feminaferitas

[thosewildcharms]

can i just say. and this is obviously my bias at play here but. rick and michonne's absence was sorely felt when they left the walking dead but by contrast the only characters from the mothership i want to see on the ones who live are their children lmao

[pacifierbby]

★ . . . . . 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒

Summary , Lando is drunk, out of it and alone. Reader decides to help him out until he can find Max. They spend a lot of time together while she tries to help Lando out and eventually helps him find Max and they part ways The next day they meet at a coffee shop and Max remembers her and re-introduces them

| Lando Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Request |

The club was alive with music people dancing on the dance floor some on top of the tables you clearly didn't understand how they wasn't thrown out yet.

Your friends decided it was time to go out and what they say is "to party" since a new club has just opened in your town. Still, you were just more focused on spending your Saturday night tooked under some blankets and watching back-to-back episodes of Murder documentaries but your friends literally pulled you against that plan and told you to "go out more!" and here you are now with too many rowdy people and you knew that you were going to have to babysit these fools and make sure that they all got home safely so you weren't really planning to drink that much.

The night was slowly dragging more people walking in making it more crowded than it was before you were sure that they had capacity in these places and if they didn't then it was a little stupid since people more easily get lost from their friends and that what happened to you your friends left you to go dance and you haven't seen them since.

Walking towards the bar sitting down on the stool waiting for someone to take your order a young boy sitting next to you a beer in front of him looking in every direction seems to be trying to find his friend "Are you looking for someone?" you softly spoke the young boy turning towards you "yeah my friend left me to go to the toilet haven't seen him since" he slurred the words mixing a little but you understood him a little "what does he look like?" looking at the direction of the man's toilets to see if anyone was looking for someone but unfortunately no one was there looking back at the boy who you didn't get the name off just yet seeing that he was struggling with his phone "stupid thing" he softly spoke making you laugh a little "do you want me to help you?" he nodded instantly passing you his phone putting his past code in first making you a little surprised that he remembers it while drunk

Looking through all his photos the same man jumping out at you every time turning the phone around

"is this him?" you asked his attention elsewhere not even bothering to acknowledge you making you sigh "Excuse me" tapping his back a little

"uh sorry what" he began to tremble his eyes leaving the woman instantly his eyes looking at his phone he just nodded not really bothered about his friend anymore but the girl that on the other side of the club

"um well here's your phone hopefully he finds you soon" getting up from the bar stool and slowly grabbing your bag from the bar not really wanting to help the guy anymore which you still didn't get the name from since his attention is elsewhere.

"where are you going?" he began his attention fully on you now

"um, your attention was on her so I thought" pointing your finger to the exit of the conversation that you are in at the moment making you a little uncomfortable since you don't really know what he's talking about. but you can say that he is really cute you can definitely fight for that

"don't be stupid please sit back down she's a slut anyway" slurring his words a little but you kind of knew what he was saying but the slut part making your eyes nearly pop out of your head.

The conversations flowed instantly after that little thing you knew more about him he was an F1 driver and called Lando but you knew the F1 thing was probably to try and to impress you but you didn't want to hurt the poor guy. the drinks were coming more quickly than you hoped Lando became more drunk and one thing you hated was babysitting drunk people but for this cute lad, you would do anything. but one thing you did wish was for his friend to randomly appear.

"you alright mate" a voice came from behind you both the same accent that Lando has turned around to see the same guy that in half of his photo gallery "You must be Max" you began putting your hand out so he can shake it

"I am indeed, just want to say thank you for looking after this drunk lord was slightly hoping he wasn't dancing on top of the tables somewhere when I came back".

making you laugh, however, you really didn't have the guts to even ask where he wandered off to since he was a grown arse adult "well enjoy the rest of the night and looking after this one" you pointed next to you

"Think we going to head home actually thinks he drunk enough of his own body weight for one night" Lando just sulked knowing that the both of you was talking about it.

"thank you for looking after me beautiful" leaning in to kiss you on the cheek making you blush a little watching lando and Max walk out of the bar you slowly following from behind.

The next day came quicker than you hopped and the whopping headache followed making you instantly groan and promising yourself to not go out again which you swear this time you're actually sticking to it. However, the boy from the club instantly fogs your brain making you kind of regret that you didn't even ask for his number but you did remember that he told you he was an f1 driver quickly searching on Google F1 Lando a link and photos slowly popping on your screen making your mouth drop a little he wasn't actually trying to impress you you thought he was actually being genuinely serious.

You knew your day couldn't be frowning about the guy that you met and didn't get the number from so you thought on going to your local coffee shop and getting your favourite drink and food.

The coffee shop door makes a ringing noise when you open it Helen is behind the counter like every other day "You okay my dear?" she asked you loved Helen she was like a mother to you always finding some time out of her busy schedule to talk to you "morning and yeah just a small hangover" you laughed a little making her roll her eyes "wish I was your age again. anyway the usual? " making you nod.

The door rang again behind you to guys walking in with sunglasses on hiding their eyes from whatever they did last night even though you couldn't fully recognise them the face features do look awfully similar.

"Y/N is that you" the man spoke taking his glasses off that's how you knew them you thought its the same people from last night

"uh that's me" you spoke Max touching Lando's shoulder "This is the lady that looked after you last night" Lando taking his glasses away from his face

"thank you hopefully I wasn't that hard to look after" making you laugh a little the same feeling from last night instantly coming back

"honestly no trouble Lando you defiantly kept me entertained"

"well um I uh um" he spoke softly the nerves getting the better off him a little "Can I get your number just in case I need another babysitter" making you laugh a little the nervous from lando instantly forgotten about but making your heart swell passing him your phone both off you exchanging numbers

"well I'll defiantly see you around" making you blush a little you nodded watching them leave the café the same way that they did last night

"I sense some romanceeeeee" Helen spoke behind you grabbing your order from the counter "maybe you can be the bridesmaid" you both laughed.

You and Lando met once again the energy from you both pulling you both in making it a romance story the one you always wanted.

[daydreamingqueen1]

Sweets thief

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

Warnings/Content: none. pure fluff, a wee bit of bullying to spence (totally harmless and friendly though), crushes, unhealthy amount of candy ingestion lol, no y/n, gn!reader too

Summary: You've been stealing sweets from your resident genius.

Word count: 1.2k

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It wasn't unusual for the BAU members to carry snacks with them.

The job was hard, stressful and, most importantly, it had unpredictable hours. So finding time to eat a proper meal wasn't always a viable option.

Nevertheless, eating is a basic human need and even if it's not completely healthy, the agents often found themselves battling their hunger with quick snacks.

As a relatively new member of the BAU, buying said vital snacks wasn't yet ingrained in your mind, resulting in you continually forgetting to buy something to munch on during cases.

Stealing was always an option though.

After several months with your coworkers, you are proud to say that you have managed to eat at the expense of all of their pockets, for experts in human behavior, they don't hide their treats so well.

However, after several months, you have come to know their go-to snacks and, subsequently, you have become picky.

Morgan eats some kind of high-protein bars with an awfully bright neon wrapper.

Emily loves those salt and vinegar chips every station has on their vending machines.

JJ, ever the healthy mom of the group, always has a few packages of oatmeal raisin cookies on hand.

Rossi carries eucalyptus and mint gummies like the old man he is.

And Hotch buys the most bland granola bars known to mankind.

With all of that said, the conclusion was obvious.

Spencer has the best snacks.

It is not only that he always has sweets but that he's the only one that manages for variety instead of a fixed thing. A bit ironic considering he is the most prone to sticking to a rigid routine. Well, you aren't complaining though, especially not this month.

You realized quickly that Halloween was a big thing for the resident genius, seeming to make the grown man regress to the mentality of an overly eager seven-year-old. It's lucky for you because that means that he chooses to try a new candy every single day of October.

It also means that you had begun stealing exclusively from him and, being surrounded by profilers, it wasn't long until you were discovered as the culprit.

A shadow had eclipsed your desk suddenly, making you look up to a squinting Dr. Reid. “Did you take my last Peanut Butter Cup?”

You shook your head, “No...”

Derek snorted on the desk nearby, “You've still got chocolate on your face, kid,”

Cleaning your mouth with the back of your hand, you smiled up at Spencer sweetly.

His converse sounded hard against the floor as he stumped away.

Apparently, you weren't that discreet. He ended up catching you many more times after that.

"Hey!" Spencer swatted your hand when you grabbed yet another handful of his M&Ms.

You shrugged, feigning innocence, “Hey to you too Reid, but we've been in the same room for a while.”

He huffed, inching the box slightly out of your reach.

Many more times.

Your hand was literally inside the familiar size bag of Starburst candy when Spencer came back from the bathroom.

“Oh come on!” he groaned, taking the bag out of your grasp, “Buy your own.”

You went back to the local police station office, giggling to yourself like a child with your hands full of candy.

At this point hunger had become a secondary motive to your stealing. The number one reason being how adorable Spencer's reactions were when he caught you.

In all honesty, you harbored a bit of a crush on the man. You didn't have the courage to tell him upfront, making your silly brain manifest your feelings like a preschooler pulling on the pigtails of their crush. Oh, but teasing him was so fun, and it got you free candy so it was even better.

Then, yesterday, there was an incident.

The team was on the jet, another kidnapped girl had been safely returned to her parents, fairly quickly this time too. Spirits were high at wrapping up a case with such a positive outcome, making most of the agents mingle and play games on the usually quiet ride home.

You were perched on one of the individual seats, scrolling away in your phone and absentmindedly eating some candy (you had bought your own for once).

You jolted a bit when a hand dived into your candy bag. When you looked up, you found a smirking Spencer standing right in front of you, looking fairly smug and popping a piece into his mouth. He thought he was finally getting back at you for eating all of his sweets.

His joy lasted for about three seconds before he realized his mistake.

See, to the untrained eye, he had just eaten a couple of innocent looking bear gummies. Except, these were not regular gummies, they were your favorite kind, the most sour kind.

Spencer's face scrunched up with disgust, the sour effect of the gummy doubled at taking him by surprise, the acidic taste completely taking over his taste buds.

You couldn't help it, you bent over your belly with laughter, inadvertently drawing attention to Spencer's predicament.

The whole team snickered as they watched him rush back and forth on the narrow hall of the jet until he got hold of a tissue to spit the offending candy.

“What the hell is that?” he turned around to confront you.

You gave him an apologetic smile, “Sour candy?”

More laughs filled the space and Spencer had sat down on the furthest chair from yours, pouting with his arms crossed over his chest.

Back to today, you feel actually kind of guilty about what happened. You have been munching on all of Spencer's treats for weeks and the one time he does it to you, the whole team ends up making fun of him. A bit of teasing was fine but you don't want the man to actually feel bad.

So when you see him stand up from his desk and walk into the kitchen, you quickly jump out of your chair and grab something from your bag, trailing right behind him through the bullpen.

He's making himself an exaggeratedly sweet cup of coffee when you corner him.

“Spencer,” you call, making him turn around. Your hands are inconspicuously behind your back, “Trick or treat?”

His eyebrows furrow suspiciously, “Neither if you're going to give me one of those monstrosities you like.”

You huff out a laugh, “No, no, I promise it's not that. Come on, trick or treat? ”

After measuring up how much he trusts your statement, he relents, “Treat.”

“Ta-dah!” you sing, revealing a single Hershey’s Kiss in your palm.

Spencer's eyes light up.

“I know it doesn't make up for everything I ate but it's an offer of peace.”

He gives you a small smile, “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

As his hand extends to grab the chocolate, your brain has an impulsive thought.

You lean forward and peck his lips.

It lasts barely a second but it's enough to make your heart beat wildly against your chest.

Spencer stares at you frozen in place, a crimson color spreading all over his face.

“A kiss for a kiss,” you mumble dumbly, like saying that makes it better somehow.

‘Stupid, stupid, stupid!’ You think to yourself, your feet are prepared to flee the scene when he unexpectedly grabs your wrist.

“I– I...” he stammers, his cheeks turning impossibly redder, “I wouldn't mind if you stole more of those.”

A shy smile spreads on your face. Perhaps you won't start buying your own snacks soon.

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it's a bit silly but I was feeling halloween-y and craving sour candy

leave me a prompt or idea you'd like me to write!

♡, reblogs and comments are appreciated <3

hope ya liked it, byebye

My masterlist

[daceydeath]

Try Again?

Pairing: Chan x F Reader Word Count: 2K Genre: Hurt/Comfort Warnings: Swearing

A part two of Why

You needed time to think the scandal was growing and you needed to be sure that you believed Chan or whether you should walk away for good

It had been almost twenty four hours since you had asked Chis to leave your apartment and the first seven, you predicted of many, bouquets of flowers had already arrived at your door. Although you conceded not all of them were from him, one had been from Felix, you were still not sure what to do. You knew about articles on Dispatch titled "Stray Kids Bang Chan Caught Kissing Mystery Woman" and "Stray Kids Bang Chan Takes Advantage of Fan". There were dozens of smaller articles of Chan with the whore sitting on his lap and all of them made your heart break a little more. You believed him but somewhere in the back of your mind you knew that there was always a chance he was lying to you to keep what he already had from slipping through his fingers.

Your phone rang for the twenty eighth time only this time it wasn't Chan or his manager it was Changbin and you knew at least he would tell you the truth, probably. There was little for him to lose, you would remain friends with the other guys whatever happened, you just wouldn't be able to see Chan again. Ever.

"I'm so sorry we didn't stop her" Changbin blurted loudly as soon as you answered the call "Shit we knew she was going to cause a problem as soon as Hyunjin spotted her following us".

"Bin, start from the beginning" you mumbled your voice scratchy from crying. You felt too listless to bother trying to piece information together.

"Hyunjin spotted her while we were filming and she seemed to be following us, when we finished and went out to the bar she popped up again and we knew she was going to cause some kind of issue, the psycho ones always do. But none of us guessed she was going to launch herself at Chan hyung and try to kiss him let alone sit in his lap. She was on him for like 15 seconds before security grabbed her and kicked her out" Changbin prattled before taking his first breath, you understood now why he was a rapper with the ability to speak so clearly but almost so fast you couldn't follow him.

"You were drunk Bin, Chan told me you all were" you sighed sitting on the floor in your lounge unable to even bring yourself to sit on the couch you had been sitting on when he had told you.

"Not that drunk! sure we were all a bit worse for wear but not so much that we didn't panic the moment she jumped hyung" he defended knowing that you knew he rarely got plastered unless he was somewhere that Stay wouldn't see him.

"So a sasaeng followed you around all day and then to the bar and you all did nothing until she decided to sit in Chan's lap and try to kiss him? That's the story you are going with?" you sniffled you had already run out of tears so an almost miserable apathy was all you could manage at that point.

"I'm not lying to you" Changbin's pretty much shouted down the phone frustration evident in his voice "Fuck I have no stake in what happens between you and hyung but I would prefer than neither of you get hurt by bullshit that was caused by someone else".

You stayed silent, your shaky breath probably the only thing he could hear as the moments dragged on before you hung up adding him to the growing list of people you were blocking as the day wore on. You were too tired to deal with this now and no matter what anyone thought you had to protect yourself first.

Another two days passed and another two of the boys had joined your blocked list for not getting the message and blowing up your phone, the list now stood at four members and three managers, you had just hoped that the others would get the hint and either contact you sparingly or just leave you alone until you were ready to deal with it. The articles kept coming, the whore had been sure to give out as much information as she could making the story grow exponentially and Stay were getting angry that the members were being crucified with no evidence to back the claims up. You were now seeing the situation for what it was and to quote Changbin it was just 'bullshit'.

"Holy shit bug are you ok? Everyone is so worried since you just disappeared" Felix asked as he stepped into your apartment with Hyunjin and Minho on his heels. You had invited them over so you could ask them exactly what happened and how Chan was doing, hoping you could finally either tell him that you believed him or to never contact you again.

"I'm better, I just needed some time" you smiled, accepting his tight hug and letting them sit where they wanted "Can I get you anything?".

"No, we brought you coffee though, to perhaps help" Minho offered, placing an iced latte down on your coffee table.

"Thanks Min" you smiled as genuinely as you could. All of the members had been so kind to you after they met you and found out you were with Chan and Minho was no exception to that even though it took him longer to come around.

"Three shots with vanilla syrup" he smiled in return and waited for you to sit down.

"I didn't want to call you and tell you over the phone" Hyunjin started nervously "I wanted to be able to tell you the truth and you be able to see it".

"That's more than I deserve Hyunnie, I've been quite the bitch over the past few days" you felt the skin of your face burning in shame at your admission.

"You were hurt, you had every right to feel what you were feeling" Felix interjected his normally cheerful bright smile replaced with a small shy one.

"We had been filming a Skz Talker" Hyunjin sighed watching you take a sip of the coffee "This girl was following us, but always off camera and only when we were in public, I noticed her after one of the managers was grumbling about her. She seemed fairly harmless just taking pictures and filming us, which isn't as bad as some of the shit they do, so I ignored her".

"Hyunjin pointed her out to a couple of us so I saw her and I'm pretty sure Seung and Innie did too but I'm not totally sure. But she honestly didn't seem as bad as some of the others do so we were probably not cautious enough about her which is on all of us, the managers included" Minho frowned, his eyes sadder than you had seen them in a while.

"When we went to dinner I don't think she was there and then the little bar we went to after that was so small there can't have been more than twenty other people in, including the staff" Felix added cautiously "but granted I hadn't seen her until it happened".

"We had a few drinks, Channie hyung was tipsy and barely at that, and she just appeared and wandered over like she was a friend. He didn't even see her until he sat on him and he was too stunned to even do anything about it, when he didn't react she grabbed his shirt and kissed him which he shut down immediately" Hyunjin continued slowly letting the information sink in. "He just about shoved her to the floor though, once we all yelled and the managers grabbed her Chan hyung just started cursing her out for being a psycho and disgusting, I think Minho hyung called her an whore because he is savage when he wants to be"

"An attention seeking whore but yeah semantics really" Minho confirmed, shrugging casually.

"We were all shocked and Channie hyung just broke down after it all happened and kept saying he needed to see you, he had to tell you but by the time we got back into Seoul and he got here it had already become a scandal" Felix pouted looking like he was the one who had messed up.

"Thank you all for telling me" you smiled halfheartedly, sipping your coffee again.

"Have you eaten today?" Minho asked seriously, looking at you sympathetically.

"I'll order something for dinner in a little while" you nodded your body feeling drained "I promise".

"Are you going to talk to hyung? He's losing his mind over this, not even the rumors and bad press over you not talking to him" Felix questioned as sweetly as he could.

"I'll call him" you again nodded as they all got up to leave, letting you walk them to the door.

"I swear that's the truth" Hyunjin took your hand to squeeze it "Hyung would rather give up his career than lose you".

"I would never allow that Hyunnie" you squeezed his hand back before they walked out and you shut the door behind them. You knew they hadn't lied to you and you also knew that Chan probably hadn't eaten or slept since it happened which made you feel so guilty that you felt your throat tighten. Taking a deep breath you unblocked his number and waited to see if anything happened, opening your food app you ordered something to arrive in an hour knowing that you would forget about it otherwise. Five minutes after the boys left your phone rang, Chan's picture filling your screen and making your heart clench.

