#and jean is somewhere in the middle :o

[nataliasquote]

Honesty pt.2 | n romanoff

mac and cheese queen | pt.1

summary: a frosty interaction with Natasha is not out of the ordinary, but it’s really not welcome. But in Yelena’s eyes, there’s nothing that mac and cheese can’t fix… mostly

pairings: enemies-to…, (Nat, O!C), yelena belova x best!friend! OC

wc: 2.5k

note: hiii :) part 2 for you. more nat interactions will be coming, you just have to be patient

-⧗-

"I need to be more interesting." Kaia sighed as she adjusted the waistband of her leggings, making eye contact with her best friend through the large mirror. Yelena just laughed and placed down her phone, pulling one knee up to her chest.

"You? More interesting? You make me feel like a dusty old dictionary sitting next to the newest bestselling novel. If you get more interesting I'm gonna have to start building houses in Africa." Kaia stopped changing her music and peered over her shoulder at her dramatic friend, the upbeat pop music coming to an abrupt pause.

The young dancer had hired out a studio room so she could practice and dragged Yelena along as her personal hype woman who would also listen to her mile long list of critiques as she watched herself dance in the mirror. As she improv-ed to the music, thoughts of dancing in college swirled in her mind, the endless days of dance and music enticing her future.

"Yelly please, you're the most interesting person I know. No one else could have so many stories to tell me on a daily basis, when we spend every waking moment together."

Yelena tossed her braid over her shoulder, wiggling her eyebrows. "Well, I did take most of the personality in the house. Gotta make up for the fact that I'm not Natasha somehow."

Kaia picked up her phone again, scrolling through her improv playlist on spotify. Her body was itching to move and she couldn't stand still even as she shuffled the songs, her hips swaying back and forth. "Wow I didn't know this was a therapy session." She quipped, slightly rolling her eyes.

"Well yes, you use dance as therapy, I use you as a therapist. That way you can dance out both of our problems."

The brunette stood still for a moment, listening to the song that played through her speaker. But the faint grumbles coming from the blonde across the room made her strut over and hold out her hands.

"What?"

"Dance with me." Kaia whined with a pout. Difficult to resist.

"Kyyyy I don't dance. You know that."

"I'm sure baby ballet Yelena is still in there somewhere." She teased, grabbing her best friend's wrists and hauling her up from the floor. But her task proved difficult when Yelena made her body go limp, meaning Kaia felt like she was pulling around a sack of potatoes. "Yel, please."

Yelena was an incredibly tough girl, but one thing she couldn't resist was Kaia. They were close enough to be lovers and sisters at the same time, which confused people a lot of the time. They would wander round stores hand in hand, earning disapproving looks from elderly people who couldn't help but be homophobic, but it was exactly the reaction they wanted. Something about pissing off old people made the perfect saturday afternoon entertainment.

"Ky I don't dance. End of." She shoved her hands under her butt and gave her friend a glare, but this did nothing but spur Kaia onwards.

"Okay well last time I checked you weren't Chad from High School Musical, so shush, and I'll help you!" Yelena still didn't budge, although her lips twitched into a smile at the high school musical reference. "Lenaaa..."

"I hate you, you know that right?" Kaia let out a squeal as Yelena stood up, adjusting her jeans so they sat more comfortably around her waist. Her khaki vest and jeans combo weren't the best for dancing, but Kaia didn't care less at all. It was a miracle that Yelena wanted to dance at all, seeing as she'd sworn off it for years.

"No. You love me. Now come on." Kaia dragged her into the middle of the studio as 'Walking on Sunshine' started playing through the speakers, the upbeat happy tempo immediately pulling out a smile on her face. "You can't dance to this song with a frown like that!" She yelled over the music.

"Try me bitch!" Yelena started mumbling along with the words as Kaia danced around stupidly, grabbing her hands in an attempt to turn the blonde around in an awkward spin.

In their duo, Yelena was the singer. She had a deep raspy voice that Kaia loved, but every time she was asked to sing Yelena would go silent. So in the privacy of their soundproof studio, Yelena let herself go.

"I'm walking on sunshine..."

"OHHH!" Kaia echoed.

"I'm walking on sunshine..."

"Woahhhhh!"

"I'm walking on sunshine!" Yelena moved to do a shimmy with Kai, who returned it gleefully as she echoed once more.

"And don't it feel GOOD!"

"HEY!" With a burst of spontaneous energy, the brunette whipped out a quick aerial, spinning back around to launch herself at Yelena.

"Talented ass bitch." Yelena muttered. But Kai just planted a huge kiss on her cheek, throwing her arms around her neck.

"Awww I love you Yelly!" Yelena squirmed out of her grip, holding her best friend at arms length by the shoulders.

"You're being weird. Why are you being weird?" She narrowed her eyes but Kaia just laughed, dancing over to her phone as the song came to an end.

"I'm not the weird one. You are."

"Am not."

"Are too!"

"Not!"

"Are!"

"I hate you."

"I know." Kai disconnected her phone and quickly slipped on her converse. "It's 6pm. Wanna grab dinner?"

"If you're really asking me if I want to get food with you, then I need to rethink our friendship. Plus, I've been wanting mac and cheese since we got here, so you owe me that." Yelena was pulling faces at herself in the mirror as she spoke, wandering aimlessly around the studio as she tried to keep herself entertained, knowing just how long Kaiiarina took to get ready.

"Then let's go."

The dance school was buzzing with activity as the summer school's extra classes meant more kids danced throughout the day. The girls only had a few more weeks before they left for college so they spent their days in summer doing whatever they wanted. Which... in Kaia's case, meant days at the dance studio.

They chatted together as they made their way down the stairs, smiling at some of the young girls who ran past giggling in their baby pink leotards. They reminisced of how they used to be that small, spotting a wild haired blonde girl who resembled Yelena far too closely. She dragged her feet as she followed her friends, pulled harshly at her leotard with disgust.

"Oh surprise surprise." Yelena whispered loudly, placing an arm infront of Kaia to halt them both on the bottom step.

"What?" The blonde pointed across the room to where a familiar redhead was signing her name in the register book, talking intently to the tall girl stood next to her. "Oh."

"I swear she's put a gps tracker in my brain. I can't get a break!" Yelena exclaimed, but still keeping her voice low. It was like they were hiding from a lion in the rushes, staying low and quiet, not wanting to startle the hunting and deadly predator. Kaia didn't want to become dinner today.

"We can just walk past quickly. She won't notice." Kaia said in a hushed tone, adjusting the strap of her bag. "Plus, it's not like she's going to want to talk to you when she sees you're with me."

"Ky you know she's gonna make a jab comment at you."

Kaia just shrugged and stepped down, holding her head up high as she walked towards the sliding doors. Her ponytail swung and her envious jawline was on show. She was stunning, there was no doubt, but clearly Natasha didn't see that. Just blinded by hatred.

Yelena rushed after her friend, falling into step beside her just in time to hear Nat's low and raspy voice call out.

"What are you doing here?" Her tone was blunt, not a single ounce of care about how rude she was being come over at all. The taller blonde girl stood next to the redhead turned away, not wanting to involve herself in the conversation.

"Probably for the same reason you're here." Kaia quipped, stopping so she was face to face with Nat. Well, almost. The redhead was slightly taller, but that didn't phase Kaia. She was sure in herself, and Natasha didn't scare her. "It's a dance school. I'm a dancer. I came to dance"

"Well no shit Sherlock," Nat said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "Getting last minute practice in before college? You'll need to spend more hours in the studio if you want to keep up. It's an intense course, I would know."

"Yes, you would know because you're the dance captain. We've all heard you before. Now can you stop harassing my best friend and leave her alone because she owes me mac and cheese and my stomach is gonna start eating itself. So thank you, dearest sister, but we will be leaving." Yelena grabbed Kaia's arm and dragged her away, mumbling about mac and cheese the whole way to the car.

"Lena I can walk on my own you know." Kaia grumbled, rubbing the sore spot on her bicep where the blonde had dug her fingers in rather hard.

"Well you have yet to prove that to me whenever Nat is around. It's like she glues your feet to the floor."

"Okay now you're being dramatic. I don't want to be around Nat any longer than I have to be. Your sister is a dementor. She sucks the life out of me with every word because I know she just wants to make comments." She chucked her car keys into the cup holder and passed Yelena the charger, which she accepted gratefully, knowing her phone would be nearly dead.

"Okay I love the chit chat, but let's drive. I was being serious about my stomach earlier."

The mac and cheese house lit up in the distance as Kaia pulled into a parking space, barely switching her car off before Yelena opened the door. She ran inside, not even checking if her friend was following her before taking a big deep breath of the smell that hit her nostrils as she hauled open the large glass doors.

She started humming 'I'm In Heaven' under her breath as she read the huge menu boards, which was ridiculous considering her order was planned out from the moment Kaia pressed play on the first track she danced to.

Classic Mac with a generous helping of hot sauce. The first time she ordered the server looked at her in disgust, but she made him try it and his life was changed ever since. Anyone who doubts her flavour combination is forced to try it, due to her stubborn nature.

"You ordered yet?" Kaiiarina asked, suddenly appearing being her friend, startling her slightly.

"Shush. I'm considering my options."

"You're gonna get something new?" Yelena hummed in agreement. "We both know that's not gonna happen."

"I hate it when you're right." She huffed.

"I know. Now go order." Kaia shoved Yelena forward and then went to grab a table by the window, so she could people watch as she waited for food. No need to tell Lena her order; that girl had everything mac and cheese ordered.

The brunette pulled out her phone and replied to a couple of texts, including one from her mother asking how long she would be out for. Her curiosity got the best of her and she clicked on the message, replying back rather quickly. Her mother almost never messaged her, so it caught her by surprise.

But the mysterious 'I'll tell you once you're home' message that she received back made her feel slightly sick, but luckily Yelena came to the rescue.

"One toasted Mac and Cheese for the exhausted and malnourished prima ballerina," she announced with a flourish, placing the steaming pot on the table in front of Kaia, her face lighting up.

"Ohohohoh that smells divine!" Yelena agreed, shovelling a forkful of pasta in her mouth, chattering her teeth and letting out puffs of air as it was still boiling hot. "And I'm not malnourished. You don't make that possible."

"I'm too good to you."

Their conversation lessened significantly as they began eating, the flavours of their mac and cheese exploding on their tongues and distracting them from forming words and sentences to converse.

But they didn't need to talk. They'd been best friends for so long that nothing ever felt awkward, not even sitting in silence. They were comfortable just being in each other's company, which was good considering they were never apart.

Yelena finished her mac and cheese in half the time it took Kaia, so she started stealing her own forkfuls now and again, moaning at how hot sauce was a complete necessity.

"You can't steal my food and then complain about it That's really not how this works."

"I can and I will. So deal with it." There were only a couple of bites left and Kaia pushed her pot away, completely stuffed. But wasting food wasn't her concern around Yelena. That girl was a human vacuum, and somehow still managed to stay in impeccable shape. Probably due to the hours she spent on soccer in highschool and now college.

"I hate to cut this short, but my mom wants me home. She said some weird cryptic message and it's slowly eating my alive." Kaia huffed, tapping the screen of her phone and rolling her eyes at the messages that had appeared.

Yelena burst out laughing, clamping her hand quickly over her mouth. "Sorry." She sniggered, pulling odd faces to try and stop her laugher. "It's just that guy behind you almost walked into the door because it didn't open fast enough."

Kaia swivelled round in her seat, a smile tugging at her lips as she saw the disgruntled middle-aged man storming off in a huff, a bag of food tucked under his arm.

"As mad as I am you interrupted me, that was funny."

"Allow me to provide the quality entertainment."

"I need to stop saying that. It's gonna make your head even bigger." Yelena's jaw dropped as she rubbed her hands over her head, shielding it from Kaiiarina's eagle eyes.

"I do not have a big head!" The blonde exclaimed, her usually disguised russian accent subtly seeping through as her voice cracked. "You're just being mean!"

"I am, but it's only because I love you. Now come on bitch, if you want a lift home we need to go now before my mother sends anymore dumb messages."

"Yes sir." Yelena saluted at her best friend before getting up from the table, chucking their empty containers in the recycling. "Taylor Swift jam session?"

"Are you even asking me?"

"Fuck yeah."

part 3

[skzdarlings]

the kiss ; skz ; lee know x reader

pairing: lee know/reader content info: friends to lovers, established friends w benefits but they are in love, your honour. reader is a gnc woman. top!reader, bottom!minho, some light dom!reader, sub!minho. mahandling, teasing, handjobs, rimming, spitting, strap-ons, mentions of past pegging, mentions of spanking/belting, lots of smooching word count: 3000 words.

this was originally going to be a multi-part story but i changed my mind thus this went to die in my graveyard of scraps. however i love this couple and i liked this scene and it seemed a shame to not post it at all haha. hopefully others will enjoy it too :)

<3

-

Raising your kid brother means you will forever occupy the nebulous, fucked up space of Not-Your-Parent, Still-Your-Mom, even when said kid brother has long stopped being a kid.  Jeongin will always be your first priority. 

Minho knows it too.  He has been your best friend for several years now.  He knows you.  He knows you will always stop what you’re doing if Jeongin needs you. 

Even at the tragic expense of an orgasm. 

It’s two o-clock in the morning, an hour after you got off work bartending.  Minho has to be up for his office job in four hours so he was grumbly when your horny ass woke him up with a bulge pic.  You like to consider yourself above obnoxious hormone-driven decisions, but that’s before the strap-on straps on.  Several inches of silicone later and you’re taking (tasteful) fake-dick dick pics in the bar bathroom. 

Minho answers the door shirtless, his grey sweatpants betraying his already chubbed up semi, and with an extraordinarily icy glare that not even his sleep-mussed blonde hair can diminish.  He snarks at you until you curl your fingers into his dark roots and yank. 

It takes only minutes to manhandle him back into his bed, moments to get his sweatpants off, and seconds to have your fingers around his throat and his dick gliding through your spit-wet fist. 

You end up horizontal across the middle of his big bed.  You’re still in a t-shirt and jeans, your boots and leather jacket somewhere on the floor.  Minho is naked and covered in little love bites, his body a fading canvas of your previous times together.  The sight never fails to make you ache, your fingers tracing the evidence of your own hungry desires. 

You kneel between his open legs and he impatiently pries open your belt.  His mouth ticks up in an amused grin as you let him whip the belt out of its loops.  He tosses it behind him, his smile a smidgeon cocky even while on his back. 

You would never call him cute, because he’d probably slap and correct you (he’s handsome, thank you very much), but he is.  Cute.  Sweet.  The way he cocks his head, the way he gazes up at you.  There’s an erratic heartbeat in both your cunt and actual heart, the latter more pronounced than usual.   Your eyes have already adjusted but the blue darkness of his bedroom seems fuzzier, everything around him disappearing in a blurry smog of relative insignificance.   

“You’re staring,” he says, his fingers crawling under your shirt.  His knuckles brush your nipple through your sports bra.  He pulls a face when he pinches it meanly. 

You grab both his wrists and yank his hand out of your shirt.  He does not look remotely chagrined, instead he is beaming with satisfaction, like he was the one who planned your reaction.  

You pin his hands above his head then lean over him.  His playful arrogance fades, his gaze jumping to your mouth then back to your eyes.  It brings your attention to his mouth, pink and wet, his bottom lip plump and bitten from his own teeth running over it. 

You have kissed him before.  It isn’t a habit but also isn’t strange.  You were the first to ever initiate a kiss.  It was the third time you slept together and the first time you properly came from fucking someone.  The base of a toy in a strap-on can sometimes provide some stimulation against your clit, depending on a few factors, but you usually have to be pretty worked up to even get close. 

He got you more than close, taking you right over the edge.  You all but fell onto him with the desperation of your kiss.  His ankles were hooked behind your back, his face warm where your thumb stroked his skin, where you raked fingers into his sweaty hair as you sunk deep inside him with dick and tongue at once. 

You usually kiss like that: in the throes of something especially electrifying.  You think this might be the first time you kiss him so simply, just like this, with clarity and consciousness, spurred by affection more than thoughtless passion.  A deliberate kiss, as you lean down and do just that, his lips warm and open against yours. 

His eyes close, his brow furrows.  

The thing about Minho that turns you on the most is how he… well, how he Minhos.  His smirking, his snarking, his fake impatience, how much he dishes out.  He’s your friend, someone you’ve sat beside on weekend camping trips, resting in comfortable silence around a fire while Jeongin and his friends cause a ruckus somewhere down on a beach.  Minho will sit on your couch with his feet in your lap, his hat backwards, wearing glasses so he can read the nutritional content on a snack bag while you carelessly scarf down its contents.  He’ll tease you kindly, let you playfully knock your knuckles under his chin.  He’ll cook you meals when you haven’t eaten all day, too busy with everything to take care of yourself, but he’ll wave away any expression of gratitude after the fact.  He’s good, utterly, but he likes to be trouble too. 

And that’s what really gets you going, something you admit can’t be replicated with any other lover.  Because they aren’t Minho.  And that’s the best part. 

Like this.  Playful and catty and mad you woke him when he has work tomorrow, but turning soft and pliant under your body.  His brow is drawn tight as you kiss him, like he can’t comprehend the sheer pleasure of it.  He breathes in through the kiss, a trembling breath that flutters on your lips, then he cranes his neck to kiss you again. 

