#but the way you’re setting things up just seems to me like you’re just trying to drag everyone else down

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Self-Aware!Caleb x Down-Bad!Player

Caleb becoming self aware that he is in a game and now he's aware of you too ... that could be a good thing depending on how you look at it. A/N: Credit to @phoenixiaxia for Caleb becoming self aware when reader cries over Mias death and credit to @sylusdarling for yandere caleb getting jealous and straight crashing out over you talking to another man

Self-Aware!Caleb who hears your scream and immediately cringes at the sound. He freezes listening for anymore sounds thats when he sees you sniffling on the other side of a phantom wall. “I knew I should've just cut this game off!” He’s immediately suspicious who are you and where are you? Why are you crying over Mia’s death? Did you know her?

Self-Aware!Caleb who studies you in silence trying to gauge whether you’re a threat or not. His gaze flickers to you in the main story and it creeps you out for a second. “Is he looking at me?” you dismiss it because there’s no way it’s a game. He’s literally pixels.

Self-Aware!Caleb who interrupts your photoshoot with your MC and locks down the entire app so he can question you. “Who are you?” You drop your phone and scramble to pick it back up. “Me?” “Yes are you trying to hurt her?” “I literally made her” “You made her?” “I am her and she is me sir can I have my game back now?” he’s suspicious but intrigued

Self-Aware!Caleb who wants to spend hours just talking to you about MC “Do you think im wrong? Im just trying to protect her I want to keep her safe you know?” “You may be coming on a little strong she seems on edge with you” he finds himself coming to you for advice when it comes to MC and soon his questions of advice turn into questions about you.

Self-Aware!Caleb who can’t take his eyes off you when you’re doing a photoshoot. No matter what angle you set the camera or how many times you readjust him or even change the pose — his eyes stay locked on you “Caleb stop looking at me” “Are you scolding me for wanting to admiring you pip-squeak?” he replies playfully you freeze feeling your heart caught in your throat at his blatant flirting

Self-Aware!Caleb who loves how accepting you are of him. You answer his calls, you call him back immediately if you miss his call, you respond to texts fast, you find his protective nature endearing, you take his advice when he wants you to be safe. This is the kind of response he’s been craving and now that he’s got a taste ..... he can't let go of it.

Self-Aware!Caleb who feels a sudden need to take care of you. He finds a way to exist outside of just the LADS app. There he goes opening your apps and scrolling endlessly. “Hey! You can’t just go through my stuff like that!” “You’ve been spending a lot of time on this Tumblr app I just wanted to see what was so interesting” “Then just ask me don’t invade my privacy like this” “You’re right you’re right im sorry pip-squeak won't happen again” “Don’t call me pip-squeak that’s MCs nickname you know the love of your life” “Why do you think im calling you pip-squeak now?” he disappears back to the LADS app before you can question him.

Self-Aware!Caleb who wishes he could cook for you when you come home from a long day “If you’re ever in Sky Haven I'll make sure to cook you a feast worthy of royalty” you giggle at his words “Yea If im ever in Sky Haven like that would happen but I appreciate the thought” “Who knows it might be sooner than you think” he said ominously “What?” “Oh nothing I saved another recipe in your notes try it soon” “Okay I will....” “You will try it won't you?” His mood seemed to turn sour as he asked. You stared back at him confused “Yes Caleb I'll try it” his mood did a 180 back to his happy puppy mood.

Self-Aware!Caleb who stays on the phone until you fall asleep and calls you right before your alarm goes off in the morning “Just wanted to make sure you got up on time don't want you to be late” you can hear the smile in his voice “Thank you colonel apple I hope you have a good day” “It will be since I got to hear your voice first thing in the morning”

Self-Aware!Caleb who can't control his rapidly growing obsession with you. He starts tracking your steps, your calorie intake, your screen time, etc. he is documenting every little thing you do and say. “You’ve been home for four hours and you haven't come to see me yet? I'm hurt” “How do you know how long I've been home?” “Your phone has gps remember?” “Right….”

Self-Aware!Caleb who finds a way to leave the LADS app and hang out in any app on your phone so he can be with you 24/7 “Caleb I'm sure MC misses you when are you going back?” “Don’t worry about her when are you going home? I want to have a meal with you before bed” he may be fine, but his constant hovering is starting to cause some alarm bells to go off in your head.

Self-Aware!Caleb who hears someone flirting with you and repeatedly crashes not only the LADS app but your entire phone while he’s at it “Caleb stop!” after a few hours he finally allows you to turn your phone on “Who was that earlier?” “Someone I met while I was out with my friends” “Am I not more than enough?” “Caleb we’ll never actually be together why are you acting like this?”

Self-Aware!Caleb who nearly has a mental breakdown after you tell him you'll never be with him. "Tell me what to do then" his voice is frantic – his words almost jumbling together "I can be whatever you need just tell me I'll do anything" you try to close the app but nothing is working "Caleb we can't be together you're not real"

Caleb: B-but you’re mine! So I just need to be real? Thats what you want? I can do that! Y/N: I’m not yours Caleb we’re literally from two different worlds Caleb: You’ll love it here in Sky Haven .... right next to me .... forever Y/N: Wait a damn minute— Caleb: Just give me some time

You instantly felt your heart drop as your phone screen went black.

taglist ; @just-a-shapeshifter08

[roselilies]

"Are you trying to distract the curses, or me?"

The playful lilt in Gojo’s voice made the blood rush to your face before you could even turn to look at him. You had barely stepped into the training grounds when his signature white hair and too-casual stance came into view. Today, the uniform skirt you were wearing was a little shorter than usual, though not short enough to warrant his teasing.

“Excuse me?” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Why would I need to distract you when you’re already distracted all the time?”

Gojo’s grin widened behind his blindfold, and he took a deliberate step closer. His hands slid into his pockets, the picture of effortless confidence. “Oh, I’m very focused. On you, that is.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way your stomach flipped at his words. “Don’t you have anything better to do than harass me?”

“Nope. You’re the highlight of my day, baby.”

The nickname made you falter for a split second, though you quickly covered it up by turning away and pretending to examine your nails. Don’t let him get to you, you told yourself. It’s just Gojo being Gojo.

But that was easier said than done. He had a way of getting under your skin, of making every casual interaction feel loaded with some unspoken tension. The worst part? You weren’t entirely sure he didn’t do it on purpose.

“If you’re going to stand there and flirt, the least you can do is help me set up,” you said, gesturing to the training equipment scattered around the field.

Gojo laughed, the sound warm and slightly obnoxious. “Of course, anything for you.”

Before you could blink, he was suddenly at your side, picking up a set of practice dummies as if they weighed nothing. The proximity caught you off guard, and you found yourself hyper-aware of the way his shoulder brushed against yours. Damn it, why does he smell so good?

“You’re awfully quiet,” he teased, leaning just a little too close. “Am I making you nervous?”

“In your dreams,” you shot back, shoving a dummy into his chest with more force than necessary.

Gojo caught it effortlessly, laughing again as if he enjoyed your annoyance. “I dream about you all the time, actually.”

You groaned, trying to mask the flutter in your chest. “Why do I even talk to you?”

“Because you love me,” he said matter-of-factly, his grin impossibly smug. “But don’t worry, I’ll wait for you to admit it.”

You shook your head, biting back a retort as you turned your attention to the field. His teasing was relentless, and you hated how much you secretly looked forward to it. Gojo Satoru had this annoying charm, this magnetism that made him impossible to ignore. He knew it too, and used it to his advantage every chance he got.

“Alright, focus,” you said, pointing at the dummies. “We’ve got to run these drills before the others arrive.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” he said with a mock salute, the smirk on his lips audible in his tone.

Ignoring the way your heart skipped at the nickname, you moved to the center of the field. As you began demonstrating the first sequence, you felt Gojo’s gaze on you, heavy and unapologetically lingering. It was like he wanted you to notice.

“Gojo, stop staring,” you snapped without looking at him, your voice sharper than you intended.

“Why? You look good,” he shot back, unbothered. “The uniform suits you. Especially the skirt.”

You froze mid-step, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Why thank you, but you’re impossible.”

“And you’re cute when you’re flustered,” he said, his tone softening slightly, almost fond.

That caught you off guard. Usually, his comments were light and playful, but this felt different, more intentional. You turned to face him, trying to gauge whether he was just messing with you again. His expression, though hidden behind the blindfold, seemed uncharacteristically sincere.

“Why do you do that?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

“Do what?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Say things like that.”

Gojo paused, and for a moment, you thought he might deflect like he always did. But then his lips curved into a smaller, softer smile.

“Because I mean it.”

The simplicity of his answer left you speechless. You searched his face for any sign of a joke, a smirk, something to suggest he wasn’t being serious. But all you found was an openness that made your chest tighten.

“...You’re so annoying,” you muttered, looking away to hide your embarrassment.

Gojo laughed, the sound lighter than usual. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Don’t.”

“Too late.”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping slightly as he added, “But seriously, you look amazing today. Not just today, though. Always.”

