#and i just really really really hate the sound /sweep makes - i think it should count as griefing to afk in public spaces doing it

[gigifujijifu]

Anyone else remember the little 88x31 buttons from older internet days? I've been remembering them a lot lately.

I make ffxiv ones in msp when I'm in queue or my bf is flying me around between quests.

[mrsfancyferrari]

Mistletoe Magic

Summary: OP81 + “What are you doing with that mistletoe– oh.”

Song: All I Want for Christmas Is You by Mariah Carey

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 8.8k

You’ve liked Oscar for a while now—longer than you probably want to admit. Maybe it started as a silly crush, like the kind you read about in romance novels where the protagonist can’t help but blush at the mere sight of her crush. But this was different.

Oscar wasn’t just a flicker of attraction; he was a spark that ignited every time he entered the room.

Everyone around you seemed to sense it, from your friends to his teammates. You’ve witnessed plenty of sideways glances over the months, most of them playful nudges and knowing whispers, but they fell on deaf ears.

The one person who mattered—the one you were enamored with—had no clue.

With a frustrated sigh, you called Lando one evening. Your heart raced as you paced your apartment, the soft hum of your phone ringing soothingly in your ear.

“Lando, I can’t take it anymore,” you ranted as soon as he picked up.

“Hey, what’s going on?” he replied, a hint of laughter in his voice, probably because he could already sense your exasperation.

“It’s Oscar! I don’t know if he hates me or something!”

“Hate is a strong word,” he laughed, and you could practically hear the smirk on his face.

“It sure feels like it. He can’t even look at me, let alone speak to me! Every time I try to approach him, he finds some excuse to leave!”

Lando kept his tone light. “Okay, give me the details. You’re saying the guy is terrified of you?”

“It’s not funny!” You found yourself arguing, but even you had to stifle a chuckle. Lando was right; it just sounded ridiculous. “He’s not scared. He’s just… I don’t know, awkward. And the way he follows me on social media—not that I mind, but…”

“But? You’d rather he didn’t like your posts? Is that how you feel? Because I think he’s into you.”

“But he never talks to me! He just flicks and swipes through my photos like a ghost!” You dropped to the couch, running a hand through your hair. “What does it mean?”

Lando paused for a moment. “Maybe he’s just shy? You’re not exactly a wallflower, you know. You’re dazzling. He might feel intimidated.”

“Intimidated? By me?” You leaned back, disbelief etched across your face, but Lando’s sincerity hung in the air, urging you to consider it.

“I mean it,” Lando insisted. “Just imagine yourself in his shoes, surrounded by all his friends. He probably thinks you’re out of his league, and his social media habits? Maybe he’s trying to muster up the courage to say something. When was the last time you actually had a conversation?”

You furrowed your brow, the memories coming back like scenes from a vague film. “I think the last time we really talked was at that charity event a couple of months ago. We barely spoke for five minutes, and then he vanished.”

“Then you need a plan. A real plan. You can’t let him sweep away like that.” Lando’s voice dripped with assurance, as if he believed everything you felt was not only valid but fixable.

“What do you suggest? Should I just somehow trap him in a corner of a party?”

“Not exactly how I’d phrase it, but yeah, kinda,” Lando chuckled. “You’ve got to make your move, even if that means grabbing him right after practice or before the next race.”

The idea spiraled through your mind, one that filled you with both hope and anxiety. The next race was only a few days away. You had to do something.

The streets of Baku were alive with energy, an intoxicating mix of adrenaline and excitement that filled the air as the Grand Prix weekend unfolded.

You stood just outside the McLaren garage, your heart racing not from the prospect of the upcoming F1 race, but from being in the same space as the drivers you idolized—especially the charming Oscar Piastri.

“Hey, are you sure you’re ready for this?” Lola smirked, her eyes sparkling with teasing mischief. “I mean, with the way you look at Oscar, we might need to tie you down.”

“Shut up!” you laughed, swatting her arm, but inside, you felt a flutter of nerves. How could you even think about talking to him when your heart did backflips every time you laid eyes on his curly hair and boyish grin? “He doesn’t even know I exist.”

Aaliyah chimed in, her voice playful yet conspiratorial, “Or maybe he’s just shy! Guys act like that when they like someone, you know?”

“Please, you’re giving me false hope,” you sighed dramatically, shaking your head. “That’s the last thing I need today with the race and everything else going on.”

The paddock was bustling with activity. Mechanics darted between cars, engineers discussed strategies, and the sound of laughter mixed with the roar of engines.

“Let’s go inside,” Lola urged, pushing you toward the McLaren garage.

As you walked in, the familiar vibrant colors of the McLaren team enveloped you. There, surrounded by the scent of burnt rubber and the hum of teamwork, stood Oscar, deeply engaged in a conversation with the engineers, his focus absolute.

You mustered every ounce of courage, but just as you stepped closer, your gaze accidentally caught his. Time seemed to freeze.

For seven whole seconds, you locked eyes, and there was an undeniable spark, or perhaps you were imagining it, because just as quickly, he turned his head away, his cheeks crimson.

“See? What did I tell you?” you whispered to your friends, who were equally giddy with excitement.

“He totally likes you!” Lola teased, grinning from ear to ear while giving you a playful elbow to the ribs.

“Guys, he doesn’t want to talk to me. Trust me,” you replied, trying to sound unfazed, but it was difficult given the flutter in your chest.

“Did you see that? He totally likes you!” Lola declared with a gleeful bounce. “He looked at you like you were the only person in the room!”

“It’s not what you think,” you replied, trying to sound unfazed, but your heart was pounding in your chest. “He probably just didn’t expect me to be here.”

“Stop!” Lola said, feigning outrage. “You can’t keep denying this. You’ve been crushing on him for what, a year? Just go over there and talk to him!”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but the knot in your stomach tightened. “It’s not that easy! He’s way out of my league.”

“Pfft. As if!” Lola tossed her hair dramatically. “You are amazing! If he can’t see that, then he’s the one missing out.”

Before you could muster another protest, the tide of the crowd shifted, and Lando walked over. “Hey Y/N,” he said, breaking into a warm smile. “Can I borrow you for a second?”

“Uh, sure…” you stammered, glancing back at Lola and Aayila, who were both wiggling their eyebrows in a way that was both comical and slightly alarming.

“Okay, just stay around here and do not go over to him,” you warned your friends and with a playful roll of your eyes, you followed him through the throng of people.

As you walked away, you didn’t see how Oscar’s gaze remained fixed on you, a flicker of curiosity dancing in his deep brown eyes.

Lando led you to a quieter corner of the venue, away from the pulsing crowd. “I just wanted to make sure you’re having a good time,” he said, leaning against the wall casually. “I know these events can be overwhelming.”

“Yeah, I’m good, just a bit… you know,” you mumbled, trying to shake off the embarrassment of being away from your friends. You took a deep breath, gesturing broadly with your hands.

“The music is great, and the atmosphere is amazing. I just—” you hesitated. “I don’t know, I guess I’m just nervous about being around all these people? You know it's a completely different atmosphere.”

Lando nodded knowingly. “I get that. If it helps, I’m here if you need a distraction from all the noise.”

Just as he said that, Lola's voice cut through the chatter like a knife.

“Y/N! Come back!” She was waving frantically, her other arm pointing toward Oscar, who was now staring directly at you.

Your stomach dropped. Lando caught your eye, his expression shifting from concern to amusement. “Looks like you have an admirer,” he said, nudging you playfully.

“Don’t even! He’s probably curious about why I’m speaking to you,” you quickly denied, cheeks flushing.

“Are you sure? Because it looks like he wants to speak to you instead of me,” Lando teased, his grin widening.

You rolled your eyes, but the heat on your cheeks didn’t fade. “Stop it. Oscar’s just being polite.”

“Polite? Y/N, that look he’s giving you is way more than polite,” he chuckled.

Despite yourself, you risked another glance at Oscar. He was still looking in your direction, a small smile creeping across his lips.

What was even more annoying was how attractive he looked in that moment, leaning against the wall, confidently engaging with a couple of people.

“Okay, maybe he isn’t just being polite,” you conceded, trying to feign indifference.

Lando leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “What’s the deal with you two, anyway? I thought he 'hated' you.”

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone casual. “He does hate me maybe just not today.” But even as you said it, the truth felt slanted. There was something more that bubbled underneath the surface, something you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge.

“Right,” Lando said, raising an eyebrow. “All I see are two people who clearly have some unresolved tension,” he smirked, clearly enjoying the fact that he could tease you.

Before you could reply, there was an announcement over the loudspeakers instructing all drivers to head to their garages and prepare for the race.

“See you later?” Lando asked, giving you a easy smile.

“Of course! Good luck, Lando,” you said, genuinely wishing him well. You knew how hard he trained and how much this race meant to him.

As he walked away, your attention shifted to Oscar, who was a few spaces down, adjusting his helmet strap. When he caught your eye, he hesitated for a moment, those familiar warm brown eyes locking onto yours.

He looked almost bashful as he realized you were watching him. “Good luck, Oscar!” you called out, trying to sound casual, though your heart raced.

His face broke into a magnificent grin, cheeks reddening slightly. “Thanks, Y/N!” he replied, his voice carrying a hint of excitement and appreciation.

He glanced down, fiddling with his gear as he turned to head into the garage.

You watched him disappear behind the metal doors, an inexplicable thrill coursing through you.

It was silly, was it not? Your hope had doubled just from this interaction but you knew it meant nothing in Oscar's eyes. . .

The adrenaline still buzzed in the air as the final laps of the Azerbaijan Grand Prix raced through everyone’s minds. The street circuit glimmered under the twilight sun as Oscar Piastri, the newly crowned champion of the day, burst from his car, his helmet clutched under his arm.

The roar of the crowd echoed off the old buildings surrounding the circuit, celebrating the victory that had become so hard-earned.

You had watched the entire race with bated breath, your heart pounding with each corner he navigated, each overtake he executed. You couldn’t believe it—Oscar had done it.

The memory of his previous win played faintly in your mind, but it didn't compare to this moment. This was the race where it felt like he had truly battled every inch of the track and his competitors for the victory.

“Are you guys going to come?” you asked, as you stood up, barely able to contain your excitement. Your fingertips tingled with anticipation.

“Nah, we’ll watch the celebrations from here. Go congratulate your boyfriend,” Aaliyah teased, her eyes sparkling as she nudged you playfully.

You felt a rush of warmth spread across your cheeks at the mention of the word “boyfriend.”

“We’re not dating, Aaliyah! It’s… it’s complicated!” you stammered, your excitement mingling with nerves.

“Complicated, huh?” she continued, her smirk undeniable. “You should probably clear that up once you get down there.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but smile. It was more complicated than Aaliyah could imagine.

Today, watching him work so incredibly hard and finally claim that victory felt like a turning point that ignited a fire in you.

“Right,” you said, gathering courage and taking a deep breath. “I’ll be right back!”

With that, you made your way to the pit lane where his team was erupting in cheers, everyone surrounding Oscar as they hoisted him high above their heads.

The sight made your heart swell—he was a champion, and he was thriving.

When you reached the edge of the celebration, you watched him for a moment, his laughter ringing out bright and infectious. He had that light in his eyes, a rare spark that shone brightly after the stress of the race.

You hesitated, unsure if you wanted to interrupt the joyful chaos surrounding him.

Your moment of hesitation was abruptly interrupted when you felt a gentle tap on your arm. Turning, you found Tom, Oscar's race engineer, standing there with a warm, inviting smile.

"Y/N, should I bring you closer to Oscar?" he asked politely, as though he could sense your internal struggle.

You weren't quite sure how he even knew your name. You'd never formally introduced yourself, nor had you visited the paddock often enough for recognition. But amidst the whirlwind of happiness, you pushed your curiosity aside.

"Yes, please," you responded, the anticipation racing through you. Your heart pounded at the thought of actually getting to congratulate Oscar in person.

Tom nodded, leading you through the throngs of people, laughter, and cheerful chaos. The closer you got, the more your nerves fluttered. What would you say?

“Congratulations” felt too simple for what you wanted to express—too small for the monumental achievement he had just secured.

As you stepped closer, you could see Oscar surrounded by a group of teammates and a few friends.

“Oscar!” Tom called, breaking into the cheers. Oscar turned, and his face lit up even more when he spotted you.

“Y/N!” Oscar exclaimed, a hint of surprise in his voice. The way he said your name, like it was a sweet melody, made your heart skip.

You took a step closer, fueled by an impulse you weren’t sure would be welcomed.

“Congratulations, Oscar!” you said, and in an uncharacteristic burst of spontaneity, you pulled him into a hug. The warmth of his body enveloped you, and for a moment, the world around you faded.

It was weird to hug him—Oscar was not the type of person who hugged a lot. He was usually the stoic, strong type, but today was different.

You felt his arms wrap tentatively around you, and you almost pulled away out of embarrassment, but the thrill of the moment kept you there.

“Wow, I didn’t expect a hug,” he chuckled, his breath warm against your hair. “I mean, thank you! It means a lot coming from you.”

You released him slowly, feeling your cheeks heat up. "You were amazing out there. I could hardly believe it when you scored that final goal! The crowd went wild!"

His eyes sparkled with genuine happiness. “It was a team effort, honestly. But…” he paused, looking into your eyes, “I’m glad you were here to see it.”

In that moment, the world around you faded, the roaring crowd and chaotic celebrations dulled to a soft echo as his words hung suspended between you.

The emotions in his voice and eyes overflowed, washing over you like a wave, and it affected you more than you wanted to admit. You could feel the heat radiating from your cheeks; it felt like a stage light had been trained on you alone.

“I…,” you began, swallowing hard. “I need some air.”

The last thing you wanted was to break down under the weight of your feelings in front of everyone.

You patted his chest gently, though your touch lingered, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. “Go celebrate with the team; you deserve it. I’ll be around later,” you managed to say, your voice a mix of encouragement and self-preservation.

Letting go of him felt like releasing a balloon into the sky, and as you stepped back, you couldn’t shake the weight of what had just transpired.

He hesitated, searching your face for something—reassurance, clarity, whatever it was, he didn’t find it. But he nodded, albeit reluctantly, and turned to join his teammates.

You watched as he melded back into the celebration, his laughter ringing out above the rest.

The moment he turned away, you felt an overwhelming storm of emotions.

You had never had someone like Oscar reciprocate your feelings, and that scared you. The crush you had nurtured for so long was starting to sprout, but the uncertainty about what that might mean felt suffocating.

You wandered toward a quieter corner of the stadium, trying to catch your breath. Leaning against a cool metal railing, you watched the team celebrate, the glint of victory sparkling in their eyes.

Everyone was so happy, so carefree. You could hear Oscar’s laughter clearly, a sound that made your chest constrict with a mixture of joy and fear.

Why was this so complicated?

The bustling atmosphere around the racetrack was electric, but finding McLaren's hospitality room amidst the chaos of the after-race frenzy proved to be a little more challenging than expected.

A couple of minutes passed as you navigated through the throngs of jubilant fans and team members, your pulse quickening with each wave of color and sound, when you felt a gentle touch on your shoulder.

You turned sharply to see Lola, her blonde curls bouncing with enthusiasm, eyes bright with excitement.

“Hey! We’re going to the club to celebrate Oscar’s win later. You coming?” she asked, her voice almost melodic over the murmur of the crowd.

You hesitated, wringing your hands nervously as a wave of uncertainty washed over you. “Um, I’m not sure…” You couldn’t shake the thought of retreating to your safe, quiet apartment instead.

“Oh, come on! It won’t be the same without you,” Lola urged, her eyes wide with sincerity. “Oscar was asking where you went. He really wants you there!”

There it was again—the familiar tightness in your chest that accompanied thoughts of Oscar. The way he had smiled when he had crossed the finish line, the joy that radiated from him like an aura. “Really? He said that?”

“Of course!” Lola replied, rolling her eyes playfully. “You’re his lucky charm. He’ll be bummed if you miss out.”

You bit your lip, weighing your options. It would be so easy to slip away, return to that quiet corner of your life where things felt safe and uncomplicated. But was that truly what you wanted?

The thought of Oscar’s disappointment tugged at your heart, igniting a flicker of bravery deep within.

“All right, I’ll go,” you finally said, your voice steadier than you felt.

Lola beamed at you, the corners of her mouth curving with delight as she spun around. “Yay! I’ll meet you in a bit then! You have to look fabulous, so hurry!”

With that, she bounced off into the crowd, leaving you standing there, a rush of excitement and anxiety swirling within you. You had just enough time to get to your apartment, so you hurriedly made your way back to your place, thoughts racing.