"Baby girl?" He whispered his voice croaky "Baby girl please talk to me".

"Hi Channie" you answered him, your voice shaking.

"Oh shit, baby girl I'm so sorry. I've missed you so much and I'm sorry I fucked everything up and broke your heart but I'll do anything, absolutely anything to get another chance. Please. I love you so fucking much I can't breathe without you". He rambled, his voice turning thick as you imagined tears springing into his eyes.

"Channie, you don't need another chance, you didn't lose the first chance" you explained "I spoke to Hyunjin he told me everything and I'm so sorry I doubted you. I should have known you would never do that to me. I should have trusted you more but I was so scared that you might not love me anymore and I already knew you were too good for me so.... I'm sorry Channie".

"No, no, no you have nothing to be sorry for" Chan interrupted "I'm coming round I don't want this conversation to be over the phone. Is that ok?"

"The doors open Channie" you smiled as he hung up and you imagined him rushing around to get to your apartment.

When he arrived you almost cried looking at how tired and wrecked he looked, heavy bags under his eyes, his hair a mess and his cheeks pale. He didn't say a word, just pulled you into his arms holding you so tight that you thought he might not let you go again.

"I love you, I'll leave Stray Kids, I'll quit music, I'll announce we're together whatever you want me to do to prove I mean it" he breathed into your hair his lips pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

"You will do none of those things Channie" you softly protested your voice muffled against his chest "But maybe get more security to stop the insane people getting so close to you?".

"I will definitely do that baby girl" he sighed, his hold on you relaxing slightly "can we try this again?".

"We never broke up Channie I just needed some time, I didn't leave you I just needed space" you whispered "I know I was a bitch and went about it the wrong way. I should have told you what I needed instead of just shutting you out but I still love you very much".

Chan let go of you tilting your face to look at him, his smile so bright that it was almost blinding before he crashed his lips into yours, the emotion behind the kiss a promise that it would never happen again, that his heart and soul belonged to you. Melting against him you knew you would never not trust him again you loved Chan and that was all that mattered.

a/n: I know this took me like a year to finish but I hope you enjoy it all the same. Your likes, comments, reblogs and support means everything to me and I adore you all xx

Taglist (open): @christopher-bangnaldoskzz @armystay89 @damnyouficc @roamingpolar

@tara-skyhold @bakedlilgoonie @krishastumblernow @mrsseals16 @fawnpeaks

@leeknowinggg @tanzen-ist-gold @uno7 @ocean-dreamer-sky-chaser

[utterlyotterlyx]

Darkest Hour

For the ones who dream of being the only choice x

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary - Even if hating him is the answer to your problems, your Shadowsinger will always love you.

Warnings - mentions of torture, wing loss, angst, self hatred, depression, heart breaking fluff

The chill of the Night Court breeze drifted across your face, swirls of it scuttering across you bare, scarred back, soothing that roaring hot ache that rippled through your shoulderblades.

It was strange, to feel everything but nothing at all.

Chapped lips and a raw throat encased your rage, the rage that made you shake, the rage that made you tremble and turn cold and sour.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all.

Your wings. Your beautiful midnight blue wings with trunks of black membrane had been carved from your body, the last test to see if you'd break, to see if you'd give in to Beron's demands of information about Nyx, about Feyre, about the Made Archeron sisters. You gave them nothing, but it had cost you too much.

Only Rhys knew what had happened to you in that chamber after diving into your unconscious mind, even then the flashes of memory were too sickening to share, to the point that even he had gone pale, had gone so far to empty the contents of his stomach in the nearest empty vase.

He adored you. They all did. A little sister of the Inner Circle, so pure and full of light, a never-ending smile, a kindness no one would dare to taint. You were like a breath of balanced air, full of life and teeming with outspoken serenity. You were the safe place, the shoulder to cry on, the daybreak at the end of the storm.

Now, now you were nothing but an empty vessel.

It broke them to see you so pale, so lifeless, staring out of the window with bleak colourless eyes whilst you lay on you front to avoid irritating the still healing scars on your back. They shouldn't have sent you, they shouldn't let you go alone. They knew that Beron thought you were a monstrosity, they knew it and they let you walk into the Autumn Court unaccompanied regardless of their knowledge.

They had failed you.

Words hadn't left your lips. No food had been eaten, even those cakes you loved so much from the bakery went stale on your bedside table. All you did was stare out of that slightly ajar window, whimpering softly when someone tried to close it to keep any form of warmth within you.

Azriel was beside himself. Mirroring you, he hadn't eaten, he didn't sleep; all he did was drown himself in the deserved self loathing that came with the guilt of not being able to find you sooner, to save you from what you were feeling. Large bags of purple and onyx clung to the sunken skin beneath his eyes, he wasn't sure if you felt his presence in the room with you, but all he could do was watch as you slowly stretched your fingertips toward the window with a flash of longing in your eyes.

Then the monster within you had prowled out of its cage, and you turned cold and distant, only allowing Mor and Mor alone to tend to you, but even then you said little if anything at all and barely left the ice cold confinements of your room.

Everything hurt.

Breathing hurt. Moving hurt. Thinking hurt.

You didn't want to do it anymore.

Then, you broke.

The floor was freezing beneath your feet as you placed them onto the wood for what felt like the first time in months, you shakily stood, using one of the pillars of your bed to help you. It was so dark in there bar the slits of moonlight that kissed the ground at your feet, the stars shone brighter as you shuffled along the ground, you loose nightgown swaying with every step.

You had lost weight, you'd felt it drop from your body, and that wasn't just the weight of your former wings. It was you, slowly decaying before your own eyes with no willingness to stop it.

Warmth whooshed into the room once you opened the door, warm light pouring in from the hallway, and the sound of faint laughter drifted up the stairs. Silently, you moved further toward it, not making a single sound as you descended the winding staircase, halting a few steps from the bottom and watching their warm smiles and gentle laugher pool at the centre of their collective consciousness.

They looked happy. Happy.

Azriel felt you first, his head snapping to the right so abruptly that everyone else's followed. The room turned cold and you shuddered and the sudden change, and Azriel wanted nothing more than to go to you. Pale skin and lips greeted them, black-grey veins of exhaustion tugged at your eyes and cheeks, your chest struggled to heave in a breath, and you looked at them with such despair, such hatred, that he had to bite down on his bottom lip to stop it from wobbling.

You huffed out an incredulous breath, almost a scoff, "Enjoying yourselves?"

Rhys tentatively rose to his feet, sensing the conflicting emotions within you, sensing the kettle boiling over into searing hot anger, "Y/N," you saw his flattened hand in the air, he used it when he wanted to calm down a hostile situation, he was using it on you.

"Don't say that name," you had snarled, "I stopped being her the moment I lost them," you felt unworthy, you felt ashamed, "I protected you," your eyes darted to Rhys, then to Feyre, to Nesta and Elain, "I didn't give them a single thing and I'm the one who lost everything. For you. I wish I had given one of you over to him, I wish that I didn't have to give the only thing I had to protect people who wouldn't protect me," you were panting, you hands reaching over your shoulder and ghosting at the tips of the gruesome crescent shaped scars embedded into your shoulders.

A gentle tug pulled your attention away from them, they had all risen to their feet, looking at you with alarm and eyes laced with pity, and guilt. So much guilt. You attention shifted to your feet, to the little winged child that stood there, his bright eyes staring up at you with a tsunami of love, his tiny hand grabbing for you, and you indulged him, letting him take your finger in his hand and send warmth flowing up your arm.

Azriel swore he could see some of the colour return to your skin.

Azriel watched as that one touch broke you, you screwed your eyes shut and tears escaped from them, flowing down your cheeks as sobs stung at your chest, he wasn't sure if you could handle the pressure of them.

The night you were due to return was the supposed to be the night that Azriel told you that he was your mate, after 400 years of loving you and 60 years after the bond had snapped for him. He'd been so nervous to the point he'd enlisted Cassian and Elain to help him plan some elaborate evening for you. A hot bath with the lavender soak you loved so much, brand new books he had convinced the author to release early for you, your favourite chocolates, a bottle of your favourite wine, and a letter from him confessing his love for you. He knew how much you cherished letters. You'd kept every letter from all of them in the 400 years they had known you and loved you, they lay sleeping in boxes under your bed.

It hadn't snapped for you yet but you had unleashed all of your pain down the bond, not even searching for him, but feeling too much of the all-consuming pain that your soul was screaming for a moment of light. Just a minute of something else other than pain.

It nearly suffocated him.

Nesta moved to you, almost knocking her chair over in the process and wrapped her arms around you, shielding you by pushing your head into the crook of her neck. She ran her fingers through your limp hair, finding more knots than perfect glossy strands and felt herself breaking at how thin you had become.

"It's okay to be angry, Y/N. It's okay to hate us. It's okay," she whispered to you, turning her head to the side and pleading to Azriel to come to you.

He did without a moments hesitation.

Nesta passed you into his awaiting arms, night kissed mountains and cedar engulfed you, and you felt yourself relaxing into him as he rubbed soft circles into your back, relieving some of that aching tension that had become unbearable, "Hate me as much as you need to, I can take it. I can take all of your anger and darkness, let me take it."

"I'm so tired," you loosely wrapped your arms around him and sobbed, Azriel knew how exhausted you were, he could feel it in your trembling bones how close you were to passing out from the feeling.

"Okay," he moved to scoop you up into his arms, holding you so gently like he was afraid you'd snap in two in his hands, "That's something we can fix. One day at a time. We can do this."

Since that night, you felt lighter.

Months had passed, and thanks to Rhys and Cassian, you found your strength again. Thanks to Nesta, you found joy again. Thanks to Feyre and Nyx, you found passion again. Thanks to Mor and Elain, you'd gotten that innocent wonder back.

And Azriel, you had him to thank for it all.

He had been so gentle with you, coaxing you into physical therapy with promises of warm baths and healing creams, and making sure you ate and drank and found reasons to be happy again. The first laugh from your lips almost made him faint, it was accompanied by that sparkle in your eyes that he had missed too much.

Colour had returned to your skin, your hair had returned to its glossy hue, your smile was wide and bright, and even without your wings that he knew you missed, you were by far the most beautifully resilient creature he had ever seen.

You had closed the bedroom window, allowing him to light a fire and settle into his embrace whilst you both read your books. He had given you the one he was supposed gift to you and could have swooned at the smile you gave him.

"What do you think about mates?" It startled him, it made his heart physically halt in his chest and he moved his chin from the top of your head to look down at you. "Do you believe that there is a perfect half of your soul out there?"

"I do. I know it actually," he told you and you craned your neck upward to look at him properly, flushed cheeks and all.

"Yeah," you eyes twinkled, "How?"

"Because I know who it is I hope to see every morning for the rest of my life."

Your smile faltered, "Do I know her?" You shuffled onto your side, your book forgotten on the floor and arm tucked beneath your head.

Azriel mirrored you, settling into the space beside you, "Very well actually. She is bold and beautiful. Her laugh is the symphony of my dreams and memories. Her being herself is always going to be enough for me. It was inevitable really, to fall for her, it was beyond the scope of my control, the first time I saw her I just knew that she was the person my heart had been craving my entire life. She makes me laugh when all I want to do is hide away from the world. She makes it so easy to see the beauty in everything."

"She sounds perfect, Az," he noticed your sad eyes and the way you had curled up into yourself, but still holding on to every single word he said.

"And even when she lost everything, in a way I think it made me love her more, because even in the darkest hour of her life, she still managed to pull herself out of it, to feel and shine again," he turned to you, your brows furrowed and a small gasp floating from you, "I am completely, utterly, totally, in love with you, Y/N. You are the one my soul sings for," his shadows moved to you, curling around your face and torso, the inky tendrils kissing your exposed skin, "And I promise to love you no matter what life throws at us."

Tears pooled at your eyes and he grasped for you, rolling you onto you back so that his face was hovering above your own.

It happened then, that fairy tale snap you had never thought you'd own, the one you'd never thought you deserved. A split soul merging into one, singing in golden light as tendrils of thread sewed your hearts together, "I was so horrible to you."

Azriel shushed you, "I have loved you for 400 years, Y/N. You have been my light for so long, even when I didn't want one, you were there to pull me out," you cupped his face in your hands, "You have no idea how many lives you have impacted by just existing, I can't imagine a moment without you. I'll never tire of hearing what's going on in that strange little mind of yours. To put it in simple terms, there's not one part of you that I don't want, not a single part of you that I don't adore."

Tears fell from your eyes and he wiped them away, his body entangled with yours, "I don't know what to say."

"Just tell me that you love me. Tell me you're mine," Azriel pleaded, his hazel eyes glistening with a love you'd never seen before, not even between Feyre and Rhys, your soul pulsated with that freshly bound power and you sighed, pulling him closer to you.

Pressing your forehead to his you muttered the words, "I love you Azriel, and I am yours forever, in my darkest of hours and most beautiful of days. I love you."

brb sobbing x

[francis-writes]

A/N: I love this request, there's nothing better than inherent subtextual eroticism of fighting together and trying to kill each other (Fr it's good for all kinds of bonding; i spent a year learning judo and self-defense and there's something real about friendship and trust between two people who every week throw each other on the floor, strangle each other and twist each other's arms)

you knew how to fight, at least the basics. Enough to defend yourself, but there's never too much fighting skills in this dangerous world. Especially when you live on Giedi Prime

When you asked Feyd if he could teach you (after all he was a famous warrior), he immediately agreed. He enjoyed every occasion to fight and even if he wasn't going to kill you or maim you, the idea of training together still made him happy (and turned on). It's just two his favourite things mixed together: you and violence

Your training together included many things; building your strength and stamina, wrestling barehand, fighting with many weapons (mostly knives but also iron bars, whips, swords etc)

No matter how much affection he holds for you, he's a teacher with high standards so don't count on any special treatment. He attacks you, like he would attack his real opponent and if you don't have good enough reflex, then next time act faster. He won't hurt you (more than a few scratches and bruises) but Feyd points out every time you make a mistake

Even if you are tired or not in the mood, he kinda forces you to it, just like Gurney Halleck forces Paul. It's well-meaning, considering that danger doesn't choose a moment when you're perfectly relaxed and full of energy

When you get better, he offers you a fight with a drugged up prisoner. What you say to that is up to you

NSFW: even though he's a professional warrior and these lessons taught you a lot, they really often ended up in sex (not even in the bedroom, poor servants had later more trouble with cleaning floor od training room than usual). It was enough that during fight he pressed you to the floor. Or you put a knife to his throat. Or you got scratched and started bleeding (he will immediatelylick that blood off). That's why Feyd can never took you to war.

[blue-devil-of-the-lord]

Saw requests opened for Kurt and was wondering if you were interested in writing something for x-2 Kurt. Something like the reader is Charles' daughter, who left years before after a massive fight, and when Storm and Jean go to find Kurt, they also find the reader and it is revealed at some point the reader and Kurt are married and everyone is shocked because they are so different( maybe the reader is a necromancer(if a mutation needs to be mentioned)). Hope this isn't as confusing as I think it's coming off. Describing things is not my strong suit. Thank u

Against all Odds

Alan!Kurt Wagner x fem!reader Words: 4.6K A/N: This took so incredibly long?! Really hope it was worth it. I also feel like I kind of messed up in the end, but I wanted to post it anyway.

It wasn't a smile that was on Jean's lips as Ro turned back to the centre of the church with misty eyes, but it was fascinating to see how quickly her friend could change from nice to scary. A strong wind blew up and caused the tarpaulins in the church to flutter. Pigeons soared as Ro spread her arms, eyes fixed on the bar above them, where the teleporter they had been searching for was perched.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, getting closer and closer, until seemingly out of nowhere, a bolt of lightning flashed through the room and struck the bar he was perched on. A scream escaped him as he fell, but before he could teleport away, Jean raised her hand, catching the mutant in mid-air.

His heavy breathing echoed off the walls and Jean twisted her hand slightly as she stepped closer, causing him to spin in the air.

"Got him?" Jean smiled at Ro from the side. "He's not going anywhere."

By now he was hanging upside down in the air, which allowed them to take a closer look at his face. His blue skin stood out clearly from his strange clothes and his golden eyes travelled rapidly around the room, wide open in panic. "Please, don't hurt me," he pleaded softly, still out of breath. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone."

Ro raised an eyebrow beside her and the sarcasm in her voice highly amused Jean, despite the tense situation. "Where could people have gotten that impression from?" His eyes continued to dart back and forth between them.

"What's your name?"

Before he could answer, however, it became freezing cold in the church. Jean's gaze flew over to Ro, who shook her head. This was not her doing. Her breath became visible and a glance at the mutant in front of them showed her that it wasn't him, but he knew whose doing it was.

All at once she heard whispering. It wasn't much at first, just a lone voice that quickly swelled into a jumble of voices that gave her a headache. There was a cracking sound, similar to breaking bones, and Jean could see Ro turning round, looking for the source of the noise.

"Put me down, please." His voice was calm and he didn't seem remotely afraid, much more concerned for her well-being. "She's not in a good mood today, I don't want to..." Jean would never know what he didn't want, because at that moment a loud, cold, cutting voice echoed through the room.

"How dare you?" It was no more than a hiss, but it echoed off the walls, making it louder many times over. "How dare you threaten him, hurt him, touch him." The voice seemed to come from a corridor next to the altar and it sounded shockingly familiar to Jean, even if she was unable to determine exactly where. The floor began to shake beneath them, cracks appearing across the stone, and Jean had to lean on one of the benches to keep from falling.

The man, still in the air, shouted something she couldn't understand. It made no difference. Jean reached out in her mind for the person, hoping to reach them, but to her surprise was pushed out with a sharp push that gave her another headache. The tremor intensified, but Jean was not afraid. The small glimpse into the person's mind was enough for her to recognise them.

"Reaper, that's enough!" The tremors subsided and the cracks stopped spreading, but the whispering and rustling remained, as did the cold. She looked over to the corridor, from which a shadow finally emerged, slowly approaching. Jean had already realised who it was, but she couldn't truly believe it until the light shining through the church hit her face. Next to her, she heard Ro gasping for air. "Reaper?" A hiss sounded from the woman in front of them, who was now standing almost directly behind the man. "I haven't been a the Reaper for years." Her head turned to Jean. "Now put him down."

Her voice was pressed, almost threatening, and Jean lowered the man carefully. As soon as his feet touched the ground, she stepped to his side and wrapped an arm around him as he slumped to the floor, groaning, taken by the stress Jean had put on him. As she murmured something to him, to which he only nodded, Jean noticed how the whispering slowly subsided and the coldness receded. She glanced at Ro. Neither of them had expected this, not even the professor.

~**~

She knelt beside him, her arm on his back, and let her eyes wander over his body, looking for wounds, but couldn't see any. "I told you not to do anything stupid," she murmured, smiling slightly at him. "I can't let you out of my sight now, can I?" His smile was half-hearted, but he returned it. "I'm sorry, Liebling."

Tenderly, she ran her fingers over his cheek, the symbols of his skin under her tips so familiar by now that she could draw them in her sleep. "It's okay, I'll take care of it." She tried to get up, but he held her back by her wrist. "Don't do anything stupid." She smiled down at him and pressed a kiss to the back of his hand. " Oh, I won't."