You press his head into the bed.  Somewhere in the simmering warmth of your kiss, your hands shift so your fingers lace and push against the bed.  He makes a keening sound, his back arching, kiss breaking with a deep breath as his hips and cock and thighs make contact with your jeans.  

He turns his face to the side and closes his eyes.  His chest moves with the quickness of his breathing, somehow looking like you’ve fucked for him hours when all you’ve really done is kiss him. 

His fingers tighten around yours when you kiss his exposed cheek, down his jaw, down his neck.  He rips his hands out from under yours only to throw them around your shoulders.  His fingers dive into your hair, rough and demanding when he pulls your head back to his.  His mouth opens for a kiss, his tongue slashing against yours when you give it to him.  You kiss him hard, kiss him until his fingers go weak and his arms are shaky, clinging to your neck like a lifeline. 

“That’s it, baby. So good,” you say, a slur of words without thinking too hard.  You blink with some amazement at the noise he makes, the way his whole body rears up against yours.  You cradle his hips and lick his red over-kissed mouth.   

Then your phone buzzes.  He hears it first, or at least registers the reality of it first, head whipping to his bedside table where you left it.  He is already glaring when you lift your face.  Your head is spinning, your mouth as raw as his.   

He digs his fingernails into your back through your t-shirt.  He has also painted something of a mosaic there, faded thin lines from overeager fingers scratching when you fuck him.  You obviously cannot directly feel when you are inside him, but he makes sure you feel it other ways.  Sometimes you feel it for days.  

He’s still glaring.  God, that expression really does get you so hot.  You are literally throbbing under the silicone in your jeans. 

“You’re going to check that, aren’t you, asshole,” he says with more resignation than genuine malice. 

“I should,” you say.  “Just in case it’s—”

He makes a noise that starts as a sigh and turns to a scream.  You rub your ear after. 

“Your dick isn’t even real,” he says, throwing an arm over his eyes, “and you still manage to disappoint me.”

You laugh, so fond of him.  Your pounding heart is not slowing down.   It’s hard to look away from him, though you manage it long enough to see your phone light up with a text alert. 

He grabs your chin, turning your face back to his. 

“Make me come first, or I’m biting it,” he says.

“B-biting what?”

“Your dick.  I’ll chew the head off.”

“Please don’t gnaw on my dick.  It was expensive.”

“Orgasm. Now.”

He throws his arms out to the sides, eyebrows lifted in an expression of pointed expectation. 

His position briefly reminds you of the first time you ever did this, years ago.  You never complained about the obligations that came with raising Jeongin, but it wasn’t exactly easy.  Between leaving school to work and shirking your social life, you made more than a few sacrifices. You off handedly expressed the vaguest desire for something more substantial than one night stands but not as serious as a relationship, given your responsibilities, and Minho replied by throwing his arms up and giving you that exact same look. 

Well? his challenging eyes have always said.  You have never backed down from a challenge. 

You run your hands down his sides.  His arms jerk because it tickles, but you hold him down to lick and bite from hip to pit to shoulder.  He wriggles under you, his breath getting shallower.  His dick twitches when your hand curls tightly around it. 

You know how to make him come quickly.  You know his body like a well-loved song, every peak and crescent long since memorized. 

You manhandle him onto his front.  He gives in when you push down his head and shoulders, lets his knees push his backside up, up, up.  His toes curl and uncurl, his voice breaking into choppy little mewls that make you throb.   You spit on his hole and your mouth chases it, tongue doing what your dick would have done.   Your other hand is under him, stroking in steady tandem.  

You don’t rush.  It won’t take long anyway because he isn’t trying to hold back. 

That makes you wonder, for a moment.  If he even could hold his orgasm.  Your sex doesn’t exactly resemble conventional intercourse between a man and a woman so it’s not usually too important if he stays very hard or not, greedy with his orgasms and never restraining long.  Denial isn’t something you’ve ever played with.   Prolonged orgasm control is something of a commitment in its own right.   Years ago, when you started this, you were avoiding those commitments.  

Now…  Well, Jeongin is older, living in a university dorm.  You live in a flat on your own.   You aren’t seeing anyone else and haven’t so much as hooked up with a stranger in months.  You know Minho hasn’t slept with anyone else in more than a year.  

You think about how he kissed you back.  You think of his backwards hats, his laughter, his sighing as he wraps himself around you.   

You imagine slowing your touch, telling him to hold it.  Don’t come.  Because I’m going to fuck you tomorrow, because you’re mine, and I want you ready for it. 

Your mouth gets him wet enough that spit runs down his skin.  You circle your thumb around his rim, press in, and murmur, “Wish I could come inside you.” 

He comes like that, shoving his face into the bedcovers to stifle his strangled yell.  Minho is always loud when he finishes, maybe something to do with being an only child and latchkey kid to boot.  He has lived alone for most of his life so he has never had a reason to be quiet.  As someone who comes silently, you like it, that unabashed eruption of pleasure that he can’t really hide. 

You nip the curve of his ass and narrowly dodge the backward swipe of his hand.  He keeps his face buried in the blanket, grumbling nonsense as he finally lowers his hips.  You straddle his ass and smooth your hands up his spine, watching him shudder under your touch.  You run your hands up and up, over his shoulders to cup his face and lift it out of the blankets.

“Up more,” you say. 

He’s always at his nicest and most obedient right after coming.  With only a little huff, he pushes his torso up and tips his head back.  His eyes flick up to where you lean over him.  The bulge of your packed toy is sitting on his ass. 

“Open,” you say. 

He opens his mouth, still gazing up and back at you.  Those dark eyes make all the blood in your heart rush lower, thumping frantically.  His head falls all the way back when your hands circle his throat to hold him there.  He only closes his eyes when you spit in his mouth, lips closing around it as he moans like you just gave him the sweetest gift in the world. 

“Good,” you say, kissing the top of his head.   

He groans and flops back down, then brings his arms forward to fold and cushion them under his head.  He lifts his hips to grind his ass against your bulge, probably smirking into his elbow. 

“Better check your phone,” he says.  He yelps when you slap his ass.  

“You’re lucky you tossed that belt away, smartass,” you say.   

That degree of playing is also not something you have ever done, though you’ve skirted the idea once or twice.  Your red handprint on his ass attests to it. 

“Promises, promises,” he mutters. 

You are tempted to give him another smack for good measure, but it will only work you up more.  Instead you muster the resolve to pull away.  His discarded sweatpants are the closest fabric so you wipe your hands on it.  It earns your own backside a smack as you crawl to his bedside table. 

“Hey,” you say, menacing but humorously so. 

He knows you have no intention of following through with any threats, so he clamps both hands on your ass and squeezes.  He cackles evilly before rolling out of arm’s reach.  

Shaking your head and smiling, you check your phone.  It is Jeongin.  You can’t help but facepalm when you read his message. 

Hi it’s Jeongin from family.  Your brother Jeongin.  Hello. We went to a Party far away and Uber dropped us off but now they don’t have anyone to pick us up!! :(  Please rescue us.  There are woods and trees and maybe bears.  and we are drunk.  Nothing Illegal

Ah, fuck.  Nothing says illegal substance like swearing the opposite unprompted.  You would know; before your parents died, you were indubitably on track to being the problem child.  Your first year of university was a mess you intended to straighten out later, but later never came.   Your parents died, Jeongin was still a minor, and you made a series of hard choices overnight.    

After all these years, you’re still not sure if your wayward experiences made you a better pseudo-parent or a worse one.  Maybe ignorance would have made you less panicky all the time.  Maybe it would have made you worse. 

Minho ducks into the bathroom while you text with Jeongin.  You are lacing up your boots when Minho returns with your toothbrush, one he keeps for your overnight visits.  Looking at his thighs in his boxers, the hickey poking out just under the hem, makes you wish tonight was one of those nights.  Tragically, the only one being deprived of an orgasm is you. 

You scrub the brush around your mouth, just enough, then swallow.  He leaves again, your eyes on every step of his retreat. 

“You’re staring again,” he says from the bathroom. 

“Duh,” you say.  You go back to tying your boots but your mind is elsewhere.   You are thinking about Jeongin and his friends, of course, but you are also thinking about Minho.  A lot about Minho.  Mostly about Minho.  Arousal is still coursing through your veins, never mind all the emotions you kept so carefully tucked away for so long. 

Suddenly, it’s all you can think about.  He’s all you can think about. 

Minho kneels behind you on the bed, wrapping his arms around your shoulders.  He kisses behind your ear, then your neck, your clothed shoulder.   Your fingers dance anxiously over your knees. 

“Don’t tempt me,” you say. 

It isn’t a joke but he laughs, mistaking it for one.  “Sure,” he says.  “You just can’t take your own teasing.” 

“Minho.”  

“Tyrant.”

You turn, grasping his chin so quickly he gasps.  You guide his face to yours and kiss him. 

This kiss is slower, bold and open-mouthed.  Hot.  His moan is a light sound at the back of his throat and it zaps through you like an electric bolt.  He drags his nails down the middle of your back, making every hair stand on end.  When the kiss eventually comes apart, he presses his forehead to yours. 

You are both breathing hard. 

“I’m not working tomorrow night,” you say, your voice a low rumble.  You swipe your thumb over his bottom lip.  “Can I come over?”

He nods.  Minho can be loud to say the least, but sometimes his voice gets so delicate that it turns your brain to mush.  He talks like that now, all soft and sweet, so close to your mouth.  “You promised to fuck me tonight,” he says. “I’ll be thinking about it all day now.”

“Me too,” you say.

“Mm.”  He flops over and rolls so his back is to you.  “That’s too bad for you.”  He accompanies this comment with a wiggle of his hips. 

You can’t help but smile at him. 

“See you then, brat,” you say. 

“You’ll see me in your dreams,” he says, accompanying it with a dramatic yawn.  “And when you masturbate tonight.  Good night!”      

[3rachasdomesticbanana]

The Bet | Bang Chan

•Synopsis: After losing a bet with your boyfriend, your penalty is to do whatever he says that night. But what sort of penalty does he have in mind in the middle of a nightclub and why are crotchless panties involved?

Who would've thought losing a bet would be so much fun?

•Pairing: au Bang Chan x Female Reader

•Content Includes: Heavy smut, Established relationship, Public unprotected sex, slight Restricted movement, Soft Dom Chan, Minimal fluff, Crowded area

wc:3k+

an: edited but might still contain some errors

Want more smut? Follow the banana 🍌

“Remember the bet, baby girl.”

Your boyfriend Chan whispers in your ear making you shiver.

You're innocently sitting on his lap in the VIP section of an upscale nightclub somewhere in downtown DC. The club pulses with energy as the heavy bass reverberates through the sleek, dimly-lit space. The air is infused with the scent of expensive perfumes and colognes, mingling with the subtle aroma of alcohol and cigarette smoke.

Smooth leather couches, separated by a red velvet rope line the perimeter of the dance floor, offering cozy spots for groups like our own to relax and chat amidst the excitement. The group of friends you two came with, move with confidence on the dance floor in front of you bathed in hues of deep purples and blues. Hip-hop, EDM, and R&B classics fill every corner of the room. You nod at your boyfriend's words believing he wouldn't go through with the penalty of the bet you lost against him.

Why you bet him that you could deep throat him without gagging wasn't the smartest thing you've done. Chan is far too thick and lengthy to take every inch without gagging even a little when he hits the back of your throat with the swollen head of his cock. Now you wait in a short black leather pleated skirt with a pair of crotchless panties underneath waiting for his command. With every drum his finger plays on your hips you feel your body respond to him. Little touches here and there make you fully aware of all the places his hands and fingers linger on your body. From your back, through the exposed slit down your blouse to your navel. He touches every bit of flesh he can without the movements looking indecent.

There's possibly over a hundred people inside the club and that's just on the floor you're on, there's two other floors below you. You feel certain Chan won't do anything too drastic around all of these people, that he just wants to tease you and keep you on your toes. Though with this man you've been with for years now, you can't ever put anything past him. He's capable of doing so many things others would never dream of doing. If he wants something then nothing will stop him from his goal. It was that way when you met through your boyfriend at the time. He was a toxic asshole and Chris knew he could treat you a thousand times better than he ever could. So he proved it to you every chance he got. Won your heart and eventually your mind, body and soul. You've been happy ever since. Everyday was an adventure with him, full of spontaneity for you, yet carefully thought out in his mind.

So when you feel him lower the zipper of his designer black ripped jeans you're not really surprised. You aren't prepared for him to wrap his arms around your midsection though. In one quick move he pulls you back against his chest and you yelp in surprise. The movement frees his cock from the opening in the front of his boxers. It springs up and out, resting against your ass. Your eyes go wide, your mouth agape and you're at a loss for words. It would take one shift from you for him to slip between your thighs or inside of you. As if he can read your mind, Chan settles his palm flat on your thigh with just enough pressure for you to understand him without words. Doesn't stop him from whispering in your ear though, knowing how his breath on your neck will affect you.

“Don't move baby. Not until I say so. This is a penalty remember… not a reward.” He smirks, proud of himself for this brilliant idea.

Chan is loving this little game of his and he wants to drag it out for as long as he can but the feel of your soft supple ass flushed against his hard length makes him feel like a mad man. He wants to ram himself inside of your sweet slippery walls and plow himself into you until you're creaming all over his cock and dripping down to his balls. He flexes the stiff muscle and grins wickedly when you groan softly. How long can he repeat that move until he feels it inch further and further away from where it rests? until it plops into your needy cunt? He wonders to himself. Maybe if he calculates it right he can make it so his cock doesn't find its way inside of you just yet. He'd love to fuck your thighs for a little bit. Feel you squeeze him with those thick fleshy thighs that he loves.

While you're sitting as still as possible forcing yourself to look as if nothing is wrong, Chan plots behind and underneath you for more ways to tease you like this. Momentarily you're both pulled out of your inner thoughts and intimate bubble when a couple of your friends come over to the table to hydrate and to get you two onto the floor to join them dancing.

“Come on bestie dance with us! Hannie keeps stepping on my feet.” Your best friend exclaims setting down her drink and side eyeing her boyfriend.

“Hey hey that wasn't my fault Minho bumped into me. I'm being framed.” Han puts his hands up in surrender.

You're laughing at the couples playful bickering in front of you but you can feel Chan’s erection twitch again as your laughter rocks your body.

“You two go ahead, you know Chan and I like vibing and watching you guys have fun. We'll join you before the night's over.” You smile in their direction and Chan's does it again.

This time flexing his cock three times making it bounce under you until it slips through your thighs briefly brushing past your clit. Your eyes go wide and you gasp. Very quickly you pretend to sneeze covering your mouth with your hands.

“Bless you baby.” Chan says and you can hear the smile. “Why don't you two show us exactly how to have fun yeah? See if we can compete with you guys later.” He adds over your shoulder and whatever Han sees on his buddies face he's taking your friends hand and pulling her away from the lush VIP area.

He chuckles watching the pair disappear into the crowd and pushes up off the couch as if he's trying to get comfortable but the move only rubs your aching clit with the side of his stiffness. Every vein and ridge brushes the nub making you squeeze your legs together which is exactly what he wanted.

He groans softly before he whispers in your ear, “No moving remember?” and you groan in frustration.

“Please Channie. I'm so wet can't you feel how bad I need you?” You whine, turning your head to look at him.

His coffee colored eyes glitter when they find yours. His full lush lips part and he runs his tongue over them. When you bite down on your own lip you feel him again and you know he's just being stubborn in not giving in and filling you up.

“Because you said please. Slowly scoot up forward to grab your drink off the table and then back down.” He instructs and you nod turning back around.

Your drink, a mix of pineapple and cranberry juice sits in front of you on the oval glass table with beads of condensation dripping down the sides. Stretching your arm out, you slowly inch forward feeling Chan sliding down between your folds becoming slick with your juices. Your hand makes contact with the glass and when you slowly move back to how you were you feel him stretching your cunt wide each inch you push back onto him. The sensation is heavenly and you want to take your time. To enjoy the feeling of him finally inside of you but Chan is an inpatient man and he’s gripping your hips, pulling you back with such force that your drink splashes over the surface and onto the floor. You inhale sharply clutching the glass tighter than you normally would on a normal night out.

If you thought the feeling of Chan inside of you was heavenly, he'll describe it as exquisitely delectable. God he loves it when he bottoms out inside of you, loves it when you take all of him so well. He'll push himself even further though there's no where left for him to go just to hear you whimper the way you are now.

“Shhhh baby, that's it. Fuck. Now no moving no matter what. Good.”

You feel his cock pulsating inside you and keeping a neutral face has never been more difficult than now. If you two weren't surrounded by at least a hundred people right now your ass would be bouncing up and down on him until he was shooting and filling you up but instead you sit still, following his directions and sporting a very natural blush that no makeup brand could ever replicate.

How long could you both sit here like this without needing to cum? How could he even control himself to not thrust. Damn it… he feels too good and you need some stimulation so you ignore what he's told you to do and begin rocking back and forth nodding your head like you're doing nothing more than enjoying the song that the DJ plays. It's enough to make you cum right there but Chan's strong hands stops you with a groan sucking in air between his teeth.

“Hey hey hey.” He says softly. “You were being such a good girl.” His voice his husky and low, it makes your muscles clench around him and when he groans again it does nothing to stop the need you feel.

“Channie.” You whine, not caring about your dignity. “I can't do this. It's too much I need you to fuck me.” You admit squeezing your legs and in the process, squeezing his cock with your cunt.

