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diodellet · 2 days ago

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try wishing for it: magical girl au (scarabia x gn!reader)

inspired by @ceruleancattail's magical girl au and @yan-lorkai's yandere genie fic. note: i also imagine scarabia's mascot form to look like this. title is ripped from tohma's magical girl eudaemonics. content warnings: -yandere (if you squint, since scarabia's taking the role of kyubey in this fic. references of manipulation and general moral grayness.) -fic uses "magical girl" but means it in a gender-neutral sense (reader is referred to with they/them pronouns) word count: 2.7k words

Being a magical girl means gaining the power to do virtually anything you can dream of.

The first time you defeat a wraith, you stare in awe at your hands, breathing heavily from sheer excitement rather than exertion. With one final roar, the beast falls to the ground, before dissolving into black smoke.

“Woah, you did it! You really took it down!” Kalim barrels into you, gushing praise after praise. “See, Jamil? I told you they were going to be powerful!”

Jamil is more mindful of you, instead floating over to land on your other shoulder. “Nice job.”

“You’re a natural!” Kalim’s bouncing with joy in your palm, waving his little stubby arms. “You probably won’t even need to use your three wishes!”

Right, there was that. In the case that you were against an overwhelmingly powerful foe, you could draw on your familiars’ magic—a ‘wish,’ they called it.

“Don’t jinx them, Kalim.”

“...What happens if I asked for more wishes?”

“It doesn’t work like that.” The stitches of Jamil’s plush smile don’t change, but there’s a note of something foreboding in his words. “Though, you don’t seem like the type to squander them. Don’t worry about it too much.” Despite their cartoonish appearance, your familiars’ words and warnings carried a grave weight

Your gaze drifts to the slain wraith. All that remains is the tarnished metal collar that hung around its neck, until it too crumbles into dust.

There’s something hauntingly beautiful in that faint shimmer of gold as it gets blown away by the wind.

Being a magical girl means toting around two innocuous round plushies of your familiars to class.

With your new double life, you get two new companions following you around. It means bearing Kalim’s excited chattering as you take notes, dealing with Jamil’s snide teasing as your classmates point out your new bag charms.

What you don’t expect is to see the two of them sitting in your living room the next morning, clad in your school’s uniform.

“Good mor—oof!” Your book bag collides with Kalim’s chest and you use the momentum to drag him and Jamil by the elbow out of your house, ignoring your dad’s concerned calls with a loud “I’m heading out!”

You didn’t get the memo that being able to transform was part of their repertoire as magical familiars, but you should’ve expected this. Between Kalim’s thousand-kilowatt smile and Jamil’s calculating gaze, you very much prefer them as small round plushies.

(It’s strange that your schoolmates and teachers don’t question the two new additions to the class, but you appreciate that your cover wasn’t blown with this curveball. You suspect it might have to do with the red glow in Jamil’s eyes. You decide to question them at the end of the class day.)

“It’d be better if one of you stayed as a plushie.”

“Then that means it would be Jamil since he’s better at keeping attention off of us.”

“By that logic, they’re talking about you, Kalim.” Is it you or is that a hint of a smile on Jamil’s lips?

“Oh.” Kalim’s expression falls into a pout. “But I like attending classes with you!”

He probably wouldn’t like it as much during exams week. “I wouldn’t be able to keep a low profile if people noticed you…guys following me around.”

“Aw, I guess so…Thanks for treating us to ice cream, though!”

You offer to buy them another one, just to make their one and only day at school special. You start heading towards another freezer, there’s a special lottery on these soda popsicles.

Jamil’s attention turns toward the counter. He’d been eyeing the person at the cashier. “Wait, something seems—”

And that’s all the warning he can give before a group of wraiths crashes through the convenience store wall. Ending up in a sprawled mess of tangled limbs was not ideal. It’s settled, you definitely preferred them in their plushie forms.

Being a magical girl means getting woken up by Kalim in the middle of the night to patrol the city.

As a hand-sized plush ball, he’s already pretty strong. But under the cover of night, he can shed his disguise and drag accompany you around to see you deliver justice to evildoers.

Your drowsiness fades away as you leap from rooftop to rooftop, dispatching fledgeling wraiths hiding in narrow alleyways, stopping drunken confrontations, watching over lone pedestrians traversing through seedier parts of the city.

“There’s another one, it’s a low-ranking wraith!”

“I’ve got it!” Magic gathers around your weapon, bathing it in golden light as you swing and cleave the monster into two.

It didn’t even get a fighting chance to writhe or fight back. All it can do is dissipate into nothing.

Which is for the best.

“That was so quick!” Kalim bounds over to you as your weapon fades out of view. “You’re getting better and better at fighting!”

“Well, you did say it was a weak one…” You tug at the collar of your outfit. His praise feels like staring into the glare of the sun, straight on. “I’m probably not that much better than those other magical girls before me.”

“Still! It doesn’t make you any less amazing—Are you hurt anywhere?” Kalim starts looking you over for any injuries that he might have missed.

Too close. “Not a scratch. Come on, let’s head home.”

Though you should’ve expected things would go sideways at some point, that the night would bring untold horrors instead of passing peacefully. In a mix of your carelessness and Kalim’s overexcitement, an avian-like wraith appears and catches you both offguard, talons closing around his midsection and carrying him into the sky, each powerful beat of its wings taking him farther and farther away from you.

Adrenaline surges through you and the asphalt of the sidewalk cracks underneath your soles as you leap to the sky in pursuit. “Kalim!” Just before you can close the distance, he screams at you to get back, making you falter. A long shadow whips through the air—a prehensile tail of sorts—preventing you from approaching.

Switching tactics, you aim for its wings. Better to bring it to the ground.

(Miraculously, Kalim got the cue to turn into his plushie form to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. You manage to catch him before the both of you crash. Though, Kalim’s awed gushing was probably going to give you a sunburn.)

Being a magical girl means Jamil takes your healthcare into his own hands, sometimes.

“It’s the sleep deprivation.”

“No, it’s not.” A coughing fit strikes you at that moment, betraying the extent of your sickness.

“It’s because you’re overexerting yourself with your ‘nightly escapades.’”

“Fine—so what if I am? Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do? To protect helpless people day and night?”

“Obviously, not at the cost of your own wellbeing!”

You didn’t think you would ever end up in this kind of situation, being yelled at by a floating plush ball while confined to your bed of messy blankets and used tissues.

The angry heat in your face is making your headache worse, makes you see gray for a moment before you could fire back.

“...I’m sorry,” you spit without an ounce of penance.

Jamil sighs. “Well. There’s no use in pressing the matter any further.” Just before he disappears, he tells you to get some rest.

Easier said than done.

The minutes inch by agonizingly slow. Your room is so silent, magnifying the buzz of your own thoughts. Up until this point, your life became a whirlwind of academics, extracurriculars, and fighting evil monsters. But at this moment of standstill, you can’t help but come to the realization that he was right. With your rashness, you basically incapacitated yourself. Sure, your familiars were also capable magic users. Sure, they could hold off wraiths from doing any major damage, but the thought that this entire situation could have been avoided, that this was entirely your fault—

A tear slips down your cheek, then more and more, until you’re quietly sobbing, frustrated, into your palms.

The mattress of your bed dips with the added weight of another person. “Mom—”

Jamil shushes you. “Drink this first.” You hear the rustle of plastic—did he go to the pharmacy?—and feel him press two tablets into your hand. As you swallow them, he hands you a glass of water. His other hand rests against your sweat-covered back, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

(It is a stark contrast to his rough words from earlier.)

“I thought you…” They probably had other magical fighters to watch over, didn’t they?

It’s probably the fever messing with your senses, but there’s an uncharacteristic softness in Jamil’s voice. “Shh. No more of that, now.”

“...then why?” Were you really the only one?

“Just focus on getting better.”

“But—”

“Your mom’s making soup for dinner, she will come to check on you in an hour. I’ll stay with you until then. Rest.”

His words are not enough to placate your worries fully, but there’s a soft glow of red in his irises that makes you acquiesce and close your eyes, all while clutching onto Jamil’s wrist.

Being a magical girl means thinking up new ways to explain your many conversations “to yourself.”

Your parents are easy, it’s just the angst of youth. But your siblings are a little more difficult to convince. In addition to your moments of listlessness, they can hear your frantic back and forth pacing and the thump of you throwing your plushies against the paper-thin walls of your room. It can only mean one thing—

“Get out! I’m not having romance issues!” You slam the door behind your sibling’s cackles.

Your familiars remain still, seated on your bed until the sound of footsteps is sufficiently out of earshot.

“Are you really seeing someone?” Kalim pipes up.

“No!” You bury your face into your hands. “I—How would I have the time for that?”

“Besides,” Jamil chimes in, “we’re the only ones who’ve been accompanying them. Unless—”

Your body moves of its own accord, snatching Jamil with both hands and giving him a threatening squeeze, an unspoken ‘don’t you dare finish that sentence’ left hanging in mid-air.

When he stays quiet, your death grip lightens up. Just a little bit. A heavy exhale leaves your frame. “Look, for all that we’ve gone through—”

(A part of you is hesitant to admit it but, having gained them as new companions made your journey as a magical girl feel less daunting. You felt safe knowing that you could rely on them to watch your back, in spite of the close calls you’ve had.

As for whether or not you’d started looking at them differently, well, you’d need more time to think on it. There. End of conversation.)

“I guess… I’m glad I met you. The both of you,” you finished lamely.

The silence that followed was deafening. For once, you’d wished their plushie forms could emote more instead of giving you that placid smile.

With a pop! and shower of golden sparks, Kalim’s arms close around you in a tight hug. A bright grin splitting his cheeks. “I’m happy we’re friends too!”

“Stop squeezing me!” Jamil grits out.

Being a magical girl means double checking your word choice, especially for any quips and retorts.

The first time you transformed, you commented offhandedly about your footwear and Jamil made a little adjustment to your attire.

With a snap of his fingers, a golden bangle clasps around your ankle. Lightweight, no doubt it would look beautiful when the light hits it at the right angle, but—

A frown pulls at your lips.

“Would you like another one? Just for some…symmetry,” Jamil suggests.

You decide better against responding to that.

“Think of it as a gift from me and Kalim.”

Was this something they bestowed to every magical fighter they took under their wing? “...Some gift this is.”

“Relax, you still have three wishes left. I won’t trick you into wasting them.”

Well, that diminished most of your initial doubt. “How can I be sure of that?” you question.

Jamil’s head tilts to the side, appraising you with an eerily-observant gaze. “All you have to do is ask. Anything that your heart desires, anything your mind can conceive.”

You don’t like how his eyes are trained on you, making you feel small. You pick at an imaginary speck of dirt on your top, straighten out the already-impeccable fabric.

A thick silence falls over the both of you.

“...Will you—will you both ask me if I’m sure, before granting my wish?” It’s such a stupid thing to worry about, to fuss over the intricacies of your arrangement as Magical Girl and Familiar.

“Of course.” Jamil gives you a smile. “Shall we head to where Kalim is?”

“Yeah.” Your weapon appears in your hand with a flash of gold. “Let’s destroy that wraith’s nest.”

(More than desires you want fulfilled, there are anxieties you want quelled, fears you want silenced. Miracles to the myriad of unfortunate catastrophes that plagued your home—the flawed world that you lived in. So what if you contained untold power at your fingertips? You were only one person tasked with the protection of hundreds. At the peak of your distress—in the midst of sirens and flashing lights—you call for Jamil and utter your first wish through choked sobs.)

Being a magical girl means not relying on your powers, sometimes.

The trapped kitten gives another pitiful wail, thrashing against your grip as you clamber down the tree. In holding onto it tightly, you earn a set of angry-red scratch marks along the backs of your hands before reaching solid ground. The kitten bounds away with a final hiss.

“Why didn’t you transform?” Kalim asks.

You shrug, running a finger over one of the scratches. “I guess it’s ’cause I didn’t wanna mess up the outfit.”

“What do you mean?”

Bashful, your gaze ducks to your shoes, worn from years of use but sturdily hanging on. “It’s just, lately, the wraiths have been getting more and more powerful. And I…” Feel weak? Pressured? Alright, maybe you were still hung up over leaving a little crater at a major intersection, but it was either that or letting the ursine wraith lay waste to the nearby shopping center. There wasn’t any time to dwell on those shortcomings.

(But your mind liked to circle back to it. Was there any more you could do? Why couldn’t you do more?)

They warned you about this, that at some point, you would end up facing more destructive wraiths. That you would have to choose among innocents.

He takes your injured hands. “You can always make a wish.” Kalim’s healing magic washes over you, cool and gentle, like a stream of water. You watch the scratches slowly close up until they become nothing more than a set of faint white lines. “That’s what me and Jamil are for.”

“That’s true…”

“Anything you want.” Kalim repeats. “I’ll make it happen.”

It’s those simple words— and the sight of him cradling your hands in his palms—that grant you the courage to speak your next words, your second wish.

Being a magical girl means weighing your soul against the lives of people, friends and strangers alike.

“Come on, you have to get up.” Tears are streaming down Kalim’s cheeks, his hands hover by your prone and bloodied form, unsure of which wounds to heal.

Wearily, you gaze cranes upwards as if every bit of movement caused pain throughout your body.

Jamil has witnessed this scenario a thousand times. He keeps a stoic face. “Are you just going to let them destroy everything?”

“...I can’t let them…”

“You’re hurting yourself! Jamil, you have to do something!”

“It’s not my choice to make.”

When in the face of an unstoppable threat—a horde of chimeran wraiths that will lay waste to your home, will you make that final third wish and trust in them?

Jamil knows how you’ll answer. Rather than using them as quick and easy schemes, your first two wishes were—in some way—made for the good of others around you. For someone who won’t even know or care about that small bit of kindness. At the core of every human is a desperate self-preservation instinct that pushes them to make a final wish. And like clockwork, you will follow like the rest of the magical girls that they created. It’s a strategy that has benefited him and Kalim. And he has been fervently waiting for this moment, for a powerful one like you to—

“I’m...not giving up…!”

Or not?

His lips curl into a smile. “Then give them hell.”

They can wait this out. Compared to their infinite lifespan, your emotional fortitude was only a drop in the ocean.

a/n: aaaa thanks @jessamine-rose for betaing this fic with ur fresh eyes. this au rlly gave me brainworms of the feral variety, i think i liked leaving most of the details ambiguous and free to interpretation, but i might come up with a separate author's note post about worldbuilding bits i couldnt fit in? eh we'll see! i hope yall enjoyed reading this! tagging some jamilnatics: @viperwhispered @twstgo @just-a-little-silly @mama-m1na @crystallizsch @sillystr1ngs (lmk if you wanna join the taglist for jamil writing in the replies)

#dellet-writings #jamil viper x reader #kalim al asim x reader #scarabia x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #jamil viper #kalim al asim #gn!reader #yandere kalim al asim #yandere jamil viper

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queensunshinee · 11 hours ago

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Wreck my plans || Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+) Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex, fingering), drinking, family drama, very slow burn, maybe too slow, I really don't know what's going on here

Word Count: 8.5k

Wreck my plans

Parties were never your thing. Parties are Jenny's thing. But she went away for the weekend with two friends from Harvard and didn’t even think to invite you. So Jenny can go to hell. And you can go to the party.

Luke Thompson's house is huge, and it doesn’t surprise you since you've spent two evenings a week here over the past few months trying to teach him algebra and literature. He had to repeat senior year after his complete failure last year. The party was in celebration of him finally getting his diploma and being accepted to a local college nearby.

"Little (Y/L/N)!" he shouted, spreading his arms wide, inviting you for a hug. "The only reason I managed to finish school," he added, yelling, making you roll your eyes. "You’re the only reason you managed to finish school, Luke," you said, taking a step back. "To be honest, I didn’t think you’d come," he looked around, causing you to do the same and start recognizing familiar faces from your grade and the one above you (Jenny’s). "I've never seen you at a party before." "I've been to parties. we just don’t hang out with the same people," you said as the two of you moved towards the kitchen so you could grab a drink.

The conversation continued for a few more minutes, but your attention drifted to the blond guy in the kitchen- Art Donaldson. Dressed in a pink button-down shirt and jeans, holding a red cup just like the one Luke put in your hand, drinking the same warm beer you're drinking. You hadn’t thought about him for almost a year. Your gaze wandered from him to the living room, where you saw Dave flirting with someone you couldn’t identify, and you found yourself rolling your eyes at the scene. You tried to listen to Luke for a few more moments because it felt like the polite thing to do, but you lost interest, and, like a magnet, your eyes were drawn back to Art Donaldson, who was busy looking you over from head to toe. You wonder if it made you blush or if it's just the cheap alcohol. You left the kitchen with a certain sense of saturation, looking for people you actually enjoyed being around more than Luke, who, as nice as he was, was too sociable for your taste. Tried too hard. You also try hard, mostly to stay out of everyone’s way.

You ended the evening with Chloe and Ron- ironically, friends of Jenny's, since Lia refused to come. They asked about Jenny and told you about their college experiences. Ron finished his first year at Yale, and Chloe went to a local college not far from here. Maybe it’s time to go home, as you feel like you’re suffocating and the place is closing in on you. The thought of staying close, like Chloe, to this suburb made your stomach turn. Chloe loved it, though. She didn’t see anything wrong with it. She planned her life right here. Just like this.

"Can I sit?" A familiar voice stood above you as you stared at Luke’s pool. A few people were in the far corner of it, but otherwise, the yard was empty. You shrugged without saying anything as Art sat down. He took off his shoes and folded up his jeans a bit, dipping his feet into the pool- something you hadn’t even thought to do. You looked at him for a moment as he took another sip from the drink in his hand. He’s probably the most handsome guy you know- a childish thought that’s crossed your mind since you were young, since you remember him. Blond with eyes that could make stars feel embarrassed with how they shine. There’s nothing ordinary about him. He’s exceptional. You don’t think there’s any girl your age who’s known him and hasn’t had a crush on him, at least for a moment.