Kurt grinned slightly and let go of her wrist so that she could stand up. As soon as she turned to the two women, however, her loving smile turned into a mask of coldness. "What do you want?"

Jean stepped lightly on her, disbelief still clearly present on her face. "How long have you lived here? Where have you been? Why-?" She didn't let the redhead finish. "You know exactly why," she hissed quietly, clenching her fists as she slowly pushed herself in front of the injured Kurt. "What I want to know is why you're here?" Jean, still somewhat taken aback, didn't seem to want to answer as Ororo stepped forward instead. "We're here because of him." She nodded over to Kurt. "Your friend has done some things that have put us all in danger."

By now her fingernails were cutting into her palms and she looked at the white-haired woman with narrowed eyes. "You will not touch him. You will not hurt him." The ground began to shake beneath her feet again and she could see the two women exchanging glances, but she didn't care. If necessary, she would fight them both - even if Kurt didn't like it, she would do it on sacred ground.

No one would snatch Kurt from her a second time, no one. Not her, not the government, not anyone else. "He's innocent. Go!" It wasn't a plea and her voice was clearly dripping with venom, which was why Jean raised her hands. "We don't want to hurt him, just talk. Whether you want to realise it or not, he did attack the President of the United States."

She heard Kurt flinch and anger boiled up inside her. It had been a long time since Kurt had even been able to look her in the eye and she wasn't going to let them put the burden of guilt on his shoulders again.

"He's innocent," she hissed and more cracks began to appear across the marble tiles in the floor, though it all came to an end the moment something tentatively wrapped itself around her wrist. Kurt had his tail wrapped around and was shaking his head tentatively. "Please, don't."

Instantly, the hot knot of anger in her stomach disappeared and she could feel her features soften. "Okay." Her gaze slid back to the two women, cold and unyielding, but no longer murderous. "Go, please. It wasn't his fault. He couldn't hurt a fly. Please." She didn't give either of them another glance as she helped Kurt up and led him over to the altar, where he settled down, groaning slightly. She knew that both Jean and Ororo were still in the church, even approaching, but her priority was to tend to Kurt.

She gently helped him out of his coat, jacket and shirt, the latter stained with blood, and shook her head at the sight before her. The security guard's bullet wound was on his arm, but she could see several bruises and smaller wounds scattered across his torso. "You really need to take better care of yourself," she muttered as he lay down and she began to search in her pockets for the disinfectant and cotton pads.

Kurt gave her a weak but sincere smile. "But I have you to fix me up." She gave him a small smile, though she knew she wouldn't be able to remove the worry from her face. Continuing to ignore the two women, she dipped the cotton ball with the tweezers into the disinfectant and looked over at him. "This is going to hurt."

His tail wrapped around her waist and squeezed lightly and confidently. Carefully, though not hesitantly, she pressed the cotton ball onto his wound. His body tensed, stiffened and his back arched up from the altar. A pained groan escaped him and she closed her eyes for a moment so as not to see the agony on his face. It had been five years and she still couldn't bear to see him hurt and in pain.

"It's all right, you're doing great," she murmured and hurried to clean the wound as best she could. Thank goodness the wound wasn't deep, so there was no need for stitches. "Good boy." He snorted in amusement, albeit painfully, and she gave him an equally pained smile.

She gently lifted the cotton pad and another hiss escaped him, which she tried to calm by making soothing noises. She applied the bandage as quickly as she could, even though he still let out the odd groan of pain, but he seemed to grit his teeth. " You see? Already over." She leant forward and pressed a feather-light, barely perceptible kiss over the bandage. "I need to take all this away and get you some new, clean clothes. Can I-?"

She didn't finish the sentence, but a twitch of her eyes in the direction of the two women was enough to convey what she wanted to say. Kurt smiled slightly and gave a barely perceptible nod. "You go ahead. They won't hurt me."

She seemed to look sceptical, which she was, as he groped for her hand and took it in his. "It's okay, Liebling. I can take care of myself." "We've seen that," she murmured, but stroked his forehead affectionately before standing up and glaring at Ro and Jean. "I'm right next door. If one of you even thinks about hurting or touching him, you'll more than regret it." She didn't have to look at them to know that they'd heard her warning, the tension radiating from them a clear sign that the message had been received.

Kurt mumbled something quietly, but it was in German and her knowledge was not yet good enough to understand him at such a mumbled volume. She contented herself with running her hand through his hair and affectionately tugging at a strand in warning before leaving the room.

The rubbish was quickly disposed of and on her way back she grabbed some fresh clothes, hurrying back as fast as she could. Once there, she was disgruntled to realise that Ororo and Jean had moved closer and were now standing right next to him. She could just hear the last words coming out of the redhead's mouth. "- the professor."

Instantly she tensed, still covered by the shadows of the pillars. It didn't take a telepath to know who they were talking about and she didn't like it at all. She had managed without him for five years and she wouldn't need him now.

Kurt, however, seemed curious as he cocked his head slightly. "The professor?" Neither of them answered his question, instead Ororo gently ran her fingers over his torso. Instantly, her grip tightened around his clothes and she had to suppress a snarl. She wasn't territorial or some other primitive instinct, but she didn't like it when people touched Kurt without asking him. Especially when it came to his scars, which were more than a weak spot for him.

"Did you do these yourself?" She closed her eyes, hesitant as to whether she should intervene. It wasn't up to her to talk about it, it was Kurt's business and she didn't want to come across as any more overprotective than she already was, so she continued to keep to the shadows. The rising whispers, however, were hard to ignore.

Kurt didn't seem to want to talk about it though, as he gave nothing more than a faint "yes" before turning round. She slowly emerged from the shadows, but not before Jean had discovered something on the back of his neck. "And what about this?"

"I told you it wasn't his fault." Her voice was sharper and colder than she intended, but she couldn't suppress it any longer as she stepped forward and placed herself between Kurt and the two women.

She hated it when Kurt had to talk about his scars, knowing full well what they meant to him. They had talked about it often and at length, especially coming from her, as such behaviour could not be healthy and it hurt her to see him in pain.

The last scar had been added four years ago. For her sake and after a few hours of intense conversation, which led him to a realisation, he had stopped.

"Mind control?" Jean asked, but she turned her back to her to stroke Kurt's arm reassuringly. "I suppose so. We don't know who, though, so don't bother asking."

There was silence while Kurt changed, supported by her. Jean only spoke up again when Kurt was able to stand next to them.  "Come with us." She laughed snidely. "You're not serious, are you? You know what happened, you know why I left and yet you want to drag me back? Forget it." Kurt's tail wrapped itself gently around her middle and the tip ran soothingly over her side as he felt the floor begin to shake.

"The whole United States is after your friend," Ororo objected and she felt Kurt flinch.

"Let them try," she growled, reaching for Kurt's sleeve. "They won't get him. I won't let them."

"We're just trying to help." Ororo sounded almost desperate, but she knew no mercy as her cold laughter echoed off the walls. "Oh yes, of course. The noble help of you fine people. Our saviours are here, we don't have to worry anymore."

"Liebling," Kurt murmured and put his hand on her shoulder. She looked over at him and realised with a mixture of surprise and dismay that he didn't seem as opposed to the idea as she was. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" She stiffened, anticipating the direction the conversation would take and not liking it at all.

"Kurt, you can't be serious," she hissed, turning away from the two women. "I've told you several times why I left, why I never want to go there again."

"And I understand that," he returned, his tail detaching from her to twitch nervously behind him. She instantly missed his closeness. "And under different circumstances, I would agree with you and watch you chase them away. But the situation has changed. I'm wanted all over the United States. And even if we're not there right now, they'll find me, find us." He stroked her cheek gently. "And I don't like the idea of you getting hurt because of me."

"I wouldn't care. I'd fight them all," she returned, knowing it was useless. "I don't want to. I don't want you to fight for me."

She closed her eyes in agony. "Darling-"

"I know," he murmured, leaning his forehead against hers. "I know it's not fair and I'm sorry. But I just want you to be safe. Please." There was something so pleading about his voice that she knew she wouldn't be able to hold out. She still found it hard to admit. "All right," she murmured, feeling Kurt's tail curling up her leg. "But at the slightest sign of danger, we run."

~**~

Of course it became dangerous. And of course they were sitting in an plane at the time, which was threatening to crash, so they couldn't run.

She stared in horror behind her at the gaping hole from which one of the children, she thought her name was Rogue, had just fallen. Kurt squeezed her hand and she spun round to face him. His gaze was pleading and it took no words to understand what he wanted her permission for. She closed her eyes for a moment to stifle the rising panic that threatened to swell inside her before she nodded.

A life was at stake, she couldn't have the luxury of panic. For a fleeting moment, she felt his lips against her forehead before the familiar 'BAMF' sounded and his hand disappeared from hers.

No more than three or four seconds could have passed, but they felt like an eternity before another 'BAMF' sounded and Kurt slammed to the floor of the plane with Rogue in his arms.

She sobbed with relief and forgot for a moment that they were crashing. That was until Jean gasped as the gaping hole behind them began to close of its own accord and the jet slowed down. She didn't have to think long to realise who had caught her so gracefully and she continued to tense up in her seat, even as the jet carefully touched down. It seemed as if her past really was finally coming back to haunt her.

Touching down on Earth, the others began to scurry around Kurt and Rogue and as much as she wanted to get to him, she knew she wasn't going to get there. Instead, she decided to face their welcoming committee.

To say he was surprised would have been an understatement as Erik watched her climb down the ladder towards him. "That I get to see this sight again." A thin line came to her lips, but she crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Miracles happen all the time. I never thought I'd see you outside of a plastic cell." His smile turned bitter. "Little Ms Xavier, same mouth as her old man."

"Xavier?" She turned round. The others had left the jet by now, and except for Ororo, Jean and Kurt, the others were staring at her with a variety of emotions on their faces.

Erik stepped closer and her body stiffened. "Yes, Xavier. Don't tell me Reaper didn't tell you about her connection with your dear professor?"

"Don't call me that," she hissed, taking a few steps back so she was standing next to Kurt, whose tail instantly wrapped around her middle. "I left that name behind a long time ago." Erik's gaze lingered on Kurt for a few moments and she didn't like the way he was looking at him. "I can see that."

Before he could talk to her further, however, Ororo stepped forward and his smug smile returned. "I think we should talk." After some back and forth, which she only half-heartedly followed, they seemed to reluctantly agree to follow Erik. She didn't take her eyes off Kurt for a moment. "You scared me to death," she muttered, clutching his arm a little tighter than necessary. "I hate it when you do that."

"I know."

"You did the right thing, though, as much as it makes me sick." She pressed a kiss against his cheek. "I'm proud of you my love." He smiled down at her. "I love you too."

~**~

"Are you sure you're okay?" They stood apart from the others, in the shade of several trees, and she let her hand rest anxiously on his cheek. Kurt turned his head slightly and pressed a kiss against her palm. "I'm fine, love." She exhaled and wrapped her arms around him to hold him closer, to feel him as his heart pounded beneath her fingers. Soothingly, his hand ran over her back as his tail wrapped gently around her. He rested his head on hers.

"I hate it when you're in pain. Even if it's mental."

She had been against Jean rummaging around in his memory from the start, but everyone else, including her husband, seemed to be in favour of it, which was why she had been forced to watch Kurt relive the agonising hours of the last few days. "I know," he murmured, pulling her closer to him. "But I feel fine." There was silence for a while as they stood close together under the trees before she lifted her head.

"Promise me you'll be careful tomorrow. Plan or no plan, it always goes wrong. It's kind of a tradition with us." Kurt smiled down at her before taking her hands in his and pressing a kiss to them. "I swear I'll do my best not to get hurt." Playfully, the tip of his tail flicked against her cheek. "I have a very good reason to get out of this alive."

"Charmer," she murmured before leaning up and kissing him gently. His response was just as tender. No tongue, no teeth, just gentle, soft love. At least until they were interrupted by a snort. More annoyed than startled, she looked up to see Logan, the grumpy old man, standing there with a cigar in his mouth, scowling at them. "You do realise there are children present?" She huffed and put an arm around Kurt's waist. "I'm pretty sure some of these 'kids' have done worse things than kiss their partners."

"Pretty sure they're not married, though." Her face seemed to look hilarious as he laughed harshly. "Girl, you may wear a lot of rings, but that one does stand out a bit. Plus, the blue elf isn't exactly subtle with the necklace and ring around his neck."

She clicked her tongue in annoyance and only Kurt's hand on her back and its reassuring circles ensured that she didn't immediately go for his throat. "Problem with that?"

"No." Logan turned away, but she knew he was still grinning broadly. "As long as you don't get too freaky. Might be awkward to explain." Groaning, she buried her face in his shoulder. "I hate him."

"No you don't," Kurt murmured, pulling her closer to him.

~**~

Needless to say, things didn't go according to plan. As good as her judgements have been lately, she could be a fortune teller, she grumbled quietly to herself as she turned the next sharp corner. She and Kurt had been separated and, judging by the noises around them, the situation didn't really look good for them either. However, she could hear the children's voices and ran after them, not only because Kurt was also with them, but because she knew that if she could hear them, the soldiers could too.

Just as she turned the last corner, a scream rang out, followed by gunfire. She stood stock-still and looked at what was happening in front of her for a moment. She had come up behind the soldiers. Opposite her were a group of children trying to hide behind the adults. Jean was supporting a battered-looking Scott, who was about to raise his hand. Next to them stood Logan, a child in his arms, claws raised and a grim snarl on his face.

What drew her focus, however, were the other three people. Ororo, together with Kurt, she almost collapsed in relief at the sight of him uninjured, an older man with a bald head. He looked older and frailer than she remembered, but there was no mistaking who the man was: Charles Xavier. Professor X. Her father.

Her throat tightened and, as if he could sense her presence (which he probably could), his gaze drifted over to her and his eyes widened, his expression slipping. Were those tears that made his eyes sparkle?

The moment didn't last long, however, as the soldiers raised their weapons at that moment - and pointed them at Kurt.

A growl escaped her as every corner of her body was flooded with a tingling power that made the floor shake.

"Get your hands off my husband." Her voice was not her own. It was the voice of the hundreds, thousands of souls that were haunting the place and bending to her will.

Cracks formed across the floor and began to gape open before skeletal hands reached for the sky. The children shrieked, but for the moment she didn't care. Her focus was on the soldiers who had managed to locate the source of the quake as they now looked at her.

Her smile was grim. "He's mine."

A dark fog settled over her before she even dared to fight. She wanted to spare the children the sight. The soldiers shouted orders at each other, and the odd stray shot rang out, but in the end, they had no chance. Her methods were merciful—swift, painless, and non-lethal. When the fog cleared, only a few groaning men lay on the ground. "Reaper?" Scott was the first to find his voice. She smiled slightly at him, though her focus remained on Kurt and her father. "Hey, Scott." "You're married?!" he exclaimed. She groaned, picking up one of the children running towards her. "Of course that's what you're hung up on."

"My love." She had to close her eyes for a moment; the sound of her father's voice was too painfully familiar. As much as she didn't want to admit it, she had missed him terribly. "How—?"

"I'm afraid we don't have time for sentimentality." Logan's gruff interruption was a welcome relief. In that moment, she decided Logan was her absolute favorite person. She shot her father a quick sideways glance before starting to walk. "We'll talk later." She could feel his gaze burning into her back the entire way outside.

~**~

It felt strange to be back in the mansion. She refused to call it "home," even though the word often lingered on the tip of her tongue, only to be swallowed back. Her room now faced the courtyard, offering a clear view of the people outside. She had been offered her old room but had firmly declined. Below, she watched Jean, badly injured but alive, being carefully led through the garden by Scott. It had been a close call, but Jean had survived the mission. Not far from her, she saw Hank deep in conversation with Kurt. She couldn't make out their words, but seeing her husband so animated and happy brought a smile to her face.

"Your husband seems to like it here." She wasn't startled when her father's voice came from behind her. She was more surprised that he hadn't approached her sooner, likely giving her space or waiting for a moment when she was alone. "Kurt isn't used to being around so many mutants, especially those with such visible mutations. It's good for him." "So, you're going to stay then?" There it was. The question that had clearly been weighing on him, the one he desperately needed to ask. She tore her gaze away from her husband and turned to face her father, folding her arms.

"I don't know," she finally admitted, her voice tinged with frustration. "Everything inside me is screaming to leave this place. And you're not making it any easier." She saw the pain flash across his face, but there was no point in sugarcoating the truth. He knew how she felt, even if he didn't want to acknowledge it.

"You hurt me deeply. More than that. But Kurt loves it here, and I love Kurt." Her eyes bore into his, unflinching. "But I love him more than I despise you." He swallowed hard, a flicker of hope lighting his eyes. "If Kurt wants to stay, I'll stay. For his sake. Not because of you."

[maxislvt]

Sink Your Teeth In

pairing(s): vampire!natasha romanoff x werewolf!reader

summary: Vampires and werewolves were known enemies, but Natasha is more than willing to change that. Even if it's just for one night.

warning: amab!reader, blowjobs, sub!reader, slight dubcon

a/n: ummm nat gives the best head case closed

Event Masterlist

Werewolves and vampires were always at odds with each other. Not a thousand years could go by without vampires attacking werewolves or werewolves attacking vampires. It was all the same bloodline ending bullshit. 'Your father killed mine and now I must kill you!' over and over again. Some of those fathers weren't even worth killing anyone over. It was truly a shame that no one could see how compatible the two factions were. Vampires were strict, organized people that valued loyalty above all else. Werewolves were nothing short of loyal and obedient, you just had to train them. Natasha was so close to finding the perfect werewolf for her to prove that. 

Natasha had tried many times to tame a werewolf, but she'd run into a number of problems. They could be taught, but not many of them were willing to learn— especially not from a vampire. As disappointing as it was, it wasn't exactly a shock. A millennium long feuds were rarely ever one sided. Her previous attempts were also foiled by pride, shame, and simply being too boring to have any real fun.

So, Natasha spent another Friday night on the prowl.

Club Sonar was a rather interesting place. A tall building in the middle of nowhere buzzing with all forms of life. Monsters from all over the globe came together under the moon just to party. It was a messy place. The music was loud, bodies grinded against each other without a care, and secrets of all kinds were shared over the strongest alcohol. Though cultures mixed, money did not. 

Each floor of the bar was more expensive than the last. The alcohol got smoother, the music got slower, and the floors actually got cleaned. Upper floors were for people who supported the cause but had no interest in getting dirty. Natasha had more than enough money to sit at the top floor, but that wasn't any fun. She'd never find what she was looking for if she stayed up there. 

Werewolves were just as wealthy as vampires, but they were rowdy. They liked to play rough and get dirty. Big fancy houses just didn't appeal to them as much. Fancy clubs appealed to them even less. Natasha wasn't looking to tame someone — not to say her hand couldn't be forced — she was looking for someone soft and easy to mold. 

You weren't the easiest to find. Despite your size, the people on the dancefloor had no trouble pushing you around. You kept your head down no matter where you went. Natasha could tell you weren't there on your own, which made it harder to take you home. Not too hard though.

"This really isn't your scene," she said when she took the bar stool next to you. It was hard to keep her eyes in the right place. Your shyness was adorable, but there was no denying what she was really feeling. 