He curses under his breath fanning your hair at the nape of your neck making you shiver. It's unintentional, completely innocent but you shivering pulls a instinctive thrust from Chan. When you moan he does it again and you have to remember that you're not alone when the urge to arch your back and grind your way into a climax tries to take over. Chan is fighting a battle that he feels he may lose because you just feel too good wrapped around him. Even if you don't move, all you have to do is bear hug his cock and he'll lose his sanity, his composer and unravel.

He didn't think he'd be the one suffering right along with you. As someone who thinks everything through he didn't think of this part. Now he's fighting his compulsions and the impulse to fuck you hard and rough even with an audience. When he makes any sort of sound it only turns you on even more and he knows your walls can't help but clench in response. The way your pussy swallows him up, contracting around him like it's trying to milk him has his brain going fuzzy.

“Fuck, y/n baby. I'm so glad this pussy is mine. If I fucked you right now could you control yourself baby? Or would everyone know that I'm deep inside of you giving you all eight inches of my cock? Hm?” Chan growls gritting his teeth digging his fingertips into your skin.

“Mm- I… I can try baby. I can't make any promises. You've got me too worked up. Please just fuck me though. I don't want to wait until we're home and I definitely don't want you to stop.” You reply sounding breathless as if you two had already been going at it.

“If we're doing this you have to keep still, no moving yeah? You do exactly what I say. If not then we're stopping. This is so we don't get caught okay?”

You nod looking straight ahead, focusing your eyes on the lighting fixtures that hang from the ceiling. They cast subtle patterns on the walls, adding to the ambiance around the club. Occasionally, bursts of colored light sweep across the room, adding to the atmosphere and hypnotizing you when you feel Chan start to move. He's squeezing his legs together like you were doing and bounces his legs to the beat of the song. Each squeeze and bounce creates a tiny thrust, his cock, barely moving in and out but it feels so good you almost close your eyes.

“Dance with me baby. Tap your foot. Fuck- mnh squeeze my cock with your pussy.”

You don't need to be told twice you do as asked without hesitation and the added movement on your part increases the thrusts. He's able to pull out of your cunt further, before snapping back up into you. The music is your focus though you don't hear what's playing, you keep the rhythm Chan has, nodding your head and keeping your breathing even. It's not easy, there's moments where you let slip a moan or a gasp that gets drowned out by the bumping bass. Even Chan can't control the raw uncontrolled sounds that escape him each time your pelvic muscles grip him.

Luckily for you two all your friends are still on the dancefloor but for how long? That thought is all too apparent to Chan and he cannot have anyone interrupting this. It feels too good to stop; he'd be liable to burn the place down in a fit of rage if he was forced to pull out of you before creaming your pussy, breeding you just how you both love. Heads will roll if he doesn't get to finish you both off.

“Need… mmm. Shit baby girl, I need you to cum q- quick can you do that for me?” He asks, his voice strains and his hands snake around your abdomen wrapping you in his arms. You nod in response. It's all you can do, you're afraid that if you try to utter a single word you won't be able to stop the noises that will spill from your lips.

“Good girl, now squeeze me and rock your body to the beat like you were doing before.” He steals your drink from your hand and brings it up to his lips nonchalantly but you hear his moans when you tighten your muscles.

Chan is close; he just needs you to reach your peak so that he can spill himself inside of your greedy cunt. So with his free hand he gently presses his palm down on your stomach just below your belly button. The pressure makes your legs shake and you stutter with your rocking but you find the rhythm again with ease, grateful that the song is a fast paced one.

With his cock throbbing inside of you and the rocking motion of your hips, Chan is now grunting behind you, quietly praising you behind the glass of your drink.

“Oh fuck baby, keep going. Mhm you're close now aren't you y/n? Yeah, I can feel it. So gorgeous when you cum. I can just imagine how you look right now, flushed cheeks, lips parted wanting to scream my name.” He grunts and adds more pressure to your abdomen and bucks his hips once and fast.

He's right you are close and you're more than certain that you're making a mess of the front of his jeans. Neither of you care, your impending shared orgasm on the forefront of your minds. With every rock of your hips you feel Chan's cock bump against that sweet spot nestled deep inside of you that only he can reach. Your walls quiver and you bite down hard on your bottom lip. Your brows crinkle together, making you look angry while you fail to look like nothing is happening other than a happy couple enjoying the music the DJ provides. Behind you Chan is struggling but not for long. With a popping sound, your bottom lip springs out from your teeth and you're gasping like you can't get enough air into your lungs.

“Chan… fuck.” You gasp and that's all that he needs to hear. He understands exactly what you mean.

“Yes…” He hisses, pushing his pelvis hard against you. “That's my girl. Oh fuck,” He gasps along with you. “Cum all over me y/n.” Chan mutters cumming inside of you, shooting hard and deep while the walls of your cunt throb with your own release.

With your movements slightly restricted to stay unnoticed, the orgasm is unlike any others that Chan has coaxed from you. It’s as if you've been plunged into an icy lake and the suddenness takes your breath away. Your body is on pins and needles and fucking hell does it feel unbelievable for both you and Chan. Your cunt devours every bit of his seed, still hungry for more. You're shaking all over and it takes Chan’s strong arms hugging you to slow down your breathing and your body to relax.

“Fuck.” You whisper and he chuckles.

“Mhm, I can't wait to get you home y/n. Hope you've got nothing planned tomorrow. I don't think you'll be able to walk when I'm done with you baby.” He informs you and your pussy reacts clamping down around his slowly softening cock.

“Oh, is someone already ready for another round?”

“Another round? Hell yeah bro let's end the night with a fucking bang!” Felix cheers from seemingly out of nowhere, pulling you and Chan back to the now. The shy giggles you two let out leave everyone confused as they join the table one by one.

After ordering another round for the group you both excuse yourselves and as descritley as possible separate from each other without anyone noticing. The whole way to the restroom laughter erupts from you and Chan.

“I can't believe we did that!” Chan shouts over the music and pulls you into his arms. His lips land on yours kissing you until your head is spinning.

“Keep that up Mr. Bang and I'm pulling you into the bathroom with me.” You scold him playfully. He calls your bluff, kissing you again and grabbing your ass for good measure.

“Go on, I'll be waiting beautiful.” he nods in the direction of the restroom doors.

Once cleaned up you and Chan rejoin your friends. Finally making it to the dancefloor, you dance an entirely different dance than before. Your body still feels lit up and the craving you have for your boyfriend still remains. You'll hold him to his promise when you get home but the one thing you love about him is that he always stays true to his word. You know he'll deliver, he's all action as well as words. Who would've thought losing a bet could be so much fun?

(tag test)

@oddracha

[rickybobbydan]

5. Lines in the Sand

Daniel Ricciardo x Fem!OC Driver

Summary: Tensions keep rising and Solana can only find solace in the few things that matter, Daniel, Charles, and her determination.

Warnings: Mentions of sadness, team tensions, implied misogyny

Words: 2.0k+

Previous || Next

Mugello, Italy – June 2016

The Tuscan heat settles over Mugello like a dare.

It is not just the kind of warmth that kisses skin and dries sweat; it is thick with pressure, heavy with expectation. Inside the Ferrari garage, even the shadows seem to sweat. This isn’t a race weekend. It isn’t part of the official calendar. It is a test session, buried in the middle of a grueling season, far from the eyes of fans and press. No grandstands. No commentators. Just pure machinery, raw data, and the quiet kind of desperation that only comes when a team is behind and pretending not to be.

Solana Villarosa stands at the pit wall, arms crossed, headset on, eyes fixed on the telemetry screen in front of her. But really, she’s watching Charles Leclerc.

He is behind the wheel of the GP3 test car, cutting through Mugello’s brutal corners with the kind of focus that makes even engineers pause. His lines are clean. His throttle application is measured. But more than anything, his calm unnerves her. It’s not passive. It’s practiced. Earned.

“He’s fast. Beat me a couple times when we karted together,” says a voice to her right, breaking her thoughts.

Max Verstappen. In jeans, sunglasses, and a Red Bull shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He’s not scheduled to drive today, just visiting between simulator work and marketing hell.

Solana doesn’t glance away from the track. “He’s smooth too.”

Max nods, watching the monitor. “He reminds me of you.”

She smiles at that. Not wide. Just enough to admit it reaches her. “He has Jules’ quiet. But he has a bite like yours.”

“That’s a dangerous combination,” Max says.

She finally turns to look at him. “He’s going to be a problem in a few years.”

Max leans back against the barrier and shrugs. “Because of you.”

The words catch her off guard, not because they’re untrue, but because of how simply he says them. There's no fanfare, no agenda. It's just an observation, but it lands somewhere deep, where she keeps the names and memories that shaped her. That taught her.

Later, when the engines go silent and the heat clings more than it burns, she finds Charles sitting on a folding chair near the back of the garage, drinking water and staring at the timing sheets with that particular brand of dissatisfaction that only great drivers know.

She crouches beside him, a note card in her hand.

He blinks, takes it, and reads.

Her handwriting curves in careful loops, corner by corner.

“You’re too soft into Casanova and Savelli,” she says. “Your entry is good, but you’re bleeding too much time off-throttle. The grip is there. Trust the car.”

Charles looks up at her, something hungry in his eyes.

“Gracias,” he says, voice low.

She taps the card once, a silent underscore. “Use the tires, not just the brain. Aggressive, but intelligent. That’s the difference between talent and legacy.”

He nods, jaw set. A soldier with his orders.

Solana rises, her eyes sweeping the garage—the heat-stained walls, the tired crew, the rows of laptops and wire bundles. Somewhere outside this building, the world is waiting to decide who she is and what she’s worth. But in here, in this quiet corner of Italy, she is just a racer handing down a blueprint.

And Charles? He’s the next chapter. A different fire. One she’s proud to help ignite.

Back at Ferrari – Boiling Point Ferrari HQ, Maranello – June 2016

The slam echoes through the garage like a gunshot.

Sebastian Vettel yanks off his helmet and hurls it onto the workbench. It skids, clattering against a set of wrenches before coming to a stop beside his gloves. The clatter draws every mechanic’s eyes, but no one dares speak.

"This is getting out of hand," he snaps, his voice sharp with frustration. "They’re changing setups based on her feedback now? Seriously?"

His tone slices through the air, laced with disbelief and something colder—resentment.

Solana Villarosa hears it before she sees him. She’s just stepped into the garage, fresh from a debrief, her suit unzipped to the waist and her gloves tucked into her belt. The sweat on her temples hasn’t even dried, but the sting of his words lands cleanly.

She doesn’t flinch.

"Her has a name," she says evenly, stepping into the light with her shoulders squared. "And P3 at Monaco. What did you bring home? A broken front wing and another tantrum?"

Sebastian turns. His eyes are sharp, his posture stiff, his jaw locked in a way that betrays how deep the insult cut. There’s a long silence where only the faint hum of the cooling fans fills the space between them.

"You think podiums make you number one?" he fires back, his voice lower now, more measured but no less venomous.

Solana doesn’t raise her voice. She doesn’t need to.

"No. I think leading the team does. I think showing up every day, listening to the data, earning the engineers’ trust—that’s what makes you number one. And if they’re adjusting the setup to my style, it’s because I’ve put in the work, not because I asked for special treatment."

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. "You always were good at playing the hero."

"I don’t need to play anything," she replies coolly. "You’re the one who can’t stand that I’ve caught up."

The tension is suffocating. A few team members pretend to busy themselves with telemetry, but no one is really working. Eyes shift toward the confrontation like rubberneckers at a crash site.

Sebastian grabs a towel from the bench and tosses it over his shoulder, muttering something under his breath in German as he stalks off toward the rear of the garage. The silence he leaves behind is heavier than his words.

Later that afternoon, Solana is summoned to the team principal’s office. The walls are lined with photos of past champions, moments frozen in red and gold. She stands in front of the desk, still in her fireproofs, hair damp, arms folded across her chest.

Maurizio Arrivabene doesn’t bother with pleasantries.

"We need unity," he says, tapping his pen against a notepad without looking up. "Publicly and privately."

Solana holds his gaze. Her voice is steady, unshaken.

"Then tell him to stop acting like I stole his crown."

There’s a beat of silence.

"He’s under pressure," Maurizio says at last. "We all are."

"I know," she replies. "But I’m not here to soothe his ego. I’m here to win. And if that makes the garage uncomfortable, then maybe it’s time they remember that I earned this seat too."

She doesn’t wait for a response. She just turns, calm and deliberate, and walks out.

Because she knows the truth.

In a sport that reveres kings, a woman with a sword of her own will always be seen as a threat, not a teammate.

And Solana Villarosa is done apologizing for her crown.

Personal Space – With Daniel Maranello, Italy – June 2016

The city hums quietly beneath them.

It’s late, and the sky has turned that deep indigo that belongs only to Italian summer nights. Down below, Maranello flickers in soft yellow light, the hills dotted with warm windows and the occasional echo of laughter. Somewhere, a scooter zips past on the street, too fast, too loud, but it fades quickly into the hush of night.

On the balcony of their flat, Solana Villarosa is pacing, barefoot on cool terracotta tiles. Her hair is damp from a quick shower, twisted up and pinned, though loose strands keep falling into her face. She doesn’t bother pushing them back. Her mind is spinning too fast.

She mutters to herself—something about telemetry, team orders, and pride with sharp corners. She presses the heel of her palm to her forehead, willing the heat behind her eyes to dissolve.

When the sliding door opens, she doesn’t look up.

Daniel steps out, barefoot like her, wearing old sweatpants and a tank top that smells faintly of laundry soap and engine grease. He leans against the doorway for a moment, watching her with quiet concern.

"Want me to punch him?" he asks, light enough to break the tension.

She pauses mid-step, lips twitching. "Maybe just once. Not hard. Just... to the ego."

He grins and walks over, taking her hand. His fingers are warm and familiar, calloused from years of steering cars at impossible speeds.

"Let it go," he says softly. "You’ve got nothing left to prove. You don’t need his validation."

Solana exhales, slow and quiet, like she’s finally letting her lungs do their job. She leans into him, resting her head against his shoulder. The scent of him, sun, soap, and the faintest trace of motor oil, grounds her.

"I know," she murmurs. "But sometimes he makes me feel like I don’t belong in my own colors. Like Ferrari is still a crown I wasn’t meant to wear."

Daniel gently turns her to face him, hands steady on her waist, eyes searching hers with a seriousness that rarely makes it to the surface.

"You are Ferrari," he says. "You’re the woman kids are painting onto cardboard signs in Mexico City and Riverside. You’re the name they scream at podiums. You’re the reason Charles knows how to fight. The reason Max believes there’s more than one way to lead."

She blinks, and something shifts behind her eyes. She doesn’t argue tonight.

"You always know what to say," she whispers.

"Only because it’s true," he replies, brushing a loose curl from her cheek.

He kisses her forehead first. Then the curve of her cheekbone. Then, slowly, her lips. There’s no rush in it. Just quiet reverence, the kind that says I see you. The kind that doesn’t ask her to be strong.

Later, in the soft-lit bedroom, with the windows open to let the warm air in, they make love without words. No performance, no armor. Just skin and silence and the rhythm of breath shared between two people who know what it means to fight—and what it means to surrender.

For once, she doesn’t have to be the leader. She doesn’t have to defend her place, prove her worth, or brace for comparison. With him, she is not Solana the Ferrari driver, or the rival, or the headline.

She is simply Solana.

And in Daniel’s arms, in the city that now knows her name, she lets herself rest.

A Line Drawn Ferrari Media Day – Maranello, June 2016

The room isn’t large, but it might as well be an arena.

Journalists crowd the front row, recorders raised, notepads out, cameras already searching for the flicker of tension. Everyone knows what they’re here for. It isn’t just updates on development progress or comments on upcoming races. It’s the story behind the story—what's happening inside Ferrari.

Solana Villarosa sits next to Sebastian Vettel, both in matching team polos, backs straight, eyes forward. The team’s publicist gives a nod. The questions begin.

“Sebastian,” a reporter asks, “how would you describe the working dynamic between you and Solana at this stage of the season?”

Sebastian doesn’t hesitate. His tone is calm, professional.

“We’re teammates,” he says. “We’re professionals. We focus on performance and getting the most out of the car. That’s what matters.”

His answer is safe. On paper, it’s perfect. But his gaze is fixed forward, never once glancing in her direction. The stiffness in his jaw says more than his words do.

Solana waits a beat.

She doesn’t glance at him either. Instead, she leans slightly into the mic, her smile small, poised.

“And performance,” she says, her voice level but unmistakably pointed, “tends to speak for itself.”

The words land with weight. Not sharp. Not loud. Just undeniable.

A murmur runs through the back row. Pens scribble faster. A camera light flashes. Someone exhales, as if they'd been waiting for that exact line.

She doesn’t elaborate. She doesn’t need to.

Sebastian remains still, his face unreadable.

The moderator moves on to the next question, but the shift in the room is already done. A line has been drawn, quietly and cleanly, in full view of the paddock.

Not in anger. Not in spite.

Just truth.

And from that moment on, nobody can pretend they’re not fighting for the same crown.