The moment you stepped inside, you knew you had to pick the perfect outfit. 

The air in the apartment felt charged with anticipation as you rummaged through your closet, trying to piece together the perfect outfit.

After a long week filled with monotony, tonight was a chance to step out of your comfort zone. You settled on a sleek black club dress, the kind that hugged your figure in all the right places. The fabric shimmered subtly under the light, giving you an air of elegance while the plunging neckline added just a hint of daring.

You paired it with your favorite strappy heels that always made you feel like you were walking on clouds.

With a final glance in the mirror, you felt the tiniest bit of confidence swell within you. Maybe, just maybe, tonight would be different. You pushed a few errant strands of hair behind your ear, took a deep breath, and stepped out the door.

As you made your way through the bustling city streets, the energy around you buzzed with life, the neon lights of the club flickering in the distance.

When you finally arrived, you could feel the beat of the bass thumping in your chest. The air was thick with excitement, laughter mingling with the rhythmic pulse of the music.

You spotted Lola right away. She was a whirlwind of energy, chatting animatedly with a few friends, her laughter cutting through the noise like a beacon. You pushed through the crowd, your heart racing not just from the music but the thought of seeing Oscar.

As soon as Lola saw you, her eyes lit up like a thousand fireworks, and she waved her arms as if she were a traffic conductor guiding you through the chaos.

“There she is!” she exclaimed, her voice bubbling over with excitement.

“Lola! You look amazing!” you replied, enveloping her in a hug.

“Thanks! But look at you in that dress! Wow! You’re going to turn some heads tonight.” She stepped back, her eyes sweeping over your outfit with awe. “Are you ready for a night of fun?”

“Let’s hope so! Just promise to help me if I start to fade into the background,” you laughed nervously.

Loka grinned. “You will not fade. Just follow my lead!”

You two made your way deeper into the club, where the lights spun like stars and bodies moved in a kaleidoscope of color.

The pulsating bass of the club thrummed through your chest as you and Lola maneuvered deeper into the throng of bodies. Lights twinkled overhead, cutting through the smoky air like stars scattered across a midnight sky, and everywhere you looked, people danced with abandon, swaying to the rhythm of the music.

You felt the energy of the crowd washing over you, but in the back of your mind, you couldn't shake off the nervousness that settled there.

“Apparently Oscar’s coming later,” Lola said, her voice a melody lifted above the noise as she twirled, her skirt flaring out around her.

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of his name, though thinking of him made your stomach churn; the last time you saw him, your feelings had bubbled over in an awkward, embarrassing moment.

You’d pushed him away, confused and overwhelmed, leaving him staring after you with a look you couldn’t decipher—a blend of disappointment and surprise.

“I can’t wait to see him! I just… I should probably apologize today,” you replied, trying to sound lighthearted, but your voice betrayed the nerves knotting tight in your belly.

Lola chuckled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just don’t trip over your words. That would be classic you!”

You shot her a playful glare. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

A few minutes later, the music faded slightly as the DJ called for attention. “Ladies and gentlemen!” he boomed through the speakers, “We have a special guest in the house tonight—the winner of the race! Give it up for Oscar Piastri!”

The club erupted into cheers, and your heart raced as you turned to face the entrance. The door swung open, revealing Oscar, flanked by Lando and Max, both radiant with victory and excitement. The crowd surged toward them, voices rising in a joyous cacophony.

“There he is!” Lola shouted over the music, her eyes gleaming with the thrill of the moment. “Go on! Go say hi!”

But as you tried to get closer, a wall of fans obscured the pathway, blocking you from reaching him. You clenched your fists in frustration.

Why was fate working against you?

“Let’s just wait by the bar,” you suggested, resigned. “I’ll wait until the fans clear out, and then I can talk to him.”

“Suit yourself, but I’m going to the dance floor!” Lola laughed, waving as she disappeared into the mass of moving bodies.

You downed a drink, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of hope and despair. Time passed, and you remained at the bar, only to see the fans crowding around Oscar, capturing selfies and shouting his name.

He seemed gracious yet slightly overwhelmed, laughter spilling from him as he interacted with the crowd.

As the minutes dragged on and your drink count steadily rose, you felt your heart sink lower. It was hard to swallow as more people pressed in, and when you finally dared to look back, your heart lurched painfully.

There, in the midst of the frenetic energy of the club, stood Oscar with a beautiful girl, their lips brushing together in an unexpected kiss.

Your breath caught in your throat, and a rush of tears threatened to spill over.

You turned away, biting down on your lip. “What am I even doing here?” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head as if that could shake off the image before it lodged itself into your mind like a stubborn burr.

It was absurd, really. You hadn’t even realized you had that much feelings for him until this very moment, and now, every insecurity you possessed rose up like a tide.

The club seemed to swell and pulse around you, but its vibrant atmosphere faded into silence.

The laughter turned into whispers, and you could almost hear your own thoughts screaming: He’s out of your league. She’s everything you’re not.

Suddenly, you felt claustrophobic, trapped in a cycle of unwanted feelings and doubt.

As if on autopilot, you threaded your way through the crowd, pushing past gyrating bodies, dodging the strobe lights that seemed to explode in front of your eyes. You reached the exit and stepped outside.

The fresh air hit your face like a splash of water, shockingly crisp against the sticky humidity of the club. You leaned against the cool brick wall of the alley beside the entrance and breathed deeply, trying to get your bearings.

“What did I expect?” you whispered to the empty night. “Of course he’d choose someone like her.”

Just then, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You fished it out, and a message popped up. It was from Lola.

“Where did you go? I thought you were in there! I found a booth by the bar! Get back in! :)”

You almost typed back, “I’ll stay out here forever,” but instead, you just hit the home button and sighed. The night was still young. Maybe there was more to this evening than you could see.

You took a moment, your mind racing. The truth was, you liked Oscar. Like, really liked him.

You had hoped that tonight might be the night you could tell him, but that seemed impossible now. . . .

You sit on your bed, the soft quilt embraced by the evening light filtering through your curtains. The room feels heavy, shadows gather, and silence reigns from the world outside.

You set your phone down, and the earlier events flood back.

The memory of that night at the club is vivid. The pulsating beat of the music had echoed through your heart, but all that vibrancy shattered like glass when you spotted them.

Oscar—your Oscar—leaning in, kissing someone else. You had felt the blood drain from your face, the weight of a thousand crushed dreams falling on your shoulders.

“Why did I come here?” you whisper, even though your bedroom feels like a cocoon, wrapped away from the world outside.

In a moment of impulsivity, you had blocked Oscar on every social media platform you could think of. His posts would only serve as daggers, and you wouldn’t let him hurt you like that.

You wonder if he even noticed. Lando, his best friend and a thousand times more perceptive, had already begun to question you.

Just moments before, your phone buzzed with a text. It was Lando, naturally, with his usual bluntness: “Hey, why did you leave the club yesterday??? Did you get sick or something?”

The truth clawed at you, but you didn’t owe them any explanation. So, you replied with a simple lie.

“Just felt tired. I’ve been working too much lately.”

You knew he wouldn’t buy it, but you hoped to evade the topic long enough for things to quiet down.

Turning your phone face down, you sigh and lean back against your pillows. The weight of the night settles over you—anger, sadness, longing—and then your phone buzzes again.

“Hey, you okay?” Lando’s message flashes across the screen.

Your heart races. “Yeah, just tired,” you type, heart pounding, expecting his response any moment.

“You don’t sound like it,” Lando replies, and you can almost picture him furrowing his brow, a concerned expression tightening his features. The thought stings, a remembrance of all the times he has been there for you, holding space in his easily approachable way.

“Seriously, Lando, I’m fine. Just needed some air,” you type back, each word more strained than the last.

He replies quickly. “You want me to come over? We can have a movie night or something.”

As tempting as it sounds, the idea both comforts and terrifies you. You know Lando well enough to recognize that he’d dig deeper into your feelings, convinced something is wrong.

Still, there's a part of you that craves that familiarity, the bond you share.

“No, it’s all good. Just need some time alone,” you respond, unsure of your own feelings.

“That’s not really your style, though. You’re always inviting me over. What’s up?” Lando pushes back gently, a sense of worry lacing through his words.

You can’t hide from the truth forever, but admitting your feelings about Oscar feels too raw, too exposed. Lando’s your friend, but he’s also Oscar’s best friend; anything you say could wind up back to him, and you’re not ready for that.

“I just saw something—something I didn’t want to see at the club,” you finally muster, the honesty spilling from your fingertips despite your reservations.

There’s a pause—a beat of silence—and for a moment, you wonder if he’s already piecing it together.

“You mean Oscar?” Lando asks, his tone softer but still probing. “What about him?”

“Nothing.” The word feels hollow, the truth clawing at your throat. “I just... I just need some space, alright?”

“Are you sure that’s it?” Lando persists. “You and Oscar were pretty tight when he won until…”

You cut him off. “Until he kissed a girl right in front of me?” The anger again simmers to the surface. “I think I have a right to be upset.”

Another pause from Lando, and you can sense the concern shift in his tone. “Do you want to talk about it? Because I’m here, you know. You can tell me.”

The dam inside you threatens to break. The memories of your laughter, the fun late-night conversations, the promises whispered amongst friends; they flood your mind like a tidal wave, overwhelming you.

“What am I supposed to say, Lando? That I got my heart broken? That I liked him more than a friend and now he’s off with some random girl?”

A soft sigh echoes from his end. “That’s... tough, I get it. But you know Oscar, he—”

“Knows how to play with everyone’s feelings, apparently.” Your voice sharpens, the words tasting bitter. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” Lando insists, and there’s a quiet strength in his tone that covers you like a reassuring blanket.

“I...” The protest slips from your lips, but you can’t help yourself. It comes rushing out. “I’ve liked Oscar for so long, Lando! And to see him throw it all away with someone else was just... it was like the ground fell from beneath me. I don’t want to feel like this. It hurts.”

Lando falls silent on the other end, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ve crossed a line, if you’ve shared too much.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he finally asks, his voice gently probing. “I would have kept my mouth shut about it—”

“I didn’t want to ruin what we had,” you admit, the weight behind your voice strong now. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“All friendships can survive that.” His tone softens. “And honestly, it’s okay to feel hurt. It’s more than okay; it’s natural.”

Suddenly overwhelmed, tears brim at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. “I just wanted to be happy, Lando. And now, I don’t know... I feel lost.”

“Hey, listen to me.” Lando’s voice cuts through the fog of your thoughts. “You are so much more than how Oscar makes you feel. It’s his loss if he can’t see you for the incredible person you are.”

The resolve in his words wraps around you like a lifeline. A small warmth unfurls in your chest, a flicker of hope that perhaps you can heal from this hurt, that you can find a way to be more than just a side character in someone else's story.

“Thanks, Lando,” you say softly, the sincerity warming your heart.

“Anytime.” He pauses for a moment and then adds, “But I'm coming over tomorrow for that movie night; we’re going to drown ourselves in popcorn and bad romantic comedies until you feel better.”

You smile, though it’s still fragile. “Okay, deal.”

As you hang up, the shadows in your room seem less daunting, the weight a little lighter. Just maybe, you think as you finally allow your eyelids to flutter closed, the dawn will bring a new perspective.

And perhaps, amongst friendship and healing, you’ll find your way back to yourself.

The next day, Lando sat across from you on your well-worn couch, a colorful array of snacks spread between you. The smell of popcorn and sweets filled the air, a comforting distraction.

You had planned this night as a refuge from your thoughts, to sink into the warmth of a rom-com and ignore the knot tightening your stomach at the memories of Oscar.

As the movie played—a predictable plot about two people destined to be together—you tried to focus, but the image of Oscar’s lips brushing against that girl’s haunted you.

Halfway through the film, Lando suddenly turned toward you, his brow furrowed in concern. “Are you mad at him?”

“What?” You blinked, stunned by the abruptness of the question.

“Are you mad at Oscar?” he pressed, his eyes unyielding.

“Lando, we agreed on watching a movie today, not discussing this,” you warned, shoving a handful of popcorn into your mouth, hoping to drown your emotions under buttery goodness.

“I know! But I spoke to Oscar—”

You cut him off, “No, I don’t want to hear it! I’ll probably just get more upset, and I really don’t want that right now.”

Lando raised his hands in surrender, looking both apologetic and mildly amused. “Okay, okay. No talking about Oscar.”

“Thank you,” you replied, the tension easing a bit. You leaned back, taking a deep breath and forcing a smile. “But since you made me mad, you know what the punishment is.”

Lando’s eyes widened in horror. “No! Not the ‘punishment’!”

You grinned despite yourself, reveling in the playful banter. “Yes! You brought it upon yourself. I hope you brought your dance shoes."

“I did not!” he exclaimed, his face buried in his hands. “Please, anything but that!”

You chuckled. “What’s the matter, Lando? You afraid of a little dancing?”

His gaze peeked through his fingers. “You know I can’t dance! I’ll embarrass myself!”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, leaning closer, the earlier sadness momentarily forgotten. “It’ll be fun!”

“Fine! But I swear if I break a leg...”

“Which you won’t!” You laughed, getting up and putting on an upbeat song.

You opened your arms theatrically, ready to embrace the moment. “Come on! Show me your best moves!”

With a reluctant sigh, Lando stood up, giving you a resigned grin. “Okay, but just to prove to you how awful I am. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

As the music thumped through the apartment, Lando executed the most exaggerated dance moves imaginable—one hand in the air, feet sliding across the wooden floor. You couldn’t help but laugh uncontrollably.

“Is this your best?” you challenged, twirling into your own clumsy routine.

“Okay, okay! Here goes nothing!” He leaped into an interpretive dance that was equal parts flailing and sheer comedy, and you collapsed back onto the couch in a fit of giggles.

“Lando, you’re a legend,” you wheezed between breaths.

He finally stopped dancing, slightly out of breath and grinning. “I think I’ll stick to racing, thanks. But, how about you?”

You paused for a moment, your laughter fading. “Honestly? I just don't get why he’d kiss someone else. I thought...”

“Thought what?” Lando pressed gently, his tone shifting to a more serious note.

“I thought he liked me,” you admitted quietly. “I thought maybe there was something between us. But seeing him with someone else, it just hurts. I guess I feel foolish.”

“Hey.” Lando took a step closer and sat beside you. “You’re not foolish. Oscar’s the one who’s a bit of a jerk for messing things up. He should know how amazing you are. You deserve someone who doesn’t make you question their intentions.”

You looked at him, and while his words comforted you, they also tore at a different part of your heart. “You really think so?”

“I know so.” Lando smiled softly at you. “And you’ve got all the time in the world to find the right person. Just don’t let Oscar’s choices define how you see yourself, okay?”

You nodded slowly. “You’re right. I’m just... trying to sort it all out.”

“Well, until you do, I'm here. Movie marathons, dance-offs, and endless supplies of snacks included,” he declared, gesturing to the spread between you as if it were an unbreakable vow.

“Thanks, Lando,” you said, appreciating his unwavering support. “Really.”

As you settled back together to resume the movie, the weight of the world felt just a little lighter. Sure, thoughts of Oscar still lingered, but Lando’s friendship reminded you that you weren’t alone in this.

You had someone who not only understood but also cared enough to make you laugh through the pain.

And for that, you were grateful. . . .

You decided to skip the next races.

"I need to clear my head," you thought, convincing yourself that the distance would help you forget the feelings you harbored for the Australian driver.

Instead, you found yourself engrossed in your studies on campus. Why watch the races on TV when you could be in the paddock?

But here you were, torn between wanting to support your team and an overwhelming need to shield your heart from Oscar.

When Lando skillfully maneuvered his way through the track, you stifled your cheers in classrooms, mouth clamping shut when he crossed the finish line.

"Focus on your studies," you’d remind yourself, but the pride bubbling within you was impossible to contain.

For every overtaking move Oscar pulled off that sparked a rush inside you, you felt the weight of your heart, one that couldn’t help but cheer for a man who had stolen your thoughts.

Before you knew it, the championship was upon you, and McLaren had claimed victory.

In a moment of exhilaration, you snapped a picture of yourself in McLaren merchandise, a radiant smile gracing your face. You shared it on social media with the caption, “I’ll always bleed McLaren orange! #TeamMcLaren."

Within moments, notifications flooded your screen: Lando’s account liked your post and the McLaren admin account liking with a comment that read, “We miss seeing you in the paddock 🧡!”

It was bittersweet, a confirmation that you still held a place with the team—but it brought memories of the paddock flooding back, along with reminders of Oscar.