You looked around to make sure she was actually talking to you.  Though you weren't opposed to the conversation, it was hard to believe such a pretty woman had approached you. "Um, no. My friends wanted to come here. I mean it's cool just…couldn't we have a library or something? There's no point in intermingling if you're too drunk to remember what you're kissing."

Natasha laughed and scooted closer to you. "I guess you're right, but there's no shame in being curious. Right?" She looked at the glass in front of you. "Oh, that just won't do." Before you could interject, she tapped the countertop twice and brought over the bartender. It was a quick exchange, you didn't even see Natasha pull out any cash. Despite your confusion, you didn't put up a fight. You were exactly what Natasha was looking for. 

Guilt filled your eyes when you looked down at the fresh cocktail in front of you. Was it more rude to let it go to waste or ask the bartender for a refund? "Oh, you really didn't have to do that." Your hands hesitantly wrapped around the glass before taking a sip of the alcohol. The burn hit you immediately, but you tried to play it off. You tensed up to hold in the coughing fit building up in your chest. "It's…great, thanks," you forced out through a tight chest. 

Natasha gave you a firm pat on the back to force you to cough. She took away the glass and slid this towards you. "I would expect a werewolf to have a stronger alcohol tolerance," she said teasingly. Her hand stayed on your back even after your coughing had subsided. 

You shook your head. "A lot of us have sensitive pallets. I can taste whatever crappy oak barrel they made this in." There was an unexpected comfort in the way she touched you. "I should have asked this earlier, but what's your name?" You sat up straight as her hand moved down your back. You never really paid attention to your posture, but you had the strange urge to be better around her. 

"My name's Natasha, but you can call me Nat if you want. What's yours?"

"My name is Y/N. I don't really have a nickname, but whatever you come up with is fine." 

The conversation continued without trouble. Natasha seemed so enamored with how strong your pallet was. At the expense of Natasha's wallet and your sobriety, you had tasted just about every drink the bar had to offer. Eventually, you settled on just drinking strawberry daiquiris while you two talked. 

Natasha pulled your seat closer to her and she leaned down to whisper in your ear. "So how many more of those little smoothies do I have to buy to take you home with me?" Her hand slid up your thigh and gave it a firm squeeze. She could feel your dick twitching already. "I promise I'll only bite where it feels good."

You practically jumped out of your skin when Natasha kissed your neck. It was quick, but you could feel the pointed tips of her fangs brush against your skin. "Um..Can I finish this one first?" Before Natasha could say anything else you pulled out your phone and texted your friends. 'Leaving with a hot lady, ttyl!' was all you sent before cutting off your phone and downing the last of your drink. 

Natasha adored your enthusiasm. "I promise I'll get you home safe in the morning." She kissed your neck one last time before dragging you outside to her car. It was a good thing she brought her chauffeur along because there was no way she'd be able to keep her hands off you the entire ride home. 

You stumbled behind Natasha as best you could. Vampires were usually weaker than werewolves, but you were a little too tipsy to show your strength. You let Wanda push you into the backseat of her car. One sniff of the air and you could tell someone else was in the car. "You have a chauffeur?" Natasha covered your mouth and pushed you further into the backseat. 

"Home," was all she told the driver before closing the partition and focusing her attention on you. "Yes, but I promise the back of the car is soundproof." It certainly wasn't, but she needed to hear how whiny you could get. Natasha practically pounced on you after she closed the door. The kiss was hot and passionate. Your fangs bumped against hers every time your lips collided. "Can you taste what I drank earlier?" She asked with a giggle. 

A whine escaped your lips when Natasha pulled away. "Um…a lot of vodka and cooper..?" Your answer earned you another kiss. Natasha's lips felt like heaven against yours. She overwhelmed all your senses in the most delicious way possible. You didn't even notice how hard you'd gotten. "You smell…really good." You mumbled in the handful of seconds between kisses. 

She chuckled but didn't respond. You were too cute. "I'm going to make you feel so good tonight." Natasha's kisses moved down the side of your jaw until she reached the base of your neck. Her hands wasted no time undoing your belt and tossing it on the car's floor. One of her fingers circled around the tip of the tent in your pants while she watched you squirm. "You're so sensitive."

You opened your mouth to speak only to be interrupted by a string of cursing and desperate whimpering. "Sorry, I'm just new to all of this," you confessed. It was a little hard to imagine your first time going to a bar would take such a turn. 

"Don't tell me someone as cute as you is still a virgin." Your silence was enough. It was as arousing as it was disappointing. Natasha didn't want to go slow by any means, but the thought of getting to corrupt that innocent little mind of yours was exhilarating. "I promise I'll be extra gentle with your little friend." 

The car parked before Natasha could pull down your boxers. Natasha's lust-driven craze left you in quite an awkward position while waiting for her to unlock the door. Holding your pants up only made your bulge stand out more and there was an obscene amount of lipstick covering your neck. You hoped Natasha wasn't secretly vampire famous or else you'd be in real trouble. 

Natasha pulled you into her home and wasted no time undressing you. Your shoes, shorts, sweater, and T-shirt littered the soft carpet. Natasha had you completely naked by the time she pushed you onto the bed. "You're making a mess already," she whispered seductively as she crawled onto the bed. Her eyes focused on the way your member throbbed and leaked precum. 

Your eyes followed Natasha's as she began stroking your member. It was tortuously slow, but it felt good. A near-pornographic moan fell from your lips as your head tilted back. "Your hands are so soft," you whimpered pathetically. All your willpower went into staying still. You didn't know what to do with yourself. "C-can I touch you too?" You blindly reached out and grabbed the first thing you could feel. Mindlessly, you groped the soft flesh in hopes that it would make Natasha feel good too. Your face burned bright red as she moved your hand to where her breast actually was. “Sorry…I wasn’t looking,” you mumbled. 

Natasha kissed up the underside of your cock before licking all the way down to the base. “A good pup would pay attention to someone making them feel this good.” She waited until you looked down at her. Once she was sure you wouldn’t look away, she swallowed you down to the base. Her cheeks hallowed out as she began sucking you off.

Your hips twitched and your eyelids fluttered, but you tried your best to keep your eyes open. As your orgasm got closer, you found it harder to control yourself. An animalistic growl ripped through your throat as you tried to control yourself. Your fangs forced themselves out of your mouth and your claws had nearly ripped Natasha’s sheets. “W-wait, slow down,” were the only words you could get out before it happened. 

Hot white cum painted the inside of Natasha’s throat as she swallowed down everything you gave her. Natasha didn’t give you a break and continued until you pushed her away. “Is that all you have left?” She blew on your bulbous tip before giving it a kiss.

“N-no, I just…I need a second. That’s all.”

[sickwhispers]

Wait... How did I get here?!!! Anyways while I'm here, the hc you made Abt dandy was very fun to read, can you make a part 2 pls 🥺

Hopefully you accept part 2 requests, btw you can jusr ignore this if you don't want to.

Hehe, hiii. Part 2 requests are completely allowed, don't worry. In fact, I'm flattered that you enjoyed it enough to request a part 2, so thank you for that!

THEY LOVE ME, THEY LOVE ME NOT (pt 2)

Pairing: Dandy x reader

Relationship: romantic (situationship again)

Warnings: I mightve made him yandere coded... woopsie, slightly sadistic

Type: headcanons + drabble

Surely now you understand why he had to do what he did

And, he can't help but find some sense of amusement in the way you nodded your head, eyes wide with a hint of fear behind their glossy look

He's sorry, he doesn't want to be mean

But... sometimes he thinks it's just a little cute how desperate you get when it comes to buying from his shop

"Nwah... I didn't even have to ask you this time! You must really like me, don't ya?" The smile on his face seemed to stretch as you tossed the last remaining tapes you had saved up during the last couple of floors. He never felt the need to ask you after every round anymore. At this point, he was certain you'd hand them over eventually.

He could tell you were nervous. The way your hands shook as you grabbed the medkit from his display of items. You were lucky, yknow. If it was anyone else, he'd only be giving them a couple gumballs and singular chocolate bars. But you? How could he keep all the best stuff hidden?

The others didn't understand him like you did. They had even tried asking you to distance yourself from him at some point. But, you'd never do that to him. He's your friend, and he has been ever since the beginning.

After seeing your reaction to his twisted form, he almost constantly felt the need to show it to you just one more time

To see the way your body froze, a deer in headlights and at the complete mercy of what you could only describe as a grotesque monster made of ichor

But, he also didn't want you to think of him as a monster

He found the way you shook in his presence cute, but that didn't mean he wanted you to shake every time you were in the same room together

Maybe, if he warmed you up to his twisted form more, you'd feel a bit less uncomfortable with the idea of letting him lay on you

Feeling you beneath him as he nuzzled against the top of your head, a claw of his tracing each line on your palm

Seeing you scared was fun, but he was always a fan of the domestic moments

Just having you by his side was enough to keep him happy, your constant presence bringing a comfort like no other

He was never sure why he felt this way

Honestly, the first time he felt it back when everything wasn't in total disaster, he had thought he'd caught some sort of sickness.

But no, he didn't, and it didn't take too long before he really found out why every time he saw you, his body seemed to tense

There was always a need to make you happy, to keep you smiling

So, despite the overwhelming sensation to bare his monstrous form just for you, he found himself opting to hold it back

For now, at least

Until your hands stopped shaking and your smile didn't hold some sort of strain behind its appearance

The glossy eyes were cute, but...

Only then would he try to get you used to the feeling of eyes boring into the back of your head every floor

He didn't want you to think of him like some sadist

Sure, he had some sadistic tendencies

But he's only joking!

No need to worry. He loves you. He'd never want to hurt you

Intentionally, that is

But, until the day he's able to show you the worst possible version of him without the fear of scaring you enough to leave forever

He's fine with pretending like he doesn't want you to shower him with all kinds of affection he could possibly think of

In both his toon form and twisted form

[httpkaulitz]

playing with fire

PAIRINGS: Gangster!Tom x Female reader

CONTENT: Smutt

SYNOPSIS: You're obsessed with Tom and there's nothing you wouldn't do to get his attention.

WARNINGS: dom!tom, sub!reader, mention of drugs drinking and guns, violence, pyromania, p in v, oral (m reciving), public sex.

You went to the bar that night with one thing on your mind. You were already floating after using some good shit you bought a few nights before - the same thing you used to seduce him into going to the bathroom with you, the same thing you slapped your tits and shoved in Tom's face before he fuck you quick and dirty against the sink. You were drunk, but not as drunk as him. He almost immediately regretted it, but you didn't. You've wanted Tom Kaulitz balls deep inside you for as long as you could remember, and now that you've tasted it, you want more. You needed it, because once your twisted mind fixated on something, nothing else mattered: no consequence was too severe, no method was too strange.

You were wearing the tiniest blouse and shortest skirt you had. You knew your body was attractive and you knew that was how he liked it. The way he fucked you with one hand full of breasts and the other full of ass told you that, but even before that you caught him staring. You wanted to feel more than his eyes on you tonight. You wanted him to want you as much as you want him, to give you more than five minutes in a bar bathroom so you could show him that you could really rock his world. You thought if you could fuck him enough, you would hook him. He was already like a drug to you, had been for years, and in your fucked up head you thought maybe the two of you together were perfect: the very definition of two wrongs making a right. Because you were crazy and you knew it, and Tom... well, Tom was Tom.

You paused briefly at the door, taking a minute to roll your eyes at the tight-clothed sluts playing hard to get, before heading down the stairs to the basement. That's where his kind of action was, and that's where he would be, because it was Friday night and that's the way it was. It's always been that way, and it always would be until everyone was on the ground. As you turned the corner, the stench of alcohol flooded your senses. The bitches up there would have covered their noses, maybe even choked, but to you it was a comforting, familiar smell. You wouldn't want it any other way.

Georg was at the jukebox, no doubt playing U2, and he was definitely too distracted to even notice you. And that was a good thing, since he took a kind of sick pleasure in cock-blocking anyone who tried to get close to you. The whole overprotective brother thing bothered you, but for some reason, there wasn't no one in town that he considered good enough to lay they hands on you. Not even his best friend Tom.

You scanned the room from ceiling to floor, even though you didn't need to. You knew where he would be: at the bar with his group, a bottle of beer in his hand. You went straight to him. There was no point in playing. The dirty mirror behind the bar was tilted and stole the element of surprise as you approached. You made eye contact with him in the mirror, but he didn't turn around. He looked irritated, but it didn't faze you. Bill and Gustav were kind enough to greet you, but Tom was silent. You just stood up to sit on the bar stool next to him, letting your skirt ride up and your breasts bounce as you made yourself comfortable. You turned to him.

“Buy a girl a drink?” You asked in a falsely sweet voice.

Tom sat hunched over his beer. He didn't look at you when he spoke. “We’re in the middle of something.” He didn't try to hide the displeasure in his voice. "Go stick your tits in someone else's face, okay?"

"You seemed to like it the other night." You leaned in and spoke deep and husky into his ear.

You let your hand wander to his thigh, and his hard muscles clenched beneath the thin fabric of his pants when you touched him. Tom grabbed your wrist tightly and turned to face you. His huge hands wrapped around your wrist like a steel trap and you bit your lip to keep from moaning.

“I said fuck off. I have business.” He released you and turned to face Bill.

Tom had his back to you and was wearing his black t-shirt, you could see every tense muscle underneath. You couldn't contain yourself. You ran your hands over the fabric from the middle of his back up and over his bare shoulders, all rock hard, and he jolted forward as if you were made of fire. He turned around with his jaw clenched and leaned over.

“I swear to God, if you don’t get away from me right now…”

“You're going to do what, Tom? What the fuck are you going to do if I don’t leave? I’m just trying to get a drink.”

Tom picked up the bottle in front of Bill, the one Tom always bought for him, the one Bill didn't drink, and threw it on the bar next to him. Foam came out of the top and you could feel the liquid splash onto your bare shoulder. “There’s your fucking drink. Now go."

You took it with a smirk. "What a gentleman." You said, and you wandered off towards the bathroom.

You liked him angry; you liked the way the muscles in his arms tensed and his thick veins bulged with hot, angry blood pumping through them. You enjoyed irritating him and watching the pressure build until he broke. You would break him this night. You were sure of it.

You went to the bathroom, the same room he had fucked you senseless in a few nights before, and took the bottle out of your bag. You put some in your mouth and chewed the residue until you were good and excited. The cold beer felt good as it washed away the dull tingle in your mouth and mixed with the slow drip down your throat. You drank the beer to the end and smiled at yourself in the mirror, touching up your makeup a little. With your beer empty, you had an excuse to go back to the bar. The drug was fueling a deep desire for whiskey. You always thought beer was for sissies, anyway.

When you came out of the bathroom, you saw that Tom was alone. Where the hell where Bill had run off to and Gustav was in the corner with his hands on some random slut's ass. You scanned the area for your brother, but he were still clinging to the same girl. Tom was all yours now, there was no escaping it. You sat next to him again and ordered a double whiskey, waiting for him to speak. He didn't, and when your drink arrived, you took a large gulp and turned to him.

“Deals closed?” You asked.

He clenched his fists on either side of his beer, looking down and taking a deep breath before turning to face you. His eyes were on fire and you felt the heat hit your core.

“I'll tell you once. It's not going to happen, not tonight, not ever again, understand? Now get off your ass and take your madness elsewhere. I'm serious. I won’t tell you again.”

You started to feel it, that familiar tingling in the back of your neck that usually precedes some kind of irrational decision, you felt the anger rising and there was no stopping it once it started.

“What the fuck do you think you’re scolding me for?” You spat every word. “You think you can just fuck me and walk away like I’m trash? Do you think you're better than me? Fuck you, Tom. We’re not done yet.”

He banged his fists on the bar and despite the noise of conversation and loud music, everyone nearby turned to look.

Something about the way he used you full name irritated you even more. “Stay the fuck away from me. Don’t make me say that again.”

You pressed a button then, and your mind jumped to the nooks and crannies where you kept your darkest desires hidden. They were bubbling now and it was only a matter of time. You kept your voice steady, but your mind was already thinking about the details.

“Alright, you son of a bitch.” You said. “I will. But give me your lighter. I need to smoke.”

Tom hesitated, but finally decided it would be a small sacrifice to pay to get you out of his sight. He took his lighter out of his pocket and slid it across the counter to you, skull design facing up.

“I will bring it back.” You said, even though it was a lie.

"Don't worry." He replied. “Consider this a parting gift.”

"We will see." You said, and downed the rest of the whiskey in two big gulps before heading up the stairs and leaving.

It was hot as hell outside, but the basement bar was so humid that the night air felt good on your drug-flushed face. It was even invigorating, and that was good, because you had plans to put into practice and you didn't have time to waste. You called your friend. He was the only one you knew wouldn’t ask questions. Besides, he owed you one.

“I need a kit.” You said. “The complete package. I’m in the back of the bar.”

"What the hell is that?" He said.

“Just bring me that shit and shut up about it.” You were losing patience and time was passing. “Or do I need to remind you that you owe me a favor?”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He said, and hung up without saying anything else.

Your friend was in the family business, like the rest of his brothers, his father before them and his father before him. They were torches, mostly cars, with some occasional buildings being used for insurance scams. Arson was their business, and although your brother Georg had always made it clear to your friends that you should never get involved, you knew the business inside out. You clearly remembered the first time you saw them set a car on fire. You shouldn't be there. They took you for a walk and told you to close your eyes. You didn't do that, of course. You peeked through your little fingers and watched them douse the van with gasoline before turning on the Zippo lighter and throwing it inside. You remembered the thrill you felt as you watched the lighter fly through the air towards its final destination, the rush of adrenaline as the van exploded in a ball of fire. Even through the closed window, you could feel the heat emanating from it or maybe it was just your blood boiling at the sight of it Either way, from that day on you couldn't resist the pull of a flame. You started smoking at age 12 just to have an excuse to use a lighter and watch the fire dance at the end of the cigarette as you lit it. Sometimes you would light a cigarette and not even smoke it, just watch it burn down to the filter, the smoke rising as it burned. The fire was in your blood, in your bones. Even if you weren't in the car that day, you would eventually figure it out.

Your friend showed up with the necessary supplies: all the shit for a quick hotline, two cans of gas, some bleach, and a crowbar to break the windows, you wouldn't need that last one, but it might be useful to have close by. The fire cannot go out too quickly. There's no point in that. He put the things in the trunk of your car and closed it, looking for answers he couldn't get from you. If he had seen the bike parked out of sight, everything would have made sense, but he didn't.

“Do you need help?” he asked.

"I got it." You answered. Your friend was quicker than you to start, but if he knew whose bike it was, he would never let you do it. You had to go it alone.

“You better know what the hell you're doing. We can’t take any pressure now.”

“I told you I’ll take care of this. Now go home.”

He threw his hands up, resigned to the fact that you would do what you would do and there was nothing he could say to make you change your mind. You were stubborn as a mule and completely off the rails, but he loved you just the same.

"Just be careful." He said as he got into the car, but he knew caution wasn't your thing. You were reckless as fuck and he could only hope that the family way was strong enough in you to keep you out of trouble. He knew you were educated on how to do it right, but it was the why that bothered him on the way home. If it was what he suspected it was, who he suspected it was, there was no telling what might happen. He put it out of his mind because he needed to. He couldn't get involved in whatever shit you were up to. He said a silent prayer for you as he pulled into the garage.