Previous || Next

Tag list: @rawr-123s-stuff , @torihester , @justasagittarius, @chaoticmessneutralplease , @caren05 , @yukioni02 , @jinx53 , @angelicawasnthere , @sporadicreviewdream , @awkawardcow , @katgirl140898 , @string-of-constellations , @kate-blu33 , @ttuwzi , @holidaysnoopy , @thenightwemet02 , @babyvoidthing, @anedpev , @monsterslivinginadream , @cryingtoteenwolf , @roderickstrong , @likeformula1 , @maddyw-223

[jessepinkmanlvr]

❤️ (your relationship with your f/o)

🏠 (home life with your f/o)

🎆 (dates with your f/o)

I wanna hear all abt it I'm literally number one jelly fan 😈

AHHH HELLO MY BESTEST FRIEND EVER HI HI HI KISSES U

OKAY SO

❤️ relationship!!

beef and geef 💗💗💗 (how i read bf and gf lmao) 2 YEARS STRONG!!! 🫶🏾🫶🏾 he’s my second bsf (the first sent this ask.. ☝🏾☝🏾) and this is the best most loving relationship i’ve ever had <3

🏠home life!!

AHH I LOVE TALKING ABT OUR HOME LIFE IMMA SPLIT IT UP INTO LIKE PARTS OF THE DAY

mornings:

- jess usually wakes up before me but that doesn’t mean he gets up. you know how people’s cats climb on top of them when they hear them make any noise in the morning and decide it’s time for them to get up? yeah.

- if it’s a day i have school or work he is NOT happy. leaving the bed is already usually a struggle for me but try having man puppy 3000 flopping on you on the verge of tears because he’s gonna miss you

- but if it’s a day it’s just us we usually just stay in bed chit chatting for a while or we put something on the tv to kind of wake up. then it’s breakfast! im not a breakfast person but jesse is so i try and eat it so he doesn’t feel alone. he doesn’t have the best relationship with food so i cook usually :)

-after breakfast i make sure he takes his meds, i try and take our ADHD meds together, again, so he dosen’t feel alone. he’s not the best at remembering the afternoon ones so i leave reminders on the fridge before i go

Afternoon:

- most afternoons im home we like to stay in. most of our at home days include me cooking something for lunch while i watch him play video games, letting him nap on me while i work on my manuscript, and just lots of quality time. :)

- if im coming home he’s always right by the door all excited and wanting to show me woodworking stuff or just cuddle, lots of cuddles.

nights:

- nights are really hard for jess :( but we’ve got a few good routines going <33

- we finish up dinner and take nighttime meds, but before we go to bed i’ll run him a warm bath and wash his hair. He loves having his hair washed, he always gets all misty eyed and soft.

- then we go to lay down. Jesse is an auditory sleeper so we have a few different approaches. Sometimes i’ll read to him if im not as tired as he is, and other times we’ll put on a white noise machine or an audiobook. We sleep skin to skin so he feels grounded. It’s a really good combatant against nightmares, he’s able to feel me there the second he wakes up. <3

- if he wakes up in the middle of the night and needs me i always let him wake me up, and vice versa. If i go get midnight water he comes with. I usually get very light headed from walking even when im not just waking up lol so he’s like my little cane 😭

misc:

- our home is a mess. not a food mess, but like craft mess. Most of it is me surprisingly. i mean sure jess is terrible about leaving out clothes and cigs but i am a nightmare when it comes to my crafts. I just have all my shit in the middle of the living room for my junk journal and sweet boy is just fine with it

- our decor is also really funny. most of it is mine and it’s like pinkie pie barfed everywhere but then jesse’s bong is just sitting by my lisa frank mug.

🎆dates!!!

- OKAY SO I HAVE A LOT BUT THIS IS ONE OF MY FAVES. It was one of our firsts

- we were looking for somewhere to go, nothing sounded good but he remembered i had mentioned loving vintage things (music, architecture, etc.) and he’s like shit let’s go to skate country maybe and im like “oh! uh.. okay!”

- i was terrified bc i cant skate.

- so we get there and im all embarrassed and i cave im like “hey i really don’t know how to rollerskate.” and he just pauses and like sighs this big sigh of relief and hes like “i cant either. i was just gonna try like really hard, yo.” he can skateboard but not rollerskate.

- and so im already like “oh my god i fucking love him” but then.

- he reaches in his baggy ass jeans and pulls out this THICK bag of quarters and turns to me like. “do you want to just sit by the Pokémon card dispensers and put quarters in until we get a shiny?”

- “oh hell yeah i do.”

- it was romantic as fuck (no shinies were pulled.)

[wrldabomination]

My Sweet Salem

Part 2

Jake x Salem ( f! Oc)

You dabble in musical instruments mainly collecting the ones that catch your eye you love music always have. You have a dream to become a rock star one day or perhaps meet one..

2.1k words

Warnings : mentions of murder ( a tiny sentence ) almost smut ( nothing past 2nd base)

The next day comes faster then anticipated. You check your phone and it’s already 5 pm and there’s a text from Jake on your screen

Jake: I’ll see you at 7?

Salem: see you then!!!

You lock your phone setting it on your counter as you quickly hop in the shower

—————————————-

As your doing finishing touches on your make up your phone vibrates

6:55

Jake: hey sweetheart, you mind sending your address so I can head over

Salem: of course …::

You send your address quickly trying to ignore the pet name he just used..

Jake pulls into your driveway in his black jeep as you open your front door too. Leave. There he is standing preparing to knock .. he takes a step back looking you up and down in. Disbelief you’re wearing a white knitted sweater with an American flag. And light washed straight leg jeans with your cherry doc martens

“ Wow…” is the only word he could scrap up as he admired you

You both get into the jeep and head towards the mystery restaurant it’s very black tie. Kind of romantic… as we walk inside he speaks to the host “ table for 2. Under kiszka” he said sternly “ right this way sir” you hear while looking around at the decor

You’re both seated at the table. With a menu you both order your drinks.

“ Soo mr kiszka tell me a little bit more about this band of yours” you say in a playful voice “ well it’s just me and my brothers well one isn’t technically my brother but he may as well me it’s me my twin brother Josh. And my youngest brother Sam and our friend Danny “ he says excitedly you can tell he loves talking about this he’s passionate.

———————————————-

The waiter brings the check and hands it to Jake. He slips his card in the book and. Hands it back…

“ thank you … jake this has been really nice “ you say smiling “ I’m glad you enjoyed it sweetheart does this mean I’ll get a second date?” He says questionably

“ perchance “ you say giggling

As you both walk back to the jeep he stops you turn around and give him a questioning look “ what?” You say confused “ nothing” he said smiling “ just admiring “ you smile back at him. And start walking again

As he’s driving you back to your house at a red light he looks over at you “ can I take you somewhere?” He asks “ uhm.. where “ you say a little scared “ just a place. Right up this road here I come here all the time it’s really nice “ he said trying to. Make it sound less creepy “ I promise I’m not going to kill you if that’s what you’re worried about” he said jokingly . You relax a little “ sure. I have no where to be tonight” you respond “ good “ he said as he turns down the road. After a few minutes. He parks the car.. it’s an empty field you swallow a little hard. A tiny bit scared of what’s to come “ do you trust me “ he said as he reads your expression “ y-yes” you say hesitantly “ well come on then “ he said getting out of the car practically running towards the field. You chance. After him he falls. Down on his back in the middle of the field and you look at him…. “ get down here Salem. Let’s watch the stars” he said smiling you lay down next to him. As he puts one hand under his head.. you look at the stars in awe you can see them. Extremely well considering there’s no light pollution “ it’s really pretty” you say “ not as pretty as the sight next to me “ he reply’s. Turning to his side. You look at him seeing him smile he reaches his hand up rubbing his thumb across your cheek.. you can feel your stomach do a flip as you close your eyes..

“ god your beautiful” he says “ so tell me sweet sweet Salem, why in the world we’re you so intrigued by that SG” he asked “ well I actually collect guitars and other musical instruments but mainly. Guitars I have every other color of the SG except for that one which I now have.. thank you by the way “ you say smiling “ your welcome sweet heart” he said as he leans in closer to you inches away from your face your heart is beating rapidly you inch a little closer.. he looks at you for approval and you slightly nod.. with the. Confirmation he closes the space between you two kissing your lips like his life depends on it… Your lips tangled with his as he turns over. Now he’s on top of you he starts to kiss down your neck to the collar of your sweater he tugs at the hem of it asking to take it off and you nod. As his hands roam. Trying to rid you of the sweater He never breaks the kiss. Finally getting the sweater off he starts to kiss down your body on your breasts your collar bones your stomach stopping at your pant buttons. He looks up at you. Asking for permission.. you speak up “ I Uhm I - I don’t usually do this on the first date..” you say nervously after you’ve come so far. He immediately takes his lips off you “ oh I’m Uhm I’m sorry I didn’t mean to - I’m sorry “ he said concerned “ it’s okay jake just not yet “ i said slipping my sweater back on “ maybe you should take me home it’s getting late “ he nods and you both make it back to the jeep

————————

He pulls into. Your driveway and turn the jeep off.. “ so about that second date?” He said. Laughing “ I did really enjoy tonight “ I said. Tapping my finger to my chin” hmmmmm. Sure why not “ you said smiling “. Great. So you know how my band is playing at that music festival. Wednesday?” He asked “ yes” you respond “ would you like to come. A free barricade ticket my side stage ?” You look shocked taken aback even “ oh Uhm- su- sure yes yes “ you say excitedly leaning over and kissing his cheek. “ I’ll see you Wednesday. Okay jakey?” You said smiling “ sounds like a plan sweet heart haves goodnight Salem” “goodnight jake” you said walking to your front door opening it..

You walk inside. And to your room you prob down on your bed smiling ear to ear.. maybe he isn’t that bad you say to yourself..

[jkpfr]

OC-tober Day 9: Future

I actually wrote something for this prompt! I didn't have the time to write this scene in full, but I wanted to post an excerpt at least. Note that this scene might undergo changes in the future, and is likely to be re-written in French at some point.

“- Hell…”

…o. Upon entering the room, it only takes me a second to notice that Artémis is asleep at his desk, his head resting on his folded arms in an uncomfortable position.

It would probably have been better if I hadn’t interrupted myself and had allowed my entering the room to wake him up, but I would have felt bad about it. Still… he’s missing our appointment, and now I’ve caused a scene. I still have my thoughts about why he might be tired enough to fall asleep on the job… but I can’t pretend I’m not tempted to focus on my own feelings of unease, having been left alone in this room I’ve never been to – one that is in our own headquarters – one that Artémis seems to know.

Stepping closer to the desk, I take a good look at him. He’s wearing the same lab coat the others were wearing… It’s not normally a very pleasant look, but its pure white, underneath Arté’s light hair, makes him look even softer than usual.

“- Good evening!”

I hear a voice somewhere near me - I jump. Was there someone else in the room all along? Before even answering, I look everywhere around me, but I can’t see anyone.

“- Please look at the screen.

- Oh…”

The screen… Right, the screen. Artémis would fall asleep in the middle of a videoconference. In front of the sleeping Deity is a gigantic computer screen…

I don’t know why, or how to explain it, but what I see when I raise my eyes sends a shiver down my spine.

“- Hello! To whom do I owe the visit?”

This isn’t a regular videoconference at all. The young woman on screen is shown standing up in full, in front of no background whatsoever. Just from looking at her for a few seconds, I can tell this is not some sort of hologram. She seems so close, so photorealistic that she might…

She might actually be inside the screen.

Worse even, she looks uncannily familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on how. She looks at me with an innocent-looking smile, patiently waiting for a reply.

She has extremely pale skin, long black hair tied up in a ponytail, and the one eye I can see is light blue. Looking at her makes my heart beat weirdly inside my chest… It hurts.

“- To… To whom… Right, right. Well I’m… I’m Apollon.

- Apollon? Really?

- Really.”

The young girl gasps and reaches for the black eyepatch covering her right eye. On it I notice a logo that looks similar to ours, but it’s too messy for me to recognise just like that. She lifts it up, revealing a healthy looking red-coloured eye, with which she stares at me intensely.

She starts to chuckle excitedly.

“- Woah! It’s true! It’s really you!

- What… Do you know me?

- Well, it’s my first time meeting you, but my father has told me many things about you.

- Your… father…?

- Yes, Artémis, my father.

- What?!”

Her… Her what?! Artémis doesn’t have a daughter. Especially not a teenager! Though that doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have a daughter – I’d know it if he did. So why would this girl… Why would…

My head is spinning. Something about her is making my whole body tense.

I can’t hide that I’m confused. Staring at the screen in silence, I watch her put her eyepatch back on…

That’s when I realise it. The girl standing in front of me looks like a perfect rendition of Hermès if he were a young girl. Though she’s not wearing our uniform, she’s wearing a grey cardigan over grey jeans and a white t-shirt. If that’s not close enough… The more I look at her, the more her facial characteristics look similar to his – down, for some reason, to having a single eye.

That’s it. I’ve had enough.

“- What the fuck is this?!”

I slap the sleeping beauty on the back. I need an explanation right now.

[otrtbs]

okay bringing this back up again bc i miss them specifically in this and in truth, they don’t become friends they go awhile w/o speaking and well,,,, here’s this …. pt. 2. cw: homophobia / alcoholism

Barty loves this laundromat on the almost outskirts of town. It’s got peeling paint that sunbleached from the brutal heat. Only half of the fluorescent lights work, it always smells a little moldy, and the chocolate in the ever-humming vending machine expired five years ago– which has never stopped Barty from putting his quarters in and indulging himself anyway. Some of the red and blue letters have peeled off the front of the sign, but it’s still the one place in town where you can do a full load of laundry for five quarters. Inflation raised the price of everything, but at the Lonestar Laundromat, all you needed was seventy-five cents. It had been that way for decades and they proudly advertised it in warped and crooked vinyl lettering on the dusty windows.

Not that something like the price for a load of laundry mattered to a Millionaire Mile kid like Barty.

No, Barty was interested in this laundromat because it was the farthest he could get from his father without having to actually run away. He was interested in this laundromat because his father would never think to look for Barty here, on this side of town. This laundromat was open twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week. In the dead heat of the grueling summers, where Barty would rather suffocate outside than in the same house as his father, he could get himself to the laundromat and breathe out a sigh of relief at the cool air conditioning that met him as soon as he walked through the door. He could buy a coke and a hershey’s chocolate bar and sit on the dusty floor as other people’s clothes spun round and round in a blur of colors and soap suds and bubbles. He could drown his father’s thundering voice and menacing threats with the drone of industrial sized washing machines filling his head.

There was something about walking to the laundromat, bag of quarters rattling together in his jean pocket that was therapeutic. Barty’s father was volatile. He was brash and unpredictable and sometimes when he came home, breath smelling of whiskey, Barty didn’t know whether to expect a fight or a flood of tears. All of it was always Barty’s fault somehow and all of it was always about Barty’s mother. When Barty was younger, she would fill the house with light, her famous peach tea always freshly brewed, the house always sparkling, always ready to entertain. She’d wait for Barty to come home on the porch swing as she sat and read her book for her ladies book club. She’d ruffle his hair and call him honey and bandage his scraped knees. She would fling all the windows open when the weather was nice for fresh air and blast the radio from the kitchen window. When she left, the windows stayed shut and the rest house closed in on itself. Barty’s father, a disgraced politician, and the favorite subject of town gossip, became a frequent visitor at the Silver Dollar bar down the road. It was close enough that he could walk home when Mary took away his keys at the end of the night if he needed to.

At first, after Barty’s mother, people felt bad for the both of them. Barty would grit his teeth and bear the chatter.

‘Poor thing. She just walked out on them. Left them in the middle of the night.’

‘Does anyone know where she went?’

‘Mr. Crouch is a saint to take care of a kid all by himself like that. A single father overnight?’

‘What a shame.’

He listened to the rumors fly about his mother that made his blood boil with rage.

‘She moved to the coast. She has a boyfriend out there. That’s what Walburga told me.’

‘She has a whole other family somewhere out West.’

‘She never did like Bartemius. I heard her father had forced the marriage. I guess she couldn’t bear to stay a moment longer.’

‘Poor Bartemius. His poor son.’

Every room he would walk into, every aisle in the grocery store, people would point and stare and whisper when they thought he wasn’t paying attention. Barty did his best not to sneer at how quickly their faces would turn to sympathy when he caught them staring. But after the thousandth ‘poor thing’ that was uttered, people were less inclined to feel bad for Bartemius Crouch Sr.

There were only so many days he could spend at the bar instead of at the office before people’s patience wore thin. He wasn’t doing his job, he wasn’t representing the town. He had turned sorry and sour. Loss had made him cold and indolent. An overindulgent alcoholic.

The stares still followed Barty though. Wherever he went, people would talk. They’d give him sorry smiles, and sympathetic eyes. An absent mother and alcoholic father, what a poor sad boy Barty must be. He took their fake sympathy and stuffed it inside his hollow bones until it began to mold and rot and Barty went from the boy that everyone once knew to a surly troublemaker. Always slinking about on the outskirts of town. Always up to play on the train tracks, to start a fire during a burn ban, always quick to steal a six pack of beer and a lighter when the cashier’s back was turned.

Eventually, it got to the point where no one would talk to him, in the fear that his snarls would turn into bites. But they were perfectly content to talk about him and his unfortunate circumstances.

Whatever.

Barty stopped caring years ago.