"Congratulations on finishing school. I heard you’re the reason Luke can celebrate," he said casually, looking at you and causing you to turn your gaze back to the pool in a split second. "He really needs to stop telling people that," you replied, hearing him chuckle. "How was your first year in college? Stanford, right?" you asked, trying to shift the focus from yourself to him. "Yeah, tennis, you know. It’s nice. I’m supposed to choose a major next semester. My mom wants me to pick business management. I’m considering sports management," he said offhandedly, as if it weren’t too personal. As if this wasn’t the longest conversation you’d had since kindergarten. "Then you have to choose sports, of course," you said quickly. "Sorry, it’s none of my business," you added just as fast, realizing you’d stepped into his complicated relationship with his mom. "If only it were that easy, huh?" he chuckled. "To choose what I want," he added.

At that moment, Art Donaldson had no idea that what he was saying touched the deepest parts of your heart, nearly crushing it. Stroking an open wound without knowing the area was sensitive. Jenny decided at the last moment that she didn’t want to study at Yale and preferred Harvard, which meant financially you couldn’t study out of state. It would just be too much. And it surprised no one that you were the one who had to give up your dream. It surprised no one, because Jenny was the first to decide, and you received the scraps of something that might have been hers. Like wearing an old shirt, she no longer wanted. It’s never the other way around.

"Aren’t you planning to go pro?" you asked after a few seconds, trying to shake off the emotions flooding you. "I’m not sure yet, my mom really wants me to finish my degree," he explained, taking another sip. "Patrick’s really suffering on his tour. don’t tell him I told you that." He added information you hadn’t asked for. As if you were in daily contact with Patrick Zweig. As if you’d ever exchanged a word with him. You only know Jenny slept with him a few times, but it’s not something you two talk about, so whatever. "I’m going to Wesleyan," you said suddenly and looked at him; his gaze was already on you. "Damn," he smiled a half-smile, and maybe it was the first time you’d felt a certain pride since you applied there. "Jenny went to Harvard, so it’s complicated for both of us to study out of state, you know how it is," you felt the need to explain the situation, even though he hadn’t asked, and he certainly didn’t know how it is. "It’s a good school tho, I’m glad I got in," you weren’t sure who you were trying to convince, but he furrowed his brows as if he didn’t believe it, as if he had something to say about it. But he kept it to himself, and you appreciated that.

"I have to say, distancing myself from Jenny (Y/L/N) was one of the best things that’s happened to me since I left," everyone knew about Art and Jenny's relationship. They couldn’t stand each other. They competed in every possible subject. From student council to tennis. You don’t think Jenny even likes tennis. She just likes the first place. And without realizing it, you laughed, which a good sister shouldn’t do, but you felt it too. Distancing yourself from Jenny was a relief. The difference is that you’re not allowed to say that out loud, and Art Donaldson doesn’t really care. He doesn’t need to be at family dinners during holidays.

You looked at him for another second and thought this could be a good moment to kiss him. It was as if he hadn’t taken his eyes off you for a second since he sat down. You could lean in a little and press your lips to his. It’s not like you’d see him much again. You wouldn’t see him at all and in six weeks, you will move into the dorms in college. and in few years, maybe after school, he’d probably be a professional tennis player or a lawyer or the president. You think you can picture him as the president. You'd vote for him. "Well, it was nice seeing you, (Y/N)," he smiled another one of his captivating smiles. "Talk to me if you ever find yourself in California," he gave a small nod, grabbed his shoes, and walked away. Maybe one day you’ll manage to actually do something you really want to do. . . . You regretted what you did about three minutes after you politely turned down the full scholarship to Wesleyan. and accepted what they offered you at Stanford. But in your defense, it was late at night, you’d just come back from Luke’s party very tipsy, and you had no real intention of talking to Art when you got to California. You’d never seen your parents so angry. Your mom cried. Your dad said you were inconsiderate. Jenny sat on the couch, watching you with a raised eyebrow. They said they wouldn’t pay for anything, that if you made this decision, you’d have to deal with the consequences. The scholarship covered your tuition, but for housing and books, you’d have to use your savings. Two jobs you picked up over the summer and a part-time job you’d had for three years of babysitting. They didn’t speak to you for weeks. From the moment you told them, all communication between you went through Jenny.

"Tell her dinner’s ready," "Tell her to go down and buy eggs," "Tell her Uncle Barry’s coming over tonight, to act like she still cares about this family."

"They'll come around," Jenny mumbled when she climbed into your bed one of those warm August nights. "I don’t know," you answered with your eyes closed, exhausted from the day at work and the hostility you returned to at home. "I know," she concluded. In the morning, you woke up alone.

You think they’ll never forgive you. Maybe you’ll never forgive them. But you don’t know. . . . The empty bed in your dorm was beneath the window. You didn’t complain for a moment because everything could have been much worse. Jenny bought you the flight ticket to California for your birthday. You cried. You remembered that small moment when Art said he was glad to be away from her and you giggled, not defending your sister. She’s not to blame for being born first. She’s not to blame for needing more attention. Her intentions are good. That should be the only thing that matters.

You only met Billie in the evening when she came back from what she described as a date. She spoke about 50 words a minute, so it was hard to follow. She asked why you came a week late, you wanted to say that you were on time and she came early, but all you managed to get out was "work." It wasn’t a lie. You worked at a camp and an ice cream parlor all summer, trying to save as much as you could because you didn’t know how long it would take to find a job near the university. Turns out, very quickly. The diner across from the university was looking for waiters, and you showed up without experience but with a convincing smile and some recommendations from previous employers, as if anyone cared that you were great with kids. Three shifts a week, and the savings would help you keep your head above water. That’s all you need.

A week after you arrived at the dorms, Billie and Summer, your roommates, forced you to go with them to a party. And it wasn’t too hard to convince you because you weren’t at home. And sometimes, you need to remind yourself that you at home isn’t the same you who’s at Stanford. Here, no one knows you or Jenny. No one expects anything from you, no one will call you "Little (Y/L/N)." Here, you are whoever you choose to be. And that’s enough. Enough to wear almost burgundy lipstick and a tight dress, but still sneakers. After all, something of you stays the same.

Someone named Dean hit on you most of the night, and Billie told him you had a boyfriend. "Babe, anyone but Dean. I’ve been here two weeks, and he’s slept with the entire building already," she whispered in your ear, and you laughed. Someone else hit on you during the night, but you didn’t remember his name. When you lay in bed, you tried calling Jenny to tell her about your night, but she didn’t answer. And maybe that’s okay. . . . The first time you saw Art at Stanford, he was the one who actually saw you. "(Y/n)?" He lifted his sunglasses to his hair. He wore a Stanford T-shirt and pants that made you wonder if they were also Stanford coded. He had a racket bag over his shoulder. He looked confused. "Hey," you didn’t know what to say as you leaned against the only free tree you could find and tried to read one of the books from your syllabus, preparing for your first class. "Hey?" He almost chuckled as he sat down next to you, not taking his eyes off you. Like you’d disappear the second he blinked. He didn’t seem disappointed by your presence. "Shit, I was joking about California," he looked amused, still studying you. He took the book you were reading, like it was his, ran a hand over the cover. Like he knew everything he needed to know about the course just by looking at it. "Stanford was on my list, and it just felt more right," you tried to justify, to explain that it wasn’t because of him. He didn’t think it was because of him tho, not really. "How did they take it?" he asked, probably remembering details from your conversation at the party. "I don’t know, because they’re not talking to me," you said it in the same casual tone, like it didn’t bother you. "Damn," he muttered, "that bad?" he asked. "It’s whatever," you shrugged. "I’ve got to get to class, but I’ll see you around, yeah?" He stood up and walked away. You didn’t know if you’d actually see him around again, but the interaction had been nice. You think that maybe Art Donaldson won’t judge you. And that’s an interesting thought. . . . The next time you see him, you're in the middle of a shift, wearing a ridiculous apron and a ponytail that makes your hair look greasy. Needless to say, you’re embarrassed, but he doesn’t act like it’s a big deal. He says hello, which is surprising because he’s with friends, and you look, well…ridiculous. You say hello back, because you’re polite, and it’s the right thing to do. They sit down at one of the tables, and you hear his voice from a distance saying, “I know her from back home.” You think it’s a half-accurate description, because you don’t really know each other- not like he knows Patrick Zweig or Luke. Not like he knows Jenny. You also think the girl sitting next to him is very pretty. Pretty enough to hate her, but nice enough not to.

Casually, before they leave the diner, Art asks if you're going to a party someone in his dorm is throwing. You shrug in response because you hadn’t heard about it until now. “It’ll be fun, you should come,” he calls out, mentioning the building he lives in before he leaves with his friends. He didn’t have to invite you. He doesn’t have to invite you to places. You’re not his responsibility. You don’t want him to think you are. You don’t know if you’ll go. . . . When you received the email from the registrar notifying you that your account had already been paid and that there was no need for the duplicate payment you’d tried to make, you found yourself confused. When you realized your parents had paid the bill despite saying they wouldn’t, you ended up crying for two hours. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. They haven’t spoken to you in almost three months. They let you stew in guilt but are willing to pay your bills? It’s ridiculous. None of them answered when you tried to call to say thank you. You cried for another hour. 'Busy. Do you need anything?' -Jenny-

You think you need a hug. But that feels childish, so you send her an orange heart emoji. . . . You go to the party Art invited you to with Billie and Summer because, why not? You don’t mention that you got an invitation, just casually say you heard there’s a party and that it might be fun to check it out.

You decide to put on the dark lipstick again, you liked how it looked last time, and honestly, the feedback was great. This time, you stick with a thin shirt, ripped tights, and shorts- keeping it low-effort was part of the actual effort. You think it’s silly. But you look cute, so fuck it.

Art spots you before you notice him again. He comes up to you in the middle of a conversation, gently swiping the beer bottle from your hand, making you look at him as he takes a sip and hands it back. “You’re the hot guy from the posters,” Billie says shamelessly, looking straight at him. “Art,” he chuckles, introducing himself, making you roll your eyes. “Mind if I steal her for a bit?” He asks permission, which is ridiculous and funny, making you feel embarrassed as he hands you back the beer and leads you to another corner of the apartment by your other hand.

“Hey,” he says, brushing your hair back behind your ear. “Hey,” you reply with staged nonchalance. “You look good,” you add, because it’s true. The few times you’d seen him on campus, he was in Stanford sports gear. Seeing him again in a button-down and jeans felt like a privilege. “That’s what I’ve heard,” he responds, referencing Billie’s comment from a few minutes ago, taking the beer from you again. Maybe it’s over the top, sharing the same bottle. It’s relatively intimate for two people who don’t actually know each other.

One of his friends comes over and starts talking to Art about tennis, his gaze lingering on you. You wonder if Art realizes he’s standing closer to you in a slightly possessive way. That his hand is lightly brushing yours, that he keeps taking the bottle from you to drink from it, openly displaying that sense of intimacy.

“Do you want to get out of here?” You’re not sure where the courage to ask came from. Maybe it’s the tequila shots you took with Billie and Summer before heading out to the party. Maybe it’s the joint you passed between each other. But Art looks amused as he nods. You catch Summer out of the corner of your eye, giving you a thumbs-up and making exaggerated kissy faces. If Art saw her doing it, he didn’t say anything. The contrast between the noise in the building and the quiet outside surprises you. The silence between you wasn’t awkward, but you hoped he’d say something by now. He seemed to be enjoying himself too much to talk. “Want to head to the lake?” he suddenly asked, though you were already walking that way. You hadn’t actually been there yet, but you didn’t want to reveal that you didn’t know the area that well.

“Hey, give me your phone,” you said, stopping in your tracks. He stopped too, raising an eyebrow as he pulled his phone from his pocket. “So bossy,” he muttered with his signature smirk, but you entered your number and sent yourself a flower emoji so you could save his number later. When you reached the lake, it almost took your breath away. It looked like something out of a movie. You know it sounds like a cliché, but it really was like that- like an old movie, but not too old. The moon reflected off the lake, and a few people were sitting on the grass nearby. You sat on a table instead of the bench next to it. Art raised an eyebrow at the choice but shook his head like you’d done something funny.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, looking at you as if confessing a secret. “I’m glad I’m here, too.” You knew that’s not what he wanted to hear, but he laughed anyway. He sat on the bench below you, between your legs. You felt as if you had some kind of power. Your hand automatically moved through his curls. You thought about apologizing but decided not to. “How are you?” he asked. “I’m okay, I think. How are you?” you tossed the question back at him. “Seriously, how are you?” His fingers brushed over yours, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “With your parents and everything?” he added. “I’m fine,” you replied. You didn’t want to talk about it, and he didn’t push as much as you expected. His hand squeezed yours for a moment, as if he had more to say. Instead, he nodded and stood up, starting to walk with you just behind him.

You're walking alongside the lake, wondering if this path has an end, or if you even want it to. You think you might feel those butterflies in your stomach. "Do you know my first memory of you?" he asks suddenly, and you’re surprised. Part of you doesn’t want to know. It’s probably related to Jenny. Art has so many memories of Jenny, and they’re all negative. Deep down, you hope he doesn't remember you as this girl being attached at her hip. "The day after my dad's funeral, you gave me a daisy you picked from someone’s garden." He chuckles, but it sounds bitter. You don’t remember this. You do remember, though, that for years, until you both drifted and each found your own group of friends—he called you "Daisy." You never knew why. "Oh." You don’t know what to say, so that’s what comes out a bit pathetic. "I didn’t even know it was a daisy, if the story details matter," you try to lighten things up. "I asked my grandmother," he says, and the two of you chuckle. "That’s why you called me Daisy for three years straight?" you ask. "God. Why do you remember that?" He puts a hand over his face, as if he’s embarrassed or something. "I thought maybe you didn’t know my name, and since I was Jenny’s sister, you just rolled with it." You laugh. "It suited you, Daisy," he says, and his hand moves your hair behind your ear. This isn’t the first time he’s done that, but this time he also looks at your lips. You feel like he’s looking at your if that's even possible.

"I really wanted to kiss you at Luke's party," you admit, because it feels like the right moment. "Oh yeah? So why didn’t you kiss me?" he asks, wetting his lower lip with his tongue. "I’ve wanted to do it since eighth grade, and then I had the chance and didn't know what to do" You look at him. His smile is still plastered across his face, and you wish he wasn’t so smug all the time. "Maybe I wanted you to kiss me at Luke's party," he says, almost ignoring what you just said. "Little Daisy, sitting by the pool alone. Maybe I approached you with intent? Maybe I was goi-" You don’t give him the satisfaction of finishing his sentence, as you crash your lips onto his like you’re possessed. His smile lingers for a few moments. His hands pull you closer to him as he presses you back against a light pole you didn’t know was behind you.

Art Donaldson is a good kisser. No one can take that from him. He’s an amazing kisser. His tongue is way too skilled. His hands have found their way under your shirt as if that’s their natural place. His lips move perfectly in sync with yours, and when you both pause to catch your breath, he presses his forehead against yours. He places small kisses on your cheek, then on your neck, and only when you lean your head back and bump into the pole do you remember that you’re in a public space. People could see you. This is not your style. "Okay, we’re good," you tap his chest lightly, making him laugh the most delightful laugh you’ve ever heard. "Is this everything you dreamed of before starting high school?" he asks, planting another small kiss on your cheek, as if he just can’t help himself or something. "I didn’t dream about kisses like this, Donaldson." You roll your eyes, thinking it’s pretty ridiculous that you’re smiling right now.

When you reach your dorm, you wonder if you should invite him in. You think he’d say yes. But you also think there’s something beautiful about leaving the night as it is- two people who used to know each other, kissing by a lake. He gives you a small kiss and takes out his phone as he turns to leave, while you head inside, unable to resist leaning against the door.

'Since eighth grade, huh?' -Unknown Number-

'Shut up.' -(Y/N)-

He replies with a flower emoji. You think the intention is daisy. Maybe you’re overthinking it. . . . You don’t expect Art to text you the next morning. You had that night together; it was great, and maybe it was exactly what you needed to get him out of your system. Maybe it was what you needed to finally move on from that endless crush on Art Donaldson. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a bit disappointed when he didn’t reach out at all, as if he’d disappeared from the face of the earth. But that’s probably fine. He doesn’t owe you anything, and you don’t owe him. You each have your own lives at Stanford. You’re trying to juggle work and studies. You’re supposed to submit a thirty-page paper after Thanksgiving, and you’ve only written three. Clearly, you have enough to keep you busy.

Your mom called a few days ago, and you cried. Because you hadn’t really talked in almost four months. She said Jenny convinced her. It’s kind of messed up, but you don’t say that. You’re just glad someone convinced her. You’ve been thinking a lot lately about how strange it is- how you never behaved outside of what was expected of you, and the one time you did, they reacted as if you’d committed a crime. You think about it even when you’re trying not to think about it. Your mom asked if you’re coming home for Thanksgiving. You said no. You wonder if it made her sad only after you hung up. . . . The next time you see Art, he’s flirting with a redhead at a Thanksgiving party Summer convinced you to attend. Honestly, you could’ve skipped this party, but Summer said she wanted the girl who invited her there. So you bit your tongue and told her you’d meet her there, because that’s what friends do.

It’s easy to tell when Art is flirting; it’s basically exaggerated hand gestures and a level of closeness he’s never tried with you. You’ve seen him in action before. You try not to stare, because it doesn’t really matter. Instead, you look for Summer, who’s on the opposite side of the room, directly in Art’s line of sight. It makes you smile, knowing he’ll see that you’re here. You’ve decided you’re going to ignore him. You made that decision when you passed by him on your way to Summer, feeling his eyes on you but not meeting his gaze.

When Summer slips away to sit with Caitlin -the girl she’s interested in- a guy you don’t recognize approaches you. He introduces himself and offers you a drink. You politely decline, you’re smarter than to accept punch from a complete stranger. He’s nice, but standing a little too close for your comfort. He leans over you, and you feel a bit trapped between him and the wall you’re leaning against. You could walk away, of course, but the whole situation feels uncomfortable. You wonder where Summer is, unable to see her in the crowd.