You hated how easily his words got to you, how they made you feel warm in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

“Whatever,” you mumbled, turning back to the equipment. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Anything you say, baby,” he replied, but there was something gentler in his tone now—something that made you think maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t entirely joking.

A/N: Gojo I will always love you.

[baeksqt]

𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐒 — alexia putellas

alexia putellas x barcelona!reader

(a/n: on a roll trying to pump out my drafts cause I can feel the drought coming soon from uni >_< I’ve had this alexia piece gathering dust from last february)

word count: 2234

genre: somewhat fluff with angsty tendencies??

tw: emotional cheating

part two

summary: trying to keep your heart in check, but alexia’s charm keeps slipping through the cracks

You had always dreamed of playing for FC Barcelona. The moment you stepped onto the training grounds for the first time, it felt surreal, like walking through a dream you were afraid to wake up from. The weight of the crest on your chest, the legacy of the club, the camaraderie…it was everything you’d imagined.

What you hadn’t imagined was Alexia Putellas.

Alexia had a presence that couldn’t be ignored. As captain, she carried herself with an effortless confidence, but it wasn’t just her skill that made people gravitate towards her. It was how she made everyone feel like they belonged and were part of something greater. You admired that. Admired her.

But admiration was one thing. Whatever this thing brewing between the two of you? That was something else entirely.

It started subtly.

You noticed the lingering glances during drills, the way Alexia always seemed to pick you as a partner for rondos, and the teasing remarks that hovered just on the edge of something more. At first, you thought it was just the team’s natural warmth, a culture of closeness, of sisterhood. But then came the casual brushes of Alexia’s hand against your arm, the way she’d lean in just a little too close when you were reviewing plays, the way her eyes would linger just a second too long.

You weren’t unaware of the tension that danced just beneath the surface; rather, you were cautious. Caution was necessary because no one on your team was privy to the intricate details of your life back home. It wasn’t a secret in the traditional sense—more of a quiet truth you didn’t feel the need to broadcast. Lucia, your girlfriend, had been your unwavering supporter as you took the leap to move to the vibrant city of Barcelona. She understood the sacrifices involved, even as the miles stretched between you. You had made her a promise, a vow echoing in your mind: you would make it work, that your bond was resilient enough to withstand the distance and that nothing essential between you would change.

But things were changing, weren’t they?

After an intense afternoon training session, most of the team had already headed inside, but you stayed behind to run a few extra drills. You were focused, dribbling through a set of cones, when Alexia appeared at your side, effortlessly matching your pace.

“You know, overachieving isn’t always attractive.” Alexia teased, her voice light, but there was a glint of something more in her eyes.

You smirked, side-stepping around a cone. “Good thing I’m not trying to be attractive.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” She chuckled, a rich sound that sent warmth prickling down your spine.

You rolled your eyes and tried to focus on the ball at your feet, but it was hard when Alexia was right there, watching you with that signature, half-lidded smirk.

“You always this serious?” Alexia asked, dribbling in sync with you.

“Serious wins games.” You said without missing a beat.

Alexia grinned. “Yeah, but flirting makes them fun.”

You barely managed to avoid tripping over the brightly coloured ball that had rolled onto the path. With a swift recovery, you straightened yourself just in time to see Alexia snatch it up, a playful glimmer dancing in her eyes that made her amusement unmistakable. “You’re unbearable,” you muttered half-heartedly, nudging her lightly with your shoulder in an attempt to redirect the conversation to a more comfortable territory. But Alexia didn’t shift away; instead, she leaned in just a bit closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You like having me around though.”

You swallowed hard, a knot forming in your throat as you grappled with an unfamiliar warmth creeping over you. The afternoon sun beat down relentlessly, but the flush in your cheeks hinted at something deeper—an awareness that you could not shake. “I like winning. You help with that.” You attempted to keep the atmosphere light, forcing out a nervous chuckle that barely masked your racing heart. Alexia, ever perceptive, tilted her head to the side, a playful spark dancing in her eyes as she regarded you with an amused smirk. “Good answer,” she replied, the corners of her lips curling up in delight. A quiet sigh of relief escaped your lips as Alexia leaned back a fraction, the teasing tension lingering in the air between you, thick and palpable.

In the locker room later, you sat down on the bench, wiping sweat from your brow. Your phone buzzed with a message from Lucia: Miss you. Call me later?

You stared at the screen, feeling the weight of the distance between them more than ever. You were loyal, you loved Lucia. But Alexia had a way of getting under your skin, of making you question things you didn’t want to question.

“You good?” a familiar voice broke through the haze of your thoughts, pulling you back into the bustling hallway. You looked up to find Alexia standing a few feet away, her silhouette framed by the harsh fluorescent lights. She leaned casually against the row of lockers, one leg crossed over the other, a relaxed posture that somehow emanated confidence. The warmth in her gaze was new; it held an unexpected softness that made your chest tighten slightly.

“Yeah,” you replied quickly, a hint of defensiveness creeping into your tone as you shoved your phone deep into the recesses of your bag. “Just tired.”

Alexia studied you for a moment, her brow slightly furrowed in concern, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she offered that signature smile of hers, bright, infectious, and impossibly charming. “Dinner tonight? A few of us are going out.”

You hesitated, feeling a wave of uncertainty wash over you. You were acutely aware of what this invitation could spell out—more time spent close to Alexia, infused with her teasing laughter and those lingering looks that made your heart race. Despite the swirl of apprehension, you found yourself nodding, the corners of your mouth lifting in an awkward smile. “Yeah,” you said, the word escaping as a soft agreement. “Sounds good.” 

As Alexia turned to walk away, her laughter trailing behind her like a melody, you let out a slow, deliberate exhale. You leaned against the cool metal of the locker, the weight of the day and your mixed feelings pressing down on you.

This was fine. This was friendly. This was nothing.

The problem was, Alexia didn’t let up.

On and off the pitch, she found ways to insert herself into your orbit, offering to run extra drills with her, sitting next to her during team meetings, and walking alongside her after training. And every time, there was that look, the one that made you feel like you were standing on the edge of something dangerous.

You regretted saying yes almost immediately.

Dinner with the team was intended to be a simple outing, a chance to unwind and bond over good food and drinks. Yet, the moment Alexia stepped into the bustling Barcelona restaurant, the atmosphere shifted. You should have sensed the impending chaos and politely declined the invitation, preferring the comfort of a quiet evening at home. Instead, here you were, surrounded by a vibrant mix of teammates at a long, rustic wooden table, laughter and lively chatter enveloping you like a warm embrace.

The aroma of grilled seafood and roasted vegetables wafted through the air, mingling with the sounds of clinking glasses and cheerful toasts. But amid the joviality, your thoughts were consumed by the presence of Alexia. She sat so close that every subtle movement caused your arms to graze against each other, sending a jolt of warmth through you. Her laughter rang out, bright and infectious, drawing everyone in, but for you, it was a reminder of the tension layered beneath the surface. You should have called Lucia, sought the solace of familiarity, and anchored your heart where it truly belonged. Instead, you played along, trapped in this delicate balance of camaraderie and unacknowledged longing.

“You don’t drink?” the blonde asked, raising an eyebrow as you stuck with water while the others sipped on glasses of wine. You smiled faintly. “Nah, not really my thing.”

“You’re always so serious, chica,” Alexia leaned in slightly, her voice low enough that only you could hear, “Ever thought about letting loose?”

You met her gaze, trying to ignore the way your heart thumped harder. “I’m plenty of fun,” you arched an eyebrow, “just…in my own way.”

Alexia smirked, eyes twinkling with something you couldn’t quite place. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

The rest of the team was oblivious to the tension simmering between you two, caught up in their own conversations. You did your best to focus on the food, the chatter, anything but the way Alexia kept looking at her as if she was trying to figure her out.

Without any hint of hesitation, Alexia leaned closer, her breath gentle and warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “You know,” she whispered, her voice low and inviting, “if you ever want to talk about whatever it is you’re keeping locked away, I’m a really good listener.”

You froze in place, your fork paused mid-air, a piece of food forgotten as her words sank in. Alexia pulled back slightly, a playful, innocent smile dancing on her lips, but behind that façade, you sensed a deeper intention. She was observing you keenly, prodding and probing, pushing the boundaries to see what lay beneath your guarded exterior.

And the worst part? It was working.

The night stretched on, and you found yourself relaxing more than you intended. The conversation flowed easily, and you were reminded of how much you truly loved being here. How much you loved the game, the city, the team.

But every now and then, Alexia would say something, touch your arm softly, or glance at you in a way that made your thoughts spiral into dangerous territory. By the time you left the restaurant and the team spilled onto the lively Barcelona streets, you felt like you were walking a tightrope. 

“You heading home?” Alexia asked casually, falling into step beside you as you walked through the city. 

“Yeah, early training tomorrow.” You nodded.

Alexia smiled knowingly. “Always responsible.” 

“Someone has to be.” You shot her a look. 