When the invitation to the team’s Christmas party arrived, it triggered a mix of excitement and dread. Should you go and face him? You hesitated, the idea dawning over you like a storm cloud.

“Just come, please!” Lando’s persistent voice broke through your musings. “You’ll regret it if you don’t. It’s going to be fun, and besides, I’ll be there. You know it won’t be the same without you.”

“Lando,” you pleaded, biting your lip, the thought of Oscar’s lingering gaze causing a swell of anxiety. “What if I see him? I’m not ready.”

“Then be ready! Just wear something orange and channel your inner Papaya spirit. I’ll look out for you,” Lando grinned, his enthusiasm infectious. You finally relented. “Okay! One night—just one!”

On the night of the party, you chose a shimmering orange dress that hugged your figure, giving off a radiant glow that felt gratifying and powerful.

Grabbing your jacket, you inhaled deeply before stepping into the vibrant atmosphere of the venue, where laughter exploded and voices danced around you.

The place was bustling with McLaren energy—feasting, drinks flowing, and music swelling. It felt like a family reunion, everyone cherishing the victory together.

The festive spirit washed over you, and for a moment, you forgot about Oscar.

“Y/N! You actually came!” Lando’s voice cut through the crowd, and you turned to see him beaming at you, his dark hair glistening under the lights.

“Yeah, I had no choice. You would have dragged me out of my house otherwise,” you shot back playfully, matching his grin.

“You know me so well!” Lando laughed, pulling you into a hug.

He stayed by your side for a while, joking and chatting about the race, but eventually excused himself to the bathroom. “Just stay here! I’ll find you!” he called over his shoulder as he weaved through the throngs of partygoers.

Left with the vibrant atmosphere and pulsating music, you pulled out your phone to scroll aimlessly through social media. But time crept on, and you found yourself growing bored, the joyful sounds around you meshing into one indistinguishable noise.

Suddenly, a voice pulled you from your thoughts. “Y/N.”

You looked up, dread pooling in your stomach as you met Oscar’s gaze. He stood a few feet away, an uneasy smile stretching across his face. “Hey.”

“No, no, no,” your mind raced. Not now. You almost turned to flee, but his hand caught your wrist with a gentle grip, stopping you mid-stride.

“Y/N, please.”

His eyes held a mix of sincerity and something else—maybe regret? Despite your instincts screaming at you to pull away, you found yourself halting, torn between running and wanting to melt into the warmth of his presence.

“Can we talk?” he continued, his voice softer now, nearly lost in the clamor of the room.

“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m happy for you and your girlfriend,” you retorted, trying to maintain the wall you’d built around your heart.

You expected him to let go of your wrist, to back off and accept your words as the final note in this dissonant symphony. Instead, his grip tightened, marshalling a mix of surprise and frustration.

He guided you through the thrumming crowd, out of the main hall and into a smaller, dimly lit room. The sudden calm clashed violently with the noise outside.

Once you were inside, he released your wrist but blocked the door, leaning against it with an expression that was both earnest and somewhat frustrated.

“What are you doing?” you demanded, crossing your arms defensively.

“I want to explain myself to you, but since you’re so stubborn, I have to lock you in a room for you to listen to me.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “There’s no need to explain. I already know—”

“Whatever you’re thinking, you’ve got the wrong idea,” he interrupted, urgency threading his tone.

“Try me,” you challenged, stepping closer. You hated how close he was, how safe, how intoxicating.

“I’m sure you’re thinking about the club,” he rushed, his eyes searching yours. “That girl, whoever she is, came over and just kissed me because I looked like her boyfriend. She apologized and walked off. That’s all that happened. You can ask Lando or the others."

Your heart rate quickened as you took another step closer. “Why are you even telling me? I had nothing to do with it,” you pressed, your voice a mixture of challenge and curiosity.

He swallowed hard, visibly nervous. “Because it matters. You matter. You have to understand that I didn’t want it, that I wasn’t interested.”

You took a breath, the weight of the moment heavy against your chest. “So, if you weren’t interested, then what do you want?

You tilted your head slightly, trying to read the emotions flickering across his face like shadows in the dark. His jaw worked, as though he was searching for the right words.

“I want you to know…” he started but faltered, glancing away for a split second, as if the courage to continue was caught in his throat.

When he looked back, you noticed a flicker of determination igniting in his gaze. “You know I’ve liked you for a while now, right?”

The admission hung in the air, visceral and raw. Your pulse quickened, the world around you fading into a blur.

“Liked me? As in… more than friends?” you managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding earnestly. “I didn’t know how to say it, and then… and then that happened.” He gestured vaguely towards the club, frustration lacing his words.

“I was so caught off guard, and all I could think about was how I didn’t want you to think something was going on—because nothing is. It was just... a mistake.”

A thousand butterflies erupted in your stomach, and the challenge melting from your voice was replaced by something softer, deeper. “It’s hard for me to believe that when you just let it happen. Didn’t you want to push her away? Didn’t you think about me at all?”

He took a step forward, his expression earnest and intense. “Of course, I thought about you! That's exactly why I’m here, explaining all this to you. I thought maybe you’d get the wrong idea, and I didn’t want that. The last thing I want is for you to feel hurt because of something that wasn’t even my fault,”

You could feel the electricity between you, the shared vulnerability tugging at the edges of your heart. “So, what now? Do we just pretend like tonight didn’t happen?”

“No,” Oscar’s voice was clear and firm, cutting through the tension like a knife. “I don’t want to ignore this. I want to figure out what we are… or what we could be.”

He paused, searching your face for reassurance, hope mingling with uncertainty. “Can we…”

“What if I just got jealous?” you interrupted, tilting your head while letting your walls slowly drop. “What if I’m just overreacting because the thought of you with someone else drives me insane?”

His lips curled upwards, a tentative smile forming as the weight of the moment shifted. “Then that’s good, right? It means you care.”

“I do care,” you confessed, the admission flowing out of you like a soft sigh. “I care more than I should. You’ve been… well, hard to read. But I like you, too, Oscar. I have for a while. I just didn’t know how to bring it up.”

His relief was palpable, and he stepped a fraction closer, closing the gap between you. “So, what do you say we start fresh? Just you and me. No more mixed signals, no more misunderstandings.”

You held his gaze, the corners of your mouth lifting in a soft smile. “I’d like that. I really would.”

Oscar took a deep breath, as if steadying himself for what came next. “Come here,” you said, raising your arms for a hug. Without hesitation, he stepped into your embrace, his warmth seeping into you like the first rays of sun after a long winter.

He melted into you, resting his chin gently atop your head, and you felt a flutter in your chest, a feeling that said everything would be alright.

After what felt like an eternity, you pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes. You placed a kiss on his cheek, wishing it to be understood as a promise, a seal to this new beginning.

“You missed,” he joked playfully, breaking the tension and causing both of you to smile.

“Did I?” you teased back, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise. “I think my aim was just fine.”

Oscar shook his head, laughter escaping his lips. “You must have missed the target completely,” he replied, grinning, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You both stood there, a moment of levity hanging beautifully between you, until Oscar looked up suddenly, as if struck by a realization.

“Hey, it seems like fate gave you another chance,” he said, his voice laced with excitement.

Your brow furrowed in confusion, and you followed his gaze upward. A sprig of mistletoe hung above you, the innocent plant a stark reminder of holiday traditions and the spark of romance it promised. Your heart raced.

“Guess you’re a lucky man, Piastri,” you said, a teasing tone lacing your words. Your cheeks flushed as you glanced at him, a playful challenge in your eyes.

He stepped back, his grin widening as he looked at you. “Lucky? How so?”

“Well,” you began, your heart pounding in your chest, “I mean, just look at the circumstances. Here we are, two people who have been dancing around each other forever, and we’re under a mistletoe. You know what that means…”

“What does it mean?” he asked, leaning in, curiosity painting his features as he watched you.

Shifting your gaze back to the mistletoe, you felt bold. “It means we should kiss,” you stated matter-of-factly, suppressing a giggle at how ridiculous the notion felt in the best possible way.

“Sounds good to me,” he replied, stepping closer once more, his sincerity igniting a rush of exhilaration within you.

As he leaned in, your heart raced faster, a million thoughts spinning in your head. Would it be awkward? Would he pull back last minute?

But then his hand found the back of your neck, and it felt like the world around you faded away. Time slowed as his lips finally met yours, tentative at first, then growing fervent, a collision of emotions.

You held onto him tightly, drowning in the moment, feeling everything you've kept bottled up finally surge forth—a mixture of relief, tenderness, and the thrill of shared possibility.

You could taste the sweetness of victory in the kiss, savoring the promise of what was to come.

As you shared a tender kiss, the door creaked open just enough for Lando's head to peek in. A mischievous grin spread across his face as he caught sight of the two of you lost in the moment, clearly enjoying the scene unfolding before him.

Oscar gave a silent thumbs back to Lando, his eyes still closed, fully aware of the carefully orchestrated plan.

This was all part of the scheme they had devised, aptly named "Operation Mistletoe Magic,". . . .

[deadsetobsessions]

Alley Drunk! Danny AU- Pt. 4

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3]

Danny blinked down at the cart, where a red hoodie and pants with red stripes along the side laid over the lip of the cart. Considering they’re in this universe’s brand of Marget- seriously, who names a store Target? If anything in Amity Park was named that, Skulker would have wrecked it in five seconds flat- it’s hilariously on brand. Though, to be fair, this was Gotham’s version too, which meant a lot of security guards (who definitely doubled as goons for the Rogues, Danny was sure) and the vibes were spooky.

“I’m guessing red’s your favorite color.”

Instead of the humorous way he meant the sentence, Jason looked up anxiously and Danny immediately hated himself a little bit more.

“Sh- I can put it back..?” Jason hunched in on himself.

Danny tracked the movement with clearer eyes than he’s had in a long while and ancients, does it remind him of how Dani was in front of Vlad all those years ago. And Danny has spent his entire half life being not like Vlad, so he’s not going to start now.

“Nah, you should definitely add some more stuff. This is no where near enough clothes.”

It really wasn’t. Danny had taken Jason to the store to pick out clothes- “Ther’s a second hand store down the stree’, ya know,” Jason had mumbled when they went through the doors- but the kid had only tentatively put in a small red hoodie and some pants in the cart. Now he had to put this in a way that’ll wipe the stubbornly hesitant look on Jason’s face off.

“Think about it this way, then. You’re repping me now, and while I might be the alley drunk, I’m not the poorly dressed alley drunk, yeah?”

“Oh. Tha’ makes sense.” Jason nodded to himself determinedly, and the kid strode over to the t-shirt section. For all of his confidence, he still glanced back to see if it was okay with Danny.

Well, Dani was the same way before she found her confidence (when she knew Danny wouldn’t abandon her or hurt her) so Danny just gave him a thumbs up before reaching into the rack and sweeping an armful of clothing straight into the cart. Then, he strode over to the jackets and grabbed the ones in Jason’s size and slightly bigger. Oh, he has to grab shoes. He’ll leave that for later, but Danny was going to get those ratty trainers off of Jason’s feet and into the nearest trash can if it was the last thing he does.

The halfa hummed, pausing at the first decidedly not miserable sound he’s made in a while. Dammit, if that wasn’t a sign of Danny’s attachment to Jason, he doesn’t know what would be. To be fair… Danny already committed murder for the kid, which was pretty much something he thought he’d never do, so in for a penny out for a pound or whatever.

He put a significant amount of the budget aside for the section labeled “JASON” so Danny shopped without a worry. Charlie’s ill-gotten assets were a good monetary compensation for his crime of existing near Jason or existing, period.

He picked up toiletries, toothbrushes and the like, when Jason came back sans t-shirt. Instead of a shirt- Danny had actually hoped that Jason would try to get multiple shirts- Jason was clutching a book.

Before he could even voice anything, Danny plucked the book out of his grip and put it into the cart with a disarming smile.

“Oh, good idea. We should get you books too. Wanna go pick out some more?”

“Uh- y’re just gonna get a book, just like that?”

“More than one book, I should hope. You are going to school, right?”

“…Yeah!” Danny couldn’t fathom ever being excited at the thought of school, but as Jason bounced away to peruse the admittedly poor selection of books, Danny couldn’t help but think that maybe he should give this education thing another try. Who knows? Maybe it’ll be less stressful now that he’s not Phantom.

Danny walked to the aisle next to the books and promptly proceeded to shove every single piece of stationary he thought was nice- pens, gel pens, cooling pens and pencils, a thick stack of notebooks, flash cards, etcetera- into the rapidly getting full cart.

Jason came back with three more books- nice, the classics- and froze at the sight of the cart.

“Oh, hey. Getting all of those?”

“Wha’- wha’s wit’ the stuff?”

“School supplies! Quality education starts with quality supplies, you know!” Danny said, a sliver of the grin that used to come so easily to him making an appearance on his face. "Don't worry, I budgeted. See?"

Danny handed Jason a piece of paper, confident that the kid would know if it was good or not.

"Where'd... ya get all of this?"

"Hmm... here and there."

Jason looked up at him, squinting suspiciously. "I hear' Charlie's gone poofed up."

Danny shrugged and put a calculator in the cart. "Oh, I'm sure he's busy."

Yeah, Danny thought vindictively. Busy being dead.

"Ya sound like a walking con," Jason said as he visibly decided to give up fighting against Danny's spending. "We nee' food."

"Gotcha. Well, if you need anything else, just bring it into the cart."

"I want veggies. Frozen, 's cheaper."

Danny nodded, resisting the urge to ruffle Jason's hair.

----

"Hey, you's the Alley Drunk, right? 'Bout that boy you've been toting ar-"

Danny punched the guy in the face, dropping him like a stone. He looked up slowly and swayed.

"Any of you ask about my kid brother again, and I won't bother with being drunk when I hit you."

Rapid nods. Danny shuffled away, satisfied.

----

Two weeks later, after a school day, Danny finds Jason heading to the bathroom with a box of...

"Hair-dye?"

Jason, who was marginally more relaxed and assured that Danny wasn't going to kick him out, nodded.

"Dye's fadin' n' I dun wanna get nabbed on the streets for having red hair."

Danny blinked. "You have red hair?"

"Sure do. See? Roots are showin' again." Jason pointed at his scalp where Danny could see the hair was getting lighter.

"Right. Well- I'll leave you to it. Let me know if you need help, kiddo." Danny said, desperately hoping he hid how off kilter he was feeling well.

"I don't need help, ah've been doing this for ages." The kid went into the bathroom and closed the door harshly. When the lock clicked and the faucet began running, Danny let himself slide down the wall into a crouch, hands cradling his head.

Red hair. Blue eyes. Tan skin. The facial features. The intelligence and empathy.

Danny chuckled hysterically under his breath.

Was Jason this universe's version of Jazz?

"Fuck."

[buckevantommy]

Buck wakes slowly, his sore muscles protesting as he stretches out in the early morning. He needs more sleep, but he can hear tommy moving around the room getting ready for his shift.

Buck hums. "G'mornin'." His eyes are still closed. He takes his time edging towards full consciousness but can't help the smile that stretches his mouth wide as Tommy echoes his words back to him, voice low and gentle.

The bed dips at his hip as Tommy settles beside him. Buck sighs contentedly when Tommy's hand cards through his sleep-mussed curls. "How was your shift?"

Buck makes a face, head tilting this way and that, then deciding to push into Tommy's touch like a sleepy cat. "Gerrard's a real piece of work, huh."

"Unfortunately."

Tommy's hand scritches at his scalp and a whine trips out of Buck's throat. He doesn't want Tommy to leave. He hates that their shifts haven't aligned properly in over two weeks, only managing to catch each other for a few hours of sleep together here and there.

"You wanna talk about it?"

Buck makes a noise of displeasure, his softened smile replaced with a pout, he knows. He folds his arms around Tommy's forearm, keeping him close. He can have his arm back later. And his hand. Buck's not finished with them just yet.

Tommy fits his other hand to Buck's cheek, thumb brushing under his eye. "Hey."

Buck finally blinks his eyes open to find Tommy looking at him, gaze soft and fond and mouth quirking to hold back a smile. Buck takes a breath and exhales in a huff, turning his face to press a lingering kiss to Tommy's palm. He wriggles in place under the duvet, wondering what the likelihood is of convincing Tommy to call in sick and spend the day in bed with him.

"Wish I could bring you to work with me."

That coaxes Buck's smile back. He presses another kiss to Tommy's palm. "Bring your boyfriend to work day should totally be a thing."