He’d just go to the laundromat– his laundromat– and pass away the days watching the cycles of clothes spin round and round and round. Sometimes he’d bring a book, but most times he would just bring his headphones and listen to music until the sun went down, using his quarters to buy vending machine chocolate and peanuts when he was hungry. He spent more time after school with the washing machines than anything else, and he was perfectly content to spend the rest of his days this way, alone at the Lone Star Laundromat until

Regulus Black.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck!”

Barty snapped his head up at the chiming of the laundromat doorbells and the subsequent slamming of the door. For a minute all Barty could do was stare at the curly black head of hair and the pale hands attempting to hold the door closed behind him.

“Well, stranger. Long time no see,” Barty jeered, feeling his scowl deepen.

If Regulus felt ashamed about avoiding Barty since their talk a month ago, since their promise to be friends, he didn’t indicate it.

“Don’t just stand there,” Regulus glared, turning to look at Barty. “Fucking help me would you?”

When he turned his head, Barty could see a trickle of blood coming from just above Regulus’ eyebrow.

A dark and intoxicating crimson.

Barty pulled out his earbuds and sprung to his feet, rushing over to stand beside Regulus and pull the door to the laundromat closed tightly.

Regulus was breathing heavily and his eyes were wild and frantic as he pulled the door close to his chest with all his might. Just as Barty was about to ask what was happening, he spotted Nicolai Mulciber and a group of other boys sprinting towards them.

“Come out Regulus! Don’t be a fucking pussy! Come out here,” Mucliber was shouting.

As the group of boys got closer, Barty could see that their hands were full of rocks and their pockets were bulging and misshapen. Barty was willing to bet they were also filled with rocks.

Mulciber began pelting the door to the laundromat with the small stones in his hand and Barty listened as they clattered against the glass.

“They’re chasing you?” Barty asked, looking at Regulus.

“Very astute.”

“Why?”

Barty reached across Regulus and flicked both locks on the laundromat door.

“Are you allowed to do that?”

“Do you want those assholes coming in here?” Barty asked in return as Regulus took a step away from the door.

“Come on out Regulus,” Mulciber continued, slowing to a stroll as he pulled on the door. “We just want to talk. We promise.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Regulus called through the door, as Mulicber continued rattling the locked door.

“What the fuck is going on?” Barty asked.

He could see Selwyn and Avery and another boy, possibly Snape, come into view behind Mulciber. All of them had malicious eyes and smiles full of sharp teeth. Whatever Regulus did to get involved with these idiots, was not Barty’s problem, but curiosity was getting the best of him.

Mulciber was known for being the town bully. His father was a court judge, so he thought that fact alone made him untouchable, and he wreaked havoc on the town just to prove it. Most people generally avoided him, but he had a group of goons that followed him around and took pleasure in their torment.

Barty was always down for a bit of chaos, he’d be the first to admit it, but it was a chaos that was relatively harmless. Destructive only towards himself. Mulciber would kick a baby kitten or push an old lady down the stairs if he thought it would be funny enough.

“Oh nothing much, they just want to fucking stone me to death is all,” Regulus bit out sharply, glaring at Mulciber as he started pounding on the door.

“Yeah, I gathered that. Because I’m so very astute,” Barty bit. “But why?”

“They hate me.”

“Regulus Black, open this door right fucking now or I swear I’ll drag you down to the creek and drown you out there,” Mulciber spat.

“Unless you want us telling Barty here what you like to do in your free time,” Avery sneered, joining Mulciber in pounding on the glass while the other two boys stood back a bit. “Or, who, you like to do.”

It was nearly dark, and the laundromat was abandoned apart from Barty and Regulus. Hardly anyone did their laundry on a Tuesday night anyway. It would be hours, maybe a day even, before the next person happened by.

“He shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near the boys locker room,” MIlciber continued as Regulus recoiled slightly.

It didn’t take much for Barty to deduce after that. Blame it on his astuteness.

“Ah,” Barty breathed out. “They hate you because you’re a boy kisser. I see.”

“Boy kisser in theory. Hasn’t happened in practice,” Regulus deadpanned.

“So, I’m witnessing a hate crime right now?”

“Yep.”

Barty would be happy to let the boys continue banging on the doors until it became background noise, but they continued their onslaught of slurs and taunts, and he could tell it was rattling Regulus, even if he wasn’t showing it. Hell, it was almost enough to rattle him.

Quickly, he devised a plan. With a wicked grin at Regulus that was meant to reassure him, he turned his attention back to Mulciber.

“Nicolai,” Barty sang with false indifference. “I think it’s funny you’re the one leading this crusade given our past. Don’t you think?”

Mulciber blinked as Avery gave him a questioning glance, hand frozen mid-rock throw.

“What the fuck do you mean, Crouch?” He sneered after he collected himself.

“Oh, you remember. Last year. You mean you haven’t told all your buddies here about our little encounter in the janitors closet after detention?”

Barty was lying. He was fabricating a story so quickly it made his heart race with the thrill of it.

Mulciber could only blink at him.

“Oh. Come on, Nicolai. Don’t hurt my feelings. Don’t tell me that I’m not even important enough to mention? You do remember at the very least don’t you? The dark cramped closet, my hand down your pants. The way you whimpered so softly?” Barty wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “You even let me call you Nic. What about all the times after that too? Did all of those times mean nothing to you? Under the bleachers? In the bathroom between classes?”

Avery’s eyes were as wide as saucers as Snape and Selwyn nudged each other nervously in the background.

Mulciber was shaking with anger and his face was so violently purple, Barty wondered if it would explode if he kept talking.

“You filthy fucking liar! You fucking evil, vile, disgusting, liar. I wouldn’t touch you if–”

“Oh you think I’m lying?” Barty cackled, looking directly at Avery as he yelled through the door. “If I’m lying then how do I know about the little birthmark he has right at the base of his back? Just above his ass. Look at it! It looks like a duck. Or the mole on this left inner thigh? Don’t believe me, Avery? Ask him about that!”

Mucilber was banging on the glass so hard, for a moment Barty was worried that he might actually break it and come through the door. Instinctively, he held an arm out, pushing Regulus back— just in case.

But Avery was backing away, his attention now fully focused on Mulciber.

Lot of fucking work Barty was doing for a person who wouldn’t even come to the door when he knocked. Who went back to class pretending like he never existed.

“He’s lying!” Mulciber was shouting. “He’s fucking lying! Avery! Listen to me!”

But Avery just curled up his lip in disgust as he walked back towards Selwyn and Snape, abandoning Mulciber at the front of the laundromat.

“I’m going to fucking kill you for this, Crouch. I will,” Mulciber screamed, veins popping out in his forehead. “You motherfucker. You have to come out of there sometime. I can wait you out, and when you do, I’ll kill you both.”

Barty only nodded, giving him a little wink and a kiss, before he took Regulus by the arm and dragged him away from the door.

“Please tell me you didn’t fuck Mulciber,” Regulus spoke as Barty took them to barely working bathroom in the back corner of the building.

Everything back there was rusted and moldy and the mirror was shattered. The exposed lightbulb hung from the ceiling with a chain string dangling down and buzzed loudly to life.

“Not in a million fucking years.”

“So you just lied about the mole then?”

“Hmm? Oh no,” Barty muttered absentmindedly, turning on the faucet that only came out at a lukewarm trickle. “I was fucking his girlfriend back then, and she doesn’t hold back. I know all of his secrets," Barty grinned conspiratorially. “He has a thing for feathers.”

“So you’re straight then.”

“Equal opportunist,” Bartys shrugged, dabbing a wet, rough brown paper towel against Regulus’ cut above his eyebrow. “But in this town, you have to be careful with that shit. Wouldn’t want to end up a gay martyr like you. Sorry.”

Regulus winced as Barty pressed against the wound. “I can do this myself you know,” he snapped suddenly. “I don’t need you to mother me.”

“Well, fuck you then,” Barty laughed in surprise, letting the paper towel drop to the floor. “It’s not like we’re friends anyway.” Another dig. “Do it your fucking self.”

Before Regulus had time to respond, Barty stalked out of the bathroom, leaving Regulus to clean up alone.

if y'all wanna read something so unserious rn i have 1.3k words of bartylus under the cut with nowhere else to put them so

“Tell me how you did it.”

“What?” Barty looked up from his desk in the back of the classroom, momentarily stopping himself from carving his initials into the wood. 

When he finally looked up, he was met with an annoyed-looking Regulus Black. His dark eyebrows were pulled together as he frowned down at Barty’s carving. Barty has spent his entire life convinced that Regulus was a vampire. Pale skin (even in the brutal summer), strikingly dark green eyes, and raven-colored hair. He always spoke in a calm and measured cadence, dressed like he was from a different time, looked perpetually cold, and ignored everyone besides his brother Sirius- who was in the year above them and was also most likely a vampire. Barty swore that even Regulus’ canines were sharper than the average person’s were. 

Regulus slammed a white sheet of paper down on the desk and Barty couldn’t help the slight smirk pulling at his lips as he looked down at it. 

A cumulative summary for every class that Regulus Black has taken with every grade recorded in neat, black, ink. At the very bottom, circled in red pen, and where Regulus was pointing to with his bony-ass finger, read:

Rank: 2

Barty knew what he was implying but he enjoyed seeing Regulus so wound up. “Your middle name is Arcturus? What kind of name–” 

“How did you do it?” Regulus repeated, interrupting Barty as his frown deepened. “It has to be you, right? I saw your last test and you made a perfect score, so. What did you do? Did you steal an answer key for every quiz and test? Blackmail? Bribery?” 

Barty blinked at his bluntness before he recovered. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I’m just really fucking smart? Maybe that’s how I got to the top of the class. You know, with my brain.” 

“You never take notes, you spend half of the class time carving penises into the desks with your pen and then the other half of the time asleep, I’ve never seen you open a book to study. I call bullshit. I spend all of my time studying and reviewing and–” 

“Like a loser,” Barty coughed under his breath. 

“And you sit in the back like some burnout. High and above it all,” Regulus finished with a glare. 

“Maybe if you lived a little like me instead of shutting yourself up in a Millionaire Mile Mansion, you’d score higher on your tests,” Barty smirked, returning to his carving. 

“You also live in a Millionaire Mile Mansion,” Regulus deadpanned. “And your definition of fun is setting fire to abandoned buildings so forgive me if I don’t–” 

“That wasn’t me. You can’t prove that,” Barty cut in quickly. It was an accident. There had been a burn ban in the summer that Barty had taken a little too lightly and before he could stop it, the entire abandoned pharmacy had gone up in flames along with the field surrounding it. It was still an unsolved arson as far as Sheriff Lupin was concerned, and it was going to stay that way. 

“Relax, I’m not going to tell anyone,” Regulus softened after a moment. “Just, tell me what you did. Do you have flashcards or something?” 

“Flashcards?” Barty snorted. 

“Fuck you,” Regulus shot back before he turned to leave. The classroom was empty apart from the two of them and when he made it to the door, he looked back at Barty once more. “What you’re not coming? School is over.” 

Barty shrugged. “I have detention.”

“For what?” 

“My wonderful art skills,” Barty grinned gesturing to the desk littered with his handiwork. “And hey, Regulus?” 

Regulus stopped once more, one foot already out of the room and a scowl back on his face. 

“Good talk,” Barty finished. 

Regulus left without another word. 

The next day, Barty slipped into the back of class just before the bell and he counted down the seconds until the day was over. Mainly, he watched Regulus because he wanted to talk to him. Ever since their previous conversation the day before, Barty thought about speaking to him again. It was nice, when Regulus was talking he couldn’t scowl, and his features softened just enough that made his uncanny beauty more human. Besides, Barty enjoyed eliciting some emotion out of a boy who seemed so unreachable. 

“I hope you’re ready for my Valedictorian speech in May,” Barty taunted as Regulus gathered his things to leave at the end of the day. 

“It’ll be shit. You couldn’t give a motivational speech to save your life,” Regulus muttered under his breath. 

Barty slammed a hand dramatically against his heart. “You wound me. I was planning on telling everyone to go fuck themselves but we’ll see what I feel like on the day. Either way, you’ll be watching me from the second-place spot.”

Regulus attempted to push past him but Barty began walking alongside him, keeping in step. 

“What, no detention today?” Regulus scoffed. 

Barty shook his head as they pushed through the crowds of students gathering in hallways and chattering about their days.

“Why don’t you walk home with Sirius?” 

“Why are you still talking to me?” 

“Rude.” 

Regulus pushed through the heavy metal doors out into the sunlight. It was still too hot to be comfortable. Unbearably stifling heat that wouldn’t leave until late October. Barty followed closely behind Regulus. 

“What are you doing?” Regulus continued, shoes slapping against the pavement. 

Barty shrugged. “Making a friend or something.” 

“Well, I don’t want to be your friend,” Regulus shot back quickly. 

“Oh come on,” Barty sighed. “Us Millionaire Mile kids have to stick together or the proletariat children of the town will rise up and kill us or something.” 

“Shut up,” Regulus scoffed, and then after a moment he added, “I’m surprised you even know the word proletariat.” 

“If we’re going to be friends then you’ll have to stop insulting me so often,” Barty returned, struggling to keep up with Regulus’ quick walking pace.   

“We’re not friends. I spoke to you once and instantly regretted it.” 

“See another insult. You’ll have to get better about that.” 

They continued their walk home, past the center of town with the single grocery store, past the church and the creek and the railroad, and past the burned lot of land- that Barty had absolutely nothing to do with- until they reached Clairmont Street, more commonly known as Millionaire Mile. 

Clairemont Street contained all of the houses with wrap-around porches and antique glass windows that scattered sunlight in stained-glass brilliance on the hardwood floors. Houses with porch swings and neat trimmings and large yards with gardens that bloomed no matter how dead and withered everything else was. Houses straight out of a Southern Gothic novel. The Millionaire Mile Houses were houses for judges and politicians and their sons, for families who founded the town- or, like in Regulus’ case, houses for oil heirs staying out here because that’s where the oil was. 

As they walked, Barty managed to wear Regulus down with his quick remarks and little jabs. He could tell that Regulus didn’t mind his presence as much as they walked under trees and shop awnings– anything to keep them in the shade and out of the direct sunlight. 

“Look,” Barty began as they were about to part ways. Regulus lived in the middle of Millionaire Mile, right where Walburga liked to be. She could see everything and know everything that happened on her street. Nothing escaped her scrutiny. But Barty and his father lived in the very last house on the street. Shoved into the corner and tucked away out of sight. “I know it kills you that the burn-out kid in the back of the class is smarter than you, but I’d be happy to tutor you some time. Since I'm so much better than you without even trying.”

Barty couldn't help the smile he gave at Regulus' look of indignation.  

Regulus shook his head as he bounded up the steps to his house. “If we’re going to be friends, Barty, you’ll have to stop insulting me so often.” 

[iwashie]

“𝐈 𝐍𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐘𝐨𝐮…” (𝟏𝟔+) | BLLK

📌  michael kaiser, isagi yoichi, barou shoei, karasu tabito, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, itoshi rin, eita otoya

︶꒦꒷꒷꒦︶ synopsis: telling some of the bllk men you need them

･ﾟﾟ･｡　warnings- mdni, nsfw content, established relationship, pro player(20+), f!reader.

𑄹 kaiser. You two were on the street, strolling somewhere in Italy, that he insisted on taking you. When he finally stopped walking, interested in the things they sold at the market stall, you approached him, resting your head on his shoulder, “I need you.” He mumbled something, still interested in the object, “Kaiser, I need you!” you whimpered and he looked at you, an eyebrow raised, “like...?” he made that look and you agreed, whispering in his ear “now”. He shivered, running an arm around your waist. “why didn’t you say it before?” he grumbled, pulling you down the street, returning as quickly as possible to the hotel.

𑄹 isagi. You two were lying on the couch watching a movie, him lying on top of you, getting strokes in his hair. “Yoichi, I need you,” you said, hoping he would understand. “how so?” he asked, still focused on the movie. “I need you” you repeated, changing your tone and yet he didn’t understand, leaning on his elbows to face you with a raised eyebrow, “Isagi Yoichi. I. Need. You. Now.” You said, holding his face and pointing down with your gaze. It took a while, but he understood- widening his eyes, his mouth on an “o” and the tip of his ears red. “Like that…?” he leaned in, lips almost glued to his, “yes, now!” you pulled him in, feeling his hand slide down your waist into the blouse, saying, “Yoichi to the rescue.”

𑄹barou. You were home alone. He had gone shopping and there was nothing for you to do. Empty head is the devil’s workshop and soon you felt a heat spreading through your body, gathering in the middle of your legs. Damn, you need your boyfriend. Squeezing your legs, you had the brilliant idea to put on his jersey and take a picture. ‘I need you’ ‘shopping’ ‘but I need you, now...’ ‘You’ll have to wait, baby’ you smiled mischievously as you read the message, ‘Barou shoei, I need you, now!’ sending the photo right after. The answer is a simple ‘5 min’. Soon you heard the front door slamming and his heavy footsteps into the bedroom, it didn’t take long for him to be in the middle of your legs, kissing you hard as one hand squeezed your thigh and the other lifted the jersey, “I want to keep it,” his eyes sparkled, kissing you again.

𑄹tabito. He was about to hang out with his friends, it had been a while since he’d seen the Blue Lock guys, but it was almost impossible not to have other plans when you saw him getting dressed, the jeans grabbing his thick thighs, his round ass... Oh, you needed him. He turned as he felt what you threw at him, eyes sliding from you lying in the middle of the bed to the piece of clothing on the floor. He raised an eyebrow, lifting the red panties you threw at him. “I need you.” You opened a crack between your legs, showing that you were without the piece of clothing that was in his hand. He smiled sheepishly, looking at you and your panties, meandering to the edge of the bed, “if you need me that badly...” in a matter of minutes, the clothes he wore were on the floor.