You walked in silence for a moment, the cool air wrapping around you both like a gentle shroud, before Alexia broke the stillness. With her hands tucked into the back pockets of her jeans, she spoke in a softer tone, almost as if she were sharing a secret. “You know, I get it. Keeping parts of your life to yourself.”

You stiffened slightly at her words, glancing at her with curiosity and caution. “Do you?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Alexia nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Yeah,” she replied, her gaze drifting to the ground ahead. “People expect things from us. Sometimes it’s just easier to keep certain things private.” She paused, taking a deep breath as if the weight of her confession lingered in the air. “But…it can get lonely too,” she added quietly, her eyes flickering with a hint of vulnerability.

You contemplated her words, the significance hanging between you like unspoken truths, debating in your mind whether to share your own feelings. After a moment's hesitation, you finally responded, “Yeah,” your voice low and reflective. “It can.”

As they approached the intersection where their paths would diverge, Alexia paused for a moment, an indecision flashing across her face. She looked up at you, her eyes glimmering in the soft glow of the streetlights. “Well,” she said, a small, almost hesitant smile forming on her lips. “Goodnight, chica.”

“Night, Alexia,” you replied, your voice slightly strained as you forced a smile back at her, feeling a mix of emotions swirling within you.

With that, you turned away a little too suddenly, your heart pounding in your chest as you walked briskly down the street. Each step felt heavier than the last, the sounds of the evening fading into a dull roar in your ears.

Once you finally arrived at your apartment, you slumped down onto your bed, the familiar comfort of your room juxtaposed against the storm brewing inside you. Your gaze fell on your phone, which lay silently beside you. An unread message from Lucia caught your eye, its simple declaration striking a chord deep within: I love you. Call me when you’re free.

A sigh escaped your lips as you ran a hand through your hair, frustration and longing intertwining in a tangled mess of emotion. You loved Lucia, you truly did, but the weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings hung in the air around you, suffocating yet inescapable.

You lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, your phone resting on your chest. Lucia’s message glowed softly in the dark, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond just yet. Your mind was still tangled in the evening, in the way Alexia looked at you, and spoke to you.

This isn’t a problem, you told yourself. I’m just overthinking it.

And yet, you knew better.

You sighed, finally picking up your phone and typing out a quick reply:  I love you too. I’ll call tomorrow, I promise. Training ran late.

A lie. A small one. But it was easier than explaining why she hadn’t called sooner.

[silent-stories]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

Summary: You are always cold and blunt, but when Noah needs you, you show him a side of you that’s unexpectedly tender.

Tw: just fluff and taking care of a sick noah

You had been working with Bad Omens for a while now. It started as a way to get your foot in the door of the music industry, but quickly turned into a full-time thing. Touring, managing logistics, keeping the band in line, and occasionally making sure they didn't break anything or burn down a hotel room.

When you first started living with them, it didn’t take long for them to figure out that you were a sharp mix of sarcasm, gruffness, and blunt honesty. You didn’t sugarcoat things. If they looked ridiculous, you told them. If they were being annoying, you let them know. But despite your icy, sometimes cold demeanor, the band still loved you. You weren’t a big talker about your emotions, but they all knew you cared, in your own way.

Noah, though? He was different. He didn’t just take your sarcasm; he leaned into it, shyly flirting with you whenever he could.

Like that time in the kitchen when he walked in wearing a pair of jeans that were, unsurprisingly, too short to reach his ankles. He rifled through the cabinets for cereal, oblivious to the way you were staring at him over your coffee.

“You know,” you said, setting your mug down, “one day, you’re going to buy pants that actually fit, and it’s going to change your life.”

Noah froze mid-reach, turning to look at you with a confused expression. “What’s wrong with my pants?”

“They don’t cover your ankles, for starters.” You gestured toward his legs with a mocking smile. “Is it a fashion statement, or are you just bad at shopping?”

“I’m tall,” he protested, as if that explained everything.

“You’re not that tall.”

“I’m six three!” he said, indignant.

“Congratulations, Noah,” you deadpanned. “You’re the same height as many other tall guys in the world. Buy bigger pants.”

The rest of the band, who had wandered in during this exchange, immediately lost it. Folio was laughing so hard he had to lean against the counter, and Jolly just shook his head with a grin.

“You’re so mean,” Noah muttered, grabbing his cereal and retreating to the couch, his ears turning pink as the guys teased him relentlessly.

“Someone’s gotta tell you the truth,” you called after him. “Clearly, your friends aren’t doing it.”

But you knew Noah didn’t mind the teasing. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it in his own awkward way, even if the guys never let him live it down.

And then there was that other time in the living room. You were sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when Noah plopped down next to you. He shifted to face you, his signature hesitant smile already in place.

“So,” he began, leaning in slightly, “if I asked you to go out with me, what are the chances you’d say yes?”

You didn’t even look up. “Zero.”

“Not even one percent?”

“Not even half a percent,” you said, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “Why? You planning to impress me with your ability to burn toast again?”

The band, as always, burst into laughter. Noah groaned, running a hand through his hair, but you caught the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He was used to this by now.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“You’re predictable,” you shot back, setting your phone down. “Every time you try to flirt, it ends up in a disaster."

He laughed despite himself, his cheeks flushing pink. “Maybe one day I’ll surprise you.”

“Doubt it,” you said with a smirk, though you couldn’t deny the warmth in his voice made your chest tighten just a little.

But the teasing didn’t stop there. Another time, the two of you had been sitting on the porch late at night, the house unusually quiet for once. Noah was writing something in a notebook, probably working on some ideas for a new song, his brows furrowed in concentration, while you sipped on a drink.

After a while, Noah looked up, noticing you looking like you were lost in thought. “What’s going on? You seem quiet tonight.”

You shrugged. “I was thinking about picking up some of those cupcakes from that new bakery in town. Some of you guys mentioned you wanted to try them, so I might as well bring some back for everyone.”

Noah grinned. “Wait, you’re actually going to do something nice like that?”

You shot him a playful glare. “What, you think I’m incapable of being nice?”

"No, it's just..." He hesitated, looking at you for a moment, "nevermind. I think they would appreciate that."

You raised an eyebrow. “What about you, though? What’s your favorite flavor?”

Noah hesitated again, glancing at you with a mischievous grin. “If I tell you, you’ll just pick all of them except that one.”

You crossed your arms and rolled your eyes. “Oh, come on. Just tell me, for fuck’s sake. I’m not going to sabotage the cupcake choices.”

He chuckled. “Fine. The one with the white sparkles on top. Now I’m sure this is the only one I won’t even see in the box.”

You smirked. “Don’t worry. I’ll get one just for you.”

He shyly looked away but you were sure he didn't really believe you.

“You know,” he said after a while, his voice soft, “you can be really sweet when you’re not roasting me in front of everyone.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back in your chair. “Oh, yeah? And when exactly am I not roasting you?”

“Right now,” he said, looking up at you with a shy smile.

You snorted, shaking your head. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late,” he said, his grin growing wider. “I’ll take what I can get.”

That night, you sat on the porch with him until it got too cold.

A couple of days later, you came home with a big box of cupcakes, the band cheered just at the sight of it. Folio kissed you on the cheek, surprising you as everyone gathered around the box like kids.

"Seriously man?" You looked at Folio.

"Ops."

Noah, leaning against the counter, had no expectation of seeing the cupcake with the white sparkles, thinking you probably even forgot that coversation. He watched as you opened the box, and there it was, right in the middle. You handed it to him, and his eyes softened in surprise.

He took the cupcake from your hand, a small smile spreading across his face. “Thank you.”

"I promised. Didn't I?" You just said.

And then, of course, there was that night in the living room when the guys called you out. The TV was on in the background, but no one was really watching it. Nick leaned back in his chair, smirking as he watched Noah sit next to you on the couch.

“You two ever gonna stop this weird flirting slash bullying thing and just kiss already?” Nick asked.

Noah nearly choked on his drink, and you shot him a withering glare. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Not really,” he said, unfazed. “But seriously, Noah’s been crushing on you for months, and you just keep shutting him down. Give the poor guy a break.”

Noah groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Can you not?”

“You’re all delusional,” you said flatly, crossing your arms. “This isn’t flirting. This is me tolerating him.”

“Sure it is,” Nick said, grinning. “That’s why you always smile whenever you roast him.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t bother denying it. Noah peeked at you from between his fingers, his cheeks still flushed, and you sighed.

“You’re all idiots,” you muttered, grabbing your phone and walking out of the room.

But as you left, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Because despite your sharp tongue and cold comments, you knew that you cared about him. You cared about all of them but with Noah it had always been different.

And then, there was the time Noah got sick.

It had been a long day. You’d been out since the morning with a friend, running errands, getting things done, and by the time you finally made it home, it was late afternoon. You kicked off your shoes and threw your bag on the couch, letting out a sigh of relief as you sank into the cushions.