Tommy chuckles and it makes Buck want to record that sound and play it on a loop. Tommy fills his senses. He can smell the woodsy note of his aftershave and the ocean pine scent of his soap. The combined scent of their bodies mingled with Tommy's detergent in the sheets. He wants to bottle the redolence and take it to work to sniff whenever he's missing his boyfriend or just having a hard day. Because Tommy's presence soothes him.

"I miss you." His thumbs sweep over Tommy's wrist, his pulse steady beneath his touch.

Tommy sighs and leans down to press a kiss to Buck's birthmark. He melts, but still tilts his head up, pout returning a little, demanding a proper kiss. Tommy obliges. "We'll figure it out. I promise."

Buck wants to believe him. He knows Tommy will do everything he can on his end to get their rosters aligned. He also knows Gerrard has it in for both of them, meaning he'll continue doing everything he can to keep them apart - until Buck gives up and quits, probably. The guy really needs a hobby.

Brushing his nose alongside Tommy's, he nods. "Call me when you're on break? Or if it's not too busy?"

"Of course."

With one last kiss, Tommy pulls away and Buck lets his arm slide from his grip, fingers entangling for a moment before he lets Tommy go. He glances over from the doorway as Buck urges him to, "Be safe."

Tommy nods, his smile a private thing. A promise. "Get some rest."

Buck wants to say it. But they haven't said it. Not yet. Doesn't mean he doesn't feel it, or that he thinks Tommy doesn't. They're definitely on their way, even if Tommy's not there just yet. And Buck has a habit of rushing things and he doesn't want to ruin the good thing they have going. So, he doesn't say it. They have time.

As he listens to Tommy making his way through the house and out the front door, his eyes slip shut again. It's still early, and this time of year doesn't see much sun in Tommy's bedroom in the morning so sleep begins pulling him back under quickly. He lets Tommy's reassurance soothe him as he drifts off, cocooned in Tommy, hugging the covers closer and turning his nose into the pillow. They'll figure it out. Together.

[charliehoennam]

primetime.

a/n: i hate rusty but he brings out my inner hoe byeeeee

pairing: rusty isabitch sabich x f!reader

summary: rusty is overwhelmed by the trial and sought you out to help him forget about his worries.

warning: 18+ ONLY. NSFW. smut, infidelity, c&b torture, suffocation, oral sex, p in v, facesitting, dom-ish reader??

Rusty’s pale blue gaze sweeps over your half-naked body as you come out of the shower, dressed in nothing but a silk black robe as he unpacks the Chinese take-out from the restaurant’s brown paper bag. 

You thank him for receiving the takeout when the desk clerk brought it up to the apartment, smiling at the sight of his messy hair from the shower he took with you.

He smirks back at you and compliments the robe. Leaving half of the containers and sauces in the bag, he turns and pulls you by the hips.

Rusty relishes in the silky touch of your robe, reminded of the silky touch of your most intimate areas. You allow him to kiss you with his hands under the fabric, groping at your ass before gently pushing him back with the reminder that you’re hungry.

Sitting on your lavish couch, you mostly talk about the case he’s been stuck in ever since Carolyn’s death. Between bites and swigs from the brown beer bottle perched on the floor beside you, he confesses things and emotions to you that he feels he can’t confess to anyone.

His lingering love for Carolyn. The troubles in his marriage. The fear of hatred from his children. How jealous he secretly feels to know his wife kissed someone else.

Despite not having romantic feelings towards Rusty, you do consider him a friend. Some friends play golf, shoot hoops or pool. You and Rusty fuck.   

It feels natural for you both. You met Rusty a bit after he began his affair with Carolyn through a dating app. The pair of you were looking for a good talk and fuck and although there were no strings attached on your behalf, Rusty decided to conceal his marriage by hiding hi wedding band.

When you found out the truth, you were livid at Rusty. Not for being married to someone that’s not you – you didn’t love him. You’re happily married to a man who treats you like a queen and is modern enough to have accept your open marriage.

What bothered you is that he didn’t tell you about it. Having sex with other people is only fine when all parties agree to it. He tried to argue that it was the same as your marriage, but you were quick to stomp out his bullshit.

That was when you told Rusty you had to end the relationship with him.

Looking out the panoramic windows of your high-rise apartment, he watches the city from above as you take the dirty empty dishes to the kitchen.

“Isn’t your husband coming home?”

“No. He’s in New York for the week.”

“Does he know you’re seeing me again?”

You pause and glance at him.

“Whatever happened to don’t ask, don’t tell?”

Rusty never liked talking about your husband. Deep down, he felt a little sting of jealousy in his chest. He was never really fond of sharing his toys, but he would never tell you that.

“Just curious as to how you guys make it work?”

“He knows, yes” you reply sitting back on the couch. “And he doesn’t like you.”

“How come he lets you still me?”

“Because choosing who I fuck is decided by me, not him.”

He smirks at your boldness, surprised as he tries to paint a mental image of you talking to your husband about the other guy you fuck.

“I guess that’s only fair” he nods.

“He just doesn’t want me to get into trouble. Your last mistress did end up dead, after all.”

Rusty’s head falls forward as he watches himself wring his hands. You didn’t think before sayin it and his reaction makes you realize how harsh it really sounds.

There’s a tug at your heartstrings that unbridles a guilt you didn’t even know you had inside.

“I’m sorry, Rusty. That came out a lot worse than-“

“It’s alright.”

You can’t tell it’s not. He’s not. Being reminded of Carolyn’s death and the way she was murdered is like a wet rag over a flame.

“I should get going,” Rusty moves to stand feeling like a guest who’s overstayed their welcome.

“No. Stay.”

Your plea comes with a hand on his arm. He looks at your gentle touch and watches it moves to his thigh, slowly caressing the thick muscle there.

“Stay with me, hm?” you whisper as his eyes meet yours.

Cautiously closing the space between you both, you place a tender kiss to his cheek. He closes his eyes, letting your affection melt his worries away. He knows he shouldn’t. It should feel wrong. But his head tilts to the side and meet your butterfly kisses with his lips.

Your legs sweep over his and you move to straddle his lap, quick to unzip his hoodie that shields his shirtless body. His large hands squeeze your thighs and ass here and there as they explore your body.

Your open palms frolic over his furry chest, indulging in the thick layer of dark hair that sends butterflies fluttering around his stomach. Already excited for what’s to come, heat bubbles in his core.

Kneading your ass, his thick fingers slip to your waist to untie the knot of the robe. You let it fall open, too mesmerized by his unyielding kisses on your neck as the silky fabric slides down your shoulders.

Rusty likes to think of your body as a magical map. He knows all the secrets to a world only he knows, filled with hidden paths to the extraordinary highs not even you knew how to unlock.

He knows how to make you come undone; he had made his personal mission to do so and you reciprocated with lust of the same intensity.

Your exposed sex presses against his hardened member. You can feel it as it twitches in his gray sweatpants when his hands capture your breast, squeezing at the soft flesh.

“Take this off.”

His eagerness doesn’t allow him to wait for you to slip your arms from the sleeves, so his hasty hands do the work for you. It forces him to pull away from your neck and cease his bruising mauling. He tosses the t-shirt to the ground; your bra follows and lands on top of it.

Heat pools in your depths like fire under a cauldron as fleeting kisses trail down your sternum and stop in the valley between your breast.

Gravely moans hum out from the back of his throat as he deeply inhales the delightful aroma left on your skin by your favorite body wash.

His hungry lips take their turns altering from one nipple to the other, latching and suckling at the hardening buttons. His restless tongue circles around each of them as he squeezes your breasts together as if he could swallow them both.

Your back arches into his touch which sends waves of pleasure straight to your core, especially when his teeth and growing 5 o’clock shadow scrap along your tender tits.

Skin burning feverishly, you moan his name over and over, telling him how good he’s making you feel. Your praises never fail to ignite something darker in him.

“Lemme taste you again” he breathes against your lips.

Arousal moistens your sex at his request, damp with your lust for him. You nod excitedly just thinking about how well he ate you out just a couple hours ago.

He lays down on the couch, stretching his tall frame along its length. With his legs being too long, he has to bend his knees to rest his soles on the cushion while you watch him adjust, waiting for the right moment to straddle his head.

Fully naked, he reaches for your thighs to pull you closer. You carefully settle your knees on either side of his head and remove the back cushion of his sofa to make room for your position.

Tucking your bare feet under his arms, he impatiently snakes his arms around your frame and grope at your breasts. Your hips lower and you finally take your seat on his face.

His tongue hungrily laps your drenched plushy lips, licking up every drop of your arousal. One of your hands combs through his dark hair while the other rests on the sofa’s arm, keeping you balanced.  

Your hips slowly rock back and forth, hovering over his mouth just enough to let his tongue sandwich itself between your juicy lips.  

Hands gliding down your front, his fingers eagerly creep down past your hips to reach your cunt. They gently pull at your sweet lips, parting them in such a way that makes fire rise to your cheeks at the extreme exposure.

Finding your sensitive bundle of nerves, he suckles at it and alters to and from the circling of his tongue. He drives you quickly closer and closer towards that familiar climax through faint rippling waves.

As the pleasure builds, his finger rubs at your throbbing nub over and over while his tongue delves deeper, hungrily lapping at the sweet juices trickling from your walls. Grinding down against his face, his finger is replaced by his nose, nudging your pulsing bundle of nerves with every thrust.

Rusty smiles to himself watching your breasts bounce. He revels in his ability of making you contort and whine as he pushes you over that mind-numbing apex that has your body trembling with pleasure.

“Fuck!” you breath heavily rolling your hips along his face. “You like that huh? You like it when I sit on your face?”

He nods with dark devilish eyes, holding your hips aggressively to force them down.

“Don’t tap out quick on me, Rusty.”

You smirk almost evilly as you smother his nose and mouth with your pussy, forcing his wiggling tongue to fuck your soaking hole. Watching the veins on his temples throb, you chuckle as the weight suffocates him.

“Atta boy. Taking it like a champ for me. Can’t get enough of this pussy, can ya? Little more. Little more! You can take it!”

You giggle as his eyes begin to glaze with darkness and his hand finally taps your tummy, a silent request to breathe.

“Such a good boy for me, baby” you praise him as he pants breathlessly, reaching his hand down to stroke his stiff aching cock.

“No,” you order firmly with a contradicting smile. “You don’t get to control that pleasure. That’s my job.”

“Y-yes” he pants.

Rusty’s eyes never leave the sight of your pussy, even when you stand and remove yourself from your human seat.

With a nod of your head, you command him to scoot further down as you hand him one of the decorative pillows to place under his head. Your leg lifts again and you straddle him once more, only this time, you grant yourself the view of his dick as his mouth begins its work again.

Releasing his heavily hard and thick member, you push his sweat pants down and slide them off his legs with his help. The second your hand wraps around it, his hands squeeze your ass cheeks.

You press his leaking tip to your lips, pushing your spit onto his head. Judging from the precum, he doesn’t need much, but you like it when things get messy.

Rusty has to contain himself and refrain from combusting when he feels your mouth on his cock. The work you do with your mouth is incomparable and the reason he always tries to be ‘good’ for you – to get himself a blowjob that he’ll touch himself over the following months.

Although you love your husband very much and are more than content with his package, it’s undeniable that Rusty’s is far bigger in length and in girth.

You moan as you take him in deep with your finger and thumb at the base, his tip hitting the back of your throat with ease. As your head bobs up and down, your other hand moves lower to cup his balls and gingerly squeeze them.

One at a time, you’re careful to not apply too much pressure too soon. You work him up to that slowly until you’re able to tourniquet them with your fingers. You squeeze them, making them plump for punishment.  

“Ready to be a good boy again, baby?”

He hums but you feel his head nod between your leg, drenched in the sticky slimy mess he’s made of your cunt.

“You’re not gonna cum, are you?” you smirk gently grazing your open palm over the delicate swollen sack.

He shakes his head eagerly.

You deliver the first slap. Not too hard; just enough to allow to prepare stronger ones. He groans as his body trembles underneath yours.

“Tell me how it feels, baby.”

“F-feels so fucking good!” he whimpers squeezing your ass as he braces for more blows.

The delicious pain overwhelms him enough to lose track of your pleasure, so you order him to get back to work and threaten to stop. You laugh at how quick he is to bury his face back into your sopping pussy.

After a few more and harder blows to his balls, separated by the bobbing of your head and stroking of his dick, he pushes you firmly with a firm slap to your ass.

“Gimme this fucking pussy,” he begs.

He doesn’t bother to wipe your juices off his face as you both stand. You can taste yourself when his lips desperately crash on you. Dipping his larger frame, he taps at your thighs as an unspoken invitation to jump.

His strong arms are quick to effortlessly lift you up until your legs are able to hug his hips. He guides you backwards and pins you to the panoramic wall of sturdy glass.

Using your hand, you align his cock to your entrance and him penetrate you with ease. You moan as you relish in the fullness and stretch of him inside you. He smirks to himself watching your mouth hang open in a daze.

“Let’s give my neighbors a show, baby.”

[moonstruckme]

Hi I love your poly marauders fics so much!! Is it possible for you to write one where the reader has to go to the doctors but she absolutely hates the doctor and needles. Totally fine if not 💗

Thanks lovely!

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Remus has strong-armed you into looking at your ankle again. Almost literally strong-armed you, with James as his lackey, your curly headed boyfriend keeping an arm wrapped around your shoulders that’s as affectionate as it is binding. Remus gnaws on his lip as he prods at your swollen leg, making quiet sounds of discontent at whatever he feels. 

He looks up at you, brows knit together. “The swelling hasn’t gone down at all, dove.” 

“It will soon,” you say faithfully. “It’s only been a couple of days.” 

“You should at least be able to walk on it by now.”

“I can,” you reply. “It doesn’t feel great, but I can walk on it.” 

He gives you a deadpan look, and you can feel James’ silent chuckling against your side. “That’s not what I mean,” Remus says. “I’m sorry love, but you need to get this checked out.” 

You open your mouth, but Remus reads the argument in your face before it passes your lips. 

“By a professional,” he clarifies. 

You huff, crossing your arms in front of you. “What’re they gonna tell me that I don’t already know? Rest, elevate, etcetera, etcetera.” You roll your eyes. James begins to sweep his thumb back and forth on your shoulder, trying to pacify you. “There’s no point in going into some cold office for that.” 

“Unless it’s more serious than we think,” Remus counters. His eyes are worried, but his mouth is set in a firm line. “If you’d only twisted it, it wouldn't have swelled up this badly. And even if it isn’t that bad,” he goes on, bulldozing over the protest that comes to your tongue, “at least they’ll be able to give you a real compress. These bandages get too loose, which probably isn’t helping with the healing.” 

“It’ll heal if I give it time,” you say stubbornly, pulling your leg from his grip and starting to rewrap it yourself. “Stop worrying so much.” 

“Dove.” It’s his no-nonsense voice. “Our deal was that if it wasn’t getting better after three days, you’d go get it looked at.” He ducks to make you meet his eyes, softening when he finds them. “It’s time, sweetheart.” 

You’ve just finished rebandaging your ankle and are deliberating between arguing more or just sitting in silent opposition when you hear the rattle of Sirius’ keys. Remus rolls his eyes (out of habit at this point, you think) when he kicks in the door. 

“You’d think I was eighty, hungry at five thirty in the after…whoa.” Sirius trails off as he senses the sober mood in your home, and his eyebrows pinch when his gaze lands on you. “What’s got you so riled up, lovebug?” 

James hugs you tighter to his side, impervious to your sulking as he rubs your upper arm roughly. “She’s gotta go to the doctor,” he says. 

“Aw.” Sirius pouts, coming the rest of the way towards you to drop a kiss on your head. “Ankle’s not doing so well?” 

“If anything, it’s getting worse,” Remus sighs. 

“Is not,” you snipe back. 

“It’s not going to be as bad as you think, baby.” Sirius squats in front of you, taking your hand in his. “Let’s just go now, yeah? Get it over with.” 

Even Remus looks surprised at that. “Alright,” he says after a second, “yeah, that’s a good idea.” He stands, and so does Sirius, pulling your hand upwards with him like you’ve any likelihood of following it. 

You look at James for help. Even he seems resolved, but his eyes reveal more sympathy for your plight than the others’. “I know you’re nervous,” he says softly, hand brushing your cheek to slot a strand of hair behind your ear, “but do you really think we’re gonna let anything bad happen to you?” 

You sigh, and when James stands you let him take you with him, his arm around your waist to support some of your weight as you limp out to the car. Sirius forgoes his usual place in the passenger seat to sit with you and James in the back, the both of them providing silent support by way of half-hugs (James) and a steadying hand on your leg (Sirius). It’s very difficult to be cross with people who are showering you in affection, but you manage. You sit sandwiched between them with an immovable frown on your face, spiraling deeper and deeper into your thoughts until suddenly you look up and the car has stopped. 