"Don’t you think you’re a bit too close?" Art’s voice is firm and unyielding as he positions himself next to you, raising an eyebrow at the guy. "Sorry, man, thought she was single," he says, disappearing like he was never there. Neither of you bother to correct him about the two of you not actually being together. You roll your eyes at Art and head toward the kitchen, feeling his steps following behind. You spot Summer with Caitlin on one of the couches, and she gives you a nod, signaling that she’s fine and that you’re free to leave if you want. "Hey, you didn’t go home," he says behind you, as if everything is normal. "Quite the observation, Donaldson," you say, knowing you’re being mean. But, fuck it, he deserves it. You grab a beer from the kitchen and head outside, with him trailing beside you. "You’re mad at me because I didn’t text you," he sighs, prompting you to stop and raise an eyebrow at him. "You really think you’re something special, huh?" Maybe a bit too harsh, but it’s all you’ve got right now. "I don’t think I’m anything special. I just didn’t know what to say." He sighs again as you start walking away from the building. "It was a good night. I didn’t want to ruin it, you know?" You think he sounds almost shy. His voice is softer than usual, and you remind yourself that you also labeled that night as a good one, as a nice experience you didn’t want to spoil. So maybe it’s unfair to be angry- after all, you could have reached out to him, too. But what would you have even said? The three weeks since then passed quickly, and most of the time, you didn’t think about him at all. So it’s fine. Everything’s really fine.

"It’s ok, Donaldson, I wasn’t sitting by the phone waiting for a message from you. You can let it go," you sum up, trying to sound amused and light-hearted, though it comes out a bit too bitter for your liking. "So why didn’t you go home?" he asks, changing the subject. "I’m working." You shrug. He raises an eyebrow, like someone who knows that’s not the whole truth but also understands he’s treading on thin ice right now and shouldn’t push for more. "Why didn’t you go?" you throw the question back at him, trying to show him that it’s all good. "I’ve got a match tomorrow, plus my mom doesn’t really care," he replies, and you nod, understanding a bit of what he means. You knew his mom- she always struck you as the coldest person in the world. "What are you doing at a party if you have a match tomorrow?" you ask, raising an eyebrow, wondering if it’s too harsh, because you’re trying to steer the conversation onto calmer ground. "It’s in the afternoon," he shrugs. "You don’t have to walk with me, my dorms are really close," you say after a few moments of silence. "We’re good? We're friends and you’re not mad at me anymore, right, Daisy?" he asks, nudging his shoulder against yours. You roll your eyes at the silly nickname, but you don’t find it in yourself to correct him.

"We’re good," you conclude, walking into your building, leaving him behind. . . . The next day, you decide to go to his game after your shift, only to find out that Patrick fucking Zweig is also sitting in the small crowd. Most of the students eager to see Stanford’s star in action probably love their families more and decided to go home. You sat far from Patrick, but it didn’t stop him from giving you a puzzled look as he whispered something to the girl sitting next to him, who was fully focused on Art's game. You remembered her from the diner the other day. She’s beautiful.

Art won to the applause of the crowd that stayed to watch until the end. Two hours of the ball going back and forth and sounds that were almost erotic. Whatever. You consider heading back to your dorm without saying anything just to avoid talking to Patrick. But Art smiles at you and gives a small wave, so you know there's no way to get out of at least saying hello. You need to suck it up. “Congratulations, Donaldson,” you mumble, and he gives you the smuggest smile he can find. “Little (Y/L/N), long time,” Patrick says to you with half-loudness. He doesn’t say anything bad, but you shrink a little. Trying to remember the last time someone called you that. Probably at Luke's party. Art looks at you with an apologetic look as if he knows. He probably doesn’t know. But that's okay. “How’s the tour?” you ask politely because it’s the right thing to do. “Good, good,” he says, shifting his gaze from you to Art and back to you. Like a man with a plan. “Want to have dinner with us?” he asks. In any other situation, you’d laugh, because the odds of you sitting at the same table with Patrick Zweig would be slim, especially considering his history with Jenny. “I wish, but I have a paper due in a few days, and I really have to work on it. Maybe next time,” you smile the most genuine smile you can find and quickly move away.

“Dude, you didn’t tell me Little (Y/L/N) was here,” you hear Patrick laugh. “Shut up, Patrick,” you’re almost sure you heard Art reply.

'You wish?' -Art Donaldson- He sent it half an hour later when you were already sitting at your computer with a cup of coffee in hand.

You turned off your phone. You need to focus. . . . Art came to your work far more often than you expected. He probably tried every dish on the menu, including the pancakes with the “secret” sauce that you suspect is just chocolate mixed with overly sticky jam. He sometimes studied there or came with his friends. He talked to you but not too much, and you texted each other from time to time. Were you friends? It felt strange to think that Art Donaldson and you were friends- not because he wasn’t someone you’d want to call a friend, but because you’d finally let go of the idea of him as someone out of reach.

One day, when he walked you home, he asked why you took on a fourth shift, since you usually didn’t work Mondays. “Are you keeping tabs on me, Donaldson?” you asked with a half-smile. “Daisy,” he sighed, as if you were being ridiculous, even though he was the one who knew your schedule and which days you didn’t usually work. “I’m saving up for a ticket home for the holidays, so,” you shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “You haven’t bought a ticket yet?” he asked, looking at you with raised eyebrows. “I’m buying it myself, so it’s taking me a minute.” Your parents had made it very clear they were only paying for your dorm. You bought your own books, and you had to cover your own flights. You didn’t look at him when you said it, afraid he might judge you- even if it was silly.

He stopped and looked at you. “That’s fucked up, (Y/N).” Whenever Art said your name like that recently, you knew he was serious, and that the conversation was drifting somewhere too deep. Like the time you talked about his grandmother, or his dad. “It is what it is,” you replied, continuing to walk, hoping he would keep walking too. You didn’t want to dwell on the fact that they bought Jenny her train ticket. You didn’t want to dwell on the thought that even if it was cheaper, no one made her feel guilty for the only choice she’d ever made in her life. “I could get you a ticket,” he said, and this time, you stopped. “What the fuck?” you asked, your voice going up an octave. “I don’t need you to–” “For the miles. You can pay me back later,” he shrugged like it was no big deal. “I don’t need you to buy me a ticket. I don’t need your money, Art, let it go.” Your voice shook a little; you wondered if he heard it. “It’s not out of pity,” he said, voicing what you didn’t say. But you kept walking as if you hadn’t heard him.

“I wonder if we’ll find a spot in the library tomorrow,” you changed the subject to the first thing that popped into your head. Art didn’t say anything, but you knew it was the last thing he cared about at that moment. . . . A week before your flight, Billie cut your bangs. It’s not a cry for help, you told everyone who gave you a weird look. It’s cute. It’s fucking cute, ok? Art watched you from across the room at Patrick's party. You wondered if he'd say hello or if you'd both act like, at best, casual acquaintances- or, at worst, like you were just Jenny's little sister. You missed Lia and a few others who were fun to drink with and gossip with. You found out that Michelle was pregnant, which was a fucking scandal.

“Hey, stranger.” Art said when you walked into the kitchen. His eyes were redder than usual, and his smile was mischievous but tired. “I didn’t think you’d come,” he said, making Lia glance between the two of you. “Did you see she cut her bangs?” she asked, taking a sip from a drink you couldn’t quite identify. “It’s not a cry for help.” “It’s not a cry for help,” you both said together, but Art used a screechy voice, like he was imitating you, making Lia laugh. “She’s been yelling that at people all week,” he said to her, as if you weren’t standing right there. You considered grabbing a glass of wine and leaving them to talk alone. “Dave’s here,” Lia said suddenly, and you saw Art tense, his smile fading as if he sobered up instantly. If it weren’t for his telltale red eyes, there’d be no trace of it.

You and Dave had been together most of your last year in high school. He was the first guy you slept with, which was fine. It was just that everything felt a bit weirder whenever he was around since you broke up. It felt like you’d gone from friends to lovers to people scared of catching some incurable disease from each other if you'd even look at one another. “It’s totally fine,” you rolled your eyes, because, well, it really was fine. You hadn’t felt anything for Dave for almost a year. You regretted not knowing how he was doing or how he was handling college, but that’s life- you win some, you lose some.

“Little (Y/L/N),” Patrick Zweig’s voice grated in your ear. “Where’s (Y/L/N)?” he added quickly, probably drunker than usual, though you weren’t surprised. “Patrick,” Art muttered toward him, almost whining, like a man shocked by his best friend’s crudeness. “She’s at home, wasn’t feeling well.” You wondered if that was a convincing excuse for Jenny skipping Patrick’s party. But it was the excuse she left with you, and that’s what you’d stick to. “Well, at least we’ve got one family representative. What can you tell us about Art in California?” he asked, and you wondered why he was so desperate to put you in the spotlight. “Patrick, leave her alone,” Art’s tone was defensive, giving the guy next to him no option to dig any further. Patrick just flashed a mischievous grin and raised his hands in feigned surrender. “I like the bangs, you wear a mental breakdown well,” he chuckled and left the kitchen as chaotically as he’d entered, yelling something to Luke about beer pong. “Sorry, he’s an asshole,” Art said, sighing. You wondered when Lia had disappeared from your view. “He’s… Patrick,” you rolled your eyes. And it was true, you knew he didn’t act this way out of malice, he was just like that. “Want to get out of here?” Art asked. “Don’t you want to spend some time with your friends?” you returned the question. “I could use some air. Besides, who’s my friend here?” he shrugged. And as you both headed outside, you thought that was the saddest thing Art Donaldson had ever said to you.

"How does it feel to be home?" he asked. You want to say it’s ok, that it’s exactly what you dreamed, but it’s more like what you expected it would be. Your parents aren’t mad at you anymore, but they don’t approve of your decision either, and they remind you at every opportunity that they think you made a mistake. “It’s fine.” You shrugged. “I hate it when you say that,” he had this bitter laugh. “What?” You stopped for a moment and looked at him. “Every time you say something’s ‘fine,’ I know it’s not, and I have no idea how to get you to tell me.” He sighed, sitting down on a bench that hadn’t gotten wet from the rain that fell earlier in the afternoon.

“I’m not lying to you,” you tried to defend yourself, searching through your mind for other times you’d said something was ‘fine.’ You think he’s exaggerating. “I don’t think you’re lying. I think you don’t want to say things out loud,” he said. You think that if he weren’t a little drunk, he wouldn’t have brought up this conversation. “It’s weird, being home,” you said after a few seconds. He looked at you with wide eyes, waiting for you to say more. “I hate it when people call me ‘Little (Y/L/N).’ It feels like I don’t exist without Jenny,” you said, sharing something you hadn’t even told Lia. “I know,” Art said. “That’s why I get mad at Patrick when he calls you that.” He sighed for what felt like the hundredth time. “How did you know?” you asked, surprised by the nonchalance with which he said it. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?” he asked with a half-smile, “I just know you, Daisy.” And if you didn’t know he was drunk and tired, you’d think there was sadness in his eyes. . . . A few days later, you saw Patrick at the grocery store, which was strange in itself because you were pretty sure Patrick Zweig had assistants to go grocery shopping for him. “Little (Y/L/N),” he said, and you’re fairly sure the smile on his face was genuine; he was actually glad to run into you. “Happy Christmas,” he said, stopping in front of you, holding a carton of orange juice and what looked like a frozen pizza. “I’m Jewish,” you rolled your eyes, only making him smile more. He knew that- he could deny it all he wanted, but Patrick knew Jenny very well, and you and Jenny shared genes. You both paid quietly for your items at the checkout, and as you stepped outside, he lit a cigarette, looking at you with an expression that seemed to expect you to stop and stand with him.

“I’m really glad you’re there with him at Stanford, you know?” he said after a few puffs of smoke. “Yeah? Why?” You tried to avoid smiling at him. You didn’t think he deserved a smile; he’s a jerk. “Because he’s better when you’re around,” he said softly, with a kind of depth you hadn’t seen in him before- something that made you think you understood what Jenny saw in him, how he managed to break her heart. “At tennis?” you asked. Because that’s all Patrick cared about- tennis, girls, and maybe Art. “At everything.” He shrugged, all the depth disappearing as he began to walk away. “Happy Hanukkah, Little (Y/L/N). Say hi to your sister for me.” You could see a wink. Patrick Zweig is defiantly an asshole. . . . You and Art went together to the New Year’s party at Stanford. Billie and Summer haven’t returned yet, and you’re almost certain Art moved his flight to catch the same one as yours, but you didn’t ask him about it because you think it would make you seem too smug. And you’re not. You really aren’t. You just think that if anything had changed from the last time he asked if you two were friends, he would have told you. But he hasn’t, so…whatever.

He sat on your bed today while you did your makeup, never taking his eyes off you through the mirror. Someone watching might think you’d hypnotized him. You don’t think you saw him blink once in the fifteen minutes he stared at you. “You like what you see?” you asked with a half-smile, still looking at his reflection. “What if I do?” he shrugged, as if this ridiculous flirtation was the truest thing he’d said in ages.

You decide not to linger too hard on his hand holding yours all the way to the party. Or on the fact that he kept you close to him while talking to people you didn’t know. On the effort he put into participating in a conversation with a friend you met in one of your courses. You try not to blush when he leans in and asks if you’re planning to kiss him at midnight. He's being bold. You think he’s acting like a brat. It should bother you. It doesn’t bother you.

You kiss him at midnight. Or maybe he kisses you. You’re not exactly sure, because you’re both so wrapped up in your own bubble, ignoring the drunken students around you. Your foreheads touch, and in an instant, your lips are on his, or his are on yours. It doesn’t matter. The result is the same. Beer and gum, and something else you can’t quite identify, maybe desperation. You like the mix. Maybe you shouldn’t, but you could get used to it. “It’s not silly, right?” you ask quietly while you both catch your breath. “It’s anything but silly, Daisy,” he says with certainty. And you don’t think you’ve ever heard Art Donaldson sound so resolute.

He kisses you all over when you get to your room. You thank the holiday gods for keeping your roommates away. Your red dress finds itself on the floor much faster than you expected. He’s too good at this. You’d feel much less confident if he didn’t look at you like you held the sun in your left hand and the moon in your right. You find yourself sitting on top of him in your bra and underwear, his hands on your hips steadying you. You’ve never felt sexier than you do right now. A little voice in your head screams at you to engrave this feeling. But you silence it; it’s insecure and reminds you of Jenny, the last person you want to think about when you’re at second base with Art Donaldson.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs as his lips trail down your neck to your chest, unclasping your bra with one hand like a pro. “Shut up,” you manage to say, and he chuckles into you, as if he’s trying to bury himself within you. It's hot, stupidly hot. In a few minutes, he half-gently tosses you onto the bed, stripping down with a speed you didn’t think possible. He leans over you in boxers, and you close your eyes for a moment, knowing you have to remember this. Because he really is a work of Art. You’ve never known anyone whose name suited them more.

His lips were everywhere on your body at once, if that’s even possible, and his fingers slid in and out of you before you even realized you’d lost your underwear or when you’d started making that sound from your throat. Everything embarrassed you but also felt natural. You’ve never experienced such a range of emotions with anyone else, and the second that thought crossed your mind, you found yourself on the edge, and Art was above you, pressing soft kisses to your stomach, whispering soothing words while you caught your breath.

He entered you, and you felt like he was enveloping you from every angle, your moans blending together. You think a tear slipped down your cheek. You’re almost sure Art kissed you right where it fell. He was both gentle and rough at the same time. You don’t think that makes sense, but a lot of things tonight don’t make sense. You almost laugh at that thought but decide against it. Instead, you look at him, only to find his eyes already on yours, and he’s so beautiful, with his blond curls and that smile stretched across his face. “Fuck, Art,” you manage to mumble as you feel another orgasm building within you, you didn’t know you were capable of more than one. To be honest, even one was rare until recently. “I know, Daisy, I know,” he says in a half-strangled voice before his lips are back on yours, his hand wrapping around yours, and you think it’s incredibly intimate. You’ve never had sex like this before. You don’t think there’s any trace of your old crush left. You think it might be love. After he cleans you up with a towel he soaked with warm water, he lies beside you, and the small bed forces you to stay close. Maybe it’s Art who refuses to let go. You’re not sure why, but your legs are tangled together and your head is resting on his chest. “Are you going to break my heart again?” he asks, and you don’t know what he means because you’ve never broken anyone’s heart, least of all Art Donaldson’s. But he’s so certain in his question, he doesn’t take it back. He doesn’t correct himself. “When did I ever break your heart?” you asked. “When didn’t you?” he replies with a half-laugh. “You gave me a flower when I was eight and then didn’t talk to me for ten years,” he says quietly, like he’s sharing a secret you already knew but never understood.

It’s definitely love. You think you’re okay with that.

Hey? I don't even know what's going on but i'd like you to tell me what you think about that? that's it. Talk to me I guess.............

#challengers fic #art donaldson #patrick zweig #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #challengers #wreck my plans #art donaldson smut

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leth-writes · 1 day ago

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Distance (Yandere tim drake x reader)

SUMMARY: Tim Drake is a fucking asshole, but at least you're moving.

WARNINGS: 18+ as always on my blog, though the work is safe for work. Typical yandere shenanigans.

MASTERLIST

Requests are open!

“Have you ever noticed anything… weird with Tim?”

Your voice breaks the cozy silence that had fallen in Stephanie’s room. The blond looked over, face the picture of confusion.

“What do you mean?” Your other friend, Conner, asked.

“I don’t know, I just… Sometimes he’s kinda creepy, ya know? Like he knows more than he lets on. Like he’s looking through you, into your soul.” You explain.

Stephanie cocks her head to the side, pretending to think.

“I mean, he can be a lil’ weird, but I think it’s just cuz he was socially stunted growing up…” She hums. What could that possibly mean? You thought, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s cuz of his parents; they like, left him alone all the time when he was younger.” Stephanie continues, turning back to her homework. She seems satisfied with herself.

“I-”

“Hey, maybe you’ll just have to ask Tim, he won’t bite, ya know.” Conner says, not even bothering to face you.

The three of you fell back into silence.

You liked your friends. You didn’t have much experience with friendship, especially growing up moving around constantly because of your dad’s job. You’d met Conner completely by accident; you just so happened to be going to the same school, he just so happened to be walking down the hall, you tripped, he caught you. The two of you hit it off after that. That had introduced you to Steph, and later to Tim, and just like that, you were no longer alone.