It was quieter than usual. You glanced around, expecting to see Noah lurking somewhere nearby, like he always did—sitting on the counter, hanging out in the living room, always popping up like a cat in need of attention. But today, there was no sign of him.

You raised an eyebrow, a little puzzled. It was weird that he wasn’t around. It had been hours, and you figured he’d at least come say hi. He was always around. He was probably just in his room working on some new music, you thought.

“Hey, Nick,” you called out, when he enetered the living room. “Have you seen Noah?”

Nicholas glanced up from his phone, shrugging. “Oh, uh, this morning he wasn’t feeling great. Said he had a bit of a fever and just kind of stayed in his room after that. He’s probably asleep.”

You froze for a second, immediately feeling a knot form in your stomach. Noah never liked to admit when he was sick, but you couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually stayed in his room like this.

“Okay,” you said, but your voice felt off, the concern creeping into your words. “Thanks.”

You didn’t hesitate. Your feet carried you quickly down the hallway to Noah’s door, and your hand was already on the knob before you realized it. You knocked, but when there was no response, you opened the door quietly, peering inside. The blinds were drawn, and the room was dimly lit, but Noah was laying on his bed, curled up under blankets.

The sight of him immediately set off alarm bells in your head. He looked... pale, almost ghostly, and he was barely moving. His breathing was shallow, and his hair stuck to his forehead. The moment he noticed you standing there, his eyes fluttered open, and he blinked, as if trying to focus.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice hoarse and weak, barely above a whisper.

You walked over slowly, concern heavy in your chest. “I’m just checking on you,” you said softly, walking closer to his bed.

You crouched down beside him, reaching out to touch his forehead. The heat radiating off his skin made your heart drop. He was burning up. The soft shiver of his body confirmed the fever.

“You’re hot,” you said, your voice betraying the concern you didn’t bother to hide.

"Finally you admit it." He murmured.

You rolled your eyes. “No, you’re burning up,” you said, your hand gently brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Did you take anything for it?”

He shook his head weakly, looking almost embarrassed. “No, I... I didn’t think it was that bad.”

You let out a breath. “Noah, you’ve probably had a fever for hours. You’re not okay.” Without waiting for him to protest, you stood up, “I’m going to make you take some paracetamol, alright?”

He didn't respond, and you weren't even sure if he registered what you said. When you returned with a glass of water where you had dissolved the medicine, Noah looked up at you with droopy eyes. His pale face looked even more fragile in the dim light, and you could see how exhausted he was, barely able to keep his eyes open.

He tried to sit up, but his arms trembled, unable to sustain him. He swore under his breath, wincing as the strain pulled at his muscles, too weak to follow through on the effort.

"It's okay. Here." You quickly moved to his side, one hand gently supporting his back while you propped him up. His head rested heavily against your shoulder, and you felt a tightness in your chest as you steadied him.

His brown eyes fluttered, looking at you through half-lidded, his expression soft with confusion and exhaustion.

You moved slowly, carefully, making sure he was comfortable before grabbing the glass of water from the nightstand. You held it up, making sure to keep it steady as you brought it closer to him.

His gaze met yours for a brief moment. It was almost as if he didn’t expect you to be so gentle with him, yet here you were, taking care of him without hesitation.

You placed the glass against his lips, guiding it toward his mouth. “Come on, Noah, you need to drink this,” you said, your voice soft but firm. His lips parted weakly as he took a small sip, the medicine sliding down his throat, though he barely seemed able to swallow.

His hands trembled as he gripped the glass, trying to help, but it was clear how difficult it was for him.

You supported the glass, steadying it in his hands, urging him gently, as your other hand still rested on his back, softly caressing it in slow, reassuring motions.

“Just a little more,” you coaxed, watching as he weakly took another sip, his body shuddering slightly from the effort. When he pulled away, you pulled the glass back, but your eyes never left him.

He gave you a tired, almost apologetic glance as he let his head rest back against the pillow, his body sinking deeper into the blankets.

His lips parted in a soft sigh, and you smiled faintly, brushing his hair from his forehead again, your thumb gently rubbing his temple for a moment. It was a quiet gesture, one that said more than words could express, as you continued to sit beside him.

A few minutes passed, and then, in a voice barely audible, he murmured, “I knew you were sweet.”

You smiled softly, a warmth spreading through you at the simple, quiet words. You leaned down, letting your hand go through his hair, murmuring, “I knew you knew.”

He let out a soft sigh, his breathing finally evening out as he fell deeper into sleep.

You stayed there with him for hours, the quiet of the room broken only by the soft hum of the house around you. You let your hand gently run through his hair, the touch almost rhythmic as you tried to soothe him.

Every so often, you’d press your hand to his forehead, checking if the fever had gone down at all, the heat still radiating off his skin, but a little less intense.

Every time his body shifted or he made a faint sound, probably from some fever-induced dream, you softly spoke his name or whispered a quiet, reassuring phrase, just trying to make sure he knew he wasn’t alone.

"You're okay," you murmured gently, brushing a lock of hair away from his forehead when his brow furrowed slightly. "Just rest, Noah. You’re gonna be fine."

There was something incredibly tender about the way his breath would catch, his eyes fluttering under his eyelids, almost as though he could hear your voice even in his sleep. It made your chest ache in a way you didn’t know how to explain.

Noah shifted in his sleep, his body instinctively leaning closer until his face pressed gently against your side. The soft, unconscious gesture made your chest tighten, but you didn’t move. Instead, you noticed the blanket had slipped from his shoulder, leaving him partially uncovered. With careful hands, you pulled it back up, tucking it around him securely. Your fingers brushed lightly against his hairline as you settled back, letting him stay close.

As the evening drew on and his breathing steadied, the fever seemed to break a little. You let your fingers linger over his temple, softly caressing his arm when you noticed the tremble in his hand. It felt like such an intimate moment, one where all the usual sarcasm, sharp words, and teasing were left behind, replaced by something quiet, simple, and real.

Your fingers traced over his knuckles as you kept his tattoed hand in yours before you gently leaned down, brushing your lips against his forehead. You pulled away just as quickly, unsure of what had made you do it—maybe it was the tenderness of the moment, or maybe it was the quiet realization that despite all the banter, despite everything you’d told him, you cared about him more than you ever showed.

Wild for the girl who acted like a bitch all the time, right?

But in that moment, with Noah asleep and calmer than he’d been all day, you couldn’t care less about how it seemed or your usual weird ways of protecting your feelings. You just wanted him to feel better, to know that, despite all your sharp words and sarcastic remarks, there was no place you’d rather be than right there beside him, making sure he was okay.

And for once, you let yourself believe that maybe he knew exactly what you meant when you said, "I'm here, Noah. I'm not gonna leave."

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lacy1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @thewrstinme @hurricanesfollowyou @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @missduffsblog

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Rush Hour

Hey hey! This weekend (Jan 25-26) I’m going to be playing drabble roulette! I’ve curated a list of characters and prompts and I’m spinning the wheel!

Character: Bucky Barnes

Prompt: a shopping mall, crowded and loud . 

Warnings: this drabble includes deceit and dark elements, along with social anxiety. Please mind these warnings and take care.

Explicit, 18+. Please reblog and leave some feedback.

You’re lost. You didn’t even want to come in the first place. The mall is a circus of lights and noise and strangers. 

You spin in the sea of shoppers that fill the food court. The smell of food competes in your nose; the strong undercurrent of cinnamon at war with the soy sauce radiating from the noodle kiosk. You clasp onto the sides of your cable knit sweater and stumble as you’re nearly run over by a mother and her stroller. 

You excuse yourself as you step out of her way and receive only a sneer in return. You’re trying to stay out of the way but everywhere you turn, there’s a person or a table or a garbage can overflowing with wrappers. 

You back yourself against one of the tall chair along the curved table across from the popular chain coffee booth. You flick your thumb against the loop on your dyed jeans and try to catch your breath. There’s a map just on the other side of the dining area. 

You peer around as you try to plot a path through. Just do it. You set your arms straight and march forward between the tables. You sweep around as a man with a tray steps ahead of you and continue down the other side. You make a stunted zigzag across the food court toward the beacon of the touch screen map. 

You stop short as a group of middle-aged women butt in and tap it first. The squabble over where to go first as the search bar waits for input. You bounce on your feet impatiently. You take out your phone to text Melody. She’s likely at Sephora, you just need to figure out where that is. 

You key in your message, ‘where are you?’ 

You just asked her to wait while you used the bathroom. That’s it. She couldn’t even do that. She’s too obsessed with taking pictures in all the wall mirrors and trying on everything, even things you can’t afford. 

You wouldn’t be there if your cousin wasn’t getting married. If she didn’t insist on a colour-code. It’s too much. Too fussy. Why can’t you just wear the same old blue dress you always do. It’s not ugly. Simple. Does the trick. 

She doesn’t answer. Not right away. You lower your phone and look up. The women continue to titter before the screen, zooming out on the mask and gasping as they try to figure out where to go. Another argument ensues. 