Remus has turned around to face you from the driver’s seat. “C’mon, dove,” he says, and you notice that you’re the only one with your seatbelt still on. You take a breath, finding that your throat has become clogged with tears you didn’t feel coming on. You bite down on your lower lip, hard. 

“Angel,” James sighs, and your guilt for putting them through this almost rivals your anger at them for putting you through this. He unbuckles your seatbelt himself, hauling you up against his side. Your face is hot with shame and unshed tears. “It’s a thousand times worse in your head than it’s actually gonna be, my love.” 

Remus looks genuinely apologetic as he reaches over from the front seat, rubbing your knee. “I hate that you’re having to do something that makes you so anxious, sweetheart, but you’re in pain. We can’t make it better all by ourselves.” You meet his eyes, and he pushes his advantage, giving your knee a little squeeze. “Let’s just go inside, I’m sure it won’t take long. Okay, darling?” 

“Okay,” you assent, following Sirius out of the car and allowing him to tug your arm over his shoulders, helping you hop towards the door. “Sorry I’m making this so difficult.” 

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for,” Sirius insists, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. James and Remus are both quick to agree. They’re laying on the affection rather thick, and any other time you’d be irritated by the delicate flower treatment, but right now you appreciate it. “We all have things that freak us out a bit,” Sirius goes on. “Remember when James saw that baby snake behind our place?”

“Ugh.” James shudders. “We agreed not to talk about that. I still think we should move.” 

Sirius grins at his boyfriend’s misery, lightly bumping your hip with his. “There you have it, lovely. We’ve all got our things. So don’t worry about this, yeah? We’ll stay with you, and afterward we can hunt down Remus’ comfort chocolate.” 

Remus huffs but doesn’t protest. Later, he’ll bring the chocolate out of hiding to give it to you himself.

[k-n0-x]

༺ ♱✮♱ ¨:·Something Stupid- Chapter 1·:¨ ♱✮♱ ༻

A/N- Hey everyone! I hope you guys are doing well. This story is a longer series of Lucifer Morningstar x reader where you’re Adam’s third wife. This story will have roughly 10 official chapters, but there will be shorter fillers which will be labelled as [previous chapter number].5. 

I also made a playlist in honour of this fanfiction :D

Navigation

Enjoy! <3

꧁🥀☽💫✶♛🦢♕✶💫☾🥀꧂ 

As you use your wings to sweep down to the sultry streets of Hell, you frantically look around for any stray troops, for them to tell you everything. Anything. 

“Where is this gods be darned hotel,” You think to yourself, along with other incoherent and unfinished thoughts.

But it all connects back to one hanging thought in the back of your mind.

Heaven is a Lie.

What happened to all that “Killing is bad” and “Murder is sin” bullshit that they preached?

This is a genocide. 

All of these demons, from young to old, didn’t do anything wrong, (well atleast, not in this moment)

Is it that hard for Adam to see? 

He’s been feeding you these utter lies this entire time? This news was a bombshell on you at the meeting when that lovely young girl, Charlie was pitching her idea.

Speaking of bombs, a piercing and explosive sound emits from the other side of the city.

꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂

As you traverse the debris of the crumbling city, you spot two familiar faces amongst the face of fire.

One of which that you despised ever since that meeting.

Lute.

The other had her back faced towards the lieutenant. Her horns protruded from her scalp and her long blonde hair billowing in the breeze, unaware that Lute was about to strike. 

“LUTE, NO!” You put yourself in the face of the Angelic weapon, your wings disarming the troop general to avoid her striking down Charlie.

“Y/N? What in the actual living fuck are you doing here?” 

“I should be the one asking the questions here,” You point an accusing finger into the general’s chest. 

“Where’s Adam? I need to have a serious discussion with him. If you see any other troops, tell them to stand down,” 

“You’re not my bos-”

“I said. Stand. The. Fuck. Down. NOW!” You stare Lute down, and she glares at you back. 

She doesn’t say anything, but you could see her biting her tongue.

You turn to Charlie.

“Charlie, come on, we gotta go!”

“But, I- I don’t understand, why are you he-”

“Just trust me on this one okay? Go and make sure no one is in imminent danger. I will handle my husband myself,”

The Princess looks up at you, eyes flooded with admiration, trust, and hope as you soar back into action.

꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂

You swoop in and out of  shattered buildings in fruitless attempts to find Adam amidst the screams and battle cries of both Angels and Demons.

“Adam? ADAM?!” You screech into the crimson sultry sky. 

Another explosive pierces through the sky from not far where you were barely a minute ago.

“Ugh, Lute I swear,” You mutter under your breath and your attention is quickly turned to two shadows attacking each other. You look overhead and see two figures; one of them is adorned with a priest’s garments (obviously, Adam), and the other… well…

Does not have a definable shape whatsoever. 

One moment, it has taken the form of a bird, and the next it has the figure of a snake.

One thing never changed though, a sporting white top hat stayed gracefully on his head in each form.

This ever changing specimen seems to be teasing your partner. 

“Adam? Haven’t seen ya since Eden,” He maneuvered between all of Adam’s punches.

“Gotta say, it really seems like you’ve let yourself go,”

Adam scoffs. 

“You, Lucifer, judging me? You’re the most hated being in all of gods be damned creation!”

Ah, that makes much more sense now.

The shape-shifting demon, finally setting on a figure, with a smirk, almost nonchalant expression on his face.

Dodging the First Man’s bolts of angelic power, Lucifer still doesn’t relent with the tomfoolery.

“Well, your first wife didn’t seem to hate what I had to offer,” He places his index and middle gloved digits between his lips and drags them downwards, his snake tongue between them.

Ooof, that’s gotta hurt.

Well it definitely did. On Lucifer’s end that is for sure. One of Adam’s blows finally managed to hit him, knocking him backwards, and inadvertently knocking you out of your trance.

Fuck, you were supposed to be stopping this.

“ADAM!” Your husband turns to face you, looking from the ground, dumbfounded.

“Y/n?! What the actual fuck are you doing down here?”

“Why is everyone asking me that?!” You draw in a breath, irritated.

Just get to the point.

“Tell your little army to stop. Playtime’s over,”

Adam descends down to you, with disagreement written all over his face.

“Nah,” He smirks.

“What the FUCK do you mean ‘Nah?’ What are you, 10?” 

“Yeah, 10 inches deep in you,” 

Your face distorts into a one of disdain. Marrying is probably one of the worst decisions you made.

“You don’t need to make this any harder than it needs to be,” Then it clicked. An utterly vile, but devious idea struck your mind.

“Dear Adam,” you hum, layering on the most seductive voice you can. Both Adam and Lucifer look at you, both confused at your quick change of tone.

Well this is going to be the most embarrassing 30 seconds of your life.

Alas, you carry yourself with a more fluid demeanor, as his eyes follow you. Though as stupid as he is, he isn’t going to fall for your tricks that easily.

You snuggle up to him, your hand gently caressing his upper thigh, reaching right where the source of all manhood was. Stroking not only his dick, but his ego as well, which you were really going for.

You whisper in his ear. 

“Come back home darling~ you need some time to rest, hm?” You let your fingers circle around his tip. “I’ve been waiting for you for a while now~”

He smirks. Bingo. 

“Fine, but I’ll be waiting for you at home, love,” He says with a wild grin.

“Lovely,” you say through smiling teeth.

Though behind that smile, there is absolutely nothing worthy of mentioning.

꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂

“Well, I sincerely apologise for my husband’s behaviour. Honestly, I would have stopped him sooner if I found out,” You bow to the group of demons.

Utter despair is written on the entire group’s faces. 

“What’s the matter? I know your hotel has been blown to bits, but at least everyone here is safe,” your tone is uncertain.

“Right?”

Charlie is the first to pipe up to speak.

“Sir, Pentious- he-,” Her voice cracks.

“Oh honey,” you turn to try and comfort her with your wings, though abruptly interrupted by a threatening cough from Lucifer, who was behind you.

You want to comfort the Princess of Hell, but you decide against it and turn to face the group. 

“I just want to say, before leaving, that I am on your side. I know Heaven is the real enemy and I will try to aid in any possible way, though right now I have to be going,” You look at each demon in turn, Lucifer for last, as he gives you a once over, as though you’ve intrigued him in some way.

“Well, erh, farewell. For now?” You give Charlie a tentative squeeze on the arm, and give Vaggie an acknowledging nod, which was returned.

As you spread your wings and soar back to heaven, you come to the realisation of what you’re gonna have to do when you get home.

Or rather, who…

꧁🥀☽💫✶♛🐣♕✶💫☾🥀꧂

Word count- 1,229

[johnwickb1tsch]

you're the worst thing (i'm addicted to) Part 5

a john wick x Helen'sSister!Reader fic You are Helen's baby sister. When you meet John Wick at Helen's graveside, he invites you to dinner to celebrate her birthday. Set a few years after the first movie, 2-4 never happened. Use of y/n. Warnings: canon typical violence. Future reference to threat of noncon, (not John! because he's our assassin sweetiepie). Mourning. Smut. Grey areas. Questionable decisions. Sweetheart!John, BAMF!John Depressed!John - If you can handle the movie you should be fine here... PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4

PART 5.

“I really hate this building,” he grouses as you push through the security door without challenge. He sounds grumpy, and it’s almost…cute. You’re not used to having anyone worrying after you like this.

“I’ve never had a problem here,” you try to assure him.

He gives one last hostile look over the street like he expects a horde of marauders to come charging after you. But there’s just streetlights, and the few harmless hipsters who are still out and about on a Friday night. This city never really sleeps.

“Do you at least have protection in your apartment?”

You reckon he doesn’t mean condoms.

“What, like a gun?”

“Yes.”

“No,” you laugh. “I have a bat under my bed?”

He makes a sound through his teeth that indicates that is not the answer he wanted to hear. Again, you stumble on that stupid odd riser, and again he grabs for you, holding your waist with an arm that feels like steel, practically carrying you up the next three steps. He is tense, on edge after the fight, his eyes sweeping the shadows of your stairwell.

You hope that once you get him inside your apartment, he might calm down. For once the tumblers yield without a fight, and you pull him inside, locking the deadbolt again behind you. “Come sit down. Let me look at you.”

Instead he strides to the window, looking out over the street with a suspicious glare. He is manic, going to every window that faces the street and closing blinds and curtains. Then he stands vigil again, looking out through a crack in the blinds, his jaw clenched. He stands like that for a good minute before you insist, “John.”

He reminds you of a hawk, the way he turns his head to look at you without moving the rest of his body.

“It’s ok, honey. Do you want a drink?”

He lets out a deep breath, maybe relaxing a tad, though he’s still grinding his bottom teeth. “Sure.”

You know his poison of choice now. It’s possible you picked up a nicer bottle of bourbon than what you had on offer last time, a small batch vintage.

“Sit,” you insist, pointing at one of your chairs in the living room. You know it sounds like a command, but it seems like the only way to get through to him in this hyper-fixated state. After a long moment he finally obeys, lowering himself down into the cushioned seat with the weariness of a man ten years his elder. He seems as though he has done this all before—and he doesn’t like it anymore.

“You’re taking all this rather well,” he remarks, gratefully accepting the cut crystal glass from you, slugging back half of it.

“Well...that guy was an asshole.” You shudder as your think about what Sasha intended to do to you, and how he’d undoubtedly treated other women before you who didn’t have someone like John on their side. “A knife in the leg was the least he deserved. You taught him a lesson he won't forget.”

“Yeah. Too bad these guys aren't big on self-reflection. They prefer revenge.”

“You think they’ll come after you?”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.”

You digest this, chewing on your bottom lip. “I can’t imagine how they could even find me,” you try to assure him. “It’s a huge city.”

The look he pays you isn’t exactly condescending, but it definitely makes you feel like he finds you naïve.

“Did you pay for your first round of drinks with cash?”

“No, credit card.”

He nods, like that’s all they would need.

“Seriously?”

“They have their ways.”

“Who are they, exactly?”

“I feel like it would be better if you didn’t know.”

“Oh no, we’re not doing that,” you say with your hands on your hips. “If someone’s coming after me, you’re going to tell me who.”

The wistful smile that twists his lips unexpected. “What?” you ask, unable to mask your annoyance.

“It’s just…I feel like I’ve had this conversation before.”

You realize you must remind him of Helen, with your no-male-bullshit attitude. It makes your heart ache at the same time it fills with pride. “Well, I learned from the best.”

You stare at each other for a long moment, and you feel your annoyance melt away as you study this man, so forbidding and yet beneath it all, a little fragile. You see it in his eyes, and there’s still blood on his brow, and you decide you want to patch him up more than you want to argue with him.

For now.

Maybe he feels some obligation to take care of you because of Helen, but it goes both ways. You know Helen would want you to make sure he’s taken care of too. You feel a little guilty that it’s taken this long.

“I’m going to go get my first aid kit. We’ll clean you up, then you can decide what you want to tell me. FYI, the less you know the better is not acceptable tonight.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You cannot tell if he is amused, exasperated, or maybe both.

You return from the bathroom with your medicine chest, thunking it down on the coffee table. “Want another?” you ask, gesturing at his empty glass.

“Yes, but I shouldn’t. Good stuff.” You smile to yourself, wondering if your previous offering had been closer on the scale to paint thinner, remembering how he’d drank it anyway because he was a sweetheart. He was a conundrum, was what he was. This man was dangerous, and after what you’d seen earlier, you suspected he was possibly a killer. And yet, he was sweet. So sweet, at least to you, and those he considered friends. The warmth that bloomed in your chest for him was alarmingly not exactly—or not exclusively—lust related.

“Ouch,” you sigh, inspecting his brow. It’s a deep cut, and might actually require a butterfly. You won’t know until you clean it up.

You actually possess a passable first aid kit. Sometimes, art projects involving blades go awry, and you are in the habit of taking care of your ailments yourself. The cost of healthcare is utterly obscene, and until recently, out of your budget.

John lets you fuss over him, sitting still as a statue as you cleanse his wounds with saline solution then slather him with some antibacterial goop. Though you still feel a bit sick, and a bit giddy from the adrenaline, luckily your hands have stopped shaking. You do affix one butterfly closure to his noble brow, just in case. His eyes are closed, almost as though he is enjoying your ministrations, even though you know it can’t actually feel good.

“I’m not sure what else to do for this,” you say, touching his split lip lightly with a gauze pad, dabbing away the blood.

“It’s fine,” he sighs. “I’ve had worse.”

“I’m sorry you got hurt,” you say.

This could be an excellent window for him to really tell you what’s going on. You suspect he’s purposely distracting you when he reaches for you, tracing the line of your waist before his large hands settle on your hips, pulling you closer between his manspread legs.  

“I’m feeling better now.” He looks up at you with those soulful dark eyes, and goddammit they should be considered an illegal weapon.

You know you should insist on answers before giving in, but your resolve utterly dissolves under his touch and that longing look, replaced with heady desire. This thing between you is a force to be reckoned with; it obliterates your good sense, your sense of propriety, your loyalty to your late sister. Anything that might have stopped you with anyone else ceased to matter with this beautiful man.

You are not sure if he pulls you, or if you just melt down into his lap, straddling him. His long fingers splay on your legs, pushing your skirts up your thighs, sliding higher and higher until he cups your ass with only your panties between you.

“My knight in shining black armor,” you sigh, touching his cheek lightly, wary of causing him pain. You think you see a bruise forming beneath the scruff of his beard.

“Hmm. It’s nice to be the hero, for once.” 

“Are you usually the bad guy, John?”

His touch is feather light down your legs again, then up your spine and the backs of your arms, causing you to shudder uncontrollably. “You have no idea, sweetheart.”

“I think I’m forming an idea,” you admit breathily.

“My clever girl. What ever shall I do with you?” You’re not sure why his praise makes heat and slick pool between your legs, as though you are melting from the inside for this man. His hands are in your hair now, his touch still so gentle, but oh so maddening. Your skin feels like its on fire.

You kiss him gently, because of the split lip. He is the one who deepens it, with a growing desperation and a disregard for his own pain that you find insanely titillating. His mouth travels down your neck, trailing kisses and grazing with teeth as though he means to eat you alive.

You would let him, gladly, and you writhe against him, grinding on the length of his hard cock beneath you. You didn’t even get to see it last time. Tonight, you determine you will remedy that.