Conner was kind, despite his outward appearance. He had dark, ruffled curly hair and a slight southern accent, and he always wore his stupid black leather jacket, the one with the spikes on the shoulders. Sometimes he even wore a dark pair of sunglasses, even inside, like an asshole. Despite his arrogance and his snarky attitude, he was a good friend, defending you from the schoolyard bullies that had plagued your life.

Steph was in some ways, his polar opposite. She had long, slightly wavy blond hair, down to the middle of her back, and the most bright blue eyes you think you’d ever seen, the color of a cloudless summer day’s sky. She was boisterous, constantly laughing and joking around, a sharp contrast to Conner’s cool, calm demeanor.

TIm was an entirely different story. He was… Quiet. Weirdly quiet. It was the first thing you’d noticed, the first time you met him, sitting down for lunch next to Steph and Kon. They’d happily introduced the two of you, and Tim. Shook your hand. You’d never met another person who shook hands, except for uppity businessmen who treated you like a baby.

His eyes were a cold, cruel blue, almost grey. They stared into you, never leaving your form, even as you turned to talk to Steph. You could feel him staring, like he was trying to cut your skull open for a peek inside. You felt like a bad lab experiment every time his attention fell on you.

His hair was always perfectly mussed, like he’d spent the entire morning debating about where to place each strand, and his clothes were impeccably prepped. All in all, he looked more like a doll than a person.

It was creepy, off-putting. Despite all of that, you were in desperate need for friends, especially friends your own age, not your annoying little cousins that you were forced to babysit when your Aunt was away on vacation, which she seemed to always be.

You were willing to put up with him, if it meant being Conner and Steph’s friend. You weren’t willing to give up that first taste of freedom from your overwhelming family.

Even if you hated him.

Tim was perfect, was the thing. Any time you had a problem, he had a condescendingly offered solution. Homework troubles transformed from a normal, if slightly irritating, part of your life into an embarrassing and awkward time for Tim to show off his expertise. Conner and Steph, both seemingly prodigies in their own rights, didn’t have nearly the same problem as you. Sometimes, in fact, you felt like they had some sort of telepathy, reading each other's minds and knowing the answers before you’d even begun.

Tim was also the perfect child, as your parents were constantly berating you. He helped his family, Tim cared for the company his adoptive father would one day be giving to him, Tim had perfect grades, Tim was perfectly behaved. Everywhere you turned it was Tim, Tim, Tim. You couldn’t even escape him on social media. If he wasn’t peering out at you with those icy eyes from Steph and Conner’s feeds, he was staring holes into your skull through pictures of him accepting awards and attending important events.

As you got to know him, the disparities between the two of you only became more clear. He was annoyingly flawless, and you seemed to be built of nothing but flaws, at least according to most of your teachers and your parents.

The constant comparisons were grating on your nerves, and you knew that if you never saw Tim again, it’d be too late. The damage to your fragile self-esteem was already done.

Luckily, today, Tim had to be with his father for some stupid gala, leaving you to hang out with your two normal, non-superhuman friends, who would never rub their perfections into your face. Even if they had plenty of them. You knew the two of them toned down their gloating when you were around, and they were always trying to hype you up, to get you to brag about your accomplishments. To hear about it from them, you’d think you were the most talented person in Gotham, if not all of America.

You were pretty sure that particular award could go to Tim.

Everything was perfect, all three of you working on your own individual homework. Steph and Kon weren’t in the class you were working on. Tim, of course, was, and he was top of the class, as you were constantly being reminded. God, he was pretentious.

Everything was perfect, of course, until Tim walked in. Steph and Kon lit up, smiling and welcoming him in. His hair was, once again, perfectly tousled, and he had clearly changed back into his normal clothes.

“Ditching, pretty boy?” Kon teased, reaching over to ruffle Tim’s hair.

“Awe, don’t tease him, you know he’s a daddy’s boy,” Steph said, laughing.

Tim just batted Conner’s hands away, before turning to face you all.

“I got out of the gala early. My presence was unneeded.” He said, face completely blank. God, he even talked like a fucking robot. You turned away, rolling your eyes.

“Oh, are you working on homework? I can help…” He began, looking over your shoulder. You turned slightly to look at him, baring your teeth in what barely counted as a smile. “I’m. Okay,” you said, teeth grinding. Tim winced at the sight. “A-alright. I’ll just…” he gestured to where Steph and Kon had migrated to Steph’s bed, now painting their nails.

You finished your homework in record time and stood up, eager to just make an excuse and get home.

“Sorry guys, my parents must be worried… I have to get home,” you said, smiling tightly.

“Oh, it’s alright, you can stay. Your parents are still at the gala.” Tim said, not even bothering to look up from where he was concentrating on painting Steph’s pinky.

Shit. He couldn’t even let you leave in dignity, could he?

You gripped the handle of your bag even tighter and turned around. “W-well, still. They don’t want me out too late.” Steph and Kon nodded, saying their goodbyes with ease. Kon waved, his newly painted black nails shining in the dim light.

Tim simply. Stared at you. It’s like he knew you were lying. What a fucking asshole.

You left without another word.

The next day, your parents dropped a bombshell on you. You were all moving. Again. No amount of protest seemed to change their mind. The date was set and your house was sold; you had until the end of the week to say goodbye to your new life.

You, of course, immediately told your new friends. You hadn’t even known them for a month. You should’ve known this would happen; your parents would never let you be happy, and neither would the universe. The mood was solemn as you all sat around your designated table. Even Tim looked upset. More upset than you’d ever seen him, in fact, you think this was the first time you’d ever seen him show an emotion.

Steph looked over, eyes pitying. She squeezed Tim’s hand. What? Geeze, you were the one who was fucking leaving, and he’s the one who was getting comforted! He didn’t even like you!

Kon leaned over the table and grasped your hand, blocking Steph and Tim from your view.

“Hey, kiddo, you okay?” You simply shook your head, biting on your trembling lip. Sure, you didn’t like Tim, but you’d miss your friends!

“Is there any way to change your parents’ minds?” Steph asked as Kon leaned back. All hint of emotion was gone from Tim’s face. He couldn’t even pretend to be upset for the rest of lunch?

“No, no. They already sold the house…” You sniffled.

“Oh…” She said, looking down at the floor. You could hear the defeat in her voice, even as it wavered.

“Well, maybe you can come over tomorrow? One last hurrah, you know? We can spend the night together, do each other's nails, watch a movie…” She asked, voice hopeful.

You nodded. “Yeah, yeah. That sounds okay…”

“You’re crying.” Tim stated, voice cold and hard. Your hands flew up to your face, shocked to find tears slowly running down your cheeks. Fuck. Fuck him for saying something. You were fucking done. You were done! He couldn’t even pretend to care for a few minutes, and now he was mocking you?! You felt your anger boil up, faster than it ever had.

“Jesus, I’m sorry for fucking expressing emotion, not like you’d know anything about that!” You said, voice cracking. You slammed your hands down on the table as you stood up, grabbing your backpack and slinging it across your shoulder. Tim looked up, startled by your outburst, mouth agape. Steph and Kon wore similar gobsmacked expressions. If you weren’t so pissed, you’d find it almost comical.

Still, you were incandescent. You fled the room, rage boiling underneath your skin, masking the hurt you were burying deep inside.

You ignored Tim the rest of the day. As a consequence, you were unable to talk to Steph and Kon. The distance pained you, but you knew if you had to see Tim’s smarmy face, you’d punch his teeth out. Neither approached you alone, though they did shoot you guilty looks from across the classroom.

The pain was the worst part. Tim’d been an asshole, he’d made fun of you for as long as you’d known them, and they were choosing him. Everyone always chose Tim; your parents, your teachers, the press… You were stuck in his shadow, doomed to never meet his fucking mold. You were done. You just couldn’t deal with it, not while losing your two best friends, the best friends you’d ever had.

Steph texted you that night, asking you to still come over. She’d assured you that Tim and Kon wouldn’t even be there. The knowledge that Kon was still choosing Tim was painful, but you could deal with it, just to see Steph that one last time.

So, you’d agreed.

The next day came with a fresh wave of grief, pouring off you in waves. It was exhausting, so exhausting that your parents asked you to stay home, concerned you would pass out and be injured right before the big move.

You’d agreed, and spent the day catching up on some much-needed sleep.

That evening, you waved goodbye to your parents, bag slung over your shoulder, and began the walk to Steph’s place. Her family was middle class, not as wealthy as yours, but still quite well-off. You had never seen either of her parents, but Steph assured you she had a very competent housekeeper to help her out when she needed an adult.

You were almost to her house when it hit you. What the fuck were you doing? You shouldn’t be doing this. You were being naive. You’d only known them a short while, they’d forget you in a week! It would be best to just turn right around and go home; that way, you’d be spared the pain of a slow, petering off relationship. You didn’t want to watch as they made new friends, replaced you, slowly stopped responding to your calls; you couldn’t bear the pain.

So, you turned around and walked right back home, not even bothering to text Steph. You’d call her at home, when you were safe in your bed, and you had the room to cry all you wanted and eat as much ice cream as you could handle.

As you walked home, shivering, you couldn’t help but look up. The bat-signal was up, projected against the cloudy night sky. If there was one thing you wouldn’t miss, besides Tim, it was the constant crime. The constant need to carry a gas mask or a taser, the constant preparation to be kidnapped or maimed or tortured. It was tiring, always being on edge.

You kept your eyes on the rooftops, hoping for a glimpse of one of the bats. You couldn’t help your slight fascination with them, despite the way your frie- former friends constantly laughed at you. Tim had looked weirdly smug after he’d wheedled you into admitting Red Robin was your favorite, though you thought the newest superboy on the scene was your favorite hero in general. You just liked his hair (and the way he reminded you of Conner).

It was only once you were back in your neighborhood that you noticed the feeling of being watched. You whipped your head around, looking every direction and clutching your taser. You couldn’t find anyone.

Shrugging it off as needless paranoia, built up over your stay in Gotham, you continued.

The lights in your house were off. The lights in your house were off, but your parents had promised they’d leave them on for when you got home. Did the fucking forget about you?!

You grumbled and stomped up the driveway.

The door was open. A sense of unease began to build, tension keeping your stomach in knots.

You slowly pushed it open, taser in hand.

The house was dark, and empty. Even the curtains were gone. You stepped further in, anxiety beginning to build.

“Mom? Dad?” You called, walking through the living room and to the stairs. You checked each room; each was as empty as the last, both devoid of any furniture, and your parents.

You made your way up the stairs, searching each room, all empty, until you came upon your room, tucked away in the corner away from your parents’ room. The light was on, shining through the cracks in the door and barely illuminating the dark hallway. You snuck closer, taser out and ready.

Finally, you were in front of the door, and you kicked it open.

Inside, your room was perfectly preserved, the overhead light shining down.

Sitting on the bed, head buried in his laptop, was Tim fucking Drake.

“Wha- Tim?” You said, tensed shoulders drooping.

He looked up and smiled, though it didn’t reach his stony eyes.

“Hey, come in.” he gestured to the bed. Confused, you wandered over and plopped down.

He sighed and turned to face you.

“I’m sorry it had to come to this. I never meant to upset you, but I’m afraid it’s simply inevitable.”

You stared at him. “Tim, where-where are my parents?”

He sighed again, looking out the window.

“I thought we’d be able to avoid this. I thought I’d have time. I’m sorry it had to happen this way.”

“...”

He turned the laptop to you and clicked play on the video queued up.

On screen, your parents appeared.

“I know about the assistant.” Tim’s voice came through, tinny from the low quality of the video.

“Wh- I don’t know what you’re talking about…” your father’s voice was shaky, shakier than you’d ever heard it.

“There was an accident, wasn’t there.” Tim.

“N-no. No!” Your mom, anger clear on her face.

“It only takes one push and the story gets out.” Tim, voice and face clear. His eyes were stony, glaring down at where your parents sat on the couch.

“We’re leaving town, it won’t matter. We’ll leave.” Your dad said, voice sure. He stood up.

“Sit down.” Tim commanded, and your father did, fear flicking across his face.

“It doesn’t matter that you’re leaving. The Daily Planet is an internationally renowned paper.”

“Please, that would ruin us, you can’t!” Your mom begged, tears springing up.

“What do you want.” Your father said, face stormy. You knew he was picturing hitting Tim, and you knew he was calculating the risk.

“I want you to leave, right now, and we’ll pretend nothing ever happened.”

“We will, we will! Just let me call my daugh-”

“No. Right now.”

“...”

You could see the acquiescence, the relief, on your father’s face. He nodded, determination slowly creeping onto his features. Your mother just sighed and rubbed her forehead.

“And what of our things?”

“I’ll have them sent to your new address.”

“How-”

Tim just stared at your mother, face grim. She closed her jaw with a sharp ‘clack’.

The video ended.

You stared, speechless. Tim simply looked over at you, face blank.

“W-wh- I don’t… I don’t understand?” You said, voice cracking.

“I’m sorry, but when you said your parents were moving… I had to move quickly.”

You stood up and began walking, feeling as though you were pushing through cotton, like you were seeing yourself in 3rd person. You could barely hear Tim calling your name as you walked down the stairs, toward the door, slowly walking faster and faster. You pushed the door open hard, barely flinching as it slammed into the frame, and burst into a sprint.

You didn’t get far.

A red blur streaked through your peripherals before coming to a stop in front of you. There was superboy, staring at you with guilt in his eyes. No, not superboy. It was Conner.

Just like that, your heart fell.

“No.” you said, voice shaky with disbelief.

“No!” you backed up, raising the taser. Conner moved closer, hands raised in placation. You flicked the taser on and let it connect with his side. He didn’t even flinch.

“Get the fuck away from me!” You shouted, dropping the taser and whirling around to run.

Arms like steel wrapped around you and picked you up. Suddenly, you were thrown over his shoulder, your vision upside down. He marched you back into the house, plopping you back on the bed where Tim still sat, the laptop on your nightstand.

Conner shot you another guilty look, standing guard by the door, his arms crossed over his muscled chest. You’d never noticed how buff he was; you guessed the jacket was there to prevent you from noticing.

You were crying in earnest now, tears running down your cheeks.

“Please,” you begged, voice cracking.

Tim looked at you, blew out a breath, and wiped your face gently, hands cool. He cradled your face, bringing it closer.

Gently, oh so gently, he kissed your forehead, then brought your head into his shoulder, as you continued to cry. He shushed you, patting your back comfortingly.

“Why?!” you cried.

He gave no answer.

Finally, your crying slowed, then stopped. You pulled away and wiped your eyes with your sleeves.

“You’re going to come with me. We’re going to go back to my place, and you’re going to meet the rest of your family.”

You looked up at Conner, pleading with your eyes. He looked away, grimacing.

“Tim, I- I don’t want to do that, I want my parents, you get that this is fucked up, right?!” You questioned, voice cracking.

“I’m sorry. I had no choice.”

#yandere batfam #lethwrites #yandere tim drake #platonic yandere

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loulovingho · 3 days ago

Note

ABC and the 911 team didn’t realize that there would be so many already traumatized millennial gay men relating to Tommy on levels they don’t understand (joys of most of the writing staff and Tim being heterosexual as far as we know). And now the traumatized millennial gay men who spent their lives hiding, are finally coming out en mass and voicing their disappointment in what happened and how badly it was handled. Whatever they had planned for BuckTommy will need to changed at this point.

And don’t even get us started on the Facebook wine moms. Those are the moms of the traumatized gay men. They are the mama bears watching their cubs in pain again after watching them getting bullied and hurt all throughout their childhood, their teenage years and their adult life. And they see their cubs happy with a silly little character on a silly little show and then it’s all ripped apart. And if there is anything Boomer parents know how to do, and they do it well, is to take to Facebook and complain.

ABC, 911, Tim Minear, and everyone involved didn’t expect this to happen. And I hope they learn from it.

The thing is it even goes beyond millennial gay men. Obviously it's important rep for them and I've seen so many posts (from way before the breakup) from gay men talking about how important Tommy is to them, I am not trying to undermine that in anyway. I'm just saying, as a bi woman, Tommy spoke to me too. I'm not kidding when I say I relate to him more than any other character on the show. Even Buck's bi arc, while I loved it, didn't relate to me.

I know we had to fill in the blanks a lot with Tommy, but he grew up with a Gerrard, was probably surrounded by Gerrards, and my experience was similar. Not exactly with my parents (they were/are very conservative, but not Gerrard-like), but with the school and church I grew up in, my city, extended family, etc. There was no access to the internet or a way for me to do research and work on my own biases. What I learned was what I knew and it's what I stuck with well into adulthood.

That's when I started working on myself, figuring out what I believed, how I thought about things. The things that had been drilled into my head from youth started to not add up and I was like "Oh, I gotta fix this!"

And then a few years after that, I realized I myself was bisexual. That is a terrifying realization for someone who grew up being told how terrible it was to be anything but straight. I know Tommy's loneliness, I know Tommy's fear, I AM that Tommy. And that's why it I wanted to see him win. I still want to see him win. I want to see him be allowed to be happy.

#911 #bucktommy #tommy kinard #I hope this doesn't sound like I'm trying to take from anyone elses experience #I really can only speak to my own

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nemo-writes · 2 days ago

Text

𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖿 141 + 𝗏𝖺𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗋𝗈𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖼𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗌 ; 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖾 ── .✦

── .✦ 𝗀𝖺𝗓; "𝖺 𝗋𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗉𝗈𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝗂𝖽𝖽𝗅𝖾 𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗌 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇."

it was a quiet evening, the streetlights casting their soft glow on the corner chippy where the two of you always met. you hummed a happy tune as you walked up to your usual table, the heavy scent of fried chicken wafting in the air as you passed kyle his own healthy portion of food.

“i told you, you didn’t have to pay,” kyle said, his tone more exasperated than stern.

“and i told you i like taking care of you,” you teased, your lips quirking into a playful smile as you nudged the box toward him. “besides, don’t act like you don’t enjoy it. you’ve never once said no to free chicken and chips.”

kyle rolled his eyes, but the faint smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. “it’s food. who says no to food?” he countered, reaching for a chip but avoiding your gaze.