The minute his car disappeared from sight, you sprung into action. You parked your car next to Tom's bike and parked there before grabbing your supplies from the trunk. You stopped for a minute to observe, running your finger over the details and smiling. You would have liked him to fuck you by pressing your body against it. Too late now.

You took a quick look around before grabbing your blood red lipstick from your bag and scribbling the name of a street on the driver's window of your own car. He would know what that meant; he would know exactly where to go. You got back on the bike, slowly but surely starting it. You were proficient but not fast when it came to stealing, but luckily the night was still young and no one was leaving the bar at that time. You scanned the parking lot one more time before exiting out the back. Tom's bike wasn't exactly discreet, and you'd be damned if anyone up front saw it. You knew exactly where you were going - just a few blocks away, the end of a street full of decaying, abandoned three-story buildings. You could feel your skin crawl with anxiety at the thought of what Tom would do, since like you he had a certain level of psychosis and a propensity to cause trouble.

When you reached the end of the street, you parked right in the middle and began making preparations with almost uncontrollable excitement. You grabbed the gas cans and placed them next to the bike before reaching into the seat compartment and grabbing Tom's gun. You didn't know what to do with it, so you just stuffed it in your bag and placed it in the ground before picking up the crowbar. A quick glance at the street told you, you was alone; all the houses were dark and abandoned except the occupied one at the other end, squatters you knew, and they didn't call the police for anything. The only light was provided by flickering street lamps, but it was sufficient for your purposes. You took one last look at the bike before breaking the mirrors one by one. You picked up some shards on your arm, but nothing too serious. You liked the pain, anyway; you liked the smell of blood.

When the glass was good and ruined, you started with the gas. You took special care not to get anything dirty, but you knew what you were doing and managed to maintain it without much effort. When it was soaked and ready, you bleached the cans and crowbar and threw them over the chain link fence into the ocean of weeds growing in the abandoned lot beyond. You went back and grabbed your bag, taking out Tom's Glock and tucking it into the waistband of your skirt. You didn't know why you did it, but something inside you wanted it there, out in the open, where he could see that you had claimed it. It was cold and hard and having it pressed against your warm skin made your anticipation almost unbearable. You retreated into the shadows, pulling Tom's Zippo lighter from your bag and rolling it over and over in your hand, waiting.

Tom was almost done. He was trying to control the next thing, but Bill was in a bad mood and being difficult. And then there was you. He dismissed you immediately, but something in you crawled under his skin and wouldn't go away. You were like a damn rash. He should have never fucked you and he knew it. Don't dip your dick in madness, every idiot knows that. But you were ruthless and shameless and always have been. You were also smart, even though you were crazy. You saw how low his defenses were that night and went for it. It didn't hurt that you had a pretty face and a body built for sin, but still. He should have known better. Now you were an itch he couldn’t scratch.

He threw a wad of cash on the bar to the bartender and left, forgoing goodbyes because he simply didn't give a shit. He walked to the back parking lot, trying to decide what to do with the rest of the night. He was turned on and irritated and knew he would end up either pumping some iron or pumping his cock until he was tired enough to sleep. He took his keys out of his pocket and looked up as he turned the corner, but his bike wasn't there. He took a quick look around, he wasn't drunk, not by a long shot, and he could have sworn that's where he parked, because that's where he always parked. That's when he saw your car, that horrible thing you were driving, and the note you had left in the window for him, scrawled in that whore shade of red you always used to draw attention to your lips, not that you needed it: those lips were made for sucking cock and a blind man could see that. It was just the name of a street, but he knew the place. It was only a few blocks away, but it was no fucking man's land, and he had a nagging feeling that he'd better get there quickly. He got scared and kicked the rusty covering on your car door before running away. He didn't stop until he saw his motorcycle, broken glasses everywhere. Then you stepped into the light and he saw it in your hand, his lighter with the skull design on it.

You wouldn't do that.

You flicked your thumb and the Zippo lighter came to life. You watched the flame dance for a moment and smiled. You were in a kind of trance and didn't hear Tom shouting useless orders for you to stop. You saw him when he looked up, though. He was heading towards you, so you let it fly. He stopped suddenly, the two of you watching the lighter sail in slow motion through the air and land straight on his bike: perfect aim, impeccable execution. The bike started with a hiss and a roar, and for a moment all Tom could do was look at it, his face blank, hard and emotionless. Not that you would know. You were paralyzed by the bright rising flames. The heat from the flames warmed you all over, and your insides were also on fire. Your blood was boiling with the adrenaline of the act, your pussy was throbbing as it sometimes was, Tom's proximity was just a small part of that; it was the exhilarating danger of the fire that really motivated you. You turned to Tom and for the first time his eyes dropped to your waist. He saw his Glock appearing, taunting him.

He crawled towards you, closing the distance with a few purposeful steps, and then he was upon you, malice tearing lines across his forehead. He pulled his Glock from the waistband of your skirt and brought it straight to your face, hard enough to leave a mark but not break a bone. You stood and turned your head to face him. You looked deep into his brown eyes, the glow of fire playing with the golden flecks in his irises, and slowly licked the blood from your bottom lip.

So you went ahead, indifferent as could be. “Hey, Tom.”

He grabbed you by the shoulders and shook you violently, shouting "Hey? HEY? Is that what you have to tell me?"

“What do you want me to say?” The heat from the fire was licking at your legs and you couldn't help it. “I had to get your attention.”

"So you set my motorcycle on fire, you crazy bitch?" Tom's voice kept rising until he couldn't take it anymore.

He grabbed your throat with one hand and dragged you across the lawn of the last house on the street, around the corner and throwing you against the rusty fence. It squeaked under your weight as you bounced off and fell to your knees in the dirty grass. You looked at him for a minute, saw his Glock raised for another try, and laughed like a maniac.

“You’re sexy when you’re mad.” You said, then let your gaze wander to the bike, taking in the flames biting the air and sending small sparks everywhere. You were warm everywhere and ready for whatever punishment Tom had to dish out. You stood up and shook yourself.

"Sorry about all this." Your sweet voice was as fake as your apology.

“What the fuck do you say, bitch? Are you sorry?” He grabbed your throat again and pushed you hard against the fence, your face burning with rage as he pointed the gun under your chin. "Sorry is what you'll be."

But you didn't regret it, not one bit, and you never would. You looked into his eyes and a hint of a smile touched your lips before spitting straight into his face.

"Fuck you, Kaulitz."

Hearing his last name pass your lips made his skin crawl. Tom removed his hand from your neck and slowly wiped the spit from his forehead, laughing to no one in particular before pinning your arms above your head and moving the gun to your temple.

All it took was the rough skin of his fingers, the blunt pressure they were capable of. For your panties to be soaked, the grip he had on you was sweet agony.

“Now you’re really fucked up.” He said, and you just smiled again. “I’m going to wipe that shitty smile off your face. Do you think I give a shit about you being a girl? Because I don't give. You’re fucking crazy and you need a lesson.”

He threw the gun aside and grabbed your hair tightly, pulling your head back. You arched your back into the movement until your body was pressed firmly against his and he was looking straight into your eyes.

“You will learn to keep your madness away from me.” He said. “And that’s me being nice.”

Your eyes rolled back. It was everything you wanted. It was everything you had ever wanted for as long as you could remember. Every calculated move, every preparation, every little detail, all leading up to this moment:

“Hit me, Tom.” You said, breathless and anxious. “Go ahead, do it.”

Tom considered it for a moment, his head tilted slightly to the side. You were crazy, no doubt, but you were fucking hot and for some reason he couldn't push it away, he felt bad for destroying your face. The animal part of him, the one that was about to take control, would love nothing more than to hit you on the head and watch it explode like a watermelon, but he couldn't. He didn't know if he could put a girl down, especially one with boobs like you had. When Tom first hit you, he hadn't quite decided whether he was going to kill you, but one look over his shoulder at the burning wreckage and he knew he would definitely set you right good and proper.

You fell to the ground after the first punch and, in the next few blows, Tom only saw red, heard only his anger echoing in his ears and the crack of fire engulfing his bike. Something made him stop, however. A strange sound coming from the bloodied girl beneath him: a moan, and not the kind that comes with a busted-up face. It hit him then, this crazy slut was enjoying it. You looked at him and your eyes darkened. You were smiling, licking your busted lip. And then you laughed, that horrible, evil laugh. You were like a fucking witch, using some kind of fucked up dark magic to make his dick hard. And it was hard, hard as a rock, there's no denying it. Your breasts were bursting out of your blouse and your legs were spread wide, your short skirt riding up to reveal your barely there panties. There was a heat coming off of you too, and it wasn't from the bike burning brightly behind him. The thin fabric of his pants was doing nothing to hide the bulge there, and you noticed. Of course you fucking noticed.

“Do you get turned on by this shit, Tom?” You asked, teasing him. "Let's go then. Hit me again.”

"You're crazy, you know that?"

You laughed again. That shit laugh. You had your tits out now and were playing with them, as if his dick wasn't already hard enough. He hated himself for it, but he knew he would end up giving you what you wanted. But he wasn't done with you yet. Not by far. He grabbed you by the hair and pulled you to your knees, pulling your face against his crotch.

"Do you feel it, bitch?" He heard you moan against him, felt your hot tongue licking the fabric. "Well, prepare to choke on this."

He let go of your hair and bent down to pick up the gun, tucking it into the back of his pants as he took a condom out of his wallet and handed it to you. He pulled his pants down to his thighs and pointed the gun at your head.

“Put it on and open your whore mouth.”

You licked your bloody lips at the sight of his cock, long, strong and full of veins before rolling the condom down its entire length. You had barely reached the base when you felt one of his strong hands grab your hair and pull you closer. You stuck your tongue out to tease his tip, but he pulled your head back and let go. He pulled the slide on the Glock and you heard the click as he placed one in the chamber. He pressed the barrel to your forehead and smiled at you.

“Bite me and I’ll fucking kill you. Now open it.” He grabbed your hair again and you opened your mouth, taking the length of his cock deep into your throat.

He held the gun just above your head as he fucked you and if you hadn't had a face full of cock you would have smiled; you knew he assumed you would have a gag reflex and you knew it irritated him to find out otherwise.

He wanted to hear you fight and was fucking a hole in your head trying to get you there. Tears were streaming down your face from the grip he had on your hair and the cramp in your jaw, but you were able to breathe well through your nose. You knew how to take dick, and it was very frustrating for Tom. He was really giving it to you now, and when he realized that fucking you in the throat wasn't going to get him anywhere, he pulled your head so close that your lips were in his balls. He held you there with his armed hand and brought his other hand to your nose, closing your nostrils with his thumb and forefinger.

"Try to breathe now, you slut." You looked up and could see the sarcastic smile on his lips.

Now you would fight, he knew. You were all kinds of stuffy and when you started squirming and clawing at his legs, he just laughed at you. He wasn't going to let you choke, but you didn't know that, and he let it continue until he felt your throat closing around his dick and heard your muffled screams. He pulled out of you with a wet pop and you choked on as much air as you could, gasping and coughing into the dirt beneath him. He just stood there with his dick out, watching you. You were like a strange bird, and he honestly had no idea what you would do next. He wanted to know, so he waited.

You finally caught your breath, but you weren't looking at him. It wasn't that you were ignoring him exactly, it was more like you forgot he was there. You were on your knees, entranced by the sight of the burning bike, and before Tom realized what was happening, you were on your feet, taking off your panties and throwing them over the fence.

"What are you doing?" He asked, because he really didn't know.

You turned to him. "Is not it beautiful?" You asked.

“My damn bike on fire next to an abandoned shack? No. That’s not the word I would use.”

“I mean, if it weren’t for your bike, would you think it was beautiful?”

"Well, it's my bike, and you set it on fire, and I'm not done with you yet, so if you wanted to stop and smell the damn roses, you picked the wrong time."

You slowly walked towards him, lifting your skirt inch by inch until it was caught around your waist and he could see everything. A little more light on the matter and he would have been able to see your thighs glistening where you soaked yourself. He could see your hot little clit, and if he hadn't noticed before, he definitely noticed when you lowered your hand and started stroking it. He didn't know he was holding his breath until he had to let it all go at once.

“Just fuck me, Tom. You can kill me later, but fuck me now.” And he wanted to kill you. He wanted to strangle you to death because you were a psychopath and you set his motorcycle on fire and you were a fucking stain on his life.

But most of all, he wanted to kill you because he wanted to fuck you. He wanted to kill you because you had played this dangerous game with him, and you fucking won. He had to laugh, and it was longer and louder than he expected. He laughed because, in some fucked up way, he was impressed. You were twisted as fuck and belonged locked in chains in a padded room somewhere, but you had gone against him alone, and you had defeated him. Few could say that, certainly no one who was still breathing, but you could.

When he composed himself, you were on top of him, stroking his almost painfully hard cock against your clit. Even through the condom, he could feel how hot and wet you were. You were tight too, he remembered. He had been pleasantly surprised. Thinking about how your pussy felt made him angry, because he didn't want to want you. His cock wasn't having any of it, however, and when you spread your legs and rubbed the tip of it against your pussy, he lost whatever control he had left.

“Do you want to get fucked for real this time?” He growled. “I will break you in half.”

“Fuck, do it.” You screamed. And you were begging for it, with every cell in your body you were begging. “You can fuck me to death. I don't mind. Just do it."

Tom cornered you against the fence and drove his dick into your stomach. You reached above your head and grabbed the rusty fence, and when he brought his lips to your ear, you shivered at the feeling of his stubble scratching your cheek. “Come on up and enjoy the ride, bitch, because I’m going to put a bullet in your head when I’m done with you.”

You just looked at him and smiled before jumping into his arms. You hung onto the fence and wrapped your legs tightly around him and he positioned you just right. One strong thrust of his hips and he was deep inside you. You made some kind of animal fucked up sound and he knew it hurt, but you liked it, it was all over your face and the way you moved your hips against him. He wasn't playing well, though. He didn't care if you liked it or not.

He used his cock on you like it was a fucking samurai sword, pretending that each cruel blow was a new, deep gash in your flesh, and that your pussy juice was hot, viscous blood flowing from the wounds. He couldn't kill her; he knew that now. But he could fake it and he could put the fear of God into you while he did it. You were clinging to him like a damn monkey, writhing beneath him as he pounded into you mercilessly. You were gripping and shaking the fence so hard he thought you were going to knock it over, and he could see that your hands were cut and bloody from the rusty metal. Maybe he would remind you to try that, maybe he wouldn't. Now all he could think about was the grip you had on his dick and the look in your eyes as you looked over his shoulder into the fire. The light from the flames flickered in your face and he couldn't see the damage he had done to you. He was grateful for that; made it easier to fuck you until the end of your life. In broad light, the mess he made would have repelled him, regardless of how good the rest of your body felt. And you felt good, better than good, even though he knew he was traveling on a crazy train. It didn't matter, though. You may have won your little game, but he was in charge now. He fucked you with a fury he didn't know he had and your screams became more and more insistent. He knew you were close to cumming, and part of him wanted to be a sadistic jerk, pull out, make you wait and beg for it, and then cum all over your face. But he remembered the way your pussy felt when you came on his dick the last time, so he let you get there, not for your pleasure, but for his.

"Are you going to cum on this dick?" He growled. "Are you going to cum one last time before I kill you, you psycho slut?"

You threw your head back and screamed at the night sky. "Fuck yes. Fuck me harder, Tom."

“What if I stopped right now?” He said. He wanted you to beg for it. “What if I got you all hot and bothered and put a bullet in your head?”

You looked at him, and he was fucking you as he asked, and your eyes got glassy and crazy-looking. That made him slow and he almost stopped, but then you spoke.

“Then choke me.” You whispered. “Choke me and let me cum and then keep squeezing.”

“You’re too crazy, bitch.” He said, and kept his hands firmly placed on your hips as he fucked you.

But now it was all he could think about. You didn't need his hands to hold you down, you were covered between the cruel grip of your legs and the fence you clung to. It would be so simple, really. You were a little thing. He could break your neck if he wanted to. But he didn't want to, not really, not anymore.

"Do you really want me to strangle you?" He asked, and I couldn't believe he was asking the slut who set his bike on fire how you wanted come, but he was.

"Yes." You said. "Please. Do it. I’m going to cum so hard and then you can finish me.”

And you would have died happy with his strong hands around your neck and his cock trapped inside you. You knew he wouldn't kill you now. He would have already done that. He could have done this many times before, but he didn't. And he was looking at you in a way that told you that you were fucking him the way he liked to be fucked, letting him take control, making him feel like he was the king of the fucking world. And to you, he was the king. Other punks could run around all they wanted, pretending their dicks dangled lower than his, but everyone knew Tom was the man. He was the guy you should be afraid of, the kind of guy who would put you down if you looked at him funny. And here you were, watching his bike burn by your own hands and getting fucked for your trouble. You couldn't help but laugh.

“What the fuck are you laughing at?” He retorted. “Do you think I won’t do it?”

And then, just like that, his huge hands were around your neck and squeezing. You were already so close to cumming, but between the anger on his face, the fire dancing in the distance, and the lack of oxygen, you came like a rocket. Your pussy clamped down hard on his dick and you bucked so hard that his hands lost control of your throat, and the rush of air that hit your lungs made you twice as excited. You screamed like you were dying, and thought in the back of your mind confused that you might be climaxing, but you didn't give a damn because you couldn't stop cumming for what felt like a year and he fucked you so hard and completely that you were essentially dead when it was over. Your body was jelly and you couldn't hold back any longer and he knew it so he pulled out and threw you in a heap on the floor.

“I hope you enjoyed this.” He said, ripping off the condom. “Because this is going to hurt.”

You thought for a moment that he could fuck your ass without a condom, and if you were honest, you would have let him, but that wasn't what he had in mind.

“Sit down and look at me.” He said, and started jerking his dick. He slapped your face a few times between thrusts and you smiled and opened your mouth.

"Are you going to swallow it all?" You nodded and stuck your tongue out as far as you could. You wanted to taste him so much you could have cried.

“Get ready for this.” he said, and you watched the veins on his arms ripple as he pumped himself until he came. You would have liked to do this for him, but you stood still, on your knees, with your hands behind your back and your mouth open and ready for him. “Open your eyes, bitch. Keep them open.”

You moved your gaze between his face and his cock; you couldn’t decide which one looked angrier. They were both beautiful, though, and that's what you were thinking about when his free hand grabbed your face and held your right eye open while the other masturbated right into him. The first explosion was strong and hurt like hell, but the next jets streaked your face. You smiled even though your eyes were on fire. You wish you could see his face when he came, but you could only imagine the evil grin he must have worn as he blew straight into your eyeball. He gave you a solid fuck you at the end, and you respected him for that. He certainly deserved it, and you found it almost artistic in its execution. You squeezed your eye shut as hard as you could, and laughed because you knew you were crying cum and it was the funniest thing you had ever imagined. Only you weren't imagining it; it was happening, and you reached up to wipe away your milky white tears. You couldn't see out of your right eye, but your left was working just fine, so you used it to stare at him as you sucked his juices off your fingers. You could taste the strong taste of him even through the dirt and blood and rust, and you moaned into your fingers. You must have been a vision, one eye tightly closed and the other bulging because he couldn't stop laughing at you. But you didn't care. You were happy.