Fingers hooked in the straps of your dress pull down, down and down until you are bared before him. His hand in your hair pulls, gentle but exacting, guiding you to arch your back, offering up your breasts for his delectation. His mouth on your nipples is pure magic, sucking and biting and flicks of tongue that drive you to the absolute brink. He could make you cum just like this, you think, with his mouth on your tits and riding his rock-hard cock through his pants.

It hardly seems fair, considering last time, you somehow manage to think through the fog of desire that has you so tied up in knots. You push against him, sliding down his body until you are on your knees before him. He watches you with such blatantly raw hunger it makes your legs weak; he knows exactly what you’re doing, and doesn’t have the will to tell you no. He watches you intensely as you reach for his belt, flipping it open. There is a weight on the belt that confuses you for a moment, until his hand goes behind his back, catching something.

“Don’t be afraid,” he says, and you can’t think straight enough to even entertain it. He pulls out a small black blocky object—it takes you a moment to realize it’s a gun. You've never really seen one in real life until tonight, just in the movies. You are more curious than fearful as he sets it gingerly on the table. The possibility does not even register that he could be a threat to you. After everything you’ve seen tonight, this is just par for the course, and you return to your task with gusto, whipping his belt from their loops with a satisfying snap.

You cannot hide the fact that you are utterly pleased with yourself, and the corners of his mouth twitch, his hand caressing your cheek. You finish undoing his pants with your eyes half closed, so entranced by his light touch, until his manhood springs free into your hand, hot and velvety and oh my he is large. You roll your eyes up to meet his before descending upon him, slowly taking his swollen glans between your lips, swirling him with your tongue.

“Fuck, baby…”

The hand in your hair is not so gentle now; you don’t think he realizes he’s pulling, as you slowly take his length into the back of your throat, toying with the vein with your tongue. You slide more of him into your mouth, knowing you'll never be able to fit it all, but so willing to try. You bob up and down slowly, grazing him very carefully with your teeth, winning the most delicious moan from this man who is usually such a bastion of self-control. 

His fingers comb through your hair, sending chills all down your body as you work him up and down. The tips of your bare breasts brushing his tautly muscled thighs sends spears of longing to your loins, and you press your legs for some relief.

It doesn’t work, but you are enjoying this, and you want to treat him, the way he treated you so generously before. He’s taken a beating for you, fought and bled for you, protected you, and you want to thank him in the most primal way you know how. You take him deeper into the back of your throat, as deep as you can go, savoring every thick inch of this magnificent cock. What a thing of beauty. He groans, and you would have smiled if not for the mouthful.

“Baby...so good to me.” His hips rock against you of their own volition, his grip tightening in your hair. “Touch yourself for me. I want to feel you cum with your mouth sucking my cock.”

He doesn't have to invite you twice. Your fingers find your weeping slit, toying with your clit while you go down on him. You find a rhythm like this, sucking him in time to touching yourself. Maybe it’s a little self serving, but then again...there is something cosmic in this. Something timeless and primal and he seems to be enjoying it all the more with your participation, the vibration of your moans teasing his hard shaft.

You feel that scintillating pleasure gathering in your loins, know you are close. Your pleasure almost takes you by surprise, it is so swift and violent, your body spasming with the mindnumbing explosion inside you. After last time, it’s almost the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. You take him into your throat fully and he cums with you, no warning, just the hot spill of his seed down your throat, filling your mouth. You swallow it greedily, only withdrawing when he stills beneath you.

You nearly collapse against his legs, your cheek resting on his lean thigh. This man is made of muscle and sinew. Through hooded eyes he caresses your face, toying with your hair. You shudder with aftershocks that are almost as pleasurable as the orgasm itself. You feel triumph as those burning dark eyes slide closed, overcome by afterglow, and maybe something else you don't care to name now.

“My sweet girl. You...are a marvel."

Something inside you blooms at hearing those soft words from him.

Slowly you sit up, stretching against him, using his hard body to help push you to your feet. Without a word you step out of your lacy pink panties and stick them in his jacket like a pocket square. He glances down with a lifted eyebrow, a small smirk pulling the corner of his mouth.

He’s so beautiful you could scream. 

“Something to add to your collection,” you quip, alluding to the fact that even though he practically fled last time, you know he took your undies with him.

“I will treasure them as much as the last pair,” he admits with a woebegone smile that crushes your heart.

Your legs are trembling beneath you, and you hold out a hand to him, inviting him to follow you. “Snuggle with me?”

A few long moments pass, until you think he might reject the idea, but then he takes your smaller mitt in his and tugs you down into his lap. It is silly, how secure you feel curled up in this man’s arms, your head finding the warm crook of his neck. His masculine smell is utterly divine, and you could fall asleep there, with his long fingers stroking your hair. You snuggle in the quiet aftermath, spent and ever so content.

This might be what heaven feels like.

You’re not sure how much time has passed, when he brushes his lips against the top of your head and asks, “What would you say to packing a bag and coming to my place for the weekend?”

The suggestion takes you aback. Heat floods you as you think about just what you would get up to on a long weekend away at Casa Wick.

It certainly wouldn't be innocent.

Your little bubble of carnal pleasure bursts when you think of everything that happened outside your apartment, before you pleasured each other into a mind-numbed stupor.

“I would say I feel like you have an ulterior motive besides enjoying my company.”

“I do enjoy your company.”

“And I think you think I'm in danger. Are you ready to talk about that?”

“Am I allowed to say no?”

“No.”

He huffs with laughter, clearly amused with you. But behind it all, you see the shadow of worry in his eyes, a tension at the corners of his mouth. “Come home with me, and we can talk about there.”

You tilt your head, wondering if he would be so diabolical as to fuck you into a blissfully complacent stupor so he didn’t have to answer your questions the whole weekend. You’ve never been good at taking orders—or hell, even advice—at face value. You like to make decisions—read mistakes—for yourself. But maybe, just this once, you could have faith that someone has your best interests at heart. He’s older than you, maybe wiser, and seems to know a little something you don’t about the workings of the underworld of New York City. As surreal as it seems...you could actually be in serious danger.

Seeing that you are still thinking, he sweetens the pot, nuzzling the shell of your ear with his nose. “I will cook for you and spoil you rotten.”

You can only imagine what carnal delights spoiling implies with this man.  

Well…fuck.

“Fine. I’ll pack a bag. But we are just postponing this Q & A.”

“Fair enough.” You extricate yourself from his lap with a stretch, and he gives you a light smack on your rear as you make your way for your bedroom. When you turn to look at him with a raised eyebrow he pays you a panty-melting (if you’d been wearing any) smirk that turns your brain to mush.

This man.

It occurs to you that this man is, in fact, dangerous to you. Not in terms of violence, but…you sense in yourself that if he asked nicely, you just might give him anything. You understand more than ever how and why Helen fell so quickly for John Wick, as you find yourself surrendering to your addiction to him with a secret smile.

<<PART 4 PART 6>>

[yuri-is-online]

And Your Name Is? (Jade, Leona, Riddle)

Synopsis- After successfully resolving whatever was causing NRC to be trapped in an endless time loop of overblotting and disaster, one last reset should give him a chance to experience a normal school year with you. But instead you find yourself trapped in the here and there, appearing as a vague shadow around the school that vanishes as soon as he catches up to you. The kind thing to do would be to allow you to be forgotten in the chance it lets you return to your world.

But this is Twisted Wonderland where the kind thing is seldom done, and he wants you back as much as you want to find him again.

a/n: Look, I don't know who decided to make MICKY MOUSE a sadman deadwife in Disney's attempt at animal crossing but it gave me ideas. This is shamelessly based off that questline, feel free to request other characters. Everyone deserves a chance at angst. This probably won't be the last time I'll write something with this sort of premise meh

notes: angst with the intent of comfort, Jade is a red flag. Otherwise mild.

Jade Leech

It’s a wonder you ever lived here.  Ramshackle is cold, Jade can’t bring himself to say lifeless for fear of speaking a crueler fate into existence, but the word’s on the tip of his tongue nonetheless.   It’s a pity this is where you call “home,” but he can work with this.  He can sweep up the cobwebs, dust every broken surface before popping the timbers back into place, figure out how to repair the upholstery so long as he sees the shimmery light that forms your shape begin to fill in.  He knows if he reaches for you that you will disappear, so he lets you observe as he keeps you in the corner of his eye.  Jade is careful, methodical, even as his hands shake as he launders your sheets and fluffs pillows on a bed he really wants to burn for its audacity to be so uncomfortable.  He vaguely recalls requesting you make one room of this place into a giant terrarium once, a silly request he’s sure he’d make again if he could just speak to you, for no other reason than to hear you laugh.  But, he supposes as he slips himself into your bed reaching out towards the in between as if he can pull you from the here and there with the sheer force of his longing; he is already sort of doing that.  Just like the Sea Witch keeping creatures in glass bottles he’s trying to replicate the perfect environment for you.  

“Jade?”  

“I’m here.”  he murmurs, not daring to open his eyes just yet, instead reaching for where he thinks your face should be.  “Do you hear me?  It’s past your bedtime, prefect.”

“Jade.”

“It’s awfully lonely here.”  He hates the way he sounds.  It’s too raw, too clear with his intent to be the tease he wants it to be.  “Won’t you come to bed?”

“Jade!”  His eyes open, his hand lands on you, the real you, not a shade made up of his memory, he manages to crush the urge to cry and pulls you up into his embrace. Your eyes are unfocused, confused but moving towards his touch as if you were searching for it.  “W-who.. I have to find…”  You move, on instinct towards his heartbeat, as he slowly strokes your arms to soothe your shaking.  “Jade… I’m looking for-”

“You found me.”  Jade is gentle, careful as he searches over you for any sign of distress or injury, sighing in relief when he only finds confusion. It doesn’t matter if you don’t remember specifics.  It doesn’t matter to him if you’ve forgotten your own name, Jade’s known and loved you for three timelines now, he’ll remind you of who you are if that’s what you want.  In the meantime, he slowly encloses you in the safety of his embrace and tries not to smile too wide as you naturally relax into him.  He will build you a beautiful garden in this world, and nothing will ever harm you this badly ever again, he swears it.

Leona Kingscholar

How many times has he been forced to watch you die?  He’s not sure, his memory clearly doesn’t want to cooperate with him out of fear he’ll consider the failures a waste of energy, consider you wasted energy.  Give in to the self-sabotaging part of him that never wanted to love you in the first place and abandon you to your fate, and yet no matter how many times he held your limp form in his arms he never had.  There was something mildly addicting in the realization that you chose him in every lifetime.  Not that stupid lizard or stuck up diva, him the second born, grumpy, lazy lion.

“Leona?”  Your shade has always been able to speak, and Leona’s always been able to hear it.  It’s like you’re trying to retrace your steps through time, starting with your meeting in the botanical gardens up to your stay in his room.  He tries to tell himself you’re like a flea burrowing its way into his skin, irritating in your presence, unwelcome.  He tries to tell himself if you didn’t mean enough to this world to keep a corporeal form that you shouldn’t mean anything to him.  If Twisted Wonderland rejected you then so should he.

“Leona.”  He hates how alone you sound.  He hates how he can see you around the gardens but can’t hear footsteps, see you sitting on the edge of the balcony but not smell you.  He really wants to hate you.

“I have to… promised… Leona…”  

“I’m here you know.”  he mutters, half asleep under the heavy curtain of vines in the botanical gardens.  “You wanna keep your promise?  Then quit runnin away.”  Silence.  Always silence, even in his dreams no matter how hard he tries to will you back into existence.  He wants to stare you down, he really does, but how is he supposed to be anything but shocked when it's really you in front of him, listless and confused.

“Leona?”  You’re confused, that much is clear.  He wonders, smugly as he rises without complaint for once, if his name is the only thing you remember.  The flicker of fear in your eyes is something he can do without, but if you know his name then somewhere inside that empty head of yours should be the same memories that have been plaguing him.

“I hope you’re prepared.”  his tail swishes in excitement, and though you remain confused he delights in how you remain unafraid.  “For just what you signed up for by callin my name.”

Riddle Rosehearts 

Your shadow likes to sit in the Heartslabyul rose garden.  Riddle is thankful for that, his gaze is hard to avoid here.  He can keep an eye on you this way while he tries to find a solution for… whatever this is.  It’s sickening, really, how useless he is without a rulebook or a study guide to follow.  His memories of the past time loops might be blurry but he wonders if you ever felt frustrated with him in any of them.  Someone as beautiful and wonderful as you constantly choosing someone as boring as him, he wants to be proud.  He wants to point out that he is clearly in the right, in some sort of way, he has to be if he was loved in any way by you.  It hurts him all the more to be so useless to you, to find so little concrete about the here and there and be told by every adult he reaches out to that the only thing they know is that no one who goes there ever comes back.

His dormmates like to keep a degree of distance from you.  Riddle knows that they don’t know it’s you, he’s tried to explain to them multiple times and seen as they fight hard against whatever magic is trying to erase you from Twisted Wonderland to remember clearly who you were.  It’s especially hard to watch Ace and Deuce loop through their worry over you and their anger at having forgotten only to get lost in the fog once again.  He had to stop himself from trying, causing your best friends pain wouldn’t bring you back to them, to him.  Riddle’s stubborn, he can take the confused looks of his house when he insists they let him have a private tea party with the strange ghost that’s taken up residence in their maze.

“I’m uncertain if our professors remember what happened, but I can say with certainty some of the material has changed.  It’s a relief that the quality of our education hasn’t regressed.”  He pours you a cup of tea, working off of muscle memory he can’t recall the context for anymore to make it in a way you must have liked.  “I’ve been taking detailed notes on what my freshmen have been learning, when you return-” his voice cracks in panic as your shadow’s outline flickers “when you return…” he tries, softer this time focusing on gently setting down the tea pot “I’ll make sure you aren’t left behind.  Ace and Deuce will keep their memories this time and we’ll all get to hang out together again, you’ll always have- you always have had a place in Heartslabyul, so please, please come back.”  Riddle likes to think of himself as an adult, but he pouts and cries so easily.  He can feel the tears bubbling up and obscuring his vision.  Hiding the view of your shadow’s shape filling in.

“Riddle?”  He hiccups, undignified, unbelieving the sight he’s seeing.  You look so small, so confused but still so concerned for him, pausing to reach for a napkin to wipe his tears despite how unfocused you otherwise seem to be.  You reach for him, shaky but still determined. “Are you Riddle?” you whisper.  “I’ve been searching for him, I promised not to let go of his hand.”  Riddle reaches for your hand with both of his, leaning into you.  “I’m worried he’s lonely.”

“I was.”  He isn’t crying anymore, Riddle likes to think he never will again as he presses a kiss into your palm.  “You can rest now prefect, you’ve made it home.”

[fiapartridge]

late night talking | jack hughes

summary: jack’s having a terrible day and decides to call you late at night…

warning(s): swearing

kinda not in love with this one but what can ya do!

Jack hated calling when it was late at night because he knew you'd answer every single time— even if it meant sacrificing precious hours of sleep and living like a sleep-deprived zombie by the time the sun comes up. 

But tonight, he just couldn't resist it. 

His day was absolutely terrible. It all started with waking up an hour later than his alarm was set, then missing breakfast with the team because he couldn't find his tan T-shirt anywhere which resulted in him tearing apart his entire hotel room searching for the missing piece of clothing that was simply rolled up at the bottom of his suitcase, then getting a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his new AF1s on his way to the arena, and as the stupid cherry on top, the Devils lost their last road game of the—almost clean sweep—West Coast roadie to the fucking Seattle Kraken. 

And he knew you were tired. You spent all day texting him about all of the essays and projects your professors were assigning you. You were awake until 2AM (New Jersey time), hacking away at all of the assignments. You couldn't wait to go to sleep. 

You finally put your writing utensils away and stored your laptop in the drawer of your desk where it would be waiting to be opened tomorrow for more work. Your hair was in a messy bun and your pajamas were strapped against your body. You were so ready for bed. You pulled back the covers and shimmied yourself in, careful not to move the pink blanket resting at the foot of the bed. 

Skimming through your emails one last time, making sure there wasn't any last-minute work assigned by your professors, you turned off your phone and placed it on the bedside table. Your arm stretched a little farther to click the button on your lamp, but when you saw Jack's caller ID and the photo of him giving you a piggy-back around the Prudential Center, all systems were on high alert. 

You sat back up, pulling the phone to your ear. You were terrified. You knew Jack hated calling you late at night— even though you told him loads of times that you didn't mind. So if he was calling you now, knowing it was 2AM where you were, he must've really needed something. 

The line was silent when you answered. Nothing else other than a faint static could be heard between the two of you.

"Jack?" you called. "Are you okay?"

You could hear his breathing. It wasn't calm, but it wasn't rapidly fast either. It sounded like a boy with something on his mind.

"Hey, Y/N/N," he said. He was so quiet, it felt like you had to lean into the phone to hear him better. 

"It's eleven in Seattle. Why aren't you asleep?" you asked.

"I wanted to, I just," he paused. Static. Calmer breaths. "I just missed you so fucking much, Y/N."

"I miss you, too, but it's only two more days. I'll see you on Sunday. What's going on?"

You couldn't see him, but his head was shaking back and forth on the other side of the line and he was rubbing his forehead like a middle-aged man after seeing his kids scribbling all over the walls. He was stressed and tired and all he wanted was to come home and see you, to sleep in your bed tonight, and to be with you.

"My day was just... terrible. It was unbelievably terrible. It was like one bad thing would happen and then ten minutes later, another bad thing happened. It was like God was just shitting over my entire day. So much fucking shit."

You laughed softly, a slight yawn mixed in between. "I don't think God was resting at the toilet, shitting all over your day, but it sounds like it was pretty bad. What happened?"

He sighed. "No, I should let you go to sleep. It's what? Two o'clock over there?"

"You called, and I answered. Tell me."

He took a moment, like he was actually debating whether to tell you or not. He knew you would go to extreme lengths to get it out of him, and he didn't want to tire you out even more. "We lost."

That was all he said.

Two words.

We lost.

You were confused to say the least. You knew he lost. You kept up with every single one of his games. They won every single road game before that: the Hurricanes, the Ducks, the Kings, the Sharks. So what, they lost to the Kraken? It's not like they won't have another chance to win again on Sunday against the Penguins, or Tuesday against the Golden Knights. There were so many more games to play. What was the big deal?

"Okay... is that it?" you asked. You dipped your toe in, scared that he might blow up and tell you something dramatic like 'it's more than a game, it's my life.'

But the line went quiet again. Nothing more than a bit of static and breathing. But then he talked and you wanted to do nothing more than book a flight out to Seattle and run to him with your arms out. You wanted to be there for Jack— you always did. 

He sighed. "It's just— we were losing for so long and when we were winning again, it felt so good, like we were finally back. Like we were a team again. But then we lost and, I don't know, it felt as if we were back on that losing streak, like it was yesterday. Like none of the road games even happened. We were just— losers again."

You rolled your eyes, and laughed. Yes, you laughed. Jack was confused, too. He wondered why you were laughing. He just poured out his entire thought process, all of his feelings, and you were laughing. Why were you laughing?

He frowned. "It's not funny, Y/N/N."

"I know, I know," you wiped your eyes. You didn't know if you were tearing up because you were deliriously tired or you were just laughing too hard. "It's just— you lost in overtime. You were close. It wasn't an 8 - 1 loss, or a complete shutout. You almost won, Jack. It was one goal that separated you and the other team. So what, you lost one game? This one game won't cost you your chances at playoffs and it won't make me love you any less. No one thinks that you are a loser. I'd rather be with you than a guy that's won every single one of his games. I love you, Jack. Win or lose, it's always you."

"So you don't want to be with Pastrnak?"

You rolled your eyes and giggled. "Not into beards."

He laughed. "Really? Because I think I'm starting to grow something here, Y/N/N."

You scoffed. "In your wildest dreams, Hughes."

"Speaking of dreams, I should probably let you get back to that."

"Alright, just— know that I love you, okay? Win or lose; I'm always gonna come home to you, and I'm always gonna love you."

You could hear the sound of a light switch on the other side of the line. Jack was getting ready for bed, too. He crawled underneath the covers, knowing his teammates were probably out getting drunk somewhere at a bar nearby. But he didn't care about grabbing a beer and throwing all of his feelings into Taylor Swift karaoke with Nico Hischier (that was more of a 'you and Nico' thing). All he wanted was to hear your voice, to tell you goodnight, that he loves you, and that he'll call you again when the sun comes up.

Because to him, you were worth more than a lifetime of wins.

[familyvideostevie]

🐚 SEASHELL: “Can we pretend that we’re good? Just for the night til the morning, I’d take it back if I could, but I’ll never find another you.” With James Potter please and thanks.

omg! you sure can! i was feeling a bit angst in this one, maybe james sticking his foot in his mouth and not realizing it. so here's him doing just that! (it ends nice though, obviously)

--

It's like the entire pub goes quiet when you hear it. James is maybe three paces in front of you, speaking to some girls you think you know. You can't see his face but you bet he's smiling, being kind and handsome and flirty like he always is. You plan to slide under his arm and exhibit a tiny bit of possessiveness as you give him his drink but then you hear one of the girls ask about you.

"Are you two, like, together?"

James shrugs. "Why, are you about to ask me to dinner, Vance?"

In that instant, one of the girls spots you behind James and her eyes go wide. You turn before she can say anything and retreat through the crowd and out the front door, two drinks in hand. The smokers who are chatting seem to see that you're in crisis mode and surrender a bit of the standing room to you.

Frankly, you're embarrassed to be so upset. You and James are not officially together. Some dates, kisses, nights spent together don't amount to exclusivity if you haven't spoken about it. But you know that the boys refer to you as his better half and he calls you on days he doesn't see you and you thought maybe it was going in that direction.

But while James is kind and sweet and lovely, he is also a bit vain and has quite the ego sometimes and he likes to flirt. You know all of this but your chest is aching, even so.

Someone calls your name and then James is in front of you. His face is a mix of emotions you've not seen before on him -- flustered and concerned. "I'm sorry," he says, though you're not sure he knows what he's apologizing for.

"I got you a drink," you say, a bit morosely. A breeze sweeps down the street and you shiver. James whips off his jacket and drapes it around your shoulders.

He deems the drinks irrelevant, taking them from you and putting them on the ledge of the pub. "I'm sorry," he says again. "The girls in there told me I needed to fix what I did, so here I am."

He rubs his hands up and down your arms, brow furrowed. He really does seem stressed. "I don't know what you're apologizing for," you say quietly. "No need."

"There is," he says, frowning. "I was being daft. I should have said we're together, because we are. No need to joke about it."

"Are we?" you say, hating how small you sound. James huffs.

"I guess we haven't put a label on it, have we?" You shake your head. "Well, no time like the present. We've been together for weeks in my head, honestly," he confesses. "I mean, I've been having dreams about you for months. Remus says I say your name in my sleep when I'm napping on his couch."

"James," you admonish, face heating. "I feel silly," you tell him.

"What, you don't want to be together? Now is the time to tell me, darling." You look at him and he looks less worried now, though his eyes flash behind his lenses.

"No, I do," you say, and he grins. "I just feel silly for being upset."

James tugs you in for a hug. You smush your face into his shoulder and feel his chest vibrate as he laughs. "It's kind of hot," he says in your ear. "Being possessive. Feel free to do it anytime."

You smack his chest with your palm. "You're impossible."

"But I'm your impossible!"

"That doesn't even make sense, James." He puts your hand on his elbow before he grabs your drinks and heads for the door to go back inside, flashing you a grin and a wink.

"Now I get to tell the whole pub we're together," he says. "And you get to take credit for all the dumb shit I say."

join the celebration!

[boneblushed]

The Archer

-> you’re drunker thank you should be, sadder than most. Good thing Rafe’s sober and rational.

a/n sometimes, writing IS therapy 😬

You’re staring at the sky when he finds you.

Constellations blur into an obscure patchwork of iridescence, the sweep of greys clouds causing a strange sort of fascination. It’s all very pretty, really. You aren’t. The Earth is beautiful and you’re drunk.

You’ve had too much. Not in a bad way; you were hoping to take the edge off, and you might’ve overshot it just enough to make your voice hoarse. And your vision funny. Good thing you don’t need perfect eyesight to recognise the boy who invited you here.

He’s got this deep, gravelly timbre you’d recognise just about anywhere.

“Here, baby,” he murmurs now, having materialised in front of you with a glass of water. It’s cool and wet as he coaxes it into your palm, a pull of ice down your throat as you tip it back. He sneaks a kiss on the bare, exposed skin as you do so, unable to help himself.

“Mm,” you hum. He pulls the glass away. A gloss of condensation lingers on your lips.

That’s the first thing he notices, guiltily, as he takes a seat beside you. The second thing, the thing that informs his aforementioned guilt, is the fact that there’s cruel, salty tears as the base of your lower lids. You lean forward and look up at him, your eye contact rich with sorrow, and they fall down your cheek like raindrops on petals.

His heart aches so bad he thinks he’s having a cardiac event.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs. He sounds perplexed. More tears fall, and he springs into action, catching them on his thumb.

It’s rough pressure on your cheek. His palm curls around your jaw, his fingers gentle on your earlobe.

You sigh. “M’sorry,” you mumble, chagrined.

More tears. “Why?” He asks.

“Crying again.”

“It’s okay, baby,” he murmurs, and he means it. He shrugs off his jumper and places it on your shoulders, his strong arm around it. The weight of his muscles press warmth into your skin.

You blink in lieu of nodding, lean into his touch. Now relaxing against his side, you gaze up at him, unshed tears wetting your eyes. It’s a sad sort of earnest, and he begins to ache harder. “Can I ask you something?” You say quietly.

“Anything.” He presses a kiss to your temple. “I love you.”

You don’t have it into you to reciprocate the sentiment right now, no matter how badly you mean to. “All your friends are here,” you mumble.

He raises his eyebrows.

“And none of mine,” you add, a stray tear punctuating the insinuation.

“Because they were busy, baby,” he murmurs softly.

“Because,” you breath in shakily, this ugly, heaving sob, “I have no friends.”

“Sweetheart —”

“I have no one.”

Rafe pulls you into him firmer, harder, a squeezing pressure that almost hurts. It’s grounding. “Don’t. You have me,” he says quietly. “I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

You hate being vulnerable like this, especially in public. The stars shine bright above you, ever-present, and the party goes on despite your world standing still.

You blink up at him, the wetness of your tears darkening your eyelashes. Rafe’s chest squeezes. He means it so much it’s going to give him a fucking aneurysm. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he answers, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. “You’ll always have me. Even when you don’t want me.”

“I’ll always want you,” you mumble, smiling a little, voice muffled by the kiss.

His fingers are rough on your jaw, warm palm dwarfing your neck as he holds your lips against his. “Thank fuck,” he mutters, his roguish grin audible. More osculate pressure. “I’ve already started referring to you as Mrs Cameron in my head.”

[lucentclan]

well! i wasnt expecting this-

I wrote a little snippit for this that I'll put it under the cut, I'm so upset over them you have no idea

despite the war between Lucentclan and Fernclan being over, Newtstar decides that he, Pepperflare, and Violethope will go patrol the borders one last time before the sun goes down. They don't realize the scent of rain or the clouds forming in the distance, as they're crossing the beach, rain begins falling heavily and weighing down their pelts.

"Newtstar!" Pepperflare calls over the now howling wind, anxiety pricking in her paws as the rain brings back unwanted memories of Sablepaw being washed away in a flood four moons ago. "We should really go back to camp! I don't have a good feeling about this."

Newtstars ears flick in acknowledgement, "we need to be sure that Fernclan isn't up to anything. I won't lose anymore cats to those fox-hearts!" He argues back, claws digging into the sand as he thinks of their previous medicine cat, Rippleclaw.

"No sane cat will be out in this weather!" Pepperflare insists, "Especially Fernclan cats! They hate water!"

"I agree with Pepp-" Violethope begins, her meow quickly cut off by a deafening crash and flash of lightning. In the distance, the sound of trees cracking and breaking echo down the mountains.

All three clancats freeze, heads snapping to the horizon where they see a massive wave of water quickly making its way down the hill, rocks, trees, and other natural debris coming along with it. The clancats barely have time to process what was happening before the water reaches them and sweeps them off their paws and into the unforgiving ocean. Their lungs fill with freezing saltwater as they cry out for starclan to save them to no avail.

Newtstar is the first to open his eyes, the yellow a sharp contrast to the darkness around him. Stars now shine in his pelt, and reflect in his eyes as he takes in the vaguely familiar area. He had been here when he lost his first life protecting his clan from a dog the same moon Rippleclaw had been found dead on Fernclans border. It had been nice to see the tom again to be assured that he wouldn't be alone, their starclan guide, and Newtstars own kin, Shardfoam being there to keep him company.

He sits and sighs, watching the water drip from is glimmering pelt and dissappear into the stars beneath his paws. He couldn't help but feel as if he had let his clan down.

Pepperflare and Violethope join him soon, appearing with splashes of salt water and gasping breaths that didn't take any oxygen. The she-cats meet eyes for a moment, confused as they look towards their leader.

They realize the stars at the same time, dismay filling them. Quietly, they step forward to sit beside their leader in quiet mourning.

"I'm sorry it had to be this way," A familiar voice says, a cream tabby tom stepping into sight. Sympathy reflecting in his grey eyes as he looks at the warriors. Beside the medicine cat is a younger spotted gray apprentice, Sablepaw, who is looking at them with the same sympathetic look.

"Rippleclaw! Sablepaw!" Newstar cries, standing. "Whats going on? We can't actually be dead, right? What about my other seven lives?" The words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them, needing answers. Beside him, Pepperflare tries to speak but just hacks up a mouthful of water. Violethope remains quiet.

Rippleclaw sighs, "Unfortunately there was no way for starclan to bring your body back, it was washed too far out to sea for it to be possible." He steps to the side, the area behind him now streching out into a vast area, stars littering ground. This was starclans hunting grounds. The medicine cat dips his head, tears in his eyes as his friends try to process their deaths, "Welcome to starclan, my friends. Here you can watch over and guide Lucentclan."

Down below the sky, Quailcall sits outside the medicine den, blue eyes watching the entrance of the camp. It's been far too long since the patrol had left, and the elder was starting to get a bad feeling. He looks up at the dark clouds as it stormed and shakes out his pelt before standing and turning to enter the den.

Sparkfire lays in a nest against the far wall, curled up tightly as she sleeps through the infection in her wounds. The she-cat twitches and whimpers in her sleep, shifting slightly. The tom silently makes his way to sit beside the nest, watching the slow rise and fall of Sparkfires back, half expecting it to stop at any moment.

Quailcall looks towards the entrance of the den once more, dread filling his belly. "Starclan help us." He says quietly before curling up close to the deputy and shuts his eyes in an attempt to sleep until the patrol returns.

sorry for the short fic but i wanted to write for this moon soo bad and got carried away.

What will Sparkfire and Quailcall do now?

[www-findringo-com]

From Afar

Yuno Grinberryall x Fem!reader

I'm unsure if i should have a specific banner for my series or my stories in general or if i should change it each time, tell me what you think!

cw - unchecked

Plot: Y/N Hanabi is a commoner who has always hated her fireworks magic even though the townsfolk have always praised her. As she grew up, a woman in her life changed her view completely, making her appreciate and slowly understand her "silly" magic.

Even if she started using her magic more, she had no interest in joining the magic knights, and yet during the elves' reincarnation, she helped save the people of the Clover Kingdom. This resulted in the Sorcery King noticing her and convincing her to join the knights, which, after many rejections, she. In the end. Took on the request and participated in the entrance exam a year after getting her grimoire. Once she joined the Blue Rose Knights, something or more like someone was going to completely change ,what once was, her daily routine.

Previous

Ever since I got my grimoire, it's almost as if life at the hostel got busier. I wouldn't exactly be mad about it because it means we're getting more and more clients, but it also means I have to use my magic all the time! But on the bright side, Serene always visited us and helped out a lot. She was the self-proclaimed Paladin of Justice for us commoners. Soon, she became known in my town, and people always asked me when she was going to be back. What a pain... But deep inside, it made me happy to know people liked my friend

"Y/N, darling, could you please go serve out the dishes?" My mom shouted from across the hall. It did sound like a question but if I even dared to refuse I would have been in trouble. I ran to the kitchen since the guest had been waiting for about twenty minutes. As soon as I opened the kitchen door a nervy comment hit my face: "Look who finally decided to stop sitting on their ass and help out!" My cousin spoke. He was the most annoying guy in the whole universe. And, if we weren't family, I would have already beat him up.

"Yeah yeah I'm here. Now give me those dishes before the guests get mad" I commented back and he gave me a snarky smile before handing me about four plates to bring out.

That afternoon I was sweeping the lobby when a shadow towered over my figure. Right after some water was splashed on the floor I had been cleaning for the past hour. "Whoops~" I turned around to be met by a woman, dressed in noble clothes and with the wrinkliest face I had ever seen. On her ugly wrinkly face sat a smirk as she fake apologized for 'accidentally', spilling her water magic on the floor. I was about to lash out on her due to my terrible customer service. But I was soon stopped by an angry voice at the entrance. "Excuse me, Miss. But who do you think you are?" We both turned around stunned, and I was met by none other than Serene. Paladin of justice for us commoners, I guess. The breath of the noble lady hitched, and she fought back: "And who might you be? Let me guess, a lowly peasant. '' She chuckled and looked at Serene funny. "And what if I am? What does that mean to you? That you're a high-level person but lowly scum in the eyes of righteousness? In a world where you can be better than most and be seen as a beautiful person, you chose to be part of the mass and just follow like a wet dog the orders of someone else? People like you are bland, stale, and boring. You're the reason why this kingdom is fucked up" The lady was left shook and speechless. After a bit she grunted and stormed off, letting Serene a clear path to me.

"How's it going, Y/N? D'ya miss me?" She chuckled and extended her arms as if she expected a hug. I laughed lightly and hugged her : "I really really missed you!" We talked for a bit before my father came up to me. "Oh, Y/N, didn't know you had friends coming over!" He greeted Serene. She shook his hand. They chatted for a few minutes but then he spoke to me: "Y/N why don't you go hang out with your friend for a while? we're not having any rushes right now, so feel free to go!" I thanked him before putting away my uniform and quickly reaching Serene. She put out her hand and as soon as I held it, she ran out the door and we started running through town! "Serene slow down. I'm gonna fall!" I shouted at her, to which she just laughed and brought me closer to her.

"Jump," She whispered to me, and I did. Immediately under us formed a sort of cotton cloud, which she used to make us move even faster. "Where are we going?" I asked as the wind hit my face, making me blink. "To the capital silly." She spoke softly as we flew up into the air, and I took in the look of a huge fortified city with a castle slightly taller than the rest of the city. I was in awe at the sight. It wasn't as picturesque as the one from the grimoire acceptance ceremony, but it was still beautiful. I could tell it was a very busy and packed city, even people in brooms were flying to it! Once we landed, I noticed that the city was even more packed and busy than I expected. People were coming from all over, well, mostly kids our age. Serene brought me to a food stand, and she had me try a fried salamander on a stick. The salamander was crunchy and oddly sweet, and then she made me try roaster purple viper, and it was very dry and stale. I hated it!

After an hour or more of going around, I stopped when a huge tree towered over an arena at the center of the city. Serene took a step back before emitting a shocked sound and putting her hand over her mouth. "Oops- I almost forgot why we're here." And at that point, I looked at her in confusion. Once again, she took my arm, and before running, she whispered and winked to me. "Don't worry, you just gotta be quiet," She ordered as she put a finger over her mouth. Right after we started running and she brought me to an entrance at the back of the arena I noticed a few minutes ago. We walked in, and inside were all the kids our age I had seen a few hours prior. "Serene, what is this?" I questioned her as i followed her steps through the round corridor. "This is the Magic Knights entrance exam!" I let out a confused sound before starting to get nervous. "Can we actually be here? Isn't it supposed to be closed off to the public? What if someone catches us? What if not just someone but a Magic Knight Captain?" I was sweating, not because it was July, but because I was scared. Serene was very Nonchalant about it, as if sneaking to the exam was normal to her. "Oh, don't worry, it's going to be fine!" She stopped and brought her arms on top of the stone fencing, which ensured people from not falling off, and on one hand, she rested her chin. Without thinking, I got right next to her and started watching the exam, and then a light clicked in my head. "Serene, look!" I pointed upwards since they were flying around on brooms. "That's the four leaf guy we met at the acceptance ceremony." She faced towards where i was pointing and chuckled. "Didn't know people could be so good at flying on their first time! He must be a very irritating prick. " I giggled with her. Even though of the annoying personality he showed at the ceremony, i just couldn't help but find something about him... Cool? As if he was acting cool just for me to look at him... Oh god what the fuck that is very desperate of me. Wow.

Serene and I kept chatting and having fun when, how I predicted, someone caught us. "Excuse me." We both worriedly turned around to face the stern and serious voice, only to be met by a golden mask with pom poms at the back. On further inspection, the guy was wearing a cape, and on it was the Golden Dawn's logo. For context the Golden Dawn is like the strongest Magic Knight company in the whole kingdom, being composed mostly of high-level nobles with lots of mana and an extremely overpowered captain. Wait a second... THAT WAS THE CAPTAIN WILLIAM VANGEANCE! I could feel my face go pale, and my legs shivered at the thought of being scolded and insulted by a high-lever knight... Before I could try to explain myself, the captain spoke.

"Your Gracefulness Princess Temima, What are you doing here?”

Huh... Princess... What?

Wait, why is he looking deep in Serene's eyes?

…

IS SERENE A PRINCESS???

I stood there shaking when Serene spoke up. "Who the hell is this Princess Temima cause I have never heard a name so stupid. Are you pranking us, you... Masked buffoon? Either way, now if you don't keep bothering us, my friend and I will go away. Please and thank you." She spoke sternly, almost pissed at him. Then she took my hand and we ran out of there as soon as possible. Once we were out, we were out of breath, and before I could ask anything to Serene, she spoke. "I think It's time I bring you home." Oh yeah, she was mad. I think that Captain really irked something in her. Without objection, I let her bring me home, and ever since then, I didn't see her again.

Timeskip few months

That evening, I was grocery shopping with my mom. Lately, I have been a little more upset than usual, so my family tried to get me out as much as possible. "Y/N dear, could you please go pick these things?" She handed me a small piece of paper, and I went on my merry way. Shopping was boring, I saw these people almost every day, and I did the same things every week. I just couldn't take it anymore. My life had become boring, plain, and stale like a piece of dry bread. I was mad at Serene for not showing up again. Not only that, but the fact she disappeared after someone high-ranked called her princess, which made her even more suspicious. If she really was a princess, why would she need to hide it? She's so lucky to be blessed with nobility and so cool to be royal yet help out commoners and peasants. Also, didn't that Vangeance guy call her Temima? Yet I've always known her as Serene, and I was supposedly her best friend! Ugh, she's so weird and difficult. It took me some time to finish getting the groceries before trying to find my mom. It was getting dark and kind of cold when suddenly the whole market heard something break and people screaming. I started coughing, and when I turned around, there was smoke coming from around the corner. The fire started spreading, and people started running. That's when I noticed that they weren't running away from the fire yet from something... Who could be attacking a common town? Without a second thought, I brought out my grimoire. "Firework Magic: Crossettes of Purity!"

I shouted, and from my hands, I shot 2 fireworks which ended in a cross, hence the name crossette, and the two fireworks collided and landed on whatever was attacking us, leaving it stunned. I then shot fire under my feet to launch me near the spot of the stunned foe. Once I landed, and the smoke went away, I was met with the disgusting and maggot filled rotting body of my old neighbor, an ex magic knight. Before I could do anything, the guy got back up again, and as I took in the look of the decaying corpse, something behind peaked my attention. I moved my eyes slightly only to be met by an army of un-dead people and lots of fire around us.

"What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On!”

And this was the second chapter!!! Sadly, I didn't have much inspiration for this, and maybe even for the next pair of chapters, they might be very, very boring, so please be patient with me! I tried to prep some angst between MC and Serene. i wonder if it'll be good! Let me know what you think and leave suggestions or even writing requests if you enjoy my style! see you next week with the next From Afar chapter!!!

-Ringo

[eveandtheturtles]

Hi! I saw that request are open, would it be okay to request Bayverse Raph with a reader he has a deep crush on, being insecure about their body? Thank you so much, I hope you have a good day!

Here you go! Hope you enjoy this Nonnie. I wasn't sure if it was supposed to be a scenario or drabble lol. So I went with this.

Requests are open!

@m1dnyt3-w0lf @scholastic-dragon @madammuffins @turtle-babe83 @leosgirl82 @thelaundrybitch @dilucsflame33 @pheradream-15 @sharpwindow

"You guys know that Donnie gonna win this right?" You sipped your drink watching Mikey holding a game of Twister over his head.

It was game night with April, Casey and you joining the brothers for some shennanigans. You weren't exactly sure how Twister got selected though.

"I do have a superior physique for this, yes," Donnie agreed pushing his glasses up with his knuckle.

"Not if I steal his glasses , he won't," Mikey retorted sticking his tongue out at his tallest brother.

"You should play with us," April suggested.

"Nah, thanks, I'm good." You shake your head. The thought of getting in there with everyone made you deeply uncomfortable. "Plus Leo and Raph aren't playing either."

"That's because Leo's got stick up his butt and Raph ain't as nimble as I am," Mikey leaned in next to you, wiggling his brow ridges.

You snorted and pushed his face away. "I don't think you need a doughball like me in there then," you joked.

A loud sound of glass breaking got everyone's attention.

"Sorry, slippery hands," Raph replied, badly hiding the death glare he briefly send Mikey's way.

"Are you alright?" You asked, immediately getting off of your bar stool and joining him to help clean up.

"It's fine," he grumbled getting broom and a dustpan.

"Let me help," you offered. At the same time you reached your hand and took the duspan out of his hand, brushing your palm over his fingers.

Raph froze a little. "You don't have to, I've got it."

"I know, but it will be faster with help!" You replied cheerfully.

"You should join the others," he told you as he started sweeping the glass shards. Gosh that thing really broke almost to dust.

"Nah, I think they have full house without me there," you brushed that off with a smile. Looking over your arm you saw Mikey dragging Leo to be the one to spin the colour wheel.

Truth was everyone there was just so... fit and attractive, especially April. Meanwhile you... you were just not. With your body rolls, stretchmarks and body hair growing where , according to magazines, it shouldn't. Yeah, it's best to stay out of it.

The red clad turtle humphed something under his breath as he finished sweeping. You threw out the glass. He stomped away irritated for some reason, leaving you a little confused.

You looked at the party going on. Casey was the first to fail. You followed after Raph.

You found him in the gym, angrily starting to pick up the dumbbells.

"Hey, uh..." You hovered by the entrance. "Did I make you angry somehow?"

He paused.

"You've been a bit weird the past couple days and..." You almost jumped out of your skin when he tossed the weights away.

He huffed, inhaling through his nose loudly, then exhale. His jaw was moving as he was clearly working something out. He started to pace.

"Raph?"

"You're being stupid!" He suddenly fired.

"What?"

"You're being stupid," he repeated, "and it's pissing me off! Cause I know what you're doing!"

"What am I doing?" You were getting annoyed and ready to fight him.

"You're thinking!"

"Excuse me?!" Your voice raised.

"No, shit, what I mean is- you- you keep thinking those thoughts! That you're ugly or something," he tried to explain. "That's bullshit you know? You're- you're gorgeous and strong! And- and pretty and you smile so wide and you give best hugs and you don't make me feel like a freak..." He paused staring right at you. "And I want to beat up every single person who made you hate yourself."

Tears swelled in your eyes, so your tried blinking quickly. That took you so completely off guard.

"You are funny and-," he suddenly was in front of you. "I think I might like you." He said that last part quietly. He raised his hand up to your cheek but then quickly dropped it and cleared his throat. "Anyway-"

You cut him off, hugging him tightly. "Thank you."

His arms closed around you tightly. "Yeah, don't mention it."

"Hey, Raphie?" You said after a moment.

"Myeah?"

"I like you too..."

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Everybody Hates Neyo

I was possessed by the devil himself and woke up at 4 o'clock in the morning to write this. I hope you're happy, @blueink-bluesoul. You did this to me.

Rating: Mature/18+/NSFT/Minors DNI

Pairing: Commander Neyo x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 928 words of filth

Summary: You really, really hate that asshole.

Warnings: nothing but SMUT; strong language; hatefucking; PIV; rough, unprotected sex; getting caught

Second half here | Masterlist | Join my tag list here

“Asshole!” you hiss as you storm into your office, tugging off your gloves and hurling them across the room. Rage simmers just below the surface as you pace back and forth, and when you hear the door slide open, you whirl to see it admit none other than the asshole in question.

“What the kark was that?” he snarls as he stalks toward you, his handsome, arrogant face contorted into a mask of fury.

“Get the hell out of my office,” you snap.

“Not until you explain where the kriff you get off thinking you can challenge my authority like that.” He crowds into your space, towering over you with a thunderous expression, but you refuse to back down.

“It may have escaped your notice, Commander,” you spit, “that you have no authority over me.”

His jaw works. “Watch your farking mouth, Admiral, or I’ll give it something better to do.”

“Do us all a favor and get fucked, Neyo.” Your voice is laced with venom.

His gaze drops to your lips, and you read his intention before he makes a move. Oh, shit. His eyes snap back up to yours, blazing with amber wrath. Fierfek, you decide, flinging caution to the wind. You grab him by the belt and yank him toward you, just as his hand flies up to grip your hair. Your lips crash together painfully, and he tastes better than he has any Force-forsaken right to.

Asshole.

His tongue sweeps into your mouth, and you kriffing hate that he’s a good kisser. Is there no justice in the galaxy? Assholes should not be able to kiss like that! The thought irritates you all over again, and you bite down his lip, hard. He shoves you away, wrenching your head back with the hand that tangles in your hair. You grin up at him with savage triumph.

“That hurt,” he growls.

“Good,” you say.

“Last chance to walk away, little girl.”

Gods, what an asshole.

“You’re the worst,” you pant.

“And you want me,” he smirks.

“Fuck you.”

“If you insist.” Still holding your head firmly in place, just in case you decide to use your teeth again, he slides his free hand down the front of your uniform trousers, his thick fingers unerringly finding their way to your cunt and circling your clit roughly before sinking into you. “You’re soaking wet. I kriffing knew it.”

“You’re no-one to talk,” you grunt, reflecting on the unfairness that this unfuckable asshole can find your clit when it eludes so many perfectly nice partners. Of course, he is the marshal commander of the 91st Mobile Reconnaissance Corps; locating things is his specialty. A significant bulge tents the front of his uniform, and you grasp it roughly, grinding the palm of your hand against him. He pinches your clit in retaliation, and you growl at him, baring your teeth in an animalistic snarl.

You unbuckle each other’s belts with frantic urgency—he does it with only one hand, and it’s so kriffing hot, who gave this asshole the right to be so kriffing hot?—and shove down both sets of trousers. He grabs your thigh hard enough to bruise and jerks it up to his waist, and then he plunges into you. The sound you let out is inhuman, and he stills for an instant.

“Don’t fucking stop now,” you snap.

“Sir, yes, sir,” he says, thrusting hard into you, again and again. 

He’s strong as kark, and he fucks you with such aggression that he lifts your other foot off the floor, and you dangle helplessly in the air for a moment, impaled on his cock. It’s an undignified position; you’re an admiral of the Force-damned fleet, by the gods, and you aren’t about to let him take control so easily. You hook your foot on the back of his knee, and the two of you crash to the floor.

He lands with a grunt of pain. “I fucking hate you.”

“I hate you more,” you say, licking up the tattooed numbers on his face.

He rolls you over and pins you to the floor, his hips never slowing their punishing tempo, and he wrests open your uniform collar. You hear the unmistakable sound of fabric ripping, and you swear to the gods, if he ruined your jacket, you’re going to steal his favorite BARC trooper. 

And then that motherfucker bites your neck. You squeal with pain.

“That hurt?” he grits out.

“Ye—”

“I don’t care,” he snaps, and shit, fuck, oh gods—yes—

FUCK!

You come so hard your vision whites out. Your legs clamp around his waist, and you scream loudly enough that anyone passing through the corridor outside your office would have no doubt what you’re doing inside.

“Shit—” Neyo gasps brokenly. He tries to pull out, but he doesn’t make it in time, and he comes inside you, flooding your cunt with liquid heat.

Asshole. Good thing you have the implant, not that he fucking asked. Force, you hate him.

He collapses on top of you, driving all the air out of your lungs, and you tense up to shove him away, but then he slides his tongue languidly over your bruised neck, the soft heat soothing the pain and making your eyes drift closed.

“You have issues,” he whispers in your ear.

“Psychopath,” you whisper back.

A small flutter of movement in the corner of the room has you both snapping to alertness, and you whip your head around to see Commander Bacara rising from your desk chair.

“Well,” Bacara smirks. “That was entertaining.” 

---

Second half here!

Tagging:

@secondaryrealm @blueink-bluesoul @spicy-clones @wings-and-beskar @523rdrebel @merkitty49 @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @arcsimper5 @starrylothcat @clio3kantarella @cloneloverrrrr @goblininawig @ladytano420 @arctrooper69