every time you watched a race or posted an edit, there was a shiver that ran down your spine, goosebumps appearing all over. there was a pull at your heart, nearly tugging away at you.

it was enticing, begging you to keep watching. to keep compiling clips together. to keep creating material that was crafted by you, and only you.

it called to push your creativity to the limits. to chase that dream.

to satisfy that hunger deep in your soul.

with graduation only if a few months, you were running out of time. it was now or never. make it or break it.

it was time to push yourself. it was time to break free from the clutches of your college town. it was time to take the leap, one that you had been putting off for so fucking long.

it was time to finally put yourself first.

to choose something that would bring you nothing but pure, immense joy.

and as you pulled into your driveway, you threw open your car door. scurrying inside, you made your way to your room, pushing the door open. tossing your bag on your bed, you hunker at your desk, locating that bookmarked tab.

everything was in order. you had the letters of recommendation. the personal statement was attached. the resume was completed. the portfolio was uploaded.

all you had to do was press that final square.

submit.

your index fingers hovers above the button, nearly trembling.

squeezing your eyes shut, you apply pressure, a clicking ringing in your ears.

within seconds, a new message appears across your screen.

thank you for your interest in this internship with the mercedes amg petronas formula one media team!

after receiving your application, our team will diligently look over your application and submit it for review.

a decision will be made in approximately six to eight weeks. once we have made our decision, you should receive an email in your inbox. make sure to check your spam, as it may be sent there.

we wish you the best of luck!