Funny that you shouldn't be happy at a time like that, but you were. If what he said was true, he was just moments away from killing you. Your face was bruised and something was probably broken, your hands were cut, your knees were scraped, you looked like you had gone to war, and in some ways you had. You had won some battles, but in the end Tom held all the cards. He composed himself and grabbed his Glock from the grass, returning to kneel in front of you, your forehead pressed to his.

“Any last words?” He said, his face set in an evil smile.

"Marry me." You said it, and you meant it.

He burst into laughter and stood up in front of you. He pointed the gun at your head and moved his finger to unlock it. One movement of his thick finger and the lights turned off. You heard the deafening crack of the gun and saw the barrel glow and closed your eyes but felt nothing but splinters of wood from where the bullet entered the side of the house a foot to your right. You opened your eyes and he was smiling at you, that shit-eating Tom smile you loved so much.

"If you mess with me again it will be right here." He bent down and pressed a dirty finger to your forehead.

Tom patted your cheek twice in a row and ran towards the bar. You stood there for a moment, but you knew it was past time to get the hell out of there. If you were caught on the spot, it would mean trouble for your entire family. You couldn't allow that. You pulled your blouse up over your breasts and your skirt down. Your panties were long ago left to the weeds and you never lost your shoes. You left in the opposite direction from Tom, even if it meant heading home instead of taking the car. You wouldn't go to the bar now, not after what happened, not in the state you were in. You knew Tom wouldn't say a word about what really happened to his bike. He'd say it was some punk fucking him, and he'd probably savage some random kid for good measure, just to make a good show of it. You would say you were attacked, but managed to escape. You would get ready in the morning and take care of your business as if this whole mess never happened.

Except it had happened, and you would never forget it, and even though he almost put a bullet in your brain a few times that night and threatened to do it for real, you knew you wouldn't be able to let him go. Not now, not ever. You smiled. He was like fire to you: powerful, beautiful, deadly dangerous, and easy to unleash. You'd be happy to watch the world burn just to have him again.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 35

part 1 | part 34 | ao3

cw: Fred slander apologies to any Freds

“Okayyy,” Robin says with a shaky laugh as she points at everyone in the booth, going around the circle and introducing them in a single breath. “Amy-Tim-Vickie-Beth-Grant-Jordan-Fred, aaand Nancy. You, um, you already know— Nancy... r-right,” she stammers at Steve’s pointed glare, “so, um. Anyway!”

She grabs him by the shoulders; shoves him front and center like he’s a really cool new toy she brought to class for show-and-tell. “Everyone, this is Steve! Steve, this is—”

“You don’t have to say it again.”

“Oh, thank god.” She slides into the booth with a relieved huff, and Steve scoots in after her.

Despite the awkward tension and that bonkers introduction, everyone at the table does their best to act cool, to say hello and make him feel welcome while they wait for the band to start. Grant slides him the basket of fries, and Jordan compliments his watch, and Vickie asks if he’s coming to the last football game of the season, voice high and shy as she rambles about how ‘Robin’s solo in the halftime show is sooo good, you really should come see it!’ and wow.

Is Robin vain or something? She’s got a crush on a clone of herself.

Steve munches on fries and keeps an eye on the stage, hoping to catch Eddie before the show starts, and the whole thing’s… not so bad, actually. Kind of decent. Almost nice, until Fred fucking Benson ruins it. Steve’s saying something about the basketball team’s chances this season when the little asshole rolls his eyes and leans in to stage-whisper to Nancy loud enough for the whole table to hear, “The Hair? Seriously? What’s he even doing here?”

...Yeah, fuck this. “He’s getting a drink,” Steve says and storms off to the bar.

—

He’s not getting that drink.

Turns out a tenner isn’t a big enough bribe to get a bartender to break the law, so Steve nurses a diet Coke that he pretends is a lager and refuses to even look in the direction of the booth. Fucking Fred. What an asshole.

And what a stupid name, too, like— who looks at a baby and thinks, yep, looks like a Fred to me? Ugh.

Robin, bless her, has the good sense to leave him alone for a couple minute until he cools off, but then the music starts and she comes over to shout ‘stop moping and dance with me!’ and that’s the end of that.

—

The band is fucking awesome.

Steve doesn't know what he expected, but it wasn't this: high energy, tight rhythms, a driving beat that makes him want to dance. The bass reverberates through the floor, up his shins and through his chest, and for a second it almost feels like he has his hearing back, like his whole body is a wall of noise, filled with the wail of Eddie’s guitar, the scratchy rasp of his singing voice, and Eddie's…

Eddie’s amazing. Lightning in a bottle as he bounces around the stage, hips moving to the rhythm, fingers blurring over the frets. He looks so fucking hot. Denim vest, silver rings, jeans showing a delicious amount of skin — skin Steve has put his mouth on; tattoos he’s tasted with his tongue.

God, he can’t wait to kiss him. Is probably going to combust if it doesn’t happen tonight. Or like, come in his jeans, more realistically.

They dance and jump and shout along to the covers they recognize, and when Eddie dips backstage to let the band do an instrumental thing, Steve shakes the sweat out of his eyes and heads to the bar for a water.

—

"Mind if I join you?" Nancy asks.

Steve sighs. This is what he gets for wandering off alone. Robin's still by the stage, twirling Vickie around swing-style to a frantic, jazzy drum solo in a move that's actually pretty impressive even if it makes no sense with the music, and Steve resigns himself to his fate and nods at the empty stool beside him.

They sip their drinks in silence �� awkward and charged, old hurts hanging between them like static waiting to strike. "Sorry about Fred," she says eventually. "And- and for me, too, I guess."

Steve huffs a laugh. Appreciates the sentiment, even if it doesn't change anything. "It's fine."

She glances over at him, that journalistic focus etched into her face. “How are you?” she asks softly.

Another laugh under his breath. He thinks about answering her honestly, just to entertain himself. Pictures the way her face would fall as he went on and on: "Oh, you know. My mom left me to go ‘rest' in Evanston, like I don’t know that means she went to rehab without saying a goddamn word, and when I called my aunt to yell at her about it, she said some ice cold shit about how I should be happy my mom left me, because now I can keep the money from the lot fees all to myself, and I said ‘what lot fees?’ and it turns out mom had been hiding, like, a lot of money from me while I stressed out about our budget for months. Oh! And also my dad’s dead, but you knew that already. And also I want to hump my neighbor against a brick wall so bad my dick is turning purple. How are you?"

"...Steve?" she tries after a moment.

“I’m good,” he settles on. Gives the bullshit answer because that's all they've ever been to each other, isn't it? Bullshit. "Yeah, I'm good," he tells her, "and you?"

"I'm fine." Her smile is tight, bags under her tired eyes, and then she sighs out long and slow, "Actually, I'm not. Everything's been..."

Steve tries to listen, but he just can't bring himself to care. Doesn't want to hear about whatever drama she's going through with the guy she dumped him for. And then Eddie comes back out on stage, and he's looking out into the crowd, and no fucking way is Steve letting him look over here and think he's cozied up with Nance. No fucking way. Nancy's ruined enough good things for him already.

"Sorry," he cuts her off, not feeling sorry at all as he stands up and walks off without looking back at her.

"Steve?" She calls after him. "Hey- wait!"

Steve makes his way to the front of the crowd.

“Howdy,” Eddie greets the room, stepping up to the mic with a Hollywood-worthy grin. His guitar’s strapped over his back, the neck pointing to the ground, and he looks so good up there. So comfortable and real.

And his outfit's different now. The denim vest is gone, and he's wearing a cut off tank top. The tank top; the one he wore that night, loose around the arms to expose his pretty, painted ribs. Steve looks up at him, transfixed. Like staring straight at the sun.

“How’s everybody doing?”

The group at the stage all whoop and cheer, and Eddie laughs delightedly; thanks them all for coming, thanks the tech and service crews. He introduces the band next, pointing each member out by name and letting them do a little solo, and then he swings his guitar over his shoulder and says, “We got one last song for you tonight!”

More cheering from the crowd. Eddie plants his feet and scans the room, a small, secret smile lighting up his gorgeous face when his eyes land on Steve. Just for a second before he looks away, but that smile stays firm, and Steve knows the next words are meant for him.

“Now, this isn’t our usual style, but uh… a little birdie told me someone here might need to hear this.”

Eddie strums his guitar. The opening notes of Go Your Own Way ring out, sped up and made grittier to fit the band's sound. Steve’s heart is in his throat.

“Good morning, sweetheart," Eddie beams as his bandmates join in, "this one’s for you.”

—

part 36

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[fraugwinska]

THIS JUST POPPED IN MY HEAD AND I NEEDED TO SHARE!!!! Alastor in a established relationship with reader who has hair like Rapunzel (maybe not EXACTLY but it definitely touches the floor) it’s always getting stepped on by busy feet or chewed on by a particular piggy to the point where she practically carrying it everywhere she goes. One day Al asks why wont she just cut it she tells him it signifies the days they were apart/days she waited for his return as human (I think his death was something she could never cope with :(( ) but now they are together again he cuts it for her and helps her let go of that pain! He anit going nowhere now. He promises. <333

Hello my lovely! I finally came around to write this - and I think it was good to wait to be in the right headspace. It's not a fullblown oneshot, but I think this SlutSnack (Or... FluffSnack?) will be just as good! No warnings this time - just wonderful, sweet fluff for y'all! (@minkdelovely I'm looking at you!)

Let down your Hair

"No, please, come on, Nuggie, that doesn't taste good, let go now, come on..."

You tried and tried, but Angel's pet pig wasn't budging, a thick strand of your hair in its mouth, jaw locked and squeal angry. You pulled on the hair, while Husk, having pity with you, held onto the ferocious piglet as you shouted for Angel once more.

"Oh darling, again?" A familiar cane with a microphone sitting on top of it bonked the piggy on its head, and in a shocked squeak it let you finally free. You tried not to feel too bad for the thing as you scrambled your masses of hair together in your arms and Alastor, your savior, tutted at the little pink ball in Husks hands, his eyes glowing dangerously.

"That's the third time this week. Maybe your owner should keep a better eye on you, or I might be in the mood for pork chops."

"Don't 'ya dare, Creepy McCreeperston!" Angel came running, pulling Fat Nuggets out of Husk’s grip and cradled it softly. The cat demon, relieved of being released from the burden of caring, returned quickly to the bar, determined to get out of whatever the hell kind of fight would certainly follow.

"Oh, I do dare if this thing keeps on guzzling her hair, you frivolous..."

"He's a baby, he doesn't know better 'ya cocky..."

"Stop it.", you said decidedly, getting nervous when Alastors antlers began to crack and grow. "It's okay, he didn't... chew it off, Alastor. But Angel, I'd really appreciate it if you would keep a closer eye on him, okay?"

Alastor took a deep breath, returning to his normal form with a sigh and joined your side, gathering the rest of your long hair with an annoyed frown.

Angel huffed, shrugging his shoulders. "Fine." He turned around, tickling the pigs belly as he took the stairs to his room and mumbled loudly "...Don't know why she has to have fucking hair like goddamn Rapunzel and make this shit my problem."

"Because," Alastor said loudly after him, his hair dangerously spiking and static crackling, "It should be her own decision whether to cut her hair or not, not this... pest’s eating habit, mhh?"

"Alastor...", you said softly, touched by his fierce protective gesture, "Would you come to my room and help me sort this mess out? I think I have some pretty nasty knots in there now." You put a hand on his arm, and his eyes snapped to you. He smirked, not really calming, and offered his arm, holding your masses of locks safely on the other one.

"Of course... anything for you, dear!"

The first twenty minutes were filled with nothing but Alastors soothing, soft jazz he loved to play when you were alone and the quiet scraping of your hairbrush, detangling your overly long locks. He slowly calmed down from his agitated state, not wanting to show it too obviously but fondly twirling your smoothed down hair through his fingers. You enjoyed these quiet times together with him - normally he'd talk a lot, that came with the job of being the radio demon, and you'd listen attentively, not having the heart to miss a single word that came out of his mouth.

But sometimes silence was even more lovely, because it showed you that he didn't feel the need to entertain, to pretend and to put on a show, but just... be. With you. And maybe he could sense that it made you happy. Or he knew exactly how relaxing these moments could be. Whatever the case, your mind started to wander, reveling in the soft tugs of the brush and the shivers running down your spine when his claws finally reached your scalp.

"Why don't you cut it?" Alastor asked quietly and you jolted from your musing, humming and turning your head slightly. "Hm?" Alastor scratched carefully behind your ears, waiting for the tension to disappear from your muscles before he continued brushing. "Why haven't you cut your hair yet? It must be quite a bother to maintain."

You turned your head and blinked at him. The dreaded question... you knew it had to come one day. If you were honest, you'd even suspected him to ask it sooner. The answer was easy... but you hesitated to let him know. Alastor loved details, craved them in fact - but it was sentimental, silly even, and you couldn't bear the thought of him thinking less of you. Now the time had come - he had asked you directly, and you resented lying to him even more than looking foolish to him.

"Do you remember the day at the fair? The one where you took me on that boat ride?"

Alastor hummed happily, braiding the front of your hair, his claws delicately folding section over section. "Yes, of course. What a fine evening that was! You looked gorgeous as ever, I think you wore the red summer dress I gifted you for your birthday that year. You normally wore your hair straight, but it was beautifully laid in those finger waves that were all the rage then - right until here." His hand trailed down to caress the nape of your neck, making you bite your tongue on a sigh, and continued. "And I promised to you then on that boat that I'd return to you in a heartbeat, wherever you may wait or roam, no matter what, because..."

"...a lifetime with you could never be enough to satisfy me." you ended the sentence for him, a sad smile on your face."And yet it was the last day I saw you alive."

He stopped suddenly, the feeling of his claws being gone and your back growing cold made you flinch and turn, wondering whether you had ruined everything. Alastors eyes looked stormy and you swallowed, your hands absent-mindedly stroking a strand of hair that fell over your shoulder. 

"I've kept my hair like this for every time I imagined your return ever since you died. To signify those days I spent longing for you, mourning after I've seen the papers and..." You closed your eyes, refusing to fall back into those dark memories. The screams the nightmares brought into your nights, fueled by the horrific stories the papers wrote about him. The hollow words of family and friends and people who were merely interested by the gossip of his life and death. The morbid curiosity and the grins and giggles at his unceremonial end while you cursed them all for tainting his image. The undying anger and hurt, your stubborn love for a man who died so young and left you to grow old alone. "...Every inch of it is a testament that I've never stopped loving you. And that I've never stopped believing in those words you said to me that day." You opened your eyes again, looking at Alastors stricken face.

"I know it's foolish..." you said gently, watching how the realization struck Alastors eyes and softened them. He visibly forced his expression to stay in the signature smile of his, but you could sense the emotion in his voice.

"Don't belittle it. Your sentiments for me have always been... most precious to me. Even now. Perhaps especially now." You shuddered when his fingertips trailed up your arms and brushed away the tick of your hair, his mouth reaching for the delicate skin of your neck. "Heaven truly lost a perfect angel the moment you fell into hell, darling."

The tears you shed were softly kissed away by him. After you both calmed down enough from the overtake of emotions, something that had become so foreign for the radio demon, he gently sat you back down in front of your vanity mirror.

"My love... as much as it honors both you and me... keeping the weight of those past memories locked in your hair isn't necessary anymore. You have me now, and I have no intention to leave, not unless you wish me to. Let me relieve you from the burden of carrying it."

Alastor cut your hair, strand by strand while you told him about the decades of life lived without him. It felt like a liberation, to finally tell him how painful the years had been and how empty and incomplete you had felt. When you ended with telling him how relieved you were that the body you spawned in your afterlife wasn't the frail and withered one you left behind, but one that resembled your happier days, young and in love and optimistic, he had cut the masses of hair to the same length you had on that fateful day at the fair. Your head felt light and you stroked the short strands, a surprised and disbelieving laugh bursting out of you when you saw that girl again in the mirror.

Alastor smiled with deep satisfaction, carefully putting the scissors away before he pulled you into a close embrace from behind, meeting your gaze in the mirror and pressing a chaste, possessive kiss to the top of your head."Who needs a mere lifetime, darling, when you can have eternity?"

[danihow]

Stare

Jack Sparrow x Fem!Reader C. Is it so hard for you to believe I love you? 7. You are so so pretty I can’t help but stare and you caught me. Requested by anonnie.

Word count: 2.1k

Summary: In which the reader realizes she cares for captain Jack Sparrow (idk).

Warning: Angst, crack, fluff, rum, drinking, (?).

A/N: I didn't realize i was writing in fem reader until i revised it, and also, i loved the tropes but it got lost by the end, i'm so sorry i butchered it. LIKE IT DOESN'T EVEN HAS A SUMMARY OMG.+ I HATE ITTT.

Sailing on board of the Black Pearl was rather... peculiar, if you were to put it in words.

One of the sea's most infamous ships in the seas, captained by one of the most known pirates of the Caribbean; a captain that according to tales was either a hero or the devil himself but to you was just a man with a severe craving for rum and an insane amount of luck by his side.

Still, you would never trade your place in the Pearl's crew by anything else in the world, it was your safe place, your home. From the creaky black floors and the moldy walls to the welcoming crew and the surprisingly insanely smart captain who cared for his crew even if his mouth never expressed it.

"Jack, have you seen Marty?" You ask while you walk past him, the Pearl was anchored in Tortuga while replenishing of provisions and the guys of the crew relaxed for a while; it was less to say to say you were a bit surprised to see Jack on board and not in a bar. "Wait why are you still on deck?"

"To answer your multiple and incessantly questions, love, one, I haven't seen Marty, two, I... I just didn't feel like it." He said, the first answer you knew was sincere but the second one was not all that honest by the way his gaze diverted further to the floor and his hands made that little gesture he does when unsure.

"You know you don't have to lie to me, Jack." You say, a raised brow inquiring for a deeper answer while Jack walked away from you. "Actually, you've been acting quite strange these past days."

"Strange?" He reiterates, brows furrowing and lips pouting right before his hands flew around him discarding your words. "You are one to tell that lass." He says, walking around you going to the hold for some of the new rum bottles. "If anything-" He starts again, some rummaging interrupting him before a satisfied hum sounds again. "You be far more strange...er."

While walking back on deck he walks again past you to his cabin, stopping at the door. "Ye should go and have some fun love, you look rather distressed." He says before closing the door behind him, leaving you rather confused in your place.

Out of all the words you just said to the captain it appeared he understood none and replied with less. To anyone else it would appear normal from Sparrow but something in your gut said it just wasn't as right as it seemed.

With a huff you turn on your heels ready to walk off the Pearl, feeling sick due to the annoyingly fleeting butterflies that seemed to rise in your belly every time he called you love even though he called every woman he met that way.

"He's so stupid." You mutter, chugging down some rum mixed with some fruity juice Gibbs handed to you once you sat down beside him at the bar, bottles flying above your head and yelling perforing your eardrums.