“oh, sure,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “because it has nothing to do with the company or the fact you keep tagging along to my weird outings, like that experimental art exhibition last month.”

he groaned, though the flush rising on his cheeks gave him away. “you dragged me to that. i was just bein’ polite.”

you leaned forward, grinning. “polite? darling, you wanted to stay longer and even asked about the ‘existential crisis phase’ of the artist.”

his laugh was soft, and his shoulders relaxed as he shook his head. “maybe I just wanted to make sure you didn’t get lost in all that pretentious nonsense.”

you grinned, nudging him lightly. “face it, you like my taste in food and art.”

his expression softened, the banter fading into a moment of quiet warmth. “maybe i just like you,” he said, the words almost too quiet to catch.

your teasing smile faltered slightly, your heart giving a small, unexpected jolt. “good,” you replied softly, pushing the box of food even closer to him. “now eat before it gets cold.”

he sighed, shaking his head, but you caught the slight tug at the corner of his mouth, the smile he always tried to hide when you fussed over him.

as the two of you dug into your food, the conversation drifted to lighter topics—school memories, funny neighborhood stories—but it wasn’t long before the air shifted. kyle grew quieter, his usual animated demeanor dimming as he pushed his chips around the paper.

“everything alright?” you asked gently, leaning forward.

he hesitated, glancing at you, then back at his food. “it’s just… mum’s got these debts, y’know? they’ve been piling up for a while now, and…” he trailed off, his jaw tightening as he tried to swallow the frustration bubbling under the surface. “i can’t just leave her with all that. i’ve been thinkin’ about enlisting soon, but i don’t know if i can go until she’s sorted.”

your chest ached at the weight in his voice. he was always like this—shouldering burdens without complaint, looking out for everyone else before himself.

“have you talked to her about it?” you asked softly.

he nodded. “she says she’ll manage, but i can see it’s weighing on her. i don’t want to leave her struggling.”

you set your food down, your expression growing serious as you leaned closer. “kyle, you shouldn’t have to carry this all on your own. you’re trying to build a future for yourself—she’d want that for you too.”

he chuckled, wrinkling his nose, though there was no humor in it. “a future? come on, love. not everyone’s got what you’ve got.”

the words stung—not because he meant them to—but because you knew he was right. your family’s wealth was a chasm between you, one you’d always tried to bridge. but this wasn’t about money to you; it was about him.

“if there’s anything i can do to help, please tell me,” you said softly, your tone careful yet earnest.

kyle froze, his fork halting mid-air before clattering onto his plate. he looked up at you, disbelief flickering in his dark eyes, quickly replaced by something sharper—anger.

“help?” he repeated, his voice rising as he set his jaw. “what exactly are you offering, huh? to swoop in and pay off my mum’s debts like it’s pocket change to you?”

you blinked, startled by the sharpness in his tone. “kyle, I didn’t mean—”

he pushed his chair back with a scrape, standing abruptly and towering over the small table. “don’t pretend like you don’t mean it,” he snapped, his voice dripping with frustration. “you’re always treatin’ me, always payin’ for everything, and now you’re what? gonna save the day and solve all my problems with your bloody money?”

“that’s not fair,” you said, voice trembling as you sunk a little deeper into your seat.

“fair?” he barked out a humorless laugh, his hands gripping the edge of the table. “what’s fair about any of this? you sit there, livin’ this perfect life, actin’ all kind and generous like you don’t see the rest of us strugglin’. i don’t need your pity, alright?”

“it’s not pity!” you protested, your voice rising for the first time. “it’s me caring about you. about your mum. you told me you didn’t know how to handle it, so i thought—”

“well, don’t think!” he cut you off, his words laced with frustration. “i don’t need you to fix this for me. i need to prove i can handle it myself. i need—” he stopped, running a hand through his hair and exhaling sharply, his chest rising and falling with the force of his emotions. “i need to do this on my own,” he muttered, his voice quieter but no less tense.

you stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest, caught between understanding his pain and feeling the sting of his words. “kyle,” you said softly, trying one last time to reach him, “you’re not alone in this. please don't push me away.”

but he wouldn’t meet your gaze. instead, he grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and turned toward the door, his movements quick and jerky. “just… don’t,” he said, his voice strained. “i can’t—” he shook his head, unable to finish the thought, before storming out of the shop without another word.

the door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the small shop and startling the worker at the register. at a nearby table, two teenagers exchanged wide-eyed looks before pretending to focus on their phones, clearly caught eavesdropping on the heated moment.

you sighed heavily, your gaze falling to the half-eaten plates of chicken and chips, now cold and unappetizing. the warmth and easy familiarity of earlier felt like a distant memory, replaced by the bitter sting of kyle’s anger and the helplessness coursing through you.

somewhere out there, kyle was wrestling with his pride, his fear, and his feelings for you, but tonight, the weight of it all had created a wall you couldn’t break through. for now, all you could do was hope he’d let you in before it was too late.

. . .

kyle stood in the small, cozy living room of his mother’s flat, the news still fresh on his tongue. “i’ve done it,” he announced, his voice steady but tight with unspoken emotion. “i’ve enlisted.”

his mother glanced up from the kitchen table, her glasses perched low on her nose as she worked on a crossword puzzle. at his words, she set down her pen, her eyes softening with pride. “i’m proud of you, my love,” she said warmly, though a flicker of something unreadable passed over her face—concern, perhaps, or the quiet weight of a mother’s worry.

on the nearby couch, his sister sat upside down, legs draped over the backrest while a glossy magazine rested in her hands. she arched an eyebrow at him, barely looking up from her reading. “really goin’ through with it, huh?” she remarked, her tone teasing but edged with curiosity.

kyle nodded, his chest swelling with a mix of pride and trepidation. “yeah. training starts in a couple of weeks.”

his sister gave a noncommittal hum, flipping a page but glancing at him sideways. “guess we’ll see if you can handle it.”

their mother shot her a look, though her expression softened quickly as she turned back to kyle. “you’ll do great,” she added. “i know you will.”

then, she hesitated for a moment. her warm smile shifted slightly, replaced by a more thoughtful expression. “actually, there’s something i need to tell you,” she said, her tone careful.

“what is it?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

“the debts… they’ve been taken care of.” his mother revealed cautiously, her hands folded in front of her.

kyle blinked, confusion turning to disbelief. “what are you talking about? how?”

his sister shifted awkwardly and sat up, glancing between them before slipping your name. “she paid them,” she admitted.

“she—” kyle’s voice sharpened, his jaw tightening. “she? you’re telling me she went behind my back after i told her not to?!”

his mother’s face hardened, her tone firm as she cut him off. “she didn’t go behind anyone’s back. she came to me, kyle. talked it through like an adult.”

“she didn’t need to—”

“and neither did you!” she shot back, her voice rising. “she didn’t pay it all off and leave us beholden, kyle. we made an agreement. a repayment plan. something i can manage, with no handouts. she insisted on it.”

kyle’s anger faltered, confusion flashing in his eyes. “a repayment plan?”

his mother nodded, her voice softening but still resolute. “she took what you said to heart, kyle. she knew you didn’t want charity. this isn’t about that. it’s about lifting the weight off my shoulders so you wouldn’t go off into the world carrying it.”

kyle took a shaky step back, his mind racing. “she still had no right—”

“don’t you dare say that,” she interrupted, her voice cracking with emotion. “she had every right to care about us. and i agreed to it. i wanted to, because she offered me a way out that didn’t make me feel small.”

kyle’s chest tightened, the anger and frustration warring with the truth of her words. his mother, his proud and strong mother, didn’t look diminished. if anything, she looked relieved—lighter than she had in years.

“i just…” kyle swallowed hard, his hands clenching at his sides. “it’s not how i wanted this to go. i was supposed to take care of it. take care of you.”

“and you are,” she said softly. “you’ve been doing it for years, kyle. more than you should’ve at your age. she just… she gave us a way to breathe. for all of us. and if you’d stop being so stubborn, you’d see that she did it because she cares about you.”

his sister chimed in, her voice teasing but warm. “she’s always cared, you know. you’re just blind.”

kyle scrubbed a hand over his face, his heart pounding. it stung, knowing you’d taken on this burden despite his protests, but it wasn’t charity. it was a gesture—a compromise. one that showed you’d actually listened to his frustrations.

“i need to talk to her,” he muttered, his voice low but determined.

his mother smiled faintly, nodding her head. “that’d be a good start, love. maybe try thanking her this time.”

. . .

in the end, he didn’t get the chance to apologize directly.

you had left for a month-long cruise with your parents shortly after his outburst, and by the time you returned, he had already shipped out for military training. still, the two of you managed to talk it over in your own way. there were no grand gestures or face-to-face conversations, just quiet words exchanged through texts and the occasional call.

for a few years, your connection endured through these messages—fleeting moments stolen between his deployments and your relentless schedule. kyle’s military career kept him constantly on the move, often shrouded in discretion, while your ascent to inheriting your parents’ corporate empire kept you tethered to boardrooms and international flights. every time you made plans to meet, they fell through, derailed by his operational secrecy or your last-minute travel obligations. still, the bond between you remained steady, each exchange a small anchor to the friendship neither of you wanted to lose.

it was his sister however, who finally pushed him to close the gap.

“you’re home for a month,” she said pointedly, older and used to his antics. “you’ve got no excuses this time.”

kyle groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “it’s not that simple, alright? she’s got her own life now. busy as hell—she probably doesn’t even have time to—”

“stop,” she interrupted with a sharp look. “she’s been asking about you, kyle. she still cares. you’re the one holding back.”

his sister’s words struck a nerve, but they were the push he needed. the next day, armed with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a box of chicken and chips, he found himself standing outside your upscale apartment building, heart hammering in his chest. the doorman, a wiry older man kyle remembered from his teenage years, gave him a knowing grin.

“been a while,” he said, nodding toward the building. “still carrying things around for her, eh?”

kyle chuckled, though his nerves prickled at the edges. “some things don’t change, mr. vance.”

the doorman smirked. “you're in luck, she should be here any time now. she’s always got a busy schedule.”

kyle was about to respond when the purr of an engine drew his attention. a sleek, unmistakably expensive car rolled up to the curb, its polished surface reflecting the golden hues of the sun. his grip on the bouquet tightened as he saw you step out, radiant in a stunning dress that seemed to catch the light just right.

but what froze him in place wasn’t just how beautiful you looked—it was the man who hurried around to your side, offering his hand as you stepped down.

the stranger, dressed sharply and clearly brimming with confidence, lingered too long in kyle’s eyes, his gaze on you warm and familiar. kyle’s stomach twisted uncomfortably, his earlier rehearsed words evaporating into a mix of uncertainty and irritation.

but it all melted away the moment you spotted him right back.

“kyle!”

your delighted squeal pierced the moment, your face lighting up as if the rest of the world had vanished. you pushed past the stunned man and darted toward him with a speed that startled him, especially on those heels.

the flowers and box of chicken and chips slipped from his hands, forgotten in an instant as he opened his arms just in time to catch you, your momentum lifting your feet off the ground as he spun you in a full, effortless twirl.

his laugh rumbled in his chest as he held you close, the world tilting for a moment as your arms wrapped tightly around his neck. “bloody hell, love,” he murmured, his grin so wide it hurt. “you trying to knock me off my feet?”

“you were too slow!” you teased, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. your eyes shone with the kind of happiness he’d dreamed about for years, and he couldn’t help the way his hands tightened around your waist, grounding himself in the feel of you in his arms.

the doorman, standing nearby, shooed the sharp-dressed man who had stepped out of the car with you, his tone firm but polite. “sir, if you’d kindly step aside. looks like they’ve got some catching up to do.”

the man opened his mouth to protest, clearly annoyed, but the mr. vance's sharp gaze left no room for argument. With a huff, the man retreated to his car, leaving kyle and you to your long-awaited reunion.

kyle’s eyes never left yours as he gently set you back on your feet, though his hands lingered on your waist. “you look… incredible,” he said, his voice low and slightly awestruck.

you flushed under his gaze, your hands still resting on his shoulders. “you’re one to talk, sergeant,” you replied with a playful smile, your fingers brushing against the edge of his collar. “look at you—beard, broad shoulders, all grown up.”

his ears burned at your teasing, but he chuckled, shaking his head. “i’ve been through a lot since i saw you last, but none of that compares to this.”

“to what?”

“this,” he said simply, his voice softening. “you. here. with me.”

your laughter bubbled up again, and you leaned forward, pressing a warm kiss to his cheek. “i missed you too.”

for him, the years of distance, the unanswered questions, and the lingering “what-ifs” all melted away in that moment. you were here, in his arms, where he’d wanted you to be for so long. and nothing—no doorman, no stranger, no time—could take that from him.

before he could fully process it, you were tugging him towards the building, your words spilling out in an excited rush.

“you’re not going anywhere until you hear about this new art exhibition! you’ll love it—i know it’s exactly your thing. oh, and that restaurant you sent me on insta? i’ll get us some reservation, turns out i know the owner! he goes to my pilates class! and! i know a guy who can get those sneakers you mentioned. you’re going to look amazing in them!”

kyle could do nothing but smile—a big, silly, completely unguarded smile—as he followed you, the flowers and box of chicken now safely in your grasp. you clearly cared very little that they’d been dropped moments ago.

at that moment, nothing else mattered besides the warmth of your presence and the light in your voice. for the first time in years, everything felt exactly as it should.

banner credit

#cod #cod fanfic #cod fanfiction #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x you #gaz x reader #gaz x you

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willowsnook · 2 days ago

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Your funeral (pt. 1)

hi!! can i pls order bacon with onion in a bowl mikes way, thank you <333

max verstappen x riccardo!sister

My heart is only yours to break

A/N: this will be two parts, I get carried away writing for Max, lmao. So the bolded line and smut will be in pt. 2, sorry not sorry 😘

—--------------------------------------------------------------

Australia 2024

Max last saw you in the paddock in the summer of 2018 following your high school graduation. He had known you for two years, being Daniel’s teammate, and found you shy compared to your older brother. He was 21 then, so the two of you didn’t really talk that much, and he just thought of you as “Danny Ric’s sweet little sister.”

Six years later, he barely recognized you. You’d let your hair grow out, your muscles were more toned and defined, and it seemed like you’d become the queen of yapping. He had spent 10 minutes creepily watching you from the garage as you talked with Yuki, trying to figure out who you were. It all made sense when he watched Daniel appear, pulling you into a hug. Max blushed when he realized it, trying to shove down all the thoughts he was just having about the mysterious hot girl in the RedBull garage.

Daniel waved him over after spotting him, and Max made his way over to the group. Your eyes were shining as he approached, excited to see an old friend, and you pulled him into a hug to greet him. He was caught off guard at first but wrapped his arms around you in return, breathing in your ocean-scented perfume.

“It’s good to see you, Max; it’s been so long!” you cheerfully said to the Dutch man.

“I know. What has it been, six years?” He asked, even though he already knew the answer. He needed to pull himself together.

“Yeah, I think so,” you replied. Yuki and Daniel were called off to RB, leaving you alone with Max, who seemed a little nervous.

“So what brings you back?” He asked.

“Finally have the time off work,” you said. “I stopped coming while I was in school so I could focus on my studies, and then every summer, I had an internship so I couldn’t come to any of those races. Then I got a job right after graduation in St. Tropez, and it’s been so busy but so good. I get to do what I love and the town is so beautiful. I’m a marine biologist, so I always knew I’d get to call some coastal town home.”

You finished talking breathlessly, and Max looked at you with wide eyes.

“I think that’s more words I’ve ever heard from you than in those two years when Daniel and I were teammates,” he teased, and you blushed.

“I was like 16, Max,” you huffed, and he laughed.

“Are you coming to more races this season?”

“I hope so. Since I’ve been with this company for two years, I have a little more allowed time off,” you told him.

“It’ll be good for Daniel to have you around,” he said, your heart squeezed, thinking about how rough it’s been for your brother the past couple of years.

“You’ve been a good friend to him,” you replied softly, bringing your hand to squeeze his. His face flushed and you were amused by the power you seemed to have over “Mad Max.”

Later, Max walked towards his driver's room after debriefs when Daniel caught up with him.

“So my sister is back,” Daniel said, and Max continued, not looking at his friend.

“So she is,” he replied simply.

“I saw how you were looking at her,” Daniel said firmly. “Don’t make me say it.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Max said, turning to Daniel with his signature smile. “Off-limits.”

Daniel nodded, still eyeing him but letting him go into the room.

Miami 2024

Since Australia, Max had followed you on Instagram and you had quickly followed him back, which led you down a rabbit hole of what he had been up to in the past couple of years. You weren’t the only one that had glowed up.

Your company had an office in Miami, so you flew out the week of the race to tour the facility and watch your brother in action. On Friday morning, you were walking through the hotel lobby on your way to the beach when you ran into Max.

“Hey!” You said brightly as you caught up with him.

“Y/n,” he said, greeting you. You didn’t miss the way his eyes dragged down to your chest, where your bikini was visible under your see-through coverup. “Headed to the beach?”

“Yeah, I figure a day laying out in the sun will do me good,” you replied.

“I’m sure it will.”

“Too bad you can’t come with me.” You said, subtly testing the waters, trying to determine if your interest was even slightly mutual. Max’s gaze was intense in your eyes, and you could tell he was fighting an internal battle.

“Don’t flirt with me, y/n. It’s not allowed,” he said sternly, which made you smile wider.

“Who said I’m flirting with you?” You replied, and he rolled his eyes.

“I see how you look at me like I’m a piece of meat,” he teased, and you laughed out loud.

“You’re the one who was literally staring at my tits five minutes ago,” you replied, and he slapped his hand over your mouth, looking around.

“Don’t say that schatje; your brother has eyes everywhere,” he said seriously, and your eyes crinkled in amusement. “I’ll see you later.”

Daniel's race did not go well, finishing in P15. You could feel the disappointment radiating off him when he got out of the car and your heart sank. You knew he would try to mask his pain with happiness for Lando getting his first win, but you saw right through it.

Don’t get me wrong. You were ecstatic for Lando, having met him when Daniel was at McLaren. The two of you were the same age, so you got along easily. Admittingly, you did shed a few tears when he crossed the finish line, but your heart ached for your brother.