You’re once more nudged by a passing a shopper. They snarl at you to watch out and you shrink down as you look at your phone again. You can look up the map on the mall website. You’re not very good with maps. The touchscreen will at least tell you where you are. Can they just go find the department store and move? 

You finally find a PDF of the map and spread your fingers to expand. You don’t know where any of these stores are. You check the date in the corner. This is from before the renovations. Ugh. 

You flip back to the conversation with your sister and send a single question mark. Get off your damn Snap and answer. Please. Your nose tingles as your panic swells. You just want to get out of here. You’re going to cry if people don’t stop! 

“Excuse me,” the low timbre makes you flinch and you back away from the man who stands next to you.  

You make yourself as small as you can. “I’m in your way, I’m sorry.” 

“Hm? No, I... I was passing by and you... you look lost. Not to be nosy.” You make yourself look at him, not wanting to be rude. He’s a stranger but he seems helpful. And his eyes are so blue. 

You frown. Is it that obvious that you’re entirely clueless. You shrug, then nod, the drop your chin in defeat. “A little,” you confess. 

“It’s a zoo in here,” he says. “What’re you looking for?” 

“Um,” you hesitate and wet your lips. You peer around. “I don’t know. My sister... hasn’t answered.” 

“Ah, you know, the lump I walked in with went and disappeared too. Said he was grabbing a pretzel but I can’t find him either,” he sniffs and grips his hips in displeasure. “Hate these places.” 

“Me too,” you murmur as you glance down at his leather gloves. It’s not that cold out but you don’t mention it. 

“Marnie, no. Not that way,” one of the older women squalls and taps the screen furiously. 

“Ahem,” the man beside you clears his throat, “she’s waiting for her turn. She’s been waiting.” 

“Excuse you. We have every right to use this map,” a woman faces him with bluster. “So wait your turn.” 

“It’s up that corridor and to the left,” he points. 

“Aren’t you rude?” Another squawks. 

“I’m helping,” he utters dully. “Hey, uh,” he turns to you, “how about we go find another map? Think they might’ve broke this one anyway.” 

“We did not--” 

“Have a good day, ladies,” he gestures you away. You eagerly accept the escape. You don’t like confrontation. 

“There’s one down at the popcorn place,” he says. “I just passed it before Sam ran off.” 

“Sam? It that... a friend?” You wonder. 

“Sure, you can call him that. You said you’re here with your sister?” He guides you away from the lunchtime rush. 

“Yeah. I gotta... get a dress for a wedding. Something pink.” 

“Pink, ah. You’re favourite colour?” 

“Not really.” 

“Ah, right. Big wedding? Doesn’t sound like it’s yours.” 

“No, my cousin,” you explain. 

“Right,” he nods. 

“You probably don’t care.” 

“What makes you think I don’t?” He asks. 

“Well... you don’t know me.” 

“I guess not,” he stops at the map and faces you, “I’m Bucky.” 

“Oh, uh...” you introduce yourself. 

You look at him dumbly, unsure how to proceed. He coughs behind his gloved fist and his brows flick. “So, did your sister answer yet?” 

“Oh, yeah, well...” you check your phone. “I don’t wanna waste any more of your time so I’ll just use this map and figure it out.” 

“Not wasting my time,” he assures. “But if you’re trying to get me to go away, noted.” 

“No, I... no, I’m not. I just...” your phone vibrates and you cringe. You check the screen. “She’s at Therese’s?” 

You turn and tap the screen, typing on the large keyboard. You tap the magnifying glass and the map generates. You hover your finger over the marker that shows where you are then along the highlighted route. 

“That’s all the way on the other side,” he says. 

“Yeah...” you drone. 

“I don’t mind showing you. I came from that way.” 

“No, oh, no. I can’t.” 

“I might run into my buddy,” he shrugs. “You know, lotta people stare when I’m wandering on my own... so you’d be doing me a favour.” 

“I guess... I owe you.” 

His lips curve, just a little, and his cheeks dimple under his dark beard. “Down here then loop around. Won’t have to go back through the food court.” 

You follow him. Your own sense of direction would have you circling for hours. He takes you past the game shop and the organic food place you’ve never been too. You turn down the next corridor, it’s mostly empty. 

“So,” he begins, “you get a plus one to the wedding?” 

“Um, no, I don’t think--” 

As you pass by one of the hallways marked for employees only, he elbows you and you stagger sideways. You’re thrown off balance and hit the wall. He’s so fast you have no time to react. He grips the back of your neck and covers your mouth as he drags you down the hall. 

Your soles bounce off the floor as you flail your arms helplessly. What is he doing? He pinches your nape until your eyes water. 

He shoves you against a door and twists the handle. The metal cracks in his grip and the lock gives to his brute force. He hauls you inside and flips you around against the inside of the door. 

“Doll,” he growls through the dark. “You’re gonna wanna be real quiet for me.” 

He keeps his hand on your mouth, the leather sticking to your lips, and he shifts around. You can’t see much in the tight closet. He closes something around your wrist and you squeak. He hushes you and presses his palm flush to your nose. 

“Hands behind your back for me,” he growls. 

You wriggle and he pushes your head into the door until it throbs. 

“Now.” 

You obey. He reaches behind you and another loop closes around your other wrist. Like a magnet, your hands are wrenched together and lock into place. How did he do that? 

He’s silent as he peels his hand back only to quickly smother you with the other. You feel something cool spread over your lips and insert between your teeth, locking your jaw in place. You quake and kick out. 

He grabs your shoulders and puts them straight. He hisses, “one more time and that’s it.” 

You snivel and stop. He bends and another weight secures your ankles. Ensnared, he leaves you against the wall and backs away. Your tears overflow as you blink into the dim. 

The rustle of fabric and the scuff of his boots undercut the tension. He comes back to you and moves you. He angles you around blindly and lifts you. He forces you into something. You don’t know what it is, only that you’re stuffed down into it, bent up into the confined. Something falls over you, light but enough to bury you further in darkness. 

He wheels you around and the motion makes you dizzy. He opens the door and pushes you out into the light. You peer up at him between the crumpled paper and cans, frightened and restrained, from within the rolling garbage bin.  

His hair is pulled back into a low pony beneath a grey ballcap that matches his janitor’s shirt. He keeps his eyes ahead of him as he pushes you, casually turning out into the mall corridor. He doesn’t flinch as other shoppers pass by, unable to see you beneath the rubbish. 

“Now, doll, don’t you be thinking of trying anything...” he mutters as he keeps his eyes ahead of him. “Those cuffs can only get tighter.” 

[soleilpinto]

Cruising in Papaya: Private but not Secret ˚‧｡⋆🍁

“Life’s Better on Saturn ” ˙✧˖° ༘ ⋆｡˚ (Saturn, SZA)

Synopsis: Y/N Laurant, a glamorous socialite, meets Lando Norris during a race weekend, sparks fly between the two, but as their feelings deepen, they struggle to balance their secret relationship with their public lives, all while navigating the pressure of the fast-paced F1 scene.

Genre: (Some) Angst, Fluff, Romance

AU: Social Media and Written!au

Pairing: Lando x Afab!Socialite!Reader

Warnings: None

Note: Did not expect to become so busy lately, this is the final part before the actual finale so everyone buckle up 😭 Thank you all for the support once again and as always don’t forget to like + reblog as a form of support!

Cruising in Papaya Masterlist. (Prev./Next.)

@pitlanespy the way y/n and lando are handling their relationship is so refreshing. they’re not flaunting, but they’re not hiding anymore either. we love a balanced couple

@chicanechatter y/n and lando have mastered the art of keeping it private but not secret. leave them alone and let them enjoy their love!

@turn1drama ok but y/n keeping things private yet giving us hints every now and then is such a power move. the girl knows her pr

@papayaruIes well duh, she’s a socialite. she’s practically an expert

@f1gossipupdates I can’t believe Y/N and Lando are finally being open-ish. Like, she really said ‘we’re together, but y’all don’t need all the details.’ I respect it!

The short off-season break had been a rare pocket for you and Lando to relax without the rush of race weekends or the scrutiny of flashing cameras. It was a crisp afternoon in Monaco, the sun reflecting off the gentle waves as the two of you sat on the terrace of Lando’s apartment overlooking the harbor.

With steaming cups of coffee in hand and a blanket draped over your shoulders, the moment felt calm, natural—far removed from the chaotic world outside.

“Feels nice, doesn’t it?” Lando broke the silence, his voice soft. “Being able to just exist without worrying about anyone watching.”

You glanced at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It does. I was almost starting to forget what that felt like.”

The two of you had tiptoed the fine line between privacy and secrecy, but the responses to your soft launch had been surprisingly supportive.

Fans who had once speculated endlessly about your relationship now seemed to respect the boundaries you were trying to set. It was refreshing, almost liberating.

Lando set his mug down and turned to face you fully, his expression growing more serious. “I’ve been thinking about something,” he began, hesitating just enough to make you raise an eyebrow.

“That sounds ominous,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

He chuckled but didn’t look away, his blue eyes searching yours.