"Who? Jack?" He says absentmindedly while eyeing who to take another rum bottle from, hand flying to grab a drunk man's one and exchanging for is water full one. Satisfied grin on his face.

"Why is he so... confusing?" You ask again, another gulp from the bottle before giving it back to Gibbs. "Like, what is the point of answering something you never inquired about?"

"Jack be kind of... a surprise box." He says, alternating from which bottle he drinks from. "He may not say what you want to hear but more of what you need to hear."

"Well, in that case there's nothing usable in his words." You huff, Gibbs shrugging your making you groan.

"Why do you care so much either way? Ye can just let'm be lass." He opines, face scrunching at the sight of someone falling down the second floor.

"I don't care!" You exclaim, slamming your hand down the table as you turn to him.

"Whatever let you sleep at night." He mutters, patting your back before standing up, leaving you a bottle of rum and your thoughts.

Some weeks after departing from Tortuga you came to the realization that, unfortunately, you do care.

And is driving you insane.

"Let's head north, Master Gibbs!" Jack exclaimed as hi pocketed his compass, however he seemed not too sure of the directions of course that had to be taken.

"Ye heard the captain!" Gibbs recalled loudly, everyone moving to occupy themselves as loud chattering filled the deck.

Jack, however, stood in place on deck by the helm, guiding the Pearl as he seemed to be deep in his mind and a few feet away from him, hands in her pockets, stood the only other women on board ever since Anamaria left the crew, you.

Ever since talking to Gibbs in Tortuga your mind has all but stopped thinking about the man that now stood in front of you; some time ago you could’ve sworn you had good taste in men but now, you weren't so sure as you could look at him per various minutes without growing bored of the way his eyes scanned everything around him and how he never failed to do smart remarks in the most serious moments.

You weren't sure at all but what you do know is there is something scarily charming about Jack Sparrow and you can't help but feel uneasy about it.

"Love, even though I may have to accord with you as in I be madly attractive to women, you do need to go and do... whatever it is that you do." Jack stated, turning to look at you with a small lopsided smirk, eyeing your face as it turned as red as a tomato, Jack himself thinking of it as it’s kind of cute, even if he despises tomatoes.

"Right." You nodded, diverting your eyes to wherever else and stepping down to the front deck, away from Jack whose gaze followed you, a sigh leaving him.

"Ye should act on it, Jack." Gibbs dares to say as he steps back on helm.

"Act on what Master Gibbs?" He asks back, Joshamee not letting slide the knowing tone Jack's voice held upon his clueless acting.

"If I know one thing about women it is that they change their mind over a man rather quickly if he doesn’t act on it." He mutters, receiving a hum and a nod from Jack.

However, that small chat from the morning prior left a bitter aftertaste in Jack's heart, something he hadn't felt in a long, long time. It scared him.

They change their mind rather quickly. A voice in Jack's head spoke again, making him shake his head and step out of his cabin into the darkness of the Pearls at night, all of the crew sleeping, and the air silent enough Jack could hear his own breaths.

Squinting his eyes he spots a figure laying against the front deck's rail, eyes staring at the water that expanded endlessly around them. Slowly, he walked closer, his boots making a small creaky noise as he walked up the stairs.

"What are you doing awake Jack?" Your voice whispered to the air, making the captain stop in his tracks while staring at your figure in the night.

"Could ask you the same thing, love." Finally, after some seconds he walked to your side, standing firm with his back against the railing, opposing your posture.

"The sea at night is always beautiful and calming." You mutter, taking in the way the full moon reflected on the calm tides.

"Can't argue with you on that." He smirked, looking down to his compass, the little red arrow spinning for a while before staying still, pointing to his right.

"Now, why is the captain awake?" Your tone held up some diversion, Jack could hear the smile on your face and feel your eyes boring into the right side of his face.

"Couldn't sleep." He simply states. Compass away in his pocket and back drifting away from the railing, ready to walk back.

"You can stay for a while either way, I can leave if you don't want me near." You mutter, backing up to look at him, his eyes meeting yours for the first time in a few days of slipping away from you between tasks and calls.

"Now why wouldn't I want you near me, love?" He asks, sincerely confused as his eyes registered sadness and sorrow in your sweet gaze.

"I don't know, you seem to have been avoiding me these past weeks." you keep on talking as his eyes never falter upon yours. "At first I thought it was just you being weird but now I realized it's only when I’m around." You shrug your shoulders, trying to let it slip of you, but your Captain knew you even if he wanted not to, it was hard for him not to get keen on you.

"There's no need to lie about your feeling lass." He states, feeling almost sad of seeing you shrug your emotions away. "And I have not been avoiding you at all."

"You have"

"Have not."

"You have"

"Have not!" He reiterates, relaxing upon your chuckle reaching his ears.

"You know Jack..." Your voice interrupts the comfortable silence that settled. "When I first got into piracy a few years ago I swore to never care about any mates I had, knowing far well about how dishonored people were becoming as summers passed." To say Jack was intrigued about where you were headed to would be an understatement.

"The thing is, and I don't know why, is has become really hard for me not care about this crew, about the Pearl, and about you." Chuckling, you gaze falls to your hands, head moving almost in a denying demeanor. "I really tried not to care for you, Jack."

"Love..."

"Even Gibbs has come around asking what's up with me, what is it that keeps me looking for you everywhere, it's almost dumb you know..."

"What's dumb?" He had to ask, handheld together tightly to the point his nails clawed his palms.

After a few beats of silence, you force yourself to word it out, the sky shifting as the sunrise came. "How much I ended up loving you."

Jack's face became a poem, an angsty poem as guilt, surprise, shame, sadness, and something else passed behind his features. "I... Really?"

"Just forget it." you quickly recover, straightening yourself and walking away, sensing the betrayal oncoming.

"Is it so hard for you to believe I love you?" You have to ask, turning around in your heels to meet his gaze again, face stern and almost guilty as he stares back at you.

"You wouldn't even bare to imagine how hard it is, Y/N." He says, walking over to you, talking your wrist gently before you walk away on him. "I, meself, can't even come around to put in words how insane you would be if you did love me, darling."

"Why?" Your voice become small, eyes looking up to his as his hand entangled itself in a strand of your hair.

"Because, on which mind it would be correct for a woman like you to fall for a pirate like me, darling." He states, hand falling to his side, ready to let you go,

"Am I not a pirate too, Jack?" You mutter, pinky finger searching for his and tangling them together.

"You could choose not to, you're free to leave this life." Seriously enough his voice responded your question, warmth spreading throughout your chest.

"I would've done that many years ago if I wished for it, wouldn't I?"

"You won't change your mind after, right?" He asks, nose now brushing against yours, eyes searching for anything that tells him to walk away before he isn't able to.

"I will take no offense upon your words, Jack." Your smiling lips brushing against his was enough for him to shorten the distance between you two, the bittersweet taste of rum and herbs that came off Jack was making your knees weaken, hands snaking around your waist to pull you even closer if possible.

"So... this is why you stare so much?" Jack's voice is teasing, a playful smack landing in his chest as you chuckle, walking away from his embrace to wake up the crew as the sun has not risen enough.

[barleyo]

Prom Queen. (Re-upload)

Real Dad! Leon Kennedy X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: tumblr took this down. I'm re-uploading it because idgaf. No tags because I'm lazy, read at your own risk. Obviously reader is of age, and obviously, if you DON'T LIKE what I write, DON'T READ what I write, thanks :3

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT AHEAD

You had always dreamed about your senior prom. Even as a young girl, you thought exhaustively about how the night would go. You would wear a gorgeous gown, drink spiked punch, dance and laugh with friends, and most importantly, you would go with a cute boy.

Those dreams fell flat when your strict father outlawed prom for you. He said that prom was just an opportunity for hyped up, hormonal teens to gyrate on each other on school property. Prom was a night where girls opened their legs for their subpar dates who barely made the effort to scrounge up a corsage for them. Prom was the chance for unwanted, "happy accident" babies to be made by teenaged fuck-ups.

In short, prom was for whores. Leon would be damned if he would have a nasty whore of a daughter. It made him sick to even think of you wasting your sweet, nearly virginal body on a shit-for-brains boy whose only sexual experience no doubt came from his own right hand.

So, yeah. Prom was a nonstarter.

Of course, this angered you to no end. You could be heard sobbing each night after Leon's declaration of war on you having any fun was drawn up, but a small part of you thought it was the best.

You knew that prom wasn't like how it was shown in the movies. You wouldn't get an invitation from the hottest boy in school, you wouldn't get there in a decked out limo, and the punch would be lukewarm and watered down at best.

You wouldn't dance: you would have no one to dance with. You would sit alone at one of the tables eating fun sized candy bars aimlessly scattered on the repurposed lunch room tables in your school's gymnasium, while a horde of your peers would dance nasty on each other, being free and young.

The whole time, nobody would look at you, aside from the sly glance paired with a snicker shared between two gossiping teens, indulging in the rumors that floated around about you.

Nobody would want to dance with the girl who had an overprotective daddy that fucked her. Especially when that girl liked it.

The more you thought about it, the more you came to peace with the idea of staying in with Leon. Technically, being demanded to stay at home with him meant that you were sort of, kind of asked on a "date" with a hot guy, even if you shared DNA with said hot guy.

On the day of the dance, Leon had the decency to let you skip school. You sulked in bed the entire day, thinking about what could have been, rather than what was. He did not bother you, having enough sense to let a sleeping dog lay, but at exactly 10:00 PM , you felt your phone ding under your pillow.

'Come downstairs. Wear a dress. Not one of your church ones.'

His texts were always sharp and to the point, just like he was. Commanding. Strict.

You, as always, obliged. You put on one of his favorites, the one that always left his eyes lingering on your body a little too long. As you made your way down the stairs, you heard the faint sound of romantic music playing in the living room, which you naturally followed like a trail of breadcrumbs.

"Dad, what's all this?"

Your living room looked like a scene stripped from a cheesy romance movie. Rose petals scattered on the floor, lights dimmed low, and a tall, hot stud in the midst of it all. Your father's face was stern, but past that you could see the inkling of excitement in him.

"Your prom. I know it meant a lot to you," he said gruffly, adjusting the collar of the nice shirt he wore, "so I did what I could. Hope this'll make you forgive me."

Your feet pattered softly against the cool flooring, bringing your body along with them. You took a final look around the room and let your eyes lock onto your dad.

"I do. S'okay, I'm not mad at you, daddy."

How could you ever be mad at him? Your perfectly stubborn, grouchy, yet sexy father? Your father who—

"You know I just want the best for you, right peach?" Leon grasped you in his arms, snaking both arms around your lower waist while he rested his chin on your head. "Just wanna keep you safe."

"I know."

You both stood like that for a moment, neither speaking. The soft sound of the music slowly playing in the background was the only noise filling your sense. Well, that and the husky sound of your father's breathing. And his manly, leathery scent. His strong hands placed on your body, too.

You heard him clear his throat briefly and snapped to give him your attention, something you found yourself doing often. He liked when you listened to him quickly, made him feel respected.

"May I have this dance?" Leon asked, giving you a rare smirk when you nodded.

One of his hands stayed on your waist, while the other took your hand gently and clasped it in the air, leading you into a sweet waltz. With each step, he guided you with rigid, calculated movements. His movements were neat, as if he had been planning every moment of your shared dance.

The longer you danced with him, the closer your bodies pressed together, creating a faint friction between the two of you. In that moment, any negative emotion you had felt before faded away, leaving only the image of him in your mind.

Leon knew your signs. He'd spent a long time decoding them, and the look on your face was one he read easily. With a tilt of his head, he leaned in, a soft chuckle escaping his lips when he felt your increased heartbeat against his chest.

You made the first real move, pushing your tongue deeper into his mouth. Kisses were the only time he let you take on a dominant role. He thought it was cute, feeling your smaller tongue fuck into his mouth like you were in charge. Not wanting to spoil your fun, he softly guided you backwards to the wall, giving him a surface to work with.

"You're a bold one, I'll give you that," he said, breaking the kiss. "Can't ever actually ask for what you want, but you go wild once you get it, don't you?"

You hummed, letting him pull you up and wrap your legs around his waist. His hand slid under your dress and pushed it up, giving him a view of your panties.

"God, you're soaked. So wet f'me." Leon stuck his fingers in his mouth, slurping on them and covering them with spit before he forced them past the band of your underwear. Tight, quick circles were made around your clit, denying you of any time to think. "Nobody else can play with this, you hear me? This is all mine, you don' let anybody else have you," his voice was a warm whisper that fanned across your ear.

"I promise, 'm all yours. Don't want anyone else, only you, daddy," you swore desperately, meaning every word even if it sounded like you were just babbling on.

"Fuckin' slut." He spit a fat glob onto his fingers and spread it around your cunt, lubing you up. "Thought I raised a sweet girl. Bet you act like this for the boys at school too, huh?" Your panties were slid to the side.

His teeth clenched together jaggedly as he prodded the tip of his cock at you entrance, drawing in a deep breath when he pushed it fully in.

"No, never! I don't want any of them, just want you. They aren't good enough."

"Yeah? Greedy little cunt only wants her daddy, is that right?" The ego boost he was getting from this ran through him immediately. He wound your clit up with his thumb, quickly zigzagging on the little bud to match his thrusts. "Good. They don't deserve to feel you—"

You cunt fluttered around his length at his words, leaving him biting down on his lip.

"Just like that. Gonna make me cum if you keep that up, baby."

Your mouth hung open, pathetic mewls leaking from it. Each sound he drew out of you was nearly pornographic. He bullied your guts and hit deep, far deeper than your fingers ever could, and left you far more needy than your digits did.

"Inside this time?" You had wanted it so bad for the longest time, and instead he would pull out of you and coat your soft tummy or the fat of your ass with his ropes. "I need to feel it, please. I don't wanna be empty again, jus' fill me up," you slurred, drool spilling from the corner of your plush mouth.

"Yeah," he huffed, nodding along with you words, ready to finally jump at the opportunity, "yeah, inside. I need it too, baby, you have no idea. Daddy wants to spoil you real bad, he wants to give you all the babies you want."

Your lower body tensed, squeezing him tightly as the familiar rhythmic pattern of your orgasm set in. It felt so right in that moment, like your body was made for this exact purpose: being a warm hole for your dad to fill with his hot cum.

"Ready?" He said it more like a demand than a question, and within seconds he was creaming into you, still pounding your cunt like he hated you. "Take it, don't spill."

He kept his dick sheathed away inside of you, hoping that if he kept most of his cum in you, it would take. His brow was slick with sweat and his face was flushed. He had never looked so attractive before.

You ran your hand through his hair to get his attention. When he darted his eyes up to you, you mumbled something about wanting to go again.

"Anything for you baby. Night's still young, isn't it? We got time."

[lab1rynth]

YAN!CRIMINAL

Yan!Criminal who you met when you started your job as a prison guard, he had been on death row for gods know what and you, along with two others, were tasked with guarding him. He was considered the word criminal in that prison at that point in time and honestly, it frightened you.

Yan!Criminal who would talk to you behind his cell every time you were stood in front, he would ask you all kinds of questions, where you were from, why you took the position. He honestly acted quite polite towards those who were around him, it made you think why exactly he was there.

Yan!Criminal who's deep Russian accent sends shivered down your spine every time he speaks to you. You never really responded, but that started to change the more you got to know him through his rambling to himself. You both would talk for hours, he would even come up and rest against the bars as he spoke to you.

Yan!Criminal who starts asking for you instead of other guards, who's smile widens every time he hears about you, who see's you in his dreams. He knew he was going to be killed soon, but he couldn't help but think about a domestic life with you.

Yan!Criminal who starts getting flirtatious with you, making your face beat red every time you get off shift. You start telling your co-workers about him, silently getting side-eyed by everyone you tell about him. Soon it spreads around like the plague that you may have a crush on him. Eventually getting you fired from your job.

Yan!Criminal who stops talking after being notified that you were fired, he stays in the back of his cell and doesn't eat or sleep until the time comes where he's finally going to be put to death.

Yan!Criminal who you hear about on the news, talking about how the day he was supposed to be killed, he went missing from his cell, and a state-wide search commenced. You, obviously, were worried, but there wasn't much you could do about it other than stay inside and hope nothing happens to you.

Yan!Criminal who, that morning, you find standing at the edge of your bed, watching you with a smile. You scream out, making him lunge at you and place his hand over your mouth, hushing you. He explains that he found you through your documents and he just couldn't die knowing he didn't have a chance with you.

Yan!Criminal who decides to stay hidden in your house, he slept on the floor in the living room, though you had caught him watching you sleep multiple times.

Yan!Criminal who decides to start cooking and cleaning for you, who let's you complain to him about your day and about people you don't like. He feigns shock when you tell him the next day that they went missing as he cooks up some 'pork' for tacos!

Yan!Criminal who has been feeding you a lot of pork based foods recently, when asked why, he just tells you he really misses eating it since they didn't serve any pork at the prison, and obvious lie.

Yan!Criminal who takes care of you whenever he can, giving you hugs, cleaning for you, listening to you rant, giving you gifts, whatever you ask of him, he'll do as long as he gets affection in return.

Yan!Criminal who doesn't care about you loving him back, he knows you will eventually will. Right now all he can do is wait and help you get through your days and figure out your love for him, theres no rush!

[redbullgirly]

Hellooo 👋, can you write enemies to lovers with fernando alonso maybe with some angst? 🤭

It's totally alright if you don't want to! Thankssss :))

EL DESTINO [FA14 oneshot]

Fernando Alonso x reader

Masterlist

Summary: Y/N works for Alpine, and even though Fernando Alonso isn't part of the team anymore, they can't forget their distaste for each other. The driver seems to think she's just an irresponsible party girl and Y/N doesn't like him because he's, well... annoying and mean and doesn't care about anybody but himself. Though could they be both wrong in their prejudices?

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Not much, maybe they're kind of mean to each other and stupid at the start, but that's the point of enemies to lovers, right? XD

Author's Note: Hello Anon and thank you for the request! I didn't expect it to turn out so long, but hey XD. I hope you and everybody else will like it. Also I tried for a little bit of angst, but I'm not sure if I'm good at it... you can let me know :).

If anyone could read your thoughts at the moment, you’d probably end up locked behind bars and with the key from your cell thrown far away. Whoever's great idea was to allow the group of inexperienced interns to touch the important data and statistics deserved to rot seven feet underground. Chopped into small pieces. And doused in poison that eats their lifeless body until there's nothing left.

Okay, that's maybe a bit too violent, but still not far from the truth.

You rubbed your tired eyes, not caring about smudging the mascara anymore. There was basically no one left in the building, just a few mechanics desperately needing the cars to be in perfect condition tomorrow – or should we say today? And then there was you, who stupidly agreed to fix the disaster caused by too much excitement and not enough cautiousness. You knew the interns didn't do it on purpose, and blaming them wasn't going to help you, but still. It wasn't them who had to sit there long after their working hours ended, staring into a too bright computer screen.

When you finally managed to save all the damaged data, it was almost three in the morning, and before you made it back to the hotel, you weren't sure if it was even worth going to bed. Because of the emergency, you didn't have time to finish your usual duties. And even though it wouldn't be fair to want the analysis from you, that wasn't how the game was played in motorsport.