He was silent when he met you after the debrief, and you launched into a very long story about a shark you were tracking off the coast to try and distract him. You hit the 7-minute mark, and things were finally starting to get interesting when Daniel laughed loudly out loud, looking over at you.

“I love you,” he said, and you smiled, moving into his arms.

“I love you too Danny,” you told him.

“No more sadness today, let’s celebrate Lando,” he said, determined, and you grinned.

Lando was already fucked up when you guys made it to the club that night. You hadn’t seen him after the race yet, so he picked you up and twirled you around when he saw you.

“I’m so proud of you buddy,” you told him and he smiled.

“Okay, then buy me a shot,” he replied and you giggled.

“You make so much more money than I do,” you complained teasingly. He pulled out his wallet, handing you his card.

“Just use my card for the night.”

You were at the bar waiting on the shots when you felt a presence behind you, a hand casually settling on your lower back.

“I’m surprised Daniel let you leave the hotel wearing that,” Max said in your ear, causing chills to flare up all over your body. Your red dress was tight on your body, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t thinking about catching someone’s attention.

“Hmm, so that means you like it,” you smirked, turning to step into him.

“You are going to be the death of me,” he murmured, and you shot him a wicked grin.

“Then get your affairs in order,” you replied before grabbing the tray of shots and moving back to the group. Max followed close behind you, congratulating Lando when you both reached him. You watched your brother narrow his eyes as he looked from you to Max, and you gave him an innocent smile.

Many drinks later, you danced in the crowd a respectable distance away from Max. That didn’t stop him from openly watching you the whole time, though.

“What’s up with you and Max?” Lando asked as you took a break from dancing.

“Nothing,” you said quickly and he gave you a look. “Nothing can happen.”

He nodded understanding, “You think Danny will kill him?”

“Most likely,” you said, sighing and looking back over to Max, who was talking to your brother funny enough. “His funeral, though.”

You excused yourself to go to the bathroom, and when you came back into the hallway, an arm shot out, grabbing you.

Max pulled you along to a darker area of the club with a tad more privacy. He stopped in the corner, moving you against the wall and leaving you no time to say anything before his lips were on yours.

It was a bruising kiss that had you feeling delirious, reaching up to tug his hair, which made him press up against you harder.

“Wearing that dress just for me hmm,” he said, pulling back before attaching his mouth on your neck, trying to leave a mark. You half tried to push him off but found yourself whimpering instead.

“Max, we can’t,” you said breathlessly. He finally let up, his lips puffy, as he looked at you with fire behind his eyes.

“I know, I just wanted to claim what was mine,” he said and you squeezed your legs together at his words. “Now, when all those guys keep looking at you in there, they’ll see my mark on your neck.”

“You are insane,” you said, amused but then panicked, thinking about your brother. “He’s going to kill me.”

“Maybe,” Max said. “That’s what you get for wearing that dress schatje, and he won’t know I did it. Your funeral.”

You knew drunk Lando probably blabbed immediately after you left him, and those words made that apparent.

Sure enough, when you made it back to the dance floor, your brother took one look at your neck and yanked you outside, lecturing you about kissing random men. If only he knew.

pt. 2 here

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen

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darklydreamingdaddydom · 3 days ago

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He could tell his girlfriend was getting quite stressed from work and school… She never seemed to get a break. So he waited until she had a solid 5 days of nothing.. With no one or thing to worry about.

A lot of planning was involved, he cleaned out an old storage room and put in a crib with plastic sheets and cuffs on each corner of the bed (good for changing naughty rebellious little girls who wet and mess themselves.)

There was a cabinet, filled with diapers, powder, wipes, and cute little outfits that made her look like a 3 year old.. There were also paddles, vibrators, rope, cuffs, and crops etc. depending on how bad his little girl decided to be.

Finally it was time.. She came home from work with a sigh of relief.. He handed her cranberry juice with laxatives and diuretics. Soon enough she would realize that she needs diapers, and Daddy’s guidance.

“Sweetie, I want to talk to you about something.. I know things have been so stressful for you, and I want to help. Let me take care of you this weekend, so you can just relax.” She loved the idea of that, it sounded perfect to her… Little did she know what was actually in store for her.

Some time had gone by, and she was beginning to get a bit suspicious… Why did he keep feeding her snacks and drinks? She had all ready had so much, but she didn’t want to disappoint him.. Suddenly a need to pee washed over her and she doubled over trying to hold it.

“What’s wrong baby?” I asked, as I pulled her onto my lap. “I’m not a baby,” she responded rather indignantly. “Now let me up, I need to use the bathroom.” She squirmed in my lap as I held her in my arms, she gave me a strange look as she struggled. “Listen baby girl, I’m going to take care of you this weekend, but you’re going to have to follow some rules… Rule number 1, bathroom off limits.”

“You’ve gone crazy, haven’t you?” She asks in disbelief, the pressure growing in her bladder. “Crazy for you little girl,” I teased as I began to tickle her. Now she really began to squirm and writhe about, but suddenly froze as I felt my own crotch begin to get soaked, with a steady *drip drip* on the floor.

“Oh my God, Sarah, didn’t you just say that you weren’t a baby?” She was didn’t know how to process what happened, red in the face and utterly humiliated.. She just wanted to hide, she couldn’t believe that she just wet herself, now she was soaked.

“C’mon sweetie, lets get you cleaned up.” Before she knew it she was being carried in his arms.. She really did feel like a baby in that moment, and it was kind of nice knowing that he was there to take care of her.. But then she saw it. He opened a door to what looked like an adult nursery.

Before she could say anything he had laid her down and began locking her ankles and wrists into the cuffs attached to the four corners of her crib. That’s right, her crib, because she was the only one in sight who wet themselves like a toddler.

“What are you doing?!” She yelled and she flailed about against her cuffs. Relax sweetie, this is for your own good.. You need to give this a chance, the cuffs are just in the beginning to help you settle in.. They may be used as punishment in the future if you’re going to be a naughty little brat. “Are you fucking crazy?!” She yelled. He gave her a hard swat on her butt, and that was enough for her to go quiet, with just a small whimper, as she looked up with pleading eyes.

He began to cut her clothes off of her, until she was completely naked. The look in her eyes betrayed her, was she secretly enjoying this all ready? Could she finally give up control to someone else? He did make her feel safe, even though she was completely helpless now. But then she saw it, he pulled out a thick diaper from the cabinet, and her face grew more red then he had ever seen.

“What are you doing with that?.. Please no..” She begged, and she lifted her cute little ass for him without even thinking. Before she knew it he had expertly taped the thick diaper in place between her legs. She couldn’t help but press her diapered butt against the changing pad bringing it back and forth as the diaper rubbed against her princess parts, making her moan. She felt so humiliated and helpless, why was it turning her on so much?

He slapped her diapered but again, and told her no cumming without permission was rule number 2. She pouted and looked up at him, about to plead for a second time before she caught herself.. She didn’t want to be in diapers! This was ridiculous!

“You’re going to behave, right baby?” He let her out of her restraints, and lifted her onto his hip, carrying her back over to the couch. He pulled a sheet off the couch, which turned out to be waterproof. Important when you have a leaky baby to take care of. Into the wash it went, to be ready again in a few hours when her diaper is at its leaking point.

He held her in his lap again, giving her soft kisses and rocking her.. She was still trying to get over the fact that her Daddy was holding her in nothing but a diaper, when she felt a sudden intense pressure in her bowels. She blushed at the thought of calling him Daddy, and began to squirm. “Please let me up, I really need to go.”

“That’s what your diapers are for sweetie, just relax and let go” She wasn’t having it though. She kept trying to fight and even buck against him as he held her down in his lap. It was to no avail, she couldn’t struggle and hold it.. She felt herself losing control, blushing as she let farted and her belly growled and grumbled. She stopped struggling and focused all of her might on holding it in.

She began to cry as the mess forced its way out of her and filled the back of her diaper. It just kept coming as she grunted and struggled to push it into her tight diaper. She was utterly exhausted and spent by the end, and a complete mess. Makeup down her face from crying, and the fullest diaper she could imagine. She began wetting herself, but didn’t even care at this point. She just tried to hide in his arms, really feeling like a baby for the first time.

He patted her mushy diaper, pressing it into her.. She didn’t even try to stop him any more. “You’re such a good girl, you’ve gone through a lot baby.. Lets get you cleaned up with a bath and then get you in a fresh diaper. Then we can curl up and watch a movie.

She sighed as he was carrying her again. She was humiliated, but she knew she was in good hands.. She would never admit it, but she might be enjoying this after all.

#ab dl #diapered #diaper kink #ab/dl #ab/dl diaper #daddysgirl

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yourbiggestcrybaby · 3 days ago

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Dark Side

Tom Riddle X Reader

Tom is aware you have come from a school where the dark arts are taught. He knows you can help him and he knows just how to convince you

Warnings: slight manipulation, dark arts

The restricted section of the library was quiet. Tom watched you scan the shelves, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. You were so focused, so intent on finding something in these dusty old shelves. He knew what you were searching for, even if you didn’t know it yourself yet. Power. Knowledge that Hogwarts would never hand over to you willingly.

He let the silence stretch before stepping forward, making sure his footsteps were just loud enough to be heard. Predictably, you spun around, masking the flicker of surprise in your eyes almost as quickly as it appeared. A good sign. You were sharp, quicker than most, but Tom wasn’t worried about that. If anything, it made this more interesting.

"Looking for something forbidden, are we?" he murmured, keeping his voice low, watching you like a hawk. He saw the slight shift in your expression, the hint of wariness. Perfect. You were already on guard, already trying to figure him out. Good, he thought. Be curious. That’ll make this so much easier.

“Tom,” you replied, your tone carefully neutral. “Didn’t expect anyone else here.”

He smiled, just enough to put you off balance. “Ah, yes. You wouldn’t,” he replied smoothly, moving in closer, careful to make his steps calm, unthreatening. He had a knack for knowing when to press in and when to pull back, a skill that had already gotten him access to more knowledge than any other student his age. This was no different.

As he approached, he let his gaze drift to the book you’d picked up, one you’d clearly grabbed on impulse. The wrong choice, but he’d let you realize that on your own. Instead, he raised an eyebrow, amusement in his voice. "Interesting choice,” he said lightly. “But I’d think someone with your background would be interested in… other texts.”

He saw the faint flicker of unease in your eyes, the way you adjusted your grip on the book. So, he thought with a flash of satisfaction, it’s true. Your dark arts training didn’t fade as quickly as Dumbledore had hoped. He watched your expression carefully, knowing that his mention of your past would strike a nerve. It always did. People who came from the darker schools always felt that edge of suspicion in places like Hogwarts, the feeling of being an outsider, of hiding something.

“Maybe I am,” you replied, cool but not defensive. Not bad, he thought. You were trying to keep him at a distance, trying to keep control of the conversation. But you wouldn’t last long. He’d made sure of that.

“Oh, I have no doubt about that,” he said, a hint of intrigue in his voice. He let his tone stay casual, almost amused, but not enough to hide the curiosity in his eyes. He’d learned early on that interest was a powerful tool; people always responded to the thrill of being noticed. “But Hogwarts might not have what you’re used to. Not openly, anyway.” He watched you closely, seeing the way his words drew you in. “Still, you know the things taught where you are from aren’t forgotten here. If anything, they’re just… hidden better.”

The way you studied him then, the hint of resistance, it was clear you weren’t going to give in easily. He almost smirked. Good, he thought, his pulse quickening. It’s always more interesting when they resist.

“And why are you so interested in my old curriculum?” you asked, your voice still light, but he could hear the guarded edge.

He leaned back a little, letting his posture go easy, almost dismissive, knowing how much more effective that would be than anything intense. “Oh, I’m not interested in that,” he said, shrugging slightly. “I’m interested in you.” He let that sink in, watching as the idea took root. “A student who actually knows what magic can do beyond the harmless charms and tricks we’re taught here. I’d think you know spells and techniques that others couldn’t even imagine.” He paused, just long enough to watch your expression shift. “Which, naturally, would make you quite valuable.”

Valuable. That word always worked. It was true, after all, though not in the way you might have thought. Tom’s mind was already racing, already calculating how he might use what you knew, what you dark school had taught you. And the best part was that you wanted this power, even if you hadn’t fully admitted it to yourself. That hunger—it was just under the surface, buried behind all the polite airs and restraint you wore. He’d seen it in the way you looked at certain spells in class, the ones that made the others shrink back in fear. He knew exactly how to draw that side of you out.

“Valuable?” You raised an eyebrow, keeping your tone casual. “And you think you’re the one to show me how?”

He almost laughed. Predictable, he thought. You wanted to believe you could see through him, that you weren’t impressed. But he could see it in your eyes, that flicker of curiosity. He tilted his head, letting his gaze sharpen, his expression just serious enough to make you feel like he was seeing something no one else could. “I think you have a potential that most at this school couldn’t even comprehend. Power that few would understand.” He paused, as if measuring his words carefully. “You could accomplish so much, if only you'd... let go of certain reservations.”

He watched as your expression shifted, and he knew he’d struck a chord. Yes, he thought, his pulse quickening again. Let that sink in. It was always the first step. Plant the seed, make them doubt their limitations. After that, it was only a matter of time before they came to him willingly, before they were willing to do anything he suggested.

“I know you don’t believe in the rules, not really,” he continued, his voice calm and coaxing. “And Hogwarts isn’t giving you what you need. Not truly. They’re holding you back, but you’re far too intelligent to let the Ministry’s silly morals stand in your way.”

He could almost see the thoughts racing in your mind, the way you were weighing his words, considering the possibility of everything he was offering. Yes, he thought, pleased. Think about it. Let it fester.

#tom riddle x reader #tom riddle #harry potter #slytherin boys #slytherin #slytherin boys react #tom riddle fanfiction

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rottenherbs · 8 hours ago

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Opposites Attract F.W x f! Hufflepuff Reader

word count: 1.5k

Tags: Fluff, first meetings,

Summary: you and Fred have always caught eachothers eyes over the years but have never spoken. It isn't until you catch him trying to sneak into the kitchen

authors notes: im such a Fred girl this was so natural to me omggggg. I also just got a request for a Harry imagine and am so damn excited for that eheheheh maybe it'll be spicer than these fluffy ones I've been doing.

//Requests are open! shoot me anything Golden Trio era <3//

Much love, Saige

————-

It was simple. He was a quidditch player, you were a scholar. He always got in trouble, you did your best to stay out of trouble. He came from a large family, you’re an only child. His hair red as fire and yours dark as stone. Even your houses are completely different. It was never meant to be.

Ever since your third year, your eyes have found their way to Fred Weasley. In the great hall when they loudly let off fireworks or in between classes when you found him asleep in the library dozed off with papers strewn across the table. You couldn’t help but to easily find him in crowds, immediately knowing whether the glowing red hair was his or his brother's George. There was something about him that captivated you.

While you kept your head low, the years went by and you crept into the castle for another year of schooling. Surrounded by other Hufflepuffs, the yellow enveloped you with every fiber of your being. Your friends followed you in hushed chuckles as you entered the great hall enjoying the feeling of being together once again. It wasn’t until you turned the corner that you found yourself scanning the hall that your eyes met his. looking away quickly you joined your friends at the hufflepuff table trying not to look his way again.

When Fred looked at you, a sense of relief washed over his body, happy to see you came back to Hogwarts for another year. You two had this weird way of meeting each other, whether it was just locking eyes in the hallway, or being in the same place at the same time. He’s never really cared for Hufflepuffs. He found them rather toxically optimistic and quiet. His loud boisterous energy often bothered most hufflepuffs and they steered clear of each other. But you felt different. When your eyes met even for just a second it wasn’t filled with annoyance but curiosity. Fred has had his fair share of displeasing looks and can tell when someone is done with his shit. But you looked at him differently.

Another year passed where he didn’t talk to you. His own feelings of being a teenage boy took over and he didn’t have time for girls. All he cared about was pranks and trying to do just enough to not get an owl sent back to his parents house. But over the summer he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Just the idea of you. He wasn’t confused; he knew it was a crush, but he never had these feelings be so overwhelming that it was noticeable by George.

“mate she’s arrived” George says, nudging Fred. His eyebrows sag dramatically as Fred chuffs rolling his eyes. “But hey, you already knew that,” George finished smirking at his brother. Fred takes another look at you across the hall and feels a sense of determination to talk to you this year. No excuses.

A few days have passed and the first week of classes is almost at an end. The first Friday of the school year has begun and most students were comfortable in their new schedules and the ecosystem of the school felt natural. Boys were messing with girls and houses already felt the clash of rivalry as students won and lost points. You got up early again and took your time getting ready knowing gryffindor and hufflepuff had Care of Magical Creatures together in the afternoon. It would be the first time you and Fred would be in close quarters, hypothetically of course as the class was in fact outside. You slipped on your socks and shoes and made your way to the common room a sense of relief knowing you had a few classes before you had to work up yourself for seeing him. A breath escapes your lips as you exit the common room and come face to face with Fred attempting to sneak into the kitchen, his hand still resting on the he doorknob frozen in place

“What you’re seeing is a figment of your imagination” Fred whispered, not moving an inch. A smile creeps over your face realizing what is happening.

“I can see you” you whisper

“No you cant” he whispers back quickly not missing a beat. You shift your weight and stand with your books on your hip.

“Breakfast is in an hour, why are you sneaking in?” you inquire.He stays in the position you found him in. He sighs and stands up, his height towering over you making you look up to meet his gaze

“Okay so what if I am an early eater. I’m a growing boy you know.” he says mimicking your pose, hand on his hip.

“If you grow anymore and you’ll be through the ceiling” I say joking back. a sense of confidence coming over me. The fear of seeing him later all gone now that you were forced into this moment with him.

“Here.” you say taking a step next to him in front of a large painting of a fruit bowl. Your hand lifts and grazes the pair tickling the painting revealing a large door that swings open. You look at Fred as his eyes widen.

“So that's why the door wouldn’t budge” he chuffs, waiting for you to walk in first.