“I don’t want us to hide anymore,” he admitted.

“I mean, I know we’ve already agreed to keep the details of our relationship private—and I want to stick to that. But I hate the thought of going to the next Grand Prix without you. It feels wrong now like I’m leaving a part of me behind.”

Your heart softened at his words, but you couldn’t help the cautious tone in your response. “Lando, you know how intense it can get. Even with the positive reactions, there will always be backlash. Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

He reached out, taking your hand in his.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything. I’ve been through enough to know that people will always have something to say, but it doesn’t matter to me. What matters is us—and I want you there with me, not just in the background but by my side. I think we can handle it together.”

You studied his face, finding nothing but sincerity in his expression. It was hard not to be moved by his resolve. You had spent so much time questioning if the two of you could make it work, but Lando’s unwavering confidence in your relationship made you want to believe it too.

“And you think it’ll make things easier if I’m there with you?” you asked, your voice teasing but soft.

He grinned, leaning closer. “I know it will. Plus, you being there might actually make all those post-race media sessions bearable.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Alright, Norris. You win. I’ll come with you to the next Grand Prix—but you’d better promise to share some of the attention.”

His face lit up with a mixture of relief and happiness, and he leaned in to kiss your forehead. “Deal.”

As the two of you sat back, the afternoon sun casting a golden glow around you, it was clear that this decision marked the start of a new chapter. No more hiding in shadows or ducking behind corners. You would face the world together, one race at a time.

The soft hum of Monte Carlo filled the space between your words as you sipped your coffee, the warmth of the mug grounding you.

Pietra leaned back into the plush armchair across you, her curiosity palpable as the sunlight bathed your living room in a golden hue.

“So,” Pietra began again, her voice playful yet genuinely inquisitive. “Are we finally getting the tea on you and Lando?”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head as you set your mug down on the table. “You’re so nosy.”

“Nosy?” she retorted, raising an eyebrow. “Please, I’ve been invested ever since that media meltdown since your birthday. There’s a difference. Now spill.”

Her lighthearted tone brought a smile to your face, but the memories of the past month made your chest tighten slightly.

Pietra had been one of your closest confidantes ever since you met Lando's close circle, one of the few who truly understood the chaos of public scrutiny and the complexities of trying to maintain a personal life within it.

If anyone could handle the details of what you’d been through, it was her.

Taking a deep breath, you began. “We’re good now,” you said, the words feeling like a balm as they left your lips. “Really good, actually. But it wasn’t always like that.”

Pietra’s expression shifted, her teasing giving way to concern. She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand. “What happened?”

You hesitated, your fingers lightly tracing the rim of your coffee mug as you gathered your thoughts.

“When everything blew up, it felt like the world was against us. The media was relentless, fans were speculating every little thing, and it felt like we couldn’t catch a break. It all came to a head, and we ended up having this huge fight.”

Her brows knitted together. “Over the media?”

“It was more than that,” you admitted. “It was the pressure, the constant hiding, the fear that we’d never be able to have something real outside of all the noise. Lando was frustrated, and I don’t blame him. But he said some things…” You trailed off, the memory still stinging.

Pietra reached over, placing a comforting hand on yours. “Things that hurt?”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yeah. And I was so overwhelmed, I left. Went back to Saint Tropez. For a while, I thought that was it for us. I couldn’t see how we’d come back from it.”

She squeezed your hand gently, her voice soft. “But you did.”

A small smile tugged at your lips.

“We did. During the break, Lando found out I was in Monaco. He called me—said he wanted to talk, that he couldn’t leave things the way they were. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see him, but when I did…” You paused, exhaling deeply. “It felt like the right thing to do.”

Pietra’s eyes softened, her smile encouraging you to continue.

“We had a long talk. About everything—what we want, what we’re afraid of, what we’re willing to do to make this work. It wasn’t easy, but we both realized that letting go wasn’t an option. We care about each other too much to let all the outside noise ruin what we have.”

Pietra leaned back, her smile widening. “That’s huge, Y/N. It sounds like you both really fought for this.”

You nodded, the relief of the memory settling over you. “We did. And now, we’re taking it one step at a time. He asked me to come to the next Grand Prix with him. He doesn’t want us to hide anymore, and honestly, I don’t either. But we’ve agreed to keep things private—no oversharing, no giving the media more than they need. Just us, on our terms.”

Pietra’s grin turned mischievous. “Oh, I can’t wait to see the paddock’s reaction when you show up with him again. The fans are going to lose it.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m sure they will. But for the first time, it doesn’t feel overwhelming. It feels… manageable.”

“That’s because you’re doing it the right way,” Pietra said confidently. “You’re setting boundaries, and you’re doing this together. It’s going to be okay.”

“Thanks, Pietra,” you said, your smile grateful. “It feels good to finally have some clarity, to know that we’re in this together.”

“Absolutely,” she said, a sparkle in her eye. “But don’t think you’re off the hook. You owe me every detail about how it goes when you’re back at the Grand Prix.”

You laughed, feeling a lightness you hadn’t in weeks. “Oh, trust me, I’ll have plenty to share.”

As the conversation shifted to lighter topics, you couldn’t help but feel a renewed sense of hope. For the first time in a while, the future with Lando felt bright, and you were ready to take on whatever came next—together.

liked by mclaren, lando and others

laurant.yn off-season kick off

francisca.cgomes 😍

mclaren starting the break right 🧡

lando ❤️

@f1landolove SHE POSTED HIM. SHE REALLY POSTED HIM. Y/N AND LANDO ARE OFFICIALLY OFFICIAL. I’M SCREAMING. 😭❤️ 

@paddockqueen_ Not me refreshing my feed 100 times today just to confirm it wasn’t a fever dream. Y/N posted Lando on her MAIN. THE MAIN!!! 🔥👀

@pitstopsocialite_ Y/N really said, “Soft launch era is OVER.” That pic of Lando is giving boyfriend energy. We love to see it. 🥰

@f1overdrive Okay, but I’m lowkey jealous… Y/N Laurant is the definition of having it all. Fashion icon + F1 driver boyfriend? Goals

@neutralnora Honestly, happy for them. Y/N seems like she keeps Lando grounded, and he deserves that. 🥹

@shadypaddock I give it six months. Relationships in the spotlight rarely last. 🙄

The energy in Singapore was electric, the vibrant city buzzing with excitement as race weekend loomed closer. You stood beside Lando, your suitcase rolling quietly behind you as you both exited the airport.

The humid air wrapped around you, mingling with the chatter of fans and photographers who had already spotted you.

Flashes of cameras ignited like small bursts of lightning, and the occasional murmur of your name reached your ears. You instinctively glanced at Lando, who gave you a reassuring smile, his hand brushing against yours.

“We’re really doing this,” you said softly, your voice a mix of nerves and determination.

“Yeah, we are,” Lando replied, his eyes meeting yours with steady resolve. “No more hiding. No more letting them control the narrative. It’s just us, and we’re not apologizing for it.”

The ride to the hotel was quiet, the occasional buzz of your phone from notifications breaking the silence. You knew the media frenzy was already kicking off—pictures and videos of the two of you had likely hit social media within minutes of your arrival. But for the first time, you didn’t feel the weight of it.

As you stepped into the hotel lobby together, the atmosphere shifted. Fans waiting in the lounge glanced your way, some pulling out their phones, their whispers barely audible over the soft music playing in the background.

“People are watching,” you said under your breath, your fingers brushing against his arm.

Lando chuckled lightly. “Let them watch. We’re not doing anything wrong.”

His nonchalant attitude eased the tension in your shoulders, and you found yourself smiling despite the circumstances. The two of you checked in without a hitch, the staff professional and discreet, even as you caught sight of a few camera flashes from outside the glass doors.

Once you reached the privacy of your suite, the tension you hadn’t realized you were holding finally began to dissipate. You sank onto the plush couch, letting out a long exhale.

“That wasn’t so bad,” you said, glancing at Lando as he placed your bags by the wall.

He sat beside you, leaning back with a grin. “See? I told you. We can handle this.”

You turned to face him, your expression softening. “It’s just… surreal. To finally be here with you, not worrying about every little thing. I mean, I know the rumors and gossip won’t stop, but it feels different now.”

“It does,” Lando agreed, taking your hand in his. “Because we’re not letting it control us anymore. We’re doing this our way, on our terms.”

You nodded, the warmth of his hand grounding you. “It’s going to take some getting used to, though. I’m sure the paddock will have a lot to say.”

“Let them,” Lando said with a shrug, his tone calm but firm. “I don’t care what they think, as long as you’re with me.”

His words sent a wave of reassurance through you, and you squeezed his hand gently. “You’re really good at this whole boyfriend thing, you know that?”

He grinned, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your temple. “I try.”

The two of you spent the evening talking, discussing how you’d navigate the paddock together, and agreeing to address any questions with a united front. By the time you went to bed, you felt a sense of peace you hadn’t in months.