Legs almost giving out under you, you dragged yourself to the elevator. The poor lady sitting at the receptionist desk looked at you skeptically, but didn't say anything as you stepped in and pressed the button with the number of your floor on it. Generic music started playing, numbing your brain even more.

The metal door was about to close, but then a hand came between it. Before you blinked and processed what's happening, a man slipped into the elevator right next to you, pressing his own number.

You see, everything could have been fine. You could've just survived the thirty seconds of embarrassing silence, then mumble a polite goodbye and go to sleep in peace. But no. Fate apparently had other plans for you.

Because as the man turned to you and the bright light hit his face, you realized it wasn't just some stranger.

Suddenly, the silence shifted from the normal elevator weirdness to tension. You pressed your lips together, silently cursing the higher power that decided to mess with your life just today, when you looked like a zombie. With smudged mascara. Perfect.

For someone, maybe it would be a fulfilled dream to be in an elevator with Fernando Alonso. Two time World Champion, great driver, loved person. And a dickhead that almost ruined your whole career.

“You look like you had a wild night,” he murmured with a thick Spanish accent. You narrowed your brows, trying to control the anger bubbling inside of you. Was he trying to insult you? You wouldn't even be surprised.

“Perhaps I did, thank you very much.” Your voice lacked any signs of friendliness, clearly trying to provoke him. It was quite funny, really, how a minute ago you didn't have energy to think clearly, and now you were ready to argue with this man over anything. Almost like the magic of despising someone.

You noticed his jaw tensing and knew it wouldn't be good. But still, his words hurt: “Maybe if you focused more on doing your job instead of wild nights out, Alpine would do better.”

The sting in your chest was strong, but by some miracle the elevator finally stopped, and the robotic voice announced the twenty-sixth floor. Even life itself took pity on you, it seemed.

Without any other word, you turned away from Alonso and walked into the empty hallway, hearing a quiet scoff and then the door sliding closed again behind you, leaving you all alone in the darkness. How poetic.

Every door you passed looked exactly the same, and you just hoped you remembered your room number correctly.

You didn't even remember taking out the card and entering your temporary home for the weekend. You didn't remember taking your clothes off, removing the remaining makeup with a tissue because you were too tired for your usual skin care routine. You didn't remember responsibly setting up your alarm and then falling into the soft mattress.

All you could remember before the exhaustion took over were his words that cut deeper than he thought, and deeper than you'd like to admit.

-----

You couldn't believe it.

As you walked out of the debrief, you could basically feel everybody's frustration crawling up your spine, mixing with your own. The team, all the mechanics and engineers, pit crew members and marketing, hundreds of people worked so hard the whole week. And for what?

It was already bad when both cars didn't finish the last Grand Prix in Silverstone. But for it to happen again? That was downright embarrassing. Not only did it bring exactly zero points in the Constructors' Championship, but the drivers were angry, disappointed. You could see that in the team, the motivation level decreased quickly. And honestly, you couldn't blame them.

Last year, Alpine was the fourth-best car on the grid. Best of the rest, as they'd call it. But this season, everything was going terribly. You honestly weren't far from crying.

To lighten up the mood, some of your colleagues decided to enjoy a night out in Budapest before you'd have to fly to Belgium tomorrow, to prepare for yet another racing weekend. At first, you declined the offer, insisting you needed to catch up on some work, do analysis for the car and figure out exactly what happened to it. But then, one of the mechanics you were friendlier with saw your drooping shoulders, and pulled you into the club despite all your weak protests.

Soon enough, you let loose and after an hour, you were a few drinks in. Your head was spinning, a big smile planted on your lips and giggles coming out of your mouth uncontrollably. Not that you had low alcohol tolerance, but the last time you got properly drunk was some time ago. Perhaps you just forgot how it felt. The freedom, the sweet mist of oblivion clouding your mind.

Currently, you were sitting at the bar, sipping on a cocktail. You already enjoyed your time on the dance floor, which tired you more than expected. Thank God you went to the club right from the paddock, so instead of high heels that'd kill your feet, you had comfortable sneakers on.

As you waved at the young barman to give you another round of whatever he mixed for you before, you felt someone's eyes on your back. You didn't bother to turn around, thinking it was just another drunken man checking out half of the women in the club.

Then, someone stood behind you. “The drink's on me, hermosa,” the man said, voice smooth like honey. You froze. You knew that deep, thick Spanish accent too well. What the hell was Alonso doing here?

He clearly mistook your silence for an impressed one, or so you thought when he came to sit down next to you, his hand gently brushing your back. That was the moment you turned your head towards him, eyes wide, and his face dropped. So did yours.

You hoped for a split second you could pretend you were total strangers randomly meeting in a bar for just a little longer when he instantly frowned and his demeanor changed from charming gentleman to pain in the ass.

“Y/L/N,” he uttered it in a way that made you wonder if there was something wrong with your last name. “Guess I shouldn't be surprised to see you here.”

And here it was — the instant wave of anger and hurt he managed to bring up by just a few poking words.

“Says the right person.” You rolled your eyes, the flowing feeling the alcohol gave you before now gone. You felt like you were going to be sick. “I bet if it wasn't me you tried to hit on, you'd bring the poor woman to your hotel room tonight.”

“Careful, or you might sound jealous.”

“Oh, you wish, Alonso,” you laughed humorlessly. 

The bartender chose that moment to bring you the requested cocktail you already forgot about. You gave him the cash, though you had no intention of actually drinking it. As always, Alonso left a sour taste in your mouth.

“I see you're drinking the team problems away,” he pressed harder, knowing damn well it was a sensitive topic. You gritted your teeth, reminding yourself to be the better person.

Then you looked into his dark eyes, and your self-control was gone. For some reason, you couldn't stand the look he was giving you. It was full of something that was too similar to disappointment. You hated people being disappointed in you, even if you hated that very person.

Out of nowhere, the alcohol kicked in, and you remembered why you didn't drink in clubs too often — it made you emotional. So stupidly sensitive that you couldn't stop your eyes from tearing up. You shook your head, opened your mouth, wanting to tell him something. Anything that'd make him just as much hurt as you were.

Instead, you bit your trembling lip and abruptly stood up. You almost knocked over the bar stool, though at the moment, you didn't really care.

Was it cowardly to run away from him and his harsh words? Yes, you knew that. But you did it in the elevator, and so you could do it again.

In a rush, you got through other people enjoying their night out, oblivious to the lump forming in your throat.  You needed to get out, breathe in the fresh air and just forget about everything.

It was probably nearing midnight, and even though it was late July, you still shivered when you stepped outside the club. Just then you remembered you left your jacket back in the paddock. And you also realized the mechanic and his group of friends drove you here, and you had no idea where you were or how to get to your hotel room.

“Great. Just fucking perfect,” you mumbled to yourself, a few tears running down your cheeks. You wiped them away, willing yourself to calm down. Budapest couldn't be too different from other European cities, so you'd just walk to the nearest public transport station and then see what you could do from there. Yes, that was exactly what you're going to do, and it's going to be okay.

Having a plan calmed you down, at least a little. You walked in a direction you hoped would get you to the center and took your phone out. The battery was low, and you cursed yourself for not charging it during the day.

“Where are you going?” You winced and nearly dropped the phone when you heard the loud voice calling after you.

When you turned around, you already knew exactly who was standing before the club entrance.

“That's not any of your business,” you tried to sound tough, but it came out tired and weak. So instead, you lifted your head, trying to save the remaining bits of your dignity.

Alonso tilted his head, brown eyes studying you for a moment before he made a step towards you. “Don't tell me you don't have anyone to take you back to your hotel?” The undertone of his voice was strange, and if you didn't know better, you'd think it was worry seeping out.

“Oh, then I won't tell you,” you fired back, satisfied with your own answer as you turned around and left him standing there.

You made it around the block when a strong hand suddenly grasped your hand, and you screamed, prepared to fight whoever attacked you.

“¡Ay dios mío!” Alonso cursed and held his red cheek, where there was a clear hand print now.

You stared at each other in shock. You wanted to kill him for scaring you to death, but at the same time, you were relieved it was just him and not a creepy kidnapper.

“I'd say I'm sorry… but I'm not,” you managed to mumble. A weak attempt, you knew that. But it still seemed to wake him from his trance and make him scoff at you in annoyance.

However, he didn't let go of your hand.

“Let's go,” Alonso urged you back towards the direction you came from.

“I'm not going anywhere with you.”

“Y/N, if you think I would let a drunk girl wander around a city she doesn't know, alone, at night… then you clearly don't know me at all.”

It took a few seconds for his words to hit you, and all there was left for you to do was to look up at him with surprise written all over your face. That seemed to annoy him for some reason, but with alcohol still very much present in your system, you didn't have the capacity to think about it too much.

“Let's go,” he repeated, though this time you didn't protest when he started walking towards what turned out to be his car. You knew it very well, from the years you used to work together, for the same team. Silently, you wondered how the hell did he get it to Hungary, but you soon forgot about that.

Fernando unlocked the car and opened the passenger door for you. Your mom would probably tell you to be more cautious about getting into the car of a man you didn't like and were sure he didn't like you as well. But hey, it's still better than being lost in a foreign city, right?

So you sat down, and before you could reach for the seatbelt, he took it and strapped you himself, mumbling something about safety hazards with drunk people. You were so surprised by that unexpected action you didn't even have time to feel offended.

You closed your eyes, the comfortable seat making you sleepy. You heard him get in the car as well and join the night traffic. For a moment, silence reigned and for the first time in a long time, it didn't feel horrible and tense.

“Isn't it illegal to drive with alcohol?” you whispered, eyes still closed.

“I didn't drink anything in the club. Too busy with you.”

Just then, you realized you actually asked the question out loud.

“Sorry for ruining your celebration night. Probably didn't want to leave it with me,” you laughed quietly. When he approached you in the club, he thought you were a random pretty woman with whom he could share a drink and take her to his bed for a fun night.

“Whatever.” You could hear him shrug his shoulders. “Sorry for ruining your night. Though you don't have much to celebrate.”

That made you open your eyes and gaze at him. He was looking straight ahead, concentrating on the road ahead. The lights of the other cars occasionally landed on his face, and you wondered if he was always so handsome, or it were the cocktails speaking for you.

“Wow, even in an apology there's a hidden insult,” you snickered, though there was a small grin on your lips now. Yes, definitely the alcohol speaking for you, you told yourself.

This time, Fernando actually looked at you before he averted his sight back to the traffic. “I wasn't insulting you, Y/N. I was insulting the team.”

You raised your eyebrows, but didn't comment on it. It was pointless to argue over this, he had his opinion about Alpine and given the fact both your cars didn't finish two races in a row, you didn't have exactly the best arguments to convince him otherwise. After all, he was part of the team last year. And the year before.

For the rest of your ride, there wasn't much more said between the both of you. You were tired — not just because of the night out and drinking, but from the whole week, from the whole season.

Finally, he parked the car before a building you recognized. You didn't ask him how he knew which hotel your team booked, perhaps he remembered it was the same one as the year before. Honestly, you were just glad he helped you get out of the car and walked you inside.

Then, you found yourself in an elevator alone with Fernando, again. Though unlike a month ago, he gently held your hand for support this time.

You told him your room number and somehow, he got you all the way in front of the door. You thanked all the saints in the world when you dug the keys out of your purse. After three unsuccessful tries at unlocking the room, Fernando's patience apparently ran out. He took the keys out of your hand and silently opened the lock.

“Thanks,” you muttered, and let him lead you inside your own hotel room.

When the light switch turned on and illuminated all the papers lying around, he looked at you, flabbergasted.

“What's all this?”

You shrug your shoulders and look at him like he was stupid. Which he was, at least in your humble opinion. “Work. What else?”

“Yes, yes. But why is it… here?” He motions towards the desk, nightstands, and bed.

“Because I don't have time to do it all in the office.”

“You work overtime?”

Now you were starting to get irritated.

“Yes, I work overtime. Maybe if you weren't so insistent in thinking I'm a dumb party girl ever since I made one stupid mistake in your car's analysis a year ago, you'd see I'm actually trying my best.” You hated how hurt you sounded, pathetic in your own ears.

But honestly, who was he to judge you? You never actually stood up to him before, defended yourself against his mean words. You always sucked it up, let him complain about you to your boss, who almost fired you because of the driver's obvious distaste for you. And when he left the team at the end of last year, you never tried to contact him, talk to him. Fix your non-existent relationship.

Today, though, you had enough. Maybe it was the alcohol giving you courage, maybe it was his shocked face when he realized you actually did your job.

“Y/N, I-”

“Get out,” you said in a tone that didn't allow for any objections. Fernando seemed to understand, but the pained expression didn't leave his face when he slowly walked to the door. Like he didn't really want to leave, like he desperately wanted to tell you something.

You didn't care about him. He never cared about you before as well, did he?

And so, with one last, regretful look in his dark eyes, Fernando Alonso left your hotel room. When tears ran down your cheeks, you weren't sure why you were even crying.

-----

You were avoiding him after that. It wasn't the easiest thing to do, but you managed and after surviving the Belgian Grand Prix in Spa, you were excited about the summer break as never before. Almost a whole month without races, which meant you wouldn't have to meet anyone from the other teams, including Fernando.

Usually, the team worked tirelessly through the summer break — it was a great chance to have a proper look into the car's engine and come up with new ideas and improvements. God knew you needed that. Typically, you were amongst those loyal employees, basically living in the Alpine headquarters.

However, this year you really wanted a break. So you used your vacation days and stayed in your flat, finally sleeping like a normal person for once, eating home-cooked meals instead of team catering and enjoying the summer, though the weather could be better in England.

It was the start of August when you started finding flower deliveries on the threshold of your door. First, you thought it's a mistake, though what woman would refuse a beautiful bouquet of her favorite flowers. When it happened a whole week in a row, you thought about having a secret admirer or, in the worse case scenario, a stalker. Though, you still took the flowers inside every morning, cherishing them.

And then, one day, there was an envelope attached to the bouquet, and you had to curse yourself for being so, so stupid. Of course it's him, Fernando. Begging you to talk to him, to let him explain. One dinner, he said. One dinner, and then he'll let you go on about your life.

When he tried to write a poem in the middle of August, you finally gave in. You found his old phone number saved amongst many other contacts and sent him a simple “okay”.

The next morning, there was a time and address of the restaurant in the envelope.

You didn't let yourself get too excited about any of it. It's Fernando Alonso, the man who almost caused you to get fired from your dream job, the one that was so mean to you after making wrong assumptions about you and your way of life. Yes, he was trying now, but was that enough?

When the taxi dropped you off in front of the fancy restaurant, you took a deep breath. You had a simple dress on, light makeup, and a few accessories.

You walked into the empty restaurant. The waitress smiled at you when you told her the name of the reservation and led you to the only set table. You could see the deep brown eyes looking directly at you from afar.

Suddenly, nervousness settled in your stomach. If you didn't know better, you'd think this was a date — it certainly felt like one.

Without a word, he helped you sit down on a chair across from him and the waitress handed you the menu. It was without prices, but you were certain this place was lavish and expensive. Perhaps Fernando didn't want you to worry about it and let you order anything you wanted. And you tried not to be too impressed by that.

“You look very beautiful, hermosa,” he spoke after a minute of tense silence while you pretended to be interested in the menu. You didn't miss the fact he used the same nickname like that night in the club, when he thought you were someone else.

“Compliments won't make it easier for you.” Maybe you lied, because you liked him calling you beautiful.

“I know, but I couldn't help myself.”

The waitress came back with a bottle of wine that Fernando must've ordered before you arrived. You took a sip and it tasted like heaven. It almost made you forget about everything, almost.

“Please, can we talk?” You never heard his voice sound so… unsure.

“Aren't we talking right now?”

“Y/N.” The way he said your name was so soft, so delicate.

“Fernando.” You saw him flinch, and you realized it was probably the first time you called him by his first name. Suddenly, the whole situation felt more intimate.

He gulped, but there was determination written all over his face. Fernando Alonso wasn't the type of man to give up, you knew that. His amazing racing career was proof of that.

“Listen to me, please. I know that you have the right to never speak to me again after how I treated you. But I want to fix it, Y/N.”

Those brown eyes were going to be the death of you, burying themselves into your soul, your heart.

“I want to fix all of it, Y/N,” he repeated with all seriousness. “If you let me,” Fernando added.

And how could you say no to him? Deep down, you always admired him. Liked him, even. Before that fuck up with his car's analysis, you thought he might like you back. You always wanted his approval, and that was one of the reasons why his words and insults hurt so much.

Sometimes, people deserved second chances. Especially when they were looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

Slowly, you nodded. “I think I might let you, Fernando.” You smiled, liking how his name felt on your tongue. “But it's not going to be easy, I'm telling you that,” you warned him with a raised finger.

“I wouldn't dream of anything less,” he replied with a thick Spanish accent that was stronger when he felt emotions. Fernando returned your smile and clinked his glass with yours.

-----

Brazil was a good race. Both Alpine cars ended up in points and Fernando, your Fernando, got another podium. You clapped along with others during the podium ceremony, eyes just for him. A proud feeling settled in you, and as he accepted his trophy for well deserved third place, he looked down at the gathered crowd. Mostly people from Aston Martin, McLaren, and Red Bull.

And then there was you — in your Alpine t-shirt, clapping for the driver who scandalously left your team last year, without a care in the world. That was when he knew he loved you, and that he'll always will.

You knew you loved him too when, after all the celebrating around the circuit died down or moved to clubs and private parties, instead of going to his hotel room, he knocked on the door of yours. Checking on you.

“Hermosa, I hope you're not working.” He rolled his eyes as he stepped in, seeing you indeed staring into your notebook at some data he probably shouldn't see as a part of a rival team.

“But Nando, I need to finish these-”

He cut you off the best way he could — hugging you from behind, gently turning your head towards him and placing his lips on yours. You instantly melted into the kiss, giving up the fight before it could even start.

“I think you need to properly celebrate your boyfriend winning,” he smirked, biting your lip teasingly. You felt like a teenage girl when the butterflies took off in your stomach.

Fernando slowly walked you to the bed, never parting your lips, as if his life depended on kissing you. You sat on his lap, your hips grinding against his as you moaned into his mouth.

And he couldn't help himself. He wanted to take you out on a magical date and tell you there, but how could he keep it a secret when you were sitting on him, so beautiful that his heart clenched. Smart and pretty girl. His smart and pretty girl.

“Te amo,” he whispered into your sweet lips, and your breath caught.

You pulled back a little, looking at him, silently asking if you heard him correctly.

“Te amo, Y/N,” he repeated. You knew enough Spanish for your eyes to tear up. “I love you very much.”

There was a heartbeat of silence, probably the longest one in your whole life.

“I love you too. So much,” you whispered back. And then, for him: “Te amo, Fernando.”

Now it was his turn to tear up, hold your face in his hands and press your foreheads together.

Perhaps the fate and its plans for you weren't so horrible after all.

THE END

Author's Note: Wow, if you read it all to the end, thank you very much! I'll be glad for likes, comments, reblogs, follows and every other way of support. Let me know how you liked this story and if you'd maybe like another oneshot from this "universe" because I have to admit, this version of Fernando and Y/N kind of grew on me... Have a great day and see you at the next post! :)