“No use breaking in. Sometimes you just have to know who to ask” you smile up to him walking into the basking glow of the kitchen. Several small creatures are working on hundreds of dishes at once. The smell was overwhelming and delicious. A small house elf walks up to both of you.

“Please can I get anything for you?” his little voice squeaks. You look at Fred as a way to show it was okay to respond. He clears his throat

“Just a cheese toasty please…and two glasses of orange juice.” he says bowing to the small elf. A chuckle comes out of your mouth as the elf rushes to bring him what he requested.

“This is better than sneaking in for sure.” he says, nudging you playfully. When the elf comes back his fingers snap and a set of chairs and a small table appear.

“Please, sit, sit!” he grabs both of our hands and guides us to the small table. you were astounded at the service, never being in here while the elf’s were working.

“oooo little brekky date eh” Fred laughs, pulling out your chair. You sit as a blush crossed your face at his notion.

“Honestly I've had worse first dates.” he says, taking a bite of his sandwich without breaking eye contact. His confidence was unwavering and you couldn’t tell if he was just joking.

“Yeah this is definitely a first.” you laugh nervously and grab the glass in front of you taking a small sip.

“you know, i’ve never caught your name.” he says after a short period, his focus entirely on you.

“it’s y/n.” His heart warms. Finally, the name on the face of the girl he couldn’t stop thinking of.

“Mmmm” he responds, taking another sip of juice. Before he could introduce himself

“And you are Fred.” i say matter of factly a small smirk tugging at the corner of my lips

“Ahh so you know me!” he says excitedly. Part of him was astounded that you were able to recognize that it was him and not his brother. Many people couldn't figure it out but you have.

“The whole school knows of you.” you laugh back. He sits back and flips his collars

“It's because I'm dashingly handsome.” a cocky facade taking over as his arms folded across his chest

“Sure, something like that,” You joked, finishing your juice. You reposition my books in your hand catching a glimpse at the clock on the wall realizing your first class is only 20 minutes from now. Fred follows your eyes and disappointment flashes across his face. You had to leave.

“Have to head out?” he says softly still sitting with his arms crossed

“Yeah I'd hate to be late to potions.” you say glumly standing up from the table leaning on it trying to stay in this moment as long as possible. Fred nods knowingly at the wrath of Snape too well.

“Thanks for the first date.” you say smiling down at fred. His eyes widened slightly.

“Maybe I'll take you for a second after class later?” he says, fixing his collar and leaning forward placing his hand over yours. Your heart races at the action, the feeling of warmth spreading from your fingers throughout your body. You slip your hand from underneath to grab it for a second squeezing it before letting it go.

“we’ll see about that”

#fred weasley #fred weasly x reader #fred weasely x y/n #fred weasley imagine #weasley twins #weasley twins fanfiction #harry potter headcanon #weasley twins x reader #fred weasley x reader

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joelsgoldrush · 1 day ago

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wip wednesday: "lovers once a year" (dbf!joel miller)

hello to you, tiny people on my phone. reaching the end of this semester has thrown me onto a motherfucking rollercoaster. if i even think about the amount of finals i have to sit for, i'm afraid i'll tear up. so here i am, drifting away from real-life responsibilities </3 still working on this dbf!joel fic cause i haven't had much time to write lately, but i'm trying not to be too hard on myself. i really like how it's coming along. i'm close to finishing, though i'm not going to promise a specific posting date because i never seem to manage it LMAO

anyway, thank you to @elflutter @joelsdagger and @ovaryacted for tagging me!!!

No one could’ve ever said Joel was a great best friend. For one, he was terrible at remembering important dates. His mind just didn’t catch hold of details like that—never had, really. He wasn’t the affectionate type, either. At best, he’d manage a pat on the back or a firm handshake, maybe even a call on Christmas if he remembered. Emotional displays weren’t in his nature, far too used to keeping things at arm’s length. Luckily for him, Stephen never seemed to care much about these things. They’d been friends for over forty years—which is, well, a hell of a long time, especially considering each had gone off to carve out his own life. They’d trudged through both primary and secondary school side by side, and Joel felt Stephen’s absence like a hollow ache the day his friend left for university in another state. Technology eventually offered them more ways to connect, but it didn’t make keeping up any simpler. The years had tested them, and somehow, they’d held on to the quiet strength of their friendship—a bond they’d forged across decades and distance, held steady like the roots of an old tree. Stephen was the laid-back type, always down for anything as long as a cold beer was part of the deal. It was rare for him to lose his temper, having a way of letting nuisances slide. Joel could bend every rule, yet Stephen’s patience never wavered. He was unflappable, hardly bothered by Joel’s mood swings, which was what made them a match made in heaven. Nothing seemed to throw him off. Though Joel doubts Stephen would stay so calm if he knew what he’d done to his daughter. As mentioned, Joel’s not exactly what you’d call a good friend—particularly considering he’s slept with his best friend’s daughter. Just once, to be fair. One ephemeral, impulsive encounter. Right here, in this very house, exactly three hundred and sixty-five days ago.

AND

Apart from the glint in your eyes, he catches the persistent, quiet ache of want. He isn’t sure if it’s just physical attraction, if it runs deeper, or if that’s all it is for him, either. He doesn’t need to know. The simplicity of it all is a short-lived relief. It’s an easy escape, though, this bare minimum of understanding—you want him, he wants you. Let it be enough for one more moment, for tonight, just another memory he’ll have to lock away. Yet he’s aware, deep down, of his own pattern: promises broken just as easily as they’re made. He’s only fooling himself. The part of him that knows this isn’t something he’ll let go of so easily sits there, silently taunting him, daring him to make another promise he won’t keep.

tagging: @lubdubology @zloshy @princessanglophile @cavillscurls @guiltyasdave @tightjeansjavi @mrsmando - so sorry if you've already been tagged :( - and anybody else who feels like doing it!

#wip #fic: lovers once a year #joel miller #joel miller fic #dbf joel miller #dbf!joel

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lottielovelace · 17 hours ago

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công chúa

(ghost x könig's-sister!reader)

summary: You're just a student trying to make through med school with your sanity intact. That last thing you needed was to be kidnapped to serve as a hostage for a half-brother you've never met.

At least the special forces operative here to help is cute.

originally posted on ao3 (wordcount: 3.8k)

Rating: T

Relationships: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader, Kate Laswell x her wife (I call her Jean), König & Reader <- PLATONIC

Ao3 Tags: meet cute! in a prison camp / First Meetings / tries to follow canon characterization / less so canon events/timeline / so some things (like the villains) are VERY vague / Past Suicide Attempt / Undercover Simon "Ghost" Riley / Unmasked Simon "Ghost" Riley / (Temporarily) / reader has a name & backstory but I tried to make it unobtrusive

this is a part of a series

Author's note: I do write this story with a specific OC (check the series masterpost if you want a full breakdown of her) in mind just so characterization is consistent, but I tried to make it possible for you to replace her with whoever you imagine. I do have to explicitly mention details unique to the OC (most obvious example here being her ethnicity), but for the most part I'll try to keep things open ended (ex: using "your hair" instead of "your dark hair").

Also, as I mentioned, the OC's ethnicity (half-Vietnamese) is pretty plot relevant this chapter, but if that disrupts your reading flow, feel free to mentally replace it with whatever makes sense for your own personal read-through. I'm not used to writing in second person, so the verb tenses are kinda screwy.

Also this is in the tags but TW: DISCUSSION OF A PAST SUICIDE ATTEMPT (character has for the most part fully recovered)

công chúa:

People could be so fucking stupid sometimes. Bold and stupid. Newbies especially. New recruits—or in this case, new criminal organizations—always think they’ll be special. The exception to the rule.

Take for example, this new group who had the bloody brilliant idea of trying to control special forces (and a handful of top PMCs) by kidnapping anyone ransom-worthy they could get their grubby little hands on. Which meant a lot of missing parents, kid siblings, and SOs.

Ghost couldn’t tell if they actually thought that would work or if this was just some distraction. Perhaps an intimidation ploy or a small part of some greater plan. Either way, in reality, all they ended up with was a whole bunch of pissed-off—and very well trained—soldiers, many of whom were willing to do anything to get their loved ones back. Even allying with their greatest rivals. Ghost didn’t predict to end up working with KorTac of all bedfellows, but even their lads weren’t safe.

In the past month, he'd had to bear witness to his comrades and competitors getting wrecked, worried sick over their nearest and dearest. Laswell might’ve single-handedly revived the tobacco industry and he’d never seen Johnny so torn up.

Ghost himself had been spared any grief. He would’ve liked to pretend that it was because his mask had protected his identity so well, but the reality was much simpler and bleaker. He had nobody to take. Tommy and Joseph and Beth and Mum were all already six feet under. Nothing would ever change that.

That being said, the mask wasn’t useless.

The hostagers had done extensive research into all their personal lives. They needed to in order to find out who they could kidnap and how. They had become intimately familiar with every combatant their cobbled alliance could send—with one glaring exception.

They certainly knew about Ghost, but not even they knew Ghost’s face—at least according to the dossier smuggled to the Task Force.

After that was discovered, going undercover was less of a choice and more of a duty.

----------

“Jean?”

The woman’s head jerked up at the whispered sound of her name. Finding no one in front of her, she swiveled. Her eyes landed on an idle balaclava-ed guard.

“Don’t look at me,” the guard commanded. He followed his own advice, keeping his gaze trained on the horizon. His voice was low and rough. Familiar.

Jean Laswell hazarded one last glance at him. She squinted, trying to place where she'd seen him before.

A stifled gasp rang out as her eyes widened in recognition.

“Ghost?”

“Keep your voice down, I’m undercover.”

Jean tried to keep her body language innocuous, eyes now glued to her own clasped hands. The last thing she wanted was to blow Ghost's cover.

“It’s good to see your face— or er, hear your voice.” Pleasantries aside, she went straight to the first question on her mind, the one that had plagued her sleepless nights. “How’s Kate?”

"Smoking like a chimney, but otherwise holding up. She misses you."

"Are you here to…"

"Not yet. KorTac and the team are planning a mutual offensive, but we need more intel before exfil becomes viable. Intel I was tasked with collecting."

His tone didn't reassure her.

"But…"

"I ran into a little roadblock. I was supposed to receive, memorize, and orally deliver crucial information about the compound’s layout and security flaws. We’d had some limited online communication with our informant, but couldn’t get anything sensitive past the security systems. So I volunteered to get it directly. Unfortunately, we didn’t know that our informant only speaks Vietnamese, Cantonese, and some very broken Russian. The dictionary he’d been previously using isn’t complex enough for the level of detail we need. Our shared Russian skills aren’t much better. I can’t leave until I have the intel memorized and I can’t memorize it until we find a translator."

"Could you leave and come back with a translator? A digital one maybe if you can't get anyone else past the guards?"

Ghost shook his head, “They know that we're trying to infiltrate them. They’re very strict about what technology gets in and out. Besides, my cover is only so good. I should be able to get a believable excuse to leave camp, but the scrutiny required for re-entry would compromise it.”

Jean pursed her lips in thought, running over the possibilities. She paused, half thinking out loud.

“I think the princess speaks Vietnamese.”

“Princess?” Ghost’s eyes widened beneath his mask. Shit, no one told him they'd taken someone so high profile. That significantly complicated security procedure. “I thought all their targets were lowkey.”

“No, no, she’s not royalty. She’s a med student. It’s just a nickname,” Jean hastily corrected with an embarrassed laugh. “We have a lot of those here. We get kinda bored.”

Ghost silently thought back on his own POW experiences.

“Things could be a whole lot worse than boredom.”

“The perks of being a hostage," Jean responded dryly. "Need us in one piece.”

“So where’s this ‘princess’ of yours?”

“There,” Jean pointed at the upper level of the compound's eastern turret. “You can see where the nickname comes from. She’s in solitary, but she has a window that we talk to her through during yard time.”

“What'd she do?” Unless the hostage takers were worse than he thought, they wouldn’t put someone in solitary for shits and giggles.

“She’s… a special case."

“Who’s she tied to?”

“That’s the thing. We don’t know. Not even she knows.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I know I’m here because of Kate. Ritchie’s here because of his uncle. Troy because of his brother. Eileen… could be her nephew, but it’s probably Soap. But Elise—that’s her name, Elise Veidt. Do you know any Veidts in Special Forces or KorTac?”

“Not to my knowledge, no. Could it be her boyfriend?”

Jean shook her head, “No. The common theory is an uncle or half sibling. Both her parents were civilians, but her father had family and an ex-wife on the other side of the Atlantic. She has no idea where they are now or if they’re even still alive, but it seems the most likely—if not the only—possibility. Plus she was single when she was discovered.”

Ghost's brow furrowed.

“Discovered? What do you mean by that?”

“There was… an incident. It ended with her being taken into custody.”

Ghost wanted to press for more detail, but Jean flashed him a look that stopped him in his tracks. She was married to Laswell, and that doesn't happen without being able to hold her own in an argument.

“It’s not my story to tell." Her tone was measured, but Ghost could tell this was non-negotiable to her. “She’s a good kid. Just got in a bit of a rough patch. Along the way she had her blood tested and it must’ve pinged… something. Next thing she knows, she’s getting transferred. They refuse to tell her where. When she resists, she gets knocked out and wakes up here.”

“That still doesn’t explain the isolation.”

“We think that whoever she’s related to, it must be someone important. Or someone very dangerous. Someone they’re scared to anger.”

“Then why did they kidnap her if they’re so bloody afraid of pissing the bugger off?”

“Taking her was probably a calculated risk. Returning her damaged a death sentence. They wanted to make sure she doesn’t get hurt, either by her own hand or someone else’s.”

----------

Ghost cautiously approached the cell door. According to the directory, this was “Detainee #934287: VEIDT, Elisabeth.” He peered through the grate, careful not to get too close to the opening—he knew firsthand how solitary confinement could warp the mind and liked having both his eyes intact.

From what he could see, the cell had a tiny cot, stripped of its sheets on the left. On the right was a wash basin and bucket. In between was a small window—just large enough to stick your face out of. It wasn’t the worst cell Ghost had seen, but it wasn’t homey either. It also appeared to be empty.

“What the—” he muttered under his breath.

The low rumble of his voice almost made you jump from your position, sitting leaned against the door. The window was your only connection to the outside world, but it also made your cell freezing so you tried to stay as far away from it as possible when there was no one outside to talk to. You paused, confused then intrigued. You didn’t think they had a British guard. Slowly, you got up.

He was closer than you assumed. Right up against the door, you almost had to suppress the urge to jump again. You silently mourned the fact that such a pretty pair of eyes were wasted on some terrorist dipshit.

Still, you were bored enough that anything seemed intriguing.

“You’re new.”

“You’re Elise, right?”

Your lips quirked with all the cockiness of someone who knew they couldn’t be touched.

“Shouldn’t they have already debriefed you on that?”

“The only person who’s briefed me on you was Jean.”

Your eyes narrowed. You may have only been able to communicate through a tiny window, but you trusted Jean. You knew her. She wouldn't rat on you, not without a fight.

“What did you do to her?”

“Nothing,” his voice grew even gentler. Soft in a way that commanded you to hang on every word. “I’m here to help.”

Attractive voice and eyelashes aside, you were still unimpressed.

“Really?”

“I'm on a reconnaissance mission for Special Forces. I was supposed to memorize this file. I wasn’t told it was going in Vietnamese.”

You perked up at this. Finally, things were making a little sense.

“I speak Vietnamese.”

“So I’ve heard.”

You took one last look at him, trying to figure out if this was a trick or some sick game. Then again, if it was, what would they even do? Your captors didn’t seem allowed to punish you physically, and mentally there wasn’t much more they could do. Fuck it, you had nothing to lose.

You reached out your hand, “Gimme.”

He slipped you a folded up piece of paper. You unfolded it to reveal an annotated set of blueprints.

“Pen or pencil?” For all you know, he could be picky about that sort of stuff.

The man stood up to dig for something in his vest. You quietly realized that he’d been bending down to look you in the eye. This man, whoever he was, was tall.

He passed you a pen. You noticed that while his hands were gloved, a whisper of a tattoo peeked out as his sleeve rode up. It looked like it could be the bottom of a skull. Or a very small picket fence. Probably the former.

You figured he'd turn away and leave you to your work, but he doesn’t.

“Are you going to…”

“No,” he responded firmly. “If either of us get caught, at least two of us are screwed. I know I can get myself out of it, but our informant can’t. I won’t have his blood on your or my hands. So I’m going to keep watch.”

It’s slightly awkward with him just standing there, but you did your best to lay the blueprint flat against the wall and start scribbling away. Still, you couldn't help but let your eyes flit to him, now with his back to you, standing guard.

“Where are you from?”

“Hmm?”

“Your accent, where’s it from?”

“Shouldn’t you be focusing on your work?”

“I could do this with both hands tied behind my back."

He made a doubtful noise.

You let a cheeky smile grace your lips, “Pen in my mouth, paper on the floor. Handwriting might be chicken scratch, but it’d still be legible.”

If you could see his face, you would’ve noticed his eyebrows raise as he tried to picture it. You on your knees, leaned forward with your ass in the air, hands bound, tongue twisted around the p—

“So, the accent? Where?”

“That’s classified.”

You tilted your head in thought, “It’s Northern, right? British, not Scottish. You don’t sound like Eileen.”

He bristled, quiet in a way that tells you you’re on the money.

“Look, how about this. For every question you answer truthfully, I’ll do the same. I won’t ask you anything I know you can’t tell me, not even your name. I just... wouldn’t mind a little conversation. They’re kinda in short supply here.”

A beat passed.

“Manchester.”

“I knew it!”

He made another noise. You think it was a laugh. You think it sounds beautiful.

“My turn. How do you know Vietnamese?”

“My mother. She immigrated from the South when she was young. Judging from some of his vocabulary, I’d guess your informant is from the North, but the dialects aren’t all that different, especially in script. What food do you miss the most?”

“Anything that isn’t an ORP.”

“An ORP?”

“Operational ration pack.”

If your hands were free, you would’ve crossed them.

“That’s a cop out.”

“Fine,” he relented. “I could go for a Nando’s takeaway.”

“What sort of food is that?”

“Chicken. Flame grilled with this Peri-Peri sauce and—”

He groaned. It’s a noise you want to hear again.