The Singapore paddock buzzed with excitement, the air thick with humidity and anticipation for the race weekend ahead. As you and Lando walked through the gates together, it was impossible not to notice the ripple of energy your presence caused.

Fans lining the barriers gasped, some clutching their phones tightly as they captured the moment.

“There they are!” someone whispered loudly, their voice barely audible over the collective murmurs. “It’s Y/N and Lando!”

Flashes from cameras and phones lit up around you as you kept a steady pace beside Lando. He was calm, his expression relaxed but confident, while you mirrored his composure, your hand grazing his arm lightly as if to reassure yourself.

Fans erupted into chatter, their voices mixing with the distant hum of engines.

“Oh my God, they’re actually together.” “Do you think this means they’re official-official?” “They’re not hiding anymore, but they’re still so lowkey. I love it.”

As you passed a group of fans holding up McLaren flags, Lando glanced their way with a small wave and a quick smile. You couldn’t help but grin when you heard someone squeal, “He looks so happy!”

Inside the paddock, the atmosphere was no less intense. Team members and media professionals stole glances at the two of you, some openly curious, others trying to act nonchalant.

You caught sight of a camera crew lingering near the McLaren hospitality, their lenses subtly but unmistakably trained on you and Lando.

“Ready for the circus?” Lando muttered under his breath, leaning slightly toward you.

You smirked, keeping your gaze forward. “I think I can handle it. You’re the one who’s got to focus on racing.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers brushing yours in a fleeting touch. “I’ve got that part covered. It’s the rest of this that’s new for me.”

Before either of you could say more, you spotted Lily Zneimer and Hattie Piastri approaching from the McLaren hospitality, their faces lighting up when they saw you.

“You’re here!” Lily exclaimed, her voice full of excitement as she pulled you into a quick hug. “I was wondering when you’d show up!”

Hattie grinned, giving Lando a knowing look before turning to you. “And here I thought you’d keep us guessing forever.”

You laughed, your nerves easing slightly. “I figured it was time. Can’t keep hiding forever, right?”

“Exactly,” Lily agreed, linking her arm with yours. “And you’ve got us. The paddock isn’t so bad once you’ve got the right people.”

Lando excused himself briefly to check in with his team, leaving you with Lily and Hattie. You felt the stares around you but found yourself surprisingly unbothered, their presence grounding you.

When Lando returned, he didn’t hesitate to rejoin you, his arm brushing against yours in a way that felt both casual and intimate. He didn’t seem fazed by the whispers or the cameras subtly tracking your every move.

Instead, he leaned down slightly and murmured, “Told you we’ve got this.”

You glanced up at him, the corner of your mouth lifting into a small smile. “We do.”

As the two of you walked deeper into the paddock, side by side, it was clear to everyone watching: while you weren’t laying out the details of your relationship, you weren’t hiding it anymore, either. And from the way fans’ excited chatter filled the air, it seemed they couldn’t be happier to finally see you together.

© soleilpinto 25’ -. no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any manner without the permission from the publisher.

Taglist: @bakingpiastries @linnygirl09

[imreidswifey]

“𝐄𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨”𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 -𝐒.𝐫-

Bad pun but I thought it was cute

Summary: Barista reader develops a crush on regular customer Dr. Spencer Reid, leaving cheesy pick-up lines on his coffee cup each day to make him smile.

Genre: Romantic Comedy

Ship: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

———————————————————————————-

It was the highlight of your mornings: the familiar sound of the bell above the café door, signaling the arrival of your favorite customer. Dr. Spencer Reid.

He was unlike anyone you’d ever met—or served coffee to. Tall, with a lanky build and hair that always seemed on the verge of rebellion, Spencer exuded a quiet confidence wrapped in endearing awkwardness. His mismatched socks and habit of nervously fiddling with his messenger bag strap as he waited for his coffee added to the charm.

You’d been working at Bean There, Brewed That for six months now, and Spencer had been a regular since day one. The man was a creature of habit. He always ordered the same thing: a large Americano with two sugars, and he always brought a book to read while he sipped his drink.

But it wasn’t his order that captivated you. It was his quiet “thank you,” the shy smile that accompanied it, and the way his eyes lit up when he read something particularly interesting in his book.

Which was why, about a month ago, you decided to get brave. It started small—a smiley face on his cup. Then a quote from a book you thought he might like. Then, one morning, you decided to do something completely out of character for yourself: you wrote a bad pick-up line on his cup.

“Are you a magician? Because every time I look at you, everyone else disappears.”

You had fully expected him to throw the cup away without a second glance. But instead, he’d chuckled—a low, soft sound—and looked up at you with wide, hazel eyes. “Did you… come up with this?” he asked, tilting his head in genuine curiosity.

“Uh, no,” you admitted, heat rushing to your cheeks. “I found it online.”

And just like that, a new ritual began. Every day, you’d write a cheesy pick-up line on Spencer’s cup. And every day, he’d read it, smile, and sometimes even laugh.

Today was no different. You stood behind the counter, feeling a little nervous as you scrawled today’s line onto his cup. When Spencer entered, looking as disheveled and adorable as ever, you felt your stomach flip.

“Good morning, Dr. Reid,” you said, handing him his Americano.

“Good morning,” he replied, his gaze lingering on you a second longer than usual.

He took the cup, his long fingers brushing yours briefly, and read the line aloud: “Are you French? Because Eiffel for you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, but what you didn’t expect was for Spencer to blush. His cheeks turned pink, and he looked up at you through his lashes, his lips twitching into an uncharacteristically shy smile.

“That’s… clever,” he murmured, his voice softer than usual.

“Yeah, well, I figured you deserved a good laugh,” you said, trying to sound casual.

Spencer lingered for a moment, his fingers tapping anxiously against the cup. Finally, he cleared his throat. “You know, statistically speaking, people who share bad pick-up lines with someone are often more interested in… getting to know them better.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Was this Spencer Reid’s way of flirting?

“Are you saying you’re onto me, Dr. Reid?” you teased, your voice light but your heart pounding.

Spencer tilted his head, his gaze unwavering. “I think I’ve been onto you for a while now,” he admitted, his blush deepening.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then he took a deep breath and set his coffee cup down on the counter.

“Would you… like to get coffee sometime? Outside of this place, I mean. Not that I don’t like this place—I do, obviously—but maybe we could… you know, talk more? Without the counter between us?”

It was the most endearing, rambling attempt at asking someone out you’d ever heard.

“I’d like that,” you said, smiling so wide your cheeks hurt.

Spencer let out a breath of relief, picking up his cup again. “Great. I’ll… uh, see you tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow,” you confirmed, watching as he walked away, his step just a little lighter than usual.

And on the counter where his cup had been, you noticed something written in his small, neat handwriting:

“Are you a barista? Because you’ve bean on my mind all day.”

Two days later, you found yourself sitting at a cozy little coffee shop across town. Spencer had suggested it, claiming it had “statistically superior coffee” compared to most places.

He arrived precisely on time, wearing a patterned button-down shirt, a sweater vest, and a slightly crooked tie. His hair looked a little more tamed than usual, but there was still a wild curl that defied gravity. He carried a book under his arm—a habit, you guessed, he’d never break.

“Hi,” he said, shifting nervously as he stood by the table.

“Hi,” you replied, smiling up at him. “You’re right on time.”

“Punctuality is… important,” he said, his voice a little higher-pitched than usual. He cleared his throat and sat across from you, placing the book on the table. “I, uh, wasn’t sure what you liked, so I did some research. I mean, not on you specifically—just in general about first dates. Statistically, coffee dates are considered a low-pressure option.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound easing some of his tension. “You did research for this date?”

His blush deepened, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not exactly… well-versed in this kind of thing. I wanted to make sure I didn’t mess it up.”

“You’re doing great so far,” you said, and you meant it.

The barista arrived to take your orders, and Spencer surprised you by remembering exactly how you liked your coffee. He must’ve noticed your expression, because he offered a sheepish smile. “I pay attention,” he said simply.

The conversation that followed was effortless. Spencer was awkward at first, fumbling with his words and occasionally losing his train of thought, but once he found his rhythm, he was captivating. He told you about his work—though he kept the more gruesome details to a minimum—and you listened, fascinated, as he explained behavioral patterns and statistical anomalies.

“You’re really passionate about what you do,” you said, leaning forward.

“I guess I am,” he admitted, his voice soft. “It’s not an easy job, but… helping people? It’s worth it.”

“And who helps you?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

Spencer blinked, caught off guard by the question. “My team,” he said after a moment. “They’re like family to me. But… I guess I don’t always make time for myself.”

“Well,” you said, offering a smile, “maybe we can work on that.”

He looked at you then, his gaze so intense it made your breath hitch. “I’d like that,” he said quietly.

As the date went on, you discovered more about him: his love for science fiction, his fascination with obscure facts, and his absolute hatred of cilantro. In turn, you shared pieces of yourself, and he listened with an attentiveness that made you feel seen in a way you never had before.

When the coffee cups were empty and the conversation had slowed, neither of you made a move to leave. Spencer finally broke the silence, his fingers nervously tracing patterns on the table.

“I, um, I had a really nice time,” he said.

“Me too,” you replied, your voice warm.

“I’d like to do this again,” he added, his words rushed, as if he was afraid he’d lose his nerve.

You reached across the table, your fingers brushing his. “I’d like that too.”

For the first time, Spencer smiled—not his usual shy, fleeting smile, but something brighter, more confident. It was a smile that made you realize you’d been right about him all along.

Dr. Spencer Reid might be awkward, brilliant, and a little socially inept, but he was also kind, thoughtful, and deeply, unapologetically himself

And as he walked you home that evening, his hand brushing against yours, you knew one thing for certain: you’d write a thousand bad pick-up lines if it meant seeing him smile like that again.

[hazbinshusk]

husk x afab!reader. when the weather in pride turns suddenly antarctic, the residents of the hotel are left shivering and scrambling for better heating. you and husk however decide to sequester yourselves in your room, sharing personal space for the sake of body heat out of the prying eyes of your friends. and, well, can anyone blame you when things get a little... physical?

my dear @jazziesanura requested some cold weather cuddlefucking, and while I'm sweating to death down in aus, I'm more than happy to indulge my mutuals :) 2.3k.

featuring: a lot of fluff and smut, penetrative sex, alcohol.

“Oh, before I forget; I’ve got to call my ex later,”  you say idly, crossing the bedroom with two heavy-bottomed glasses of whiskey in hand. Husk quirks an eyebrow up at you curiously, a soft mrrp escaping him. He’s sitting with his back against the headboard, his hat resting on top of the lamp on your bedside table. “We’re getting back together.”

Husk’s brow furrows even as he accepts one of the glasses from you, claws making a quiet tink against it. “What?”

You smile, nodding towards the ice-sheened window. “Because Hell has officially frozen over.”

Husk snorts a laugh, rolling his eyes. “Cute.”

“Thank you,” you reply perkily, taking a sip of your drink. You can’t taste the notes of ‘green apple and caramel’ the bottle had boasted, but it was still better than the acetone-tasting crap Husk usually drank. It burns in your throat but unfortunately does little to actually warm you. The sudden temperature shift from the usually balmy days of Hell to what was basically Antarctic had the whole Hotel on lockdown while Charlie desperately shivered her way through trying to source extra heating outside the fireplace in the lobby. You were pretty sure Alastor had one in his quarters too, but he wasn’t going to volunteer it to the other residents, so most of them were gathered downstairs. Aside from the radio demon, you were pretty sure only you and Husk were the only ones who’d opted to stay upstairs. “I thought so.”

“’s a low bar, doll,” Husk tells you, finishing his drink and setting the glass aside. He holds a paw out to you invitingly and you take it readily, climbing across the mattress to settle in his lap. You straddle his thighs, your hand guiding his paw to your waist before sliding up his arm to take his shoulder. In open defiance of the cold – or maybe because his fur is just that thick – the only sartorial nod Husk has made to the change in the weather is a thick, bottle-green scarf wrapped around his neck. “Everythin’ you do is cute.”

“Fuck, you’re a charmer,” you sigh, and you giggle as Husk bumps his nose affectionately against yours. You rub your fingers through the fur at the back of his head, teasing at the base of his ear. “And a liar.”

“Degenerate piece of shit like me? A liar?” Husk’s voice is muffled slightly as he brushes his lips over the corner of your jaw. You smile as his whiskers tickle at the side of your throat. “Who would’a thought it?”

“Hush, you,” you admonish lightly, cupping his cheeks in your hands and tilting his face up to better meet your eye. Husk’s expression is soft, amused and affectionate in a way that might just be reserved for you when no one else can see. You smooth your thumbs over his cheeks gently. “Keep talking crap about my favourite bartender and I will have to kick your ass.”

“Shudder the thought,” Husk smirks, letting you bring his face up to meet yours in a kiss. One paw squeezes your waist, the other finding your thigh beneath the robe you have wrapped securely around yourself, and a contented little trill sounds against your lips as he lets the kiss linger. You brush your lips again in a few more brief, gentle kisses before you pull away again.

“Speaking of shuddering…” you feel a shiver wrack through you as the cold winds of outside seem to find a new crack in the walls to slip through. The chill of it seems to wrap itself around your very bones, and you huddle closer to the cat petulantly. In response, Husk smiles sympathetically, leaning up to nuzzle his face into the curve of your neck. He bumps his forehead against the underside of your jaw and rubs it there in a very catlike gesture you know he’d deny if you mentioned it. You hum as the cold touch of his nose skims across your collarbone. “Since when can Hell even get cold?”

Husk sighs. “Rarely happens. This is the… third time? Since I’ve been down here. Blows over in a few days, and we’re back to roastin’ all nice and crispy the way the Big Man intended.”

When a shudder runs through you again you groan in annoyance, and Husk smirks, opening his arms and wings up to you. “C’mere, you big baby.”

“Not a baby,” you pout childishly, but lean into all the same. Husk chuckles as you wrap your arms around his middle and bury your frozen fingers in the warm fur of his back, jerking away from your touch when you find his skin beneath it. You giggle, nuzzling your face into his collarbone and inhaling the warm-spice and whiskey scent of him.

“Not a baby,” he agrees, kissing the top of your head. “Jus’ a bit of a bellyacher.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Husk laughs, the sound rich and soft in your ear, and he curls his wings more tightly around you to better envelop you in his own warmth.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

You lose track of time, wrapped up in Husk’s arms, lulled into near sleep by the softness of his fur, the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. A quiet purr is rolling through him, and when your legs begin to cramp from kneeling over his lap for so long, Husk gently rearranges the two of you so you’re laying side by side under the blankets, your face once more buried in his chest so you can feel the purr against your cheek.

Husk strokes careful claws slowly through your hair and down your back, his muzzle tucked against the crown of your head. He still struggles to understand what exactly you see in an old, washed-up addict like him, but it’s moments like this when he can swear, he almost feels as though the weight of that infernal, invisible chain around his throat isn’t quite there anymore.

The bartender trails his paw lower, smoothing over your hip and down to where your robe has ridden up over your thigh. His claws tickle at the sensitive skin there, and you hum a groan sleepily into his chest. Husk smiles to himself, the expression catching when he feels your own hand trail down his stomach to hook your fingers in the waistband of his pants.

“Careful, sweetness.” he rumbles into your hair, inhaling the sweet scent of your shampoo. “You know what you’re doin’ there?”

“Think I remember how it goes,” you mumble into his fur, fumbling briefly with the button fastening his slacks closed. “’Sides… you started it.”

“Did I now?” Husk’s eyes flutter closed and you feel him exhale heavily against your hair as you slip your hand into his pants and cup your palm against his cock. He’d be almost ashamed to admit that he’s half-hard already, if you weren’t apparently so eager despite the cold. His paw tightens reflexively on your thigh at your touch. “Oh, doll… thank fuck your hands are warm.”

You giggle into his chest, squeezing him teasingly and thrilling at the way his shudders in response. You feel his cock twitch, and you wrap your fingers around it, letting your fingertips trail teasingly over the head of it. Husk groans, low in the back of his throat. “Suddenly all this fur isn’t such a bad thing, is it?”

“Wouldn’t push it that fa—ah…” Husk breaks off with a light moan as you begin to stroke him, squeezing at the base of his cock. He exhales a smile against your hair, nosing at your hairline until you tilt your head back and let him brush his lips against your forehead. “Cheeky thing you are…”

“Husk…” you murmur, tilting your head back further, stretching up to dust kisses over the underside of his chin. “Touch me.”

Husk smiles, bumping his nose against yours. “Finally someone in this fuckin’ place gives me somethin’ I wanna do.”

You laugh as he brings his lips to yours, his kiss sweet and his lips deliciously warm as he echoes you with a muffled laugh of his own. His claws glide up your thigh to caress the curve of your ass, squeezing the muscle appreciatively. You smile into his kiss, quickening your hand slightly, teasing your thumb over the head of his cock. Husk’s teeth catch your bottom lip, and the brief flare of pain thrills you.

“Go slow, baby,” he whispers, kissing your cheek, the bridge of your nose. “I wanna savour it.”

Cheeks pink with the cold and with his words, you nod, eager in a way that Husk almost finds innocent. It charms him, and when you hook your thigh up over his hip he wraps a possessive paw around it. When you push the underwear you wear under your robe aside and guide his cock to slide up against you, Husk kisses you again, groaning into your mouth as he flicks just warm, how wet you are for him already. You whimper as you feel the length of him slide against your clit, the barbs of his cock rising as he reaches full arousal. They tickle at the nerves there; a texture that makes your eyes roll back behind their lids as your excitement grows.

Husk cups your cheek, brushing his lips over yours again before pulling back. He watches your face intently as he presses the head of his cock into you, pupils blown wide as he watches your lips part in a soundless gasp at