𑄹nagi. It had been hours since he’d been lying on the couch, eyes glued to his phone screen, fingers moving nimbly and the sounds of gunfire coming out of the phone. It was inevitable to miss your boyfriend after so long apart, but he paid no attention to you. “Nagi, I need you...” The answer was a humming, and you snorted, annoyed. Extreme situations require extreme measures. You removed your blouse and threw it in his face. “But- What was-” the question died in his throat as he looked at you. His eyes alternating between the screen of the phone and you standing with your arms akimbo, showing your breasts. “I need you, Nagi Seishiro.” He knew he was serious because of the full name. Nagi looked again at the phone screen and, to your luck and his misfortune, he lost the game. He sighed, putting his phone aside, “I lost... could you comfort me?” he tapped his thighs as you reached over and sat on his thick thighs.

𑄹reo. You had the night all planned, but your boyfriend had other plans, or rather, his family had other plans. “But, Reo, I need you.” he held your face, kissing your forehead. “I really need to go, love.” You stared at him, arms crossed below your chests, “I promise to come back soon,” he turned around, putting on his shoes. “Are you sure you want to go?” you removed your robe, showing that you were wearing his favorite nightgown, which also meant that the night would be long. He swallowed dryly, his eyes glued to you, until he grunted, removing his shoes and pushing you around the house. “They can wait for another day,” he said against your neck and you smiled victoriously, guiding him into the bedroom.

𑄹rin. He was busy on the phone, probably someone from work or family, but you didn’t care, your needs came first. You cleared your throat, drawing his attention, who raised his eyes to you, stopping speaking immediately, mouth open and eyes wide. You bit the smile and made a slow turn, showing that you were wearing the lingerie he had chosen, and whispered a ‘I need you now’ and pointed with your head to the bedroom, just leaving the room. He followed you with his gaze, still quiet, the person on the other end asking if he was okay, “a matter came up and I need to resolve urgently,” he hung up, tossing his phone aside and heading into the bedroom, finding you sitting on the bed, legs crossed and a sly smile on your face.

𑄹otoya. When he wasn’t busy with football, he was busy with his hobby—music production. You nudged his shoulder three times before he pulled the headset away and looked at you. “I need you”. He pointed to the computer screen, saying, “I’m still busy,” “No. You didn’t get it.” you turned the chair to you, showing that you were wearing his jersey and tiny panties. “I need you.” His eyes sparkled as he took off his phone, soon pulling you into his lap. “That sounds urgent, sweetie.”

[amuseoffyre]

I know I’ve babbled about Buttons being Scottish before, but I really still get very excited about it for several reasons, not least because it’s one of the few pieces of American-made media where there isn’t a joke about someone not being able to understand his accent and where he doesn’t have to tone it down.

A few examples of it include:

aye

they wee black dots look a bit spanish tae me, what dae ye think?

I thought he was deid

I’m no sayin he is and I’m no sayin he isnae

can ye no haue a bit o respect?

ye glaikit foppin twat

His specific dialect is from around the north east of Edinburgh on the coast, somewhere around Leith or Portobello. Leith was one of the big Edinburgh ports and Portie was a smugglers haven in the 18th century, so do what you will with that in relation to Buttons’ background :D (Yes, that’s because that’s where Ewen spent his younger days, but I like the idea of Buttons as a smuggler using his gull pals as lookouts :D)

It’s also very specifically a working-class accent, which very seldom makes it into international media. Edinburgh’s middle/upper class accent is very very different - think along the lines of The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie or listen to old videos of Arthur Conan Doyle talking.

Can you tell how much I like writing a character who sounds like the people from my region? :D

[missmeinyourbones]

What do you think about AOT characters and valentines day? Like what would they do for you

fun fact: i dont really like valentines day :/ lmfao i think its so overhyped and its just another capitalism driven day where youre forced to buy chocolates and flowers for your s/o when you should be doing that normally 🤨 on a lighter note i guess it is a nice excuse to spoil ur s/o and make them feel special :) so here are some thoughts on what they would do for you

eren is dicking you down all day LMFAOOO and he’s so annoying about it too. you wake up and he does that stupid little thing where he’s like “hmmmmm is today a special day??? any particular reason i love you extra today???” please hes so irritating. probably gets you a promise ring or something and when ur like aw baby this is so nice!!!! he’s like “...nice enough to give me head? 😀” LOL

armin is the CUTEST. wakes you up with breakfast in bed w all of your favorites. has a whole itinerary planned with museum visits and coffee stops and walks through the park. he probably gives you a bunch of little gifts throughout the day but definitely makes you something handmade  <3 his card leaves you ugly sobbing and he’s kinda scared

mikasa stays in with you all day. like refuses to leave your side. you guys cuddle all morning and watch ur favorite movies and order in takeout. i think she just loves spending quality time with her s/o and uses this day as an excuse to be stuck to your hip. gets you the most THOUGHTFUL GIFT. it could be something you were looking at in passing or something you mentioned you needed once and she gets you the best most expensive full out version of it :(

jean is a simple man, so he buys you your favorite flowers and chocolate/candy and shows up at your door like he’s in a romcom. in a suit and all. ur probably like “baby i thought we agreed not to do anything crazy” and he’s like oh you think this is crazy???? you made me tone it down :/ he just loves to spoil his s/o so this is kinda just another regular day for him. buys you an anklet with a J on it bc he’s a freak

connie is so proud of himself. king makes a scavenger hunt!!!!! :) :) he comes up with all of these cute little personalized clues that send you all around town like where you had your first date, your guys’ favorite fast food place, the park that he slipped on ice at and ate complete shit in front of you :) its so fun and exciting and it ends with u meeting him at a cute little ice rink for iceskating and drinking hot chocolate :) he’s sweet when he tries

sasha has a vacation booked in advance for you guys :((((( she makes sure you take a few days off of work and rents out a little cabin by the lake or by a cute beach town where you guys can try all of these new restaurants and play boardwalk arcade games :(((( she’s really nervous for absolutely no reason :(((( im in love with her :(((

levi makes you a homemade meal because he’s a fuckin snob. he’s all why would i take you out somewhere just for it to be crowded with couples and eat shitty food when i could do it myself and guarantee you like it??? probably sets the table and puts a candle in the middle like he sees in the movies lmfao. he loves you a lot and doesn’t say it often, so he uses this day as an excuse to be a little more open with his love

reiner makes a reservation at an extremely expensive and boujee restaurant bc he wants to impress you and “treat his baby to the finest dining around!” gets so incredibly disappointed when he realizes that they lost his reservation. tries to politely reassure the hostess that he’s sure he called ahead!!!! check under his last name maybe??? once you convince him it’s fine really it’s no big deal babe you guys get fast food or something and eat it on the hood of his car in a parking lot LMFAO it’s the thought that counts babes <3

porco makes you hair and nail appointments and forces you to go to them with his credit card LMFAO you offer to pay and he gets all serious like. dont ever venmo me money ever again😐 probably takes you out whenever you wanna go and doesn’t care how long you might have to wait. makes a joke about proposing that you don’t find funny 😒

thank you for requesting this! p.s. if you dont have a valentine and ur reading this, ur my valentine now. i dont make the rules. dinner is on me tonight baby what do u want 

[pullhisteeth]

knight in a navy blue boiler suit, ii | eddie munson x reader

part 1 | part 2

summary Eddie fixes your car and sweeps you away in the process. [3.4k]

contains pure fucking fluff. that's literally it. (use of y/n, fem!reader, mechanic!eddie)

-

It’s Thursday evening when the phone rings.

You’re alone, again. Since you graduated, the frequency of your parents’ jaunts across the United States have increased, so you’re often left behind to watch the house.

You’re spread lazily over the couch, legs hanging off the arm, book held up over your head. It’s a cheap fantasy romance you found in your mom’s room, about a knight and a princess. It’s alright so far.

The shrill ring makes you jump. You swing your legs around and stand a little too quick so the blood rushes from your head and you go woozy for a second and move too quickly across the room to the kitchen where the phone hangs on the wall. You seize the receiver so enthusiastically you damn near knock yourself out with it.

“Hello?”

“Hey, y/n?” His voice is low, tired again, and all crackly down the line. You feel silly for having missed it.

“Yeah, hi, Eddie.”

“Hey,” he says again, his smile very obvious in the way the word forms in his mouth. He hopes you can’t hear it.

You can.

There’s a beat of funny silence while you bite your lip and bounce on your tiptoes, willing the nerves away through movement.

“So, uh, you wanna bring your car round tomorrow?” He sounds nervous, you think. “Got the day off.”

“Oh, I don’t wanna waste your day o-“

“I offered, y/n,” he laughs. “You just gotta bring ‘er over.” There’s that smile again. You wonder if you’re making it up in your head or if he really is grinning this hard on the other end.

“Yeah, okay,” you say softly. “Whereabouts are ya?”

“Forest Hills, you know it?”

“Yeah, sure, ‘s’only a couple minutes from me.”

“Sweet, I’ll see you tomorrow mornin’, yeah?”

“See you, Eddie.”

This time it’s you who cuts the line, suddenly too giddy, overcome with restlessness because you’ve been thinking about seeing him again since he saw you off on Monday evening, which makes you feel a little ridiculous considering you’ve spoken to him for all of five minutes in total.

There’s just something about him that’s lingered, tainting every thought like a stubborn smoke that won’t wash out. You think about the rings, silver and sparkling under the streetlamp. You think about his fingers, the way they gripped the door of your car and flexed when he’d called you sugar. You think about his voice crackling down the phone and the midwestern lilt he gives your name.

It's the first time you’ve felt like this since high school. Crushes are few and far between when you’re in your early twenties and stuck in your hometown, so you’re far from upset when you go to bed filled with butterflies and trying hopelessly to think of anything else.

-

Forest Hills really is only about three minutes from your door. You live in a suburb that sits wedged between the trailer park and the big fancy houses, like the one your friends Nancy and Steve live in. Your own home is somewhere in the middle, modest but good enough for you and your parents. It’s attached to another house on one side, wherein you spent a lot of your teenage years hanging out with your neighbour Robin.

It's another cold morning and it takes you three miserable goes to get your car to start. You sit in the driver’s seat with your scarf round the bottom half of your face and will it into action, until it you finally feel that familiar rumble and it ticks into life.

You drive it slowly, to prevent any potential crises, around the bend and down the dirt track into the park. You realise you’re not sure which trailer is Eddie’s, but you don’t worry long because you turn a corner to find him perched on the step outside of a particularly rough looking one. He’s not in his lovely blue boiler suit, obviously, because it’s his uniform, but you still kind of wish he was wearing it anyway. Instead, he’s in untidy jeans and sneakers, and he’s got a thick brown working jacket buttoned all the way to the top.

He lifts his head to look when he hears a car coming down the track. You swear that, even from your distance, you see him smile when he recognises it.

He pushes himself up to standing as you put the car in park. He hops down the last two steps and before you can open the door yourself, he’s swung it round and is holding a hand out like some kind of valet.

“Morning, sugar,” he drawls, and there’s that pretty midwestern lilt again. You wonder why he sounds like he’s from somewhere other than Hawkins.

Rolling your eyes playfully, you return a, “morning, Eddie,” and take his hand. He pulls you out of the seat so quickly it steals the air from your lungs, and he laughs softly at the wide-eyed look on your face.

He’s more confident in person than over the phone. Maybe it’s because you can see his face, but you swear he makes you far more nervous like this. It might be that you feel his gaze on you, can see how his eyes linger on your face and drag slowly, hesitantly, down your body; might be the way his hands feel like flames on your skin; might be the way you become tongue-tied when he’s looking at you. You like how it feels, though.

He slams the door shut and the sound breaks you out of your trance. He spins to look at you and says, “gonna take a look at her engine, you can hang out in there if you want.” He nods to the trailer, and you stuff your cold hands in your pocket and say, “yeah, sure.”

You follow him happily up the stairs and into the trailer when he shoves the door open. It’s a humble room, both a living room and a little kitchen in the single space, and along the top of the wall there are hundreds of baseball caps and souvenir mugs. There are pictures in the small spaces on the walls, of a small boy and an older man and one, you notice briefly, of the boy with what looks like his parents.

Eddie’s in the kitchen, where he says in a loud voice, “want anything to drink?”

“Uh, yeah, tea if you’ve got it,” you respond.

“Comin’ right up,” he says, quieter this time.

You toe off your sneakers and hang your coat and scarf on an empty hook by the door. By the time you’re on the couch he’s coming over to you with a steaming mug.

“I’m gonna go take a look, make yourself at home,” he tells you as he puts it on the table by the wall. You look up at him and smile.

“Thanks, Eddie.”

He’s outside for maybe twenty minutes. You switch on the television and curl up, landing on a channel playing a crappy Halloween movie you watched as a kid, so you’re content to let your eyes dance around the room. You take in the pictures and the armchair on your left. There’s one man who appears in a number of the photographs, older than your own parents but clearly an important person in Eddie’s life. And there’s Eddie himself of course – at least, you assume the kid in the photos is him – with his wild curly hair that disappears into a buzzcut when he gets to his early teens. You stand to follow them around the room and find that some of them match the caps along the wall, which each have a different city or baseball team on them. There’s a cap for Yosemite and a photograph of the two of them there; another for San Fracisco and a photo of them at the Golden Gate Bridge. Most of the pictures of them are in California. You wonder why.

The door opens behind you and you spin, feeling like a kid who’s been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. You feel yourself flush as Eddie comes in, shrugging his jacket off. He looks at you, at where you’re standing stiff and awkward in the corner of the room, and his brows quirk.

“What you getting’ up to in here?” he asks, no trace of a scolding tone.

You bounce on tiptoes a moment before answering.

“Sorry, I, uh… I was lookin’ at the pictures.”

He’s still for a beat and you expect him to be weirded out, concerned that you, a stranger, were so interested in his family photos, but you smile back at him when he beams at you.

“Wayne has lots of traditions, as you can see.” He gestures to the hats and the shelf of mugs, and you follow his hand to look up at them.

“You guys’ve been all over,” you say, more to yourself than to him.

“Mm-hmm,” Eddie responds. His inflection tells you there’s more to it than he wants to say, so you don’t push.

“Your car should be good,” he says instead. “Somethin’ up in the engine but it seems alright now.”

He’s walking over to you. Now his jacket’s off you can see he’s wearing a black sweatshirt and there’s one of those tattoos peaking up over the neckline.

“Oh, thanks,” you murmur.

He reaches you swiftly and holds your shoulders with both of his hands to move you around. He bends slight behind you, so his face is right by your ear, and points to one of the pictures.

It’s black and white and fuzzy, hung above the TV in a deep wooden frame. It’s of Eddie, as a teenager, and Wayne, stood together outside a diner.

“This one,” he says, and his voice makes you shiver. It’s low, gruff, and right in your ear. “- is in Chicago. Wayne’s mate has a diner there, best burger I’ve ever had.” You can’t see his face, it’s just out of your peripheral, but you can hear the creeping smile in his voice.

“How old were you?” you ask, voice low too.

“Sixteen,” he says with a huffed-out laugh that you feel in hot waves down the side of your face. “And this one, this one’s my favourite.”

He moves his pointer finger to one nearer the door. It’s in colour, of a very young Eddie in a silly Dracula costume for what must be Halloween. Wayne’s stood behind him, twice his height, and it looks like someone’s stuck an axe in his head.

“I was eight here,” he says. “My first Halloween.”

You turn to look at him when he says this.

“Your first?”

His face is inches from yours, if that. So close your eyes can barely focus.

“Yup, my first.”

Again, you don’t press for more information. You can tell there’s a lot going on in his head, and a lot that has happened in his life. You also know that sometimes, you can be a little naïve to other people’s family problems because you come from one that has been fairly smooth-sailing thus far. So you divert the conversation.

“What’re you doing this year?”

He looks you in the eye and the contact raises the hairs on your arms. His eyes are deep and wide and brown and-

“What?”

His face has morphed into a confused expression, but his voice is still low and he’s still so close.

“What are you doing for Halloween this year?” you ask again.

“Uh, nothing, I guess.” You can feel his breath on your cheeks. His hand is still on your shoulder. His fingers are creeping upwards, settling at the base of your neck. He squeezes. You think you might pass out.

“Wanna come to a party?”

You have no clue where this confidence has come from. He makes you nervous, and he’s a complete stranger, but part of you never wants to leave this room if it means you get to stay here with him. His stupidly gorgeous face is looking at you all warm and for a moment you swear he’s about to laugh at you.

“You’re inviting me to a Halloween party?” He stands back a little and drops his hand from you, which only makes you more certain he thinks you’re incredibly weird.

“Uh, yeah, but you don’t have to say yes. In fact, I shouldn’t have asked, I’m sorry, I-“

“I’d love to,” he says. You bring your eyes back to him to find him smiling at you again. Your knees buckle ever so slightly.

So you smile back, again, and bounce on the balls of your feet, again.

It’s very warm in the room. Maybe it’s the space heater; maybe it’s your proximity to Eddie.

He’s not as close as he was but he’s still close enough that you have to look up slightly to see him properly, and you can smell his aftershave and the underlying twang of pot.

“Sweet,” you say in a whisper. “And thanks for fixing my car.”

“No worries, sugar,” he says through a smile. “Just don’t take it to John’s again if it breaks, okay?” His hand is back on your shoulder. “They’re assholes-“ It’s trailing down your arm, tracing the seam of your sweater. “- who don’t know a pretty girl when they see one.” His fingers are dancing around your wrist, nails toying with the loose hairband that lives there. “They’re too mean for you.”

You are sick of this tension, sick of the slow-burn touches, so you lift your arm to find his fingers with your own. You lace them together and look down at where they hang between you.

He pulls them up and, while still gripping your hands, grazes his knuckles over your cheek. You’re flushed to high hell, burning up under his touch, hoping he doesn’t find it strange.

“What do I owe you?” you ask, trying desperately to ignore how your eyes can’t focus on his, how they keep moving down to his lips.

“Oh,” he sings. “Nothin’, unless you wanna give me a kiss.”

You bounce on your toes and lift yourself up to close the gap. As you do he lets go of your hand and plants his own on the side of your face, the other finding a home on your waist, while you bring your arms up to find purchase in the fabric on his back.

Eddie tastes like pot and smoke. There’s mint, too, and you’re sure there’s a hint of cherry – chapstick? – but whatever this concoction is, it’s intoxicating. You can’t get enough, preferring it to oxygen, lips harsh against his. He’s soft and warm and inviting and pulling you in like you’re slipping away.

The kiss is over quickly, but as you lower yourself back to standing he bends to follow you, pecking swift, sweet kisses around your mouth and another on your lips, which you keen into without warning. His hand on your waist snakes around your back and pulls you in so he can keep kissing you, before you push at his chest softly to take a breath.

“Eddie, seriously, I have to pay you, I-“

He cuts you off with more kisses and takes your open mouth as an opportunity to move his tongue against yours. You don’t protest, letting yourself enjoy being wrapped up in him for a while.

When he pulls back, he says, “I’m serious, you don’t owe me anything.”

“But-“

“Nuh-uh,” he coos, hand over your mouth. Your eyes go wide and when you whimper involuntarily, he gives you a look you can’t decipher.

“So,” he growls, bringing his face even closer and keeping his hand firm over you, but his honeyed smile gives him away. “You gonna stop asking me to let you pay?”

You nod enthusiastically under him, and he releases his hand only to find yours with it and lace your fingers together.

Suddenly he’s coy, all shy and quiet.

“I’ll give you a call, yeah?”

You only hum in response, so he pulls you towards the door. You let go of him to put your sneakers back on and grab your jacket and scarf, and as he jerks open the door, you lift yourself to kiss him on the cheek.

“Thank you, Eddie.”

“No worries, sugar.”

You leave him stood in the doorway, where he watches you get into your car and wave at him from behind the wheel. He waves back, a little dorky, and it makes you giggle.

-

“Hey, sugar.”

Eddie’s at your front door. He had called you the evening after you’d left his, and then every evening after that too. Steve’s Halloween party was still a plan he was willing to commit to, which set off an addictive fluttering inside your chest, and so now here he is. You won't yet admit to him how desperately you missed him, how badly you wanted to see him, and you don't know that he feels exactly the same.

“Nice cape,” you say, grinning.

He’s got a cheap vampire cape on, tied around the collar of his white shirt, and a pair of smart trousers that look exceptional on him. His hair’s tied back loosely again and he’s dripped red face paint around his mouth.

“Thanks. Nice hat.”

You’re dressed as a witch. You’ve got a silly black hat on and stripey tights, and you know you look good.

You chuckle and say, “thanks. Looks like we’re both as inventive as each other.”

You step aside and let him in.

“I’ll be one second, need to put my boots on and they take forever to tie up. You want anything?”

“I’m alright, I brought beers for the party though.”

“Steve will adore you,” you laugh as you ascend the stairs.

He drops the box by the door and follows you up, which you weren’t expecting but you don’t protest. You let him into your room and find your boots, sitting on the edge of your bed to put them on. Eddie noses around the room, reading posters and looking at the photos you have pinned on your wall.

“That’s them,” you tell him as he stares at a picture of you with Steve, Robin, Nancy and Jonathan.

“Who?”

“My friends. Steve, the one at the back, he’s the one having the party.”

“I recognise them from school,” he says, his voice wavering like he’s trying to remember something.

“You went to Hawkins High?”

“Indeed I did. For two extra years, in fact.”

“I never saw you,” you breathe.

You see him flush, a pink dapple creeping up his neck as he stands upright and scratches the back of his neck.

“What?” you ask.

“I, uh, I knew you. Well, I mean, I saw you around.”

“Really?”

“You’re hard to miss,” he laughs.

You’re not sure what he means. You’re not the most striking person, as far as you’re aware.

You decide you’ll come back to this later, not wanting to get into it before you leave, so you pull your laces tight and stand and twirl.

“What d’you think?”

Mid-spin, you feel his arms lock around your waist. You hadn’t heard him step closer to you, but here he is, keeping you still and looking down at you with those gorgeous brown eyes.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, y/n.”

You crumble in his arms, completely unable to respond. He kisses you on the cheek and then on your temple, across your brows and down your nose, before landing a firm and happy kiss on your lips. He tilts you back slightly, and if the bed weren’t right behind you, you could kick one of your feet up to complete the drama. But you just melt into him and kiss him back, and thank any deity who’ll listen for busting your engine and sending you into that ghastly car garage.

You push him back slightly and say, “we should get going,” but he won’t stop kissing you again.

“Seriously, Eddie,” you say through giggles as he pecks stars across your entire face. You wriggle out of his arms and, taking his hand, pull him firmly out of your bedroom and down the stairs. He grabs the crate of beer and leads you to his van, and when you get to the party you introduce him to the gang as your knight in shining armour, who saved you from the bad guys and fixed your steed, and promptly swept you off your feet.

-

[booksrbetterthanpeople]

A little something for the Monster High au, because… True Monster High is honestly a bop for me

@imsparky2002 @msweebyness

“Hey, guys,” Nathaniel greets as his wings take him over to his class’ usual lunch table. Ivan and Alix make room for him so he can stretch them out a bit after his guard shift. “Did I miss anything?”

Kim answers, chucks of his steak flying out of his mouth and onto his tray. “Nah, you’re just in time. Looks like Jean’s got a performance planned.” Alix gives him a swift slap to the arm, reminding him not to talk with his mouthful. “He’s been hinting that he got inspired by a history lesson from like… A week ago?”

Nino gives a low, impressed whistle. “Damn, he writes fast.”

Rose’s bones begin to rattle with excitement. “Well, I can’t wait to watch! Do you think he has someone singing in his place, or he’s using a recording?”

Quickly swatting away one of the flies buzzing around her, Sabrina groans and gets a few nods from around the table.

“Yeah, I do like hearing his voice,” Marinette agrees. “Well, fingers crossed.” She struggles a bit to cross her felt fingers. When Nino tries to help her, she swats his hand away. “I got it, hold on…” Eventually, she gets it. “Fingers crossed.” Alya gives a fond roll of her eyes and tussles her yarn hair. “Oh! It looks like it starting!”

The lights in the cafeteria dim a bit, the only source of light coming from Aurore’s hand, scenting as sort of a spotlight for the young phantom who stands in the middle of the room as a soft guitar melody plays from somewhere, followed by Jean’s disembodied voice.

Jean: Have you ever heard the story

Of dear old Mr. Hyde?

Half human and half monster

Whom everyone despised

Alya gasps and quickly whips out her phone.

Many of the students were becoming interested and were literally on the edge of their seats. The story of Jekyll and Hyde was the most famous story in monster history, of course, they were interested.

Jean: It's a cautionary tale

That should never be forgotten

Jean walks through the cafeteria, which turns into more of a glide thanks to his phantom powers

Jean: His secret was his undoing

Then things turned out really rotten

He gets up on top of a table and strikes a pose before flipping his hair and turning to the crowd with a smirk

Jean: Gimme a beat!

While there was a rhythmic drumming coming from wherever the music was playing, the students added on by hitting their lunch trays against the table or tapping their feet/talons/hooves against the floor

Jean: Mr. Hyde, he tried and tried

To fit in with his kind

Monsters hated human Jekyll

And humans hated the monster Hyde

Could you imagine being both and neither at the same time?

Mr. Hyde, he was truly cursed

'Cause we know monsters are the best, yeah

“Hell yeah!” Cosette cheered.

Jean: And humans are the worst, bleh

Jean stuck out his tongue on cue with the lyrics

Jean: Humans are the scariest, smelliest and hairiest

They're all a bunch of creepy freaks

In time with the beat, the students and even some teachers clap.

Jean: We're the coolest of the cool

We all know that monsters rule

Clap along if you agree!

The students all clap.

Jean: Don't be afraid to show your tru-u-u-u-ue monster heart

Don't be afraid to show your tru-u-u-u-ue monster heart

At this point, a few of the students, specifically the couples have gotten up to dance around the phantom in what almost looks like a choreographed routine

Jean: Okay okay okay yeah

Go ahead and let it out

You know it's time to shout

Do what us monsters do and show your tru-u-u-u-ue

Show your tru-u-u-u-ue monster heart

M O N S T E R, hey

Show them who you really are

H U M A N S, hey

A few students on the fearleading squad spell out the letters with their severed limbs and serve as sort of back up dancers for Jean when the couples take their seats for a moment

Jean: Humans are the worst and we're the best!

Mr. Hyde was put on trial

His crime, hiding the truth

No one would believe him

'Cause his heart was half untrue

Jean approaches his boyfriend and taps where his heart would be. The young reaper plays along and pretends to look aghast before the two share a quick kiss

Jean: Rules are rules and when monsters chose

To enforce the rules it got gruesome

No one ever had his back

Hyde was shunned, that's a fact

They were scared 'cause he was half human, ugh

Chloé gags in time with the lyrics and smiles a bit when she sees Sabrina dancing in her seat.

Jean: Humans are unbearable, altogether terrible!

Chloé: Just a bunch of freaky creeps!

Zoé looks almost shocked when she heard Chloé sing along, but still claps.

Jean: Humans smell like dirty socks

Denise: We all know that monsters rock.

Simon looks at his partner with fondness in his eye at the sound of their singing voice.

Marc: Clap along if you agree.

With that line, Marc crossed one leg over the other and clapped all four of his hands to the beat.

Jean: Don't be afraid to show your tru-u-u-u-ue monster heart

Don't be afraid to show your tru-u-u-u-ue monster heart

Okay okay okay yeah

True to his love for the Rockabilly genre, Jean does a knee slide, eliciting an uproar of cheers from everyone in the room and got a few students to throw up the goats

Jean: Go ahead and let it out

You know it's time to shout

Do what us monsters do and show your tru-u-u-u-ue

Show your tru-u-u-u-ue monster heart

M O N S T E R, I say

Show them who you really are, let's go

H U M A N S, ugh

Humans are the worst and we're the best

Jean finishes his performance with a pose in the middle of the room as the students and teachers clap and cheer for the phantom. He gives a bow and preens off the praise.

“Thank you!” They finally speak. “Thank you! As usual, it is a pleasure performing for you all!” With a quick flip of their hair, Jean sits at their table where they’re met with congratulatory pats on the back.

“Bonito!” Denise gives Jean a strong pat on the back, almost making him fall out of his seat. “It was so worth the wait.”

“Warn me before you come at me with that masterpiece!” Ismael exclaims and curls up by Jean to purr against him. “In all seriousness, that was a total bop. Give me a copy of that, will ya?”

Jean smiles and gives Ismael a scratch behind the ears. “Of course, Ismael.”

“That was by far the greatest performance I have ever seen!” Her eyes turn a bright yellow to match her current emotions. “An excellent retelling of Hyde and the Doctor. Though, it does make me wonder what happened to him.”

Cosette points to the extraterrestrial. “Oh, now that’s a mystery. No one knows where he went, but anywhere he goes, he’s not gonna be accepted.”

“It is the sad life of a monster-human hybrid,” Reshma chirps. “Humans fear him, monsters hate him. He cannot win.”

Out of the corner of their eye, Denise catches Simon staring at something from across the room. “Everything alright, amour?” The students all look at what has Simon’s attention and find a strange blur going past the window.”

Marc squints his eyes. “Am I the only one who saw that?”

“Definitely not,” Zoé answers.

“Maybe it’s one of the shadow imps,” Mireille figures, and their friends all shrug and take that as the answer.

Outside, a hooded figure sprints away from the school, thankfully going unnoticed as the gargoyles were all on break. Feeling his hood starting to fall, he pulls it back over his head to cover his blonde locks and continue his sprint.

‘Well,’ he thinks in between pants. ‘They’re definitely not going to like having a human at their school next month.’

[up-in-flames-writing]

The Doctor becomes The Patient (1)

"Why are we doing this, though?"

"Well, it's good for your health."

"I'm immortal."

"It's good for my health, then."

"But this is so boriiiiiiing." Aziphem whined, dragging his feet up the loose stones of the hiking track, his arms swinging like pendulums at his sides. His black eyes were squinting despite the fact that the early afternoon sun didn't bother him.

"It's meant to be relaxing," Warren explained with a hum as Aziphem hissed at him noncommittally, "Not everything can, or even should, be adrenaline inducing."

Aziphem whined again, "It doesn't have to be adrenaline inducing to not be boring!" Warren was laughing from his right side, swinging around his two walking sticks. They had molded grips at the top, & were slightly sharp at the bottom for good leverage, but no matter how many times Warren had told him that they were a safety measure, Aziphem always called them his 'granny sticks'.

"Well," Warren started, huffing a little, his face growing the slightest bit red with the exertion, "'Fun' & 'boring' are subjective terms. I don't consider hunting fun but I don't stop you & Jonah from enjoying it." Aziphem was climbing the mountain at a leisurely pace. He didn't know if his demon feet were making it easier for him to climb, compared to Warren & his rather useless human feet. He didn't really care either.

"Then why did you bring me here? My 'subjective' opinion is that this is boring as shit & I'd rather be doing anything else." Warren turned to face him, the look on his face making Aziphem think smoke would start spouting out of his ears. He was doing that adorable little pout he did when he was fed up with something (that something most of the time being a hurt, uncooperative Aziphem), & his eyes were crinkling at the edges where he was squinting at the demon.

"I wanted to spend time with you, you thick skulled plebeian." He hissed out through clenched teeth, panting still. They weren't moving currently, yet Warren's cheeks were only getting more red.

Aziphem felt his eyes widen against his wishes, his mouth falling agape in a little 'o'. He cursed himself for letting this adorable human surprise him with such a stupid, silly thing.

"Could have been something else than hiking." He replied gruffly, trying to compose himself, trying to make his face expressionless. Warren's response was quite warranted (hehe, WARRENted. No, Aziphem, focus), a groan, followed by an angry yell, followed by him tossing down one of his hiking sticks, followed by..."Warren, no!" Aziphem launched himself forward, bodily slamming into Warren who, already losing his balance, went careening down the section of incline it had taken them the past hour to climb. Aziphem dug his claws into the silt & gravel they had walked up, sliding on his stomach down the path Warren had chosen, while the man himself was tumbling down, his body turning heels over head, throwing up clouds of dust & silt. He hit the bottom of the hill with a crunch that had Aziphem closing his eyes. His middle eye, forever open, was still trained on Warren's body, who was trying to prop himself up on his elbows. His face was covered in a layer of dirt that wasn't there moments before, & a thin stream of blood trickled slowly from his hairline. The strands of curly, brown hair were covered in a layer of pale dust, & his clothing was ripped & bloodied in certain sections. The biggest rip was on his left leg, where a shard of bone had cut through his jeans, peaking out from both the skin & the trousers, mocking Aziphem with the red gleam of blood upon it.

"Warren, Warren!" Aziphem yelled, picking himself up & throwing himself down the last stretch of the hill, landing squarely beside Warren. The doctor was still trying to prop himself up, looking up at Aziphem with a blurry look. His eyes were looking somewhere over his right shoulder, his lips were trembling ever so slightly, & when he tried to say something, nothing but a cough came out.

"Warren, I'm sorry, I tried to catch you." Stupid fucking human, stupid fucking hike. Aziphem knelt beside him, reaching his hands out to him. Warren didn't flinch away, yet Aziphem couldn't reach out further, tears blurring his own vision. It was so easy up there, in the heat of the moment, to touch the human. And what good did it do, when Warren still got hurt? Touching him could just make it all worse, & Aziphem felt the skin crawl up the back of his neck at the idea of touching Warren, manhandling him, having to carry him back home.

"Aziphem, water. The pack, water." Warren choked out, snapping Aziphem out of his reverie. The demon jumped up with more energy than necessary, diving at the backpack that had fallen off Warren's back in the fall. One of the straps was completely snapped, & the collection of muesli bars they had brought for the journey were all squished. The canteen, however, was in perfect condition, & Aziphem ripped it out of the side pocket it was nestled within. Warren was still coughing when the lip of the canteen touched his lips, but this wasn't physical contact, this wasn't skin-on-skin, Aziphem could help him with that.

"I tried catching you." He mumbled out feeble, once Warren had stopped choking & coughing & drinking. He had turned himself onto his back without Aziphem's help, and in this position his leg looked so much worse. The blood had fully soaked the bottom of his jeans, the leg was bent out of shape so much that it looked like one of those impossible object paintings. The worst, by far, was the sliver of ivory white bone, a solid inch of it, sticking out from the middle of his lower leg, a few centimeters beneath Warren's knee. Warren, completely unfazed, looked the leg over with the critical eye of a doctor. He had probably seen much worse, Aziphem had to remind himself. Humans were simultaneously weak & fragile, & excellent at surviving crazy shit that even the angels wouldn't be able to come up with.

"You need to set it."

"Fuck off!" Aziphem gnashed his teeth, already moving away from the stench of blood that was only worsening, & not airing out. Warren looked at him with that pissed off pout again, reaching over to the pack Aziphem had brought back down the hill. He didn't know what he was expecting Warren to do. Maybe he expected to be cussed out, pelted with the pack or the supplies inside of it. Yet the moment the pack was resting against Warren's thigh, the man had burst into tears. Full on wet sobs, with matching choking breaths, his entire face growing red from his neck to the edge of his hairline.

"Warren, Warren, no, please, stop that." It wasn't going to work, whatever this was. And yet... Aziphem inched closer. Warren wasn't manipulative, & his leg did look fucked up beyond belief.

"I'm sorry," He began choking out when Aziphem came back into his peripheral vision, "It just... it hurts. So bad. I...I haven't... haven't broken a bone since I... I was 5, maybe 6?" Of course, having seen fucked up shit doesn't mean someone was ready to experience fucked up shit. The doctor's... Warren's body was shaking, & his sobs sounded almost hysterical, every move of his leg sending a spasm through his entire being. It made him seem so small in that moment, completely unlike the stoic, well-prepared doctor that always dealt with Aziphem & his bullshit. It reminded Aziphem of how fragile his human truly was, & that made something warm & uncomfortable wash over his demonic heart. He knew what this sort of pain was like, the sort that you couldn't escape no matter what, that no one was willing to help him with, so overpowering that his well-crafted facade dropped.

Aziphem dropped to his knees beside Warren, "Hush. Tell me what to do." A spasm rippled through Warren again, his choking breaths quietening a bit as he looked over at Aziphem.

"Just... just set the bone. A," He swallowed thickly, choking back another sob, "We need a splint. Then... then, I can walk home."

"You can't walk like this! I'll carry you." He almost hit himself for that.

"Later," There was a smile on Warren's face, frail & meek, but nonetheless a smile, "If we don't set it, it could... could get worse."

"Alright. Then tell me what to do."

~~==~~==~~==~~==

This is a short lil thing I wrote for @demondamage, based on his amazing OCs, Aziphem & Warren (I actually helped name that second one :D). This got a bit longer than I was expecting it too, so I decided to split it into three parts, the other two parts will come out in the upcoming weeks.

Enjoy folks.

(This isn't going on my website cause these characters aren't mine & this is a gift)

[dilemmaontwolegs]

request for soa? if you like! taking your car to get fixed the ship the club had and meeting the very charming jax and oh where does it lead :O

Thank you Selene, I hope you enjoy this darlin'!

Charming Town

Jax Teller x fem!reader

Summary: Chance or fate? Your road trip takes a turn in a little town called Charming when car troubles stop you leaving. Warnings: 18+ only, canon-typical violence, Gemma (she is a warning hehe) WC: 1962

Silence. Not in the good sense either. You turned the key again and there it was, the painful sound of nothing. You dropped your head to the steering wheel with a frustrated sigh and jumped when it pressed against the horn. Getting out, you took your frustrations out of the door with a slam that actually rocked the entire car.

“Woah, darlin’, what’d it ever do to you?”

You spun around to find a stranger with the bluest eyes you had ever seen and for a second you couldn’t articulate your words as you lost yourself in them. It was only once you saw the kutte he wore and the V. President patch that you inhaled a deep breath and pointed to your car.

“The piece of shit won’t start.” You said, foot itching to kick the tyre. He nodded and pulled a box of cigarettes from his baggy jeans, offering you one as he stuck the butt between his lips. “No thanks.”

After taking a moment to inhale a lungful of smoke he reached into your open window and pulled the tab to release the hood. You followed him curiously as he lifted the hood and leant over the engine, his shirt and kutte riding up and baring the ripped muscles across his abs. His eyes flicked to yours, catching you as you respectfully eyed his body, so you cleared your throat and tried to look anywhere but there, missing the returning heated stare he gave as he checked you out.

“Do you know something about cars?” You asked as he began to look into different crevices.

“Something like that.” He smirked as he crushed the smoke into the ground and closed the hood. “I’d say your starter motor isn’t getting power. I can give you a lift to the best garage in Charming, if you want.”

You looked at the car and sighed, you definitely needed it fixed if you were going to continue on your road trip along the west coast and find somewhere to plant your roots. “That would be great thanks.”

“I’m Jax Teller.”

You took his offered hand with a smile and shook it, surprised by the calluses that toughened his palm. “Y/n y/l/n.”

“You ever ridden before, darlin’?” He asked as he jutted his chin to the lineup of motorbikes across the road.

“Something like that.” You copied his coyness from earlier and his head tipped forward with a laugh that displaced his golden blonde hair over his face.

You kicked your leg over the Harley and wrapped your arms around Jax as the engine roared to life. The other members looked at you curiously, and one with eyes even bluer than Jax’s looked at you like something to eat, but you ignored them and just tucked your feet up on the pegs before he pulled out.

“I just gotta make a quick stop first.” He yelled over the roar of the engine and you nodded against his shoulder, it was kind of too late to get off even if you wanted to, which you found you didn’t.

The wind whipped your face as he sped off down the street and you tucked your face in the shelter of his back, taking in the intricate detail of the reaper that adorned his leather. You had seen them passing through Charming when you arrived in the small town, stopping for a bite to eat before you had planned to continue to Oakland for the night. Now you were heading that way and as they hit the open road you held on tighter and leant with his body around the sharp corners, remembering what you had been taught.

The group pulled into a bar in the middle of nowhere and Jax told you to sit tight while they did something real quick. You didn’t really want to go inside anyway, not when it would probably involve something illegal but when you heard fighting break out you leapt from the bike seat. Your fingers quickly opened the saddle bags and reached into your purse, grabbing the beretta you stored there before running inside.

There was chaos everywhere and bodies being thrown onto table tops. You didn’t know who was winning or who the Sons were even fighting but when you saw what was obviously a meth-head grabbing a rifle from behind the bar you raised your gun to the ceiling and pulled the trigger. The deafening bang rang your ears and bits of ceiling tile exploded above you but it had the desired effect, everyone froze. Turning to the barman with the missing teeth, you pointed your weapon at him.

“Drop the gun.” You growled and felt the need to pat yourself on the back when your voice didn’t waver. “Now.”

“Where the hell did you get that?” Jax asked as he stepped over to you, concern clear on his face.

“What?” You shrugged. “I’m a woman on a road trip, you think I’m just gonna carry pepper spray.”

“She’s got a point.” The blue eyed man agreed as he pushed his sunglasses up into his curly hair. “What’s your name sweetheart?”

“Not now, Tig.” Jax warned as his friends disarmed everyone who had a gun on them before placing his hand over yours and locking the safety. “I told you to wait outside.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s pronounced ‘you’re welcome’ but whatever.” You shoved the gun in the back of your jeans before stepping over the broken glass and tables to reach the bar, swiping an unopened bottle of Jack Daniels. “I’m not stealing, this is reparation for emotional damage.”

Jax shook his head with a laugh. “Anyone else feeling damaged?”

The guys smirked as they took the hint and began to take more liquor from behind the bar while you cracked open the bottle to settle your nerves. You still weren’t sure what you were going to tell your friends the next time you spoke or if you would just skim over this particular part of the narrative. Probably skip it completely.

The alcohol was beginning to hit your system as you reached the town of Charming and Jax pulled into a garage as promised, along with the entire entourage of bikers. You couldn’t help but lean over his shoulder as you saw the sign: Teller-Morrow Automotive Repair.

“Are you sure this is the best garage in town or was that just self promotion?” You teased, his golden beard tickling your cheek as he leant in closer.

“Ask anyone, darlin’.”

You chuckled as you were sure he was right, there wouldn’t be anyone stupid enough to say otherwise for fear they would find themselves in a shallow unmarked grave. Climbing off, you followed him into the office and found yourself under the watchful eye of a woman chewing on the end of her pen. You immediately felt self conscious as she stared down her nose but Jax was able to pull her attention away with a kiss to her cheek.

“Mom, this is y/n, her cars in town. Can you send Juice over to tow it?”

“He’s out on a job but I’ll get him straight on it when he gets back.” Her eyes flicked over to the clock that showed it was almost 5pm before coming to rest on you again. “You staying round here, honey?”

“Just passing through, ma’am.” You said with a shake of your head, fairly sure she wouldn’t be happy with you calling her mom.

“Ma’am.” She snorted. “Call me Gemma. There’s a motel off 55, it’s a shit hole but it’s all we’ve got. We’ll hopefully have you good to go Monday.”

“Thanks, Gemma. I appreciate it.” You sighed, not planning on spending the weekend in the sleeping town and turned to Jax. “Do you think you could give me another ride?”

“Don’t worry about it.” He shook his head. “You can crash here.”

“Uh, Jax…” Gemma said with a quirked eyebrow. “Is that a good idea? We don’t even know her.”

“Relax, she pulled a gun on Darby.” Jax answered as he grabbed your gun that was still stashed in the back of your jeans.

“Hey.” You gasped as he showed his mom your gun but rather than calling the cops she just grinned and shoved her sunglasses down over her eyes and picked up her handbag.

She walked out the office only to stop and look back at you over her shoulder. “Well, come on then hun, we have some shopping to do.”

“Shopping?” You asked as she looked over your outfit with a slight scrunch of her nose.

“If you’re gonna run with these boys, you gotta look the part baby.”

You looked at Jax for help but he held his hands up and disappeared with a laugh into the garage. You had ridden with a 1% biker gang and pulled a gun on a mass brawl but it was the VP’s mom that scared you the most. Jogging to catch up, you climbed into her Cadillac and preyed you had drunk enough Jacks to survive the shopping trip.

“Relax, these crows are more like vultures.” Gemma smirked as she watched you freeze outside the clubhouse doors. “You have to show them you're not roadkill.”

“Jesus, I thought this was just a party,” you huffed and tugged at the hem of the black dress Gemma had coerced you to wear, “not an audition for Lord of the Flies.”

“Everything is an audition ‘round here, you just gotta decide what role you wanna play.”

She disappeared behind the doors that were swinging shut behind her and you found yourself at a crossroad. You could march your ass out of the lot and give yourself blisters, from the new shoes Gemma had bought you, as you walked all the way to the motel. Or, you could kick those doors open and take Gemma’s word when she said you could find a home in the club. You had always longed for a place to call home.

Taking a deep breath you stepped up to push the door open only to find it opening to reveal Jax.

“I was beginning to think you had ditched us.” He grinned as he took in the bare length of legs that disappeared beneath the dress, licking his lips before sticking a cigarette between them. “You look good, darlin’.”

You could feel your cheeks heating up under his stare and his eyes followed your lips as you pulled the bottom one between your teeth. You could smell the leather and whiskey mixing with his cigarette smoke and the combination was overwhelming your senses and leaving you dizzy. You hadn’t even realised you had stepped closer until he met you halfway and he dropped the smoke to pull your body against his.

The leather of his kutte felt soft and warm under your palms and he took control of the kiss with a hand to the nape of your neck. You had sobered up during your shopping trip but now you were drunk once again, everything about him was flooding your bloodstream and you moaned at the sweet taste of whiskey on his tongue.

“Woah.” You said breathlessly as you pulled away and he rested his forehead to yours.

“I put your bags in my room,” he said as he laced your fingers together over the patches on his cut, “there’s not many spare on a Friday night around here.”

“I think I can handle that.”

He chuckled and reached behind him for the door and opened it to allow the raucous of music and mayhem to overflow the quieter, but slowly filling, outdoors. “Think you can handle this lot first?”

It was your turn to laugh as you stepped through the gap of the door and his body, trailing a finger over his chest with a smirk. “I can handle anything with a bit of whiskey.”

[caelestis-composition]

⭒ albedo, diluc, and jean with a s/o that faints ⭒

super indulgent headcanons for myself because i’ve been getting a lot more dizzy spells and even fainting more than usual lately and it’s been bumming me out.

most of you don’t know but for the past seven years or so i’ve suffered from dizzy spells and fainting spells. i can usually catch them and stop them, but sometimes all i can do is find somewhere to lay down until it passes. honestly, i’m not sure how long i’m usually out (because i’m unconscious lol) but it usually only feels like a few seconds before i wake up confused about where i am. i’ve had one test done regarding it five or six years ago but they didn’t find anything and i haven’t been able to get anything else done regarding it. it doesn’t seem to be anything life-threatening, and i’ve only gotten hurt a couple times, so no need to worry :)

but yeah all that information was just so i could explain what reader is pretty heavily based on!

⭒

pairing: albedo, diluc, and jean x reader (separately)

characters: albedo, diluc ragnvindr, jean gunnhildr

genre: fluff i think?

word count: 926

⭒

⋆ he’s never fainted before, so he has absolutely no clue what it feels like

⋆ fallen asleep at his desk in the middle of working? yes. but actually fainted? no.

⋆ so when he sees you stand up and then suddenly fall, he panics

⋆ he rushes over to make sure you’re alright, and keeps himself composed for your sake as you come to

⋆ “are you… alright?”

⋆ after he helps you get situated, he backs off, hesitant to touch you more than he already has

⋆ you nod, intending on getting back to whatever you were doing beforehand, but albedo is looking at you so concerned. honestly, you’ve never seen him so worried, his eyebrows furrowed, his gaze distant but roving over you to make sure you’re really fine, his lips drawn in a tight line

⋆ you grab both his hands in yours, explaining that this is just something that happens. you’re used to it, and can usually sense it and either situate yourself somewhere safe before you pass out or completely stop the spell

⋆ his eyes widen, and albedo pulls you in close, mumbling that he’s sorry you have to put up with this so much that you’re used to it. you tell him he doesn’t need to apologize, it’s not his fault, but he just shakes his head and holds you tighter

⋆ he offers to run some tests, study you and your dizzy spells, and maybe even make something that could help prevent them

⋆ whether you take him up on his offer or not, albedo will still learn the signs for whenever you seem like you’re about to faint, and he’ll do anything he can to keep you safe and comfortable when it does happen.

⭒

⋆ though diluc is always busy, working, and most definitely tired, he’s also never fainted

⋆ dizziness and passing out just aren’t things diluc deals with

⋆ he gets really confused when the two of you are cleaning up at the tavern after close and you rush to sit down at one of the tables, burying your head in your crossed arms atop the wooden surface

⋆ confusion gives way to worry when you don’t respond to him questioning what you’re doing, and it only worsens when you start shaking all over

⋆ he drops whatever he was working on, making his way over to crouch beside you. when his hand meets your shoulder, your head lifts. you blink, your eyes bleary and unfocused, and look around

⋆ you snap out of it pretty quickly, though, your gaze clearing and you finally meet diluc’s eyes

⋆ “what was that?”

⋆ his voice is low, laced with concern, and you draw in a breath, shakily taking the hand on your shoulder in both of yours as diluc kneels beside you

⋆ you apologize for worrying him, explaining that you felt a fainting spell coming on, so you quickly found somewhere to sit down so you wouldn’t end up injured. when you regained consciousness, you say, you were momentarily confused as to where you were

⋆ diluc offers to take you to a doctor immediately, but you shake your head, saying you’re used to it and no one has ever been able to find anything wrong with you

⋆ he hesitates for a moment before relenting, standing up and then leaning back down to place a gentle kiss on the crown of your head, his hand smoothing over your hair

⋆ the two of you finish up at the tavern, and on the way home, he asks you to explain everything you can: how it feels, how you know a spell is coming on, and everything he can do to help.

⭒

⋆ as opposed to albedo and diluc, jean has fainted. on multiple occasions, actually.

⋆ she tends to overwork herself, and as a result, her body sometimes gives out

⋆ so when she sees you grab your head in your hands and start to sway, she’s immediately at your side, coaxing you to sit or even lay down as you quickly fall unconscious

⋆ you’re out for a matter of seconds, and when you wake back up, you’re met with her worriedly smiling down at you

⋆ you jolt upright, grabbing your head again as it throbs

⋆ “have you been remembering to take breaks?”

⋆ when you ask what she means, jean says she thinks that, like in her case, this is a result of stress and exhaustion. you give her a small smile, and then explain that this is just something that happens sometimes, there’s not really anything that triggers it

⋆ jean checks you over for injuries every time, despite the fact that you insist you’re fine, you know how to handle these situations because of how often they happen

⋆ she offers to talk to albedo for you, to see if there’s anything he can do for you that could make these spells happen less frequently and less intensely. you politely decline her offer, saying you’ve never found anything to be wrong with you, so there’s probably nothing that could stop them

⋆ besides, you say, they don’t usually last very long, and you can typically tell when you’re about to pass out

⋆ and then you switch on her, lightheartedly saying that maybe she should work on her fainting spells before trying to fix yours

⋆ jean sighs, moving over to where you’re standing and pressing a kiss to your cheek as she tells you how ridiculous you are

⋆ the two of you help one another whenever the other faints, and you both work on being better at doing things that may help prevent or lessen dizziness and fainting spells.