Mimicked him in commiseration. The plates the guards slid through your food slot were pitiful, to say the least.

He starts to ask you something but seems to stop himself.

“What?” you asked.

“It’s… I shouldn’t.”

You were many things, but you weren't a coward.

“I can always choose not to answer. Hit me.”

His voice was still hesitant as he asked, “What did you get arrested for?”

You were worried that the question would be gross or embarrassing, not utterly nonsensical.

“Arrested?”

“Jean said they found you because you were taken into custody.”

“Oh,” your cheeks flushed. “It wasn’t that type of custody. I was 5150-ed. Or more accurately 5250-ed.”

“Pardon?”

“I tried to kill myself. I failed.”

The man froze. He turned around, trying to get a glimpse of you—and any wounds—through the grate.

“Do you need medical attention?”

“No,” you reassured. “I stole some valium and then drank myself silly. I was found in time and they got me help before any irrevocable damage happened. If they hadn’t spotted the note they would’ve just written me off as some foolish party animal, pumped my stomach, and let me be on my merry way.”

You haphazardly glanced at him, expecting him to be stone cold. A proper soldier. To your surprise his eyes, those stupidly beautiful eyes, are trained on you with more care than you've seen in the last three months combined.

“Were you a user… before?”

You shake your head but your eyes remain locked. You couldn't bear to break contact.

“No. Too busy with school. But then my mom died and suddenly everything was… too much. Going to med school and becoming a doctor was what she wanted. The loans, the sleepless nights, the blood, sweat, and tears. It was all for her. Not me. I wanted to make her proud. Happy. And now that will never happen. Without her, I didn’t really see the point of continuing to put myself through hell. I tried to drop out, but the program wouldn’t let me. So I figured might as well cut out all stress in my life instead.”

“Are you planning to try again?”

“No,” the answer is honest. “I’m not giving these bastards the satisfaction. Plus I need to find whoever put me in this situation in the first place and give them a piece of my mind.” You turned back to the blueprints, gently trying to shift the tone back to the comfortable rapport you had earlier. You missed it and you need him to stop looking at you like that or you might do something stupid. “That was like three extra questions. It's my turn now. Any hobbies?”

“Hobbies?”

The very word sounded foreign on his tongue.

“You know. Do you have a secret passion for knitting or something?”

“Embroidery, actually. And that’s no secret.”

“So, anything you do outside of… espionage or whatever your job is?”

“I dunno. Football. Tattoos.”

“Giving or receiving?”

“The latter, though I have been curious to learn it.”

“Got a steady hand?”

He smiled, thinking about something you know he won’t tell you.

“You could say that.”

“Anything else?”

He paused for a moment. You can tell there’s something on his mind. He just hasn’t resolved whether you’re worth it to tell to.

“There’s a bare knuckle boxing club I like to go to when I’m on leave.”

You haven’t seen him in combat, but there’s something in the coiled posture of his stance that tells you he knows how to handle himself.

“I bet you kick their asses."

He says nothing, but you swear he almost preens.

"Could you teach me?"

His lips quirked.

"How serious are you being?"

"Pretty decently. They got me this time. I won't let that happen again. Not without a fight."

"If you're ever in Town, visit Stuart’s and ask for Simon. Might be able to give you a few pointers."

You look up at him, grinning.

"Simon, eh?"

He smiled. His gaze was still intense, but its stifling mixture of pity and worry was replaced by something warmer that made your chest flutter.

"Can't promise I'll be there, but the lady at the desk should be able to tell you when I'll be back."

You folded the blueprints, neatly passing them through the cell bars.

"Well, Simon. Here's your translation. Give them hell."

----------

Chaos. Complete and other chaos.

Smoke and bombs and bullets. You agonized over whether or not to look out the window. The unknown of what was happening was almost scarier than the reality. In the few furtive glances you spared, you caught the bodies. So many bodies. The only relief was that all of the dead seemed to be guards.

You thought back on Simon, dressed in the guard’s garb. These are probably his people. He must’ve gotten out and they must’ve gotten the intel. By now he’s probably on his next recon mission. You were able to learn a little about military structure from what the other hostages told you about their families. If his specialty was infiltration they probably weren't going to waste him on a direct assault like this.

Manchester. Stuart's. Simon.

You didn't need to see him before then. You just needed him to stay alive, wherever he was.

The cacophony slowly grew closer. You didn't know whether that was a good or bad thing.

A loud buzz rang out as the power grid malfunctioned and the hallway outside your cell was plunged into darkness.

Something was happening and all you could do was sit back and listen.

There were screams. Some seemed to be of pure joy, others of painful death. Many you couldn’t tell apart.

There were gunshots. Often followed by gurgles and the sickening sound of someone falling to the ground. There were footsteps. Heavy ones. Slowly drawing nearer.

Someone jostled the cell door. You froze, holding your breath. Maybe they wouldn't even notice you.

The darkness outside your cell moved. A single blue eye peered through the grate, surrounded by black.

"Stay back," the eye commanded. You were all too happy to oblige him.

There was a quick bang and the cell door swung open, revealing a man. A large man.

He bent down to enter the cell before standing up to his full height. Clad in black with a mask you'd expect on a cartoon executioner, he unfolded like an eldritch piece of origami. He just seemed to keep on going.

“Are you Elisabeth?” Hearing it again, you realized his voice was accented. Up close, his demeanor transformed. He seemed... nervous. Incredibly so, barely even able to get the words out.

“Yes,” your voice is almost as hesitant as his.

“I— I am— Ah—” his feet shuffled about anxiously. Any bravado he had from battle has melted away, leaving him almost curled against the wall. You catch sight of a patch on his left side. Red. White. Red. The Austrian flag.

“Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” ( Do you speak German? ) you asked. Maybe talking would be easier in his native language.

The man perked up, surprised but excited.

“Ja! Du auch?” ( Yes! Do you? )

You nod, “Mein Vater war Österreicher.” ( My father was Austrian. )

You knew this was a possibility. Even with the covered face and the giant height difference. Still, his next words caught you off guard.

“Ich weiß. Ich bin dein Halbbruder.” ( I know, I’m your half-brother. )

----------

The tall man, your brother, escorts you out. He promises to tell you everything and more once you’re away from this wretched place wo die Wände haben Ohren ( where the walls have ears ).

After being cooped up for so long, your legs protest the walk, but you pushed through. You were a free woman and you would never take that for granted again.

The exhaustion was worth it to step into the daylight with your own two feet.

Once your eyes adjusted, you realized that two portable camps had been set up on the perimeter. As predicted, there was no sign of Simon. You did see a couple familiar faces though, along with a plethora of heavily-armed strangers (including a man wearing a skeleton mask of all things!). Eileen was deep in conversation with a mohawk-ed man, but she threw you a warm smile as she spotted you heading to the other wolf-emblemed camp.

"Are you alright?" a voice called out at you. It was British: Northern, but rougher and gruffer than Simon's had ever been. Still, you allowed yourself to revel in the fantasy for a moment before you had to face the speaker and ruin the illusion.

You didn't know who you were expecting when you turned around, but it certainly wasn't the skull-masked man.

Up close he was even more striking. You could just barely make out his shaded eyes, alone in a void of black and white. He was shorter than your brother, but still tall by any measure. Even at that size he managed to sneak up on you two.

Your heart was racing. You didn't know why.

"Ye—yes," you managed to stammer out.

Your brother noticed your distress. It seems to give him a confidence to act that he couldn't summon for himself.

He wrapped a protective arm around you and began to lead you away.

“She’s with KorTac,” he said, like that explained everything.

During your confinement, you had plenty of time to think about what you would say to whoever got you into this mess by joining the military. You had dreams of really digging in and tearing them a new one. All of those dreams flew out the window now.

It wasn’t like you couldn’t or were afraid to antagonize someone as big as your brother. But, seeing him… you didn’t want to do that, or anything that could hurt him.

You wanted to talk to him. To get to know him. To—silly as it was—protect him.

After all, he was about the only family you had left.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #platonic König & reader #platonic konig & reader #König #konig #cod #call of duty #fic #fanfiction #công chúa #cong chua #die Prinzessin series #die Prinzessin au #cod mw2 #modern warfare reboot

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hollywoodroses · 2 days ago

Text

I Own You

This is a story for the anon who requested dark axl rose who is a villain and he seduces the reader.

I wrote axl as a gang!leader this will be a dark erotic thriller. I hope you like it, anon.

Don’t go out after curfew as the city of los angeles is terrorized by a gang, led by it’s seductive leader axl rose.

Warnings: axl is a gang!leader, smut including: knife-play, blood-play, threesome, an orgy and mention of orgy, fem!slash and mention of fem!slash, violence, drug use, language and strong sexual language. (I went a little crazy with this story)

Minors please don’t interact

Los Angeles is an interesting place to live. Everything is normal during the day when the city-folk would go to school or work. It seems like a nice place to raise a family. There is a catch, don’t go out after curfew as LA was owned and being terrorized by a gang.

Surprisingly, the population never hear the debauchery and violence that happens during the night. You see, this gang has connections to businesses including the local pharmaceutical company who sells a pill that people take at night so all they hear is silence.

The gang is called, The Family and is led by a seductive leader named Axl Rose. The group includes Axl’s inner circle of men and a young girl named Quinn. Quinn joined the gang after her father sold her to payoff a debt he had with the group.

Quinn is still a high school student and is allowed to go out during the day. While in school, Quinn became best friends with Y/N when she was new to town and didn’t know anyone. The moment Quinn met you she knew you’d be a perfect mate for Axl and birth his child who will take over the gang if he is ever got caught by police.

Quinn made sure to rush home to the family and tell them about Y/N. She found out you work the night-shift at a porn shop which means you would have to walk home in the dark after curfew. A perfect way for Axl to meet his pet.

You usually kept the door locked as you stock merchandise and hang around the cash register while reading romance novels.

You suddenly hear the sound of a shot-gun and a woman scream. You get scared but are curious about what happened. You look out the window and see a man with long hair and a bandana. He has the woman who screamed by her shirt collar that was ripped.

You felt yourself get heated as you watched him kiss the woman as her boyfriend lay dead. Turning away from the window, you couldn’t bear to watch the sight. Still feeling curious, you turn back to watch as the mysterious man fucked the woman out in the open street.

Feeling yourself unlock the door, you ran outside and yelled, “HEY, LEAVE HER ALONE YOU BITCH!!”.

He lets the woman go and as she ran off. He looked at you, annoyed. You start to panic as you run back to the shop your parents own, but the man is too fast for you and grabs you as you try and get away from him.

Pushing you against the door, he pulls out a knife and puts it against your neck as you turn away from him in fright.

“Did you like the show, darling”. He asks you with an evil smile.

You look at him innocently trying to give him a silent message to let you go. When you don’t say anything he puts his head on your neck and breathes in your scent. You roll your eyes as you feel yourself get turned on. You moan when you feel him bite your neck. Finally getting out of his embrace, you safely get in the shop.

“I’m gonna get you!” You hear the man say as he chuckles. Feeling a bit of excitement in your pussy, you make sure to lock the door as a fight breaks outside a bank and the man runs off to join his friends.

****

That night you couldn't sleep as images of what happen haunted your dreams. Worried that the man had given you a threat, you begged your parents if you could at least stay at home.

Your parents refused saying the hard work would do you good. At school the next morning, you greeted Quinn and asked her if she would hang-out with you at the shop that evening as protection. She seemed more of a bad-ass herself than you ever did.

You enter the school and see her at the cafe reviewing her notes for the morning math test.

"Hey, Quinn!” You call out to her.

“Listen, I need some help. My parents own a shop in town and always make me work the night shift. I need a friend to look after me and since you are the coolest chick in school I was wondering if you would join me?”

Quinn was silent as she thought for a moment. You are worried she would think it’s a stupid idea. Little did you know, she had other ideas.

“I will help you but you have to come to a house party I am throwing once we are finished”.

You sighed in relief and planned to meet Quinn after school so you could walk her to the porn shop. You are a little embarrassed at what she would think of it. What you don’t know is she is surrounded by sex at a daily basis in her home.

Once it was the end of the day, Quinn agreed to walk with you to work. It was slowly getting dark and you are nervous that this mysterious gang would attack you and Quinn. You didn’t realize that she was a member of the gang and as long as you are with her you will not be harmed. There was already talk from Axl, who had met you the night before that no other man from the group could touch you.

As you walked through the dark streets you thought you saw the man from the night before. You noticed a strip-club get raided and you gasped when you saw him. When he saw you, you grab Quinn’s hand and run to your shop which was just down the road. You screamed as you saw the man chase after you. You swear you heard him call Quinn’s name but you are too frightened to care.

Finally getting to the shop, you are too late as the man was able to push his way in.

“Hey, darling I knew I’d get you”. He laughed in glee.

“Leave her alone, Axl”. Quinn told him off.

Even though Quinn was the youngest in the gang she had a fierce attitude.

“Shut up Quinn, you know what happens when you are a bad girl”.

“Wait, you two know each other.” You say in disbelief.

Quinn introduced you to Axl as he smiled at you. You turn away, you can’t look at him. You had heard night-time stories about Axl and his gang of misfits. These stories would keep you up at night fearing for your life. There was a rumour that Axl’s gang would collect forgotten youth, more like forgotten women for their sexual pleasure. Women whose families gave up on them, but that was just a rumour, right?!

“Get out of here, Axl we’ll see you at the party later.”

Axl winks at you as he leaves the shop. To say you are speechless is an understatement.

“Why didn’t you tell me you know him?” You asked Quinn.

“It’s a sad story but Axl gave me a family when my own family gave up on me.”

You are shocked to learn the rumours are true. Axl really is a monster, how can he forcefully take young women against their will. Unbeknownst to you, these women happily joined the gang even if temporarily.

Giving Quinn a tour of the shop, you showed her everything. She had the bright idea of having you dress in one of the bondage outfits that your family sold. It was a piece of leather that wrapped around your tits and around your pussy in a zig-zag pattern. The out-fit even had a short skirt that barely covered your lady-parts.

You originally refused to wear it but when Quinn explained the type of people who would be at the party, you agree to wear it.

Time went by very fast as you and Quinn chatted about what life was like in the gang. You wondered how she was loyal to Axl and his gang mates. You admire Quinn’s positive attitude towards everything.

Finally it was time to change into your bondage out-fit. Feeling yourself get wet as you put it on, you feel yourself squirt and you moan as you watch Quinn lick your cum off your leg.

She grabs your hand after you lock up the shop and you walk together to her party.

*****

Once you enter Quinn’s party you notice there is a lot of rough housing. You look at each of Axl’s men, two looked past-out on drugs while the other three are having a group orgy with two women. You blush as you watch the women fight as they made out. You swear you saw them lick their tongues together. You whimper as you watch the scene.

Quinn pulls you away and walks you towards Axl who is sitting on a chair with a woman in his lap. She is topless in her underwear as she rubs herself against his jeans. He hides himself in her hair as you walk over to greet him.

Once the greeting is over, Axl offers you a powered drug. He watches with a smirk as you gladly snort the drug up your nose. When you feel the effects of the drug, you feel someone carry you upstairs to a bedroom and let you sleep it off. Axl grins as he has you right where he wants you. It’s only a matter of time that he will make his move on you. In bed, better yet maybe in the shower. Using the wetness of the water to get you off on his body was just perfect to him. You’ll literally look like a water goddess. He’ll wait as he didn’t want to scare you.

*****

It was dark, you didn’t realize you were sleeping in Axl’s home for a few days. You feel someone next to you, thinking it was Quinn you sigh in relief. You slowly start to wake up from your slumber and smile over at her.

“Thank you for bringing me here, Quinn.” You say to her with a smile.

She kisses your hand and looks over behind you. You turn your body around and you see Axl. Just as you are about to scream, Axl covers your mouth. When you have settled down. He gives you a light peck.

“Sit on my face, darling. Let me make you feel good.”

You know Axl frightens you but you are intrigued. You roll on-top of him and climb up his body until your clothed pussy is at his mouth. You look up as you pull your skirt up and move the leather material out of the way. As he starts to lick your flesh, you can’t help but to rock against him. You are so high in the sky, you don’t notice that Quinn began to finger herself as she watched. Axl was a master at eating you that it didn’t take very long for you to squirt in his face. He had his mouth open at the right time, drinking your cum. Once the encounter is over you slide down his body and kiss him hungrily, lining up your pussy with his cock. You hold your breath as he pushes himself inside you and you moan as you both become one.

Was this what Quinn and the rest of the gang wanted? You to be Axl’s play-thing and give him a baby? Regardless if it was, you didn’t care. You love the feeling of being with him in an intimate way and getting to share that experience with your best friend was even better.

When Axl climaxed inside you, you moan out his name in ecstasy. You swear you heard yourself call him ‘daddy’ in the heat of the moment. What you didn’t realize was that sex with Axl was your initiation into the gang. Every member of the gang had a different experience. The men in the group had to do something criminal like rob a bank while Quinn’s initiation was a group orgy. sexuality was open and free in Axl’s gang it’s how the members gave their love to one another.

*****

That was exactly three years ago, you now are the mother of a three-year-old girl named Willow who was the light in your life. Not only did Axl protect her from harm but also the family did too. Axl’s right-hand man named Duff imprinted on Willow and he felt the need to be her saviour from the dark life-style of Los Angeles.

You had disappeared since meeting Axl’s gang but your parents knew what you were up to. You later found out that your parents made a deal with Axl’s gang that they would give you up to them when you were of legal age. Meeting Quinn in high school was a set-up. Regardless of what happened in your life, you are happy and content being loyal to Axl. You would literally die for him. The final part of your initiation was, Axl cut his wrist and made you taste his blood. It made the love-bond forever. When you were crowned Queen of the gang and Axl’s life-mate, your life felt complete but was Los Angeles ready for you?

the end

#guns n roses #guns n’ roses #request #axl rose #axl rose gnr #axl gnr #axl rose fanfiction #axl rose smut #axl rose x reader #guns n roses fanfic #guns n roses smut #gnr #gnr fic #gnr fanfiction #gnr smut #duff mckagan #duff gnr #text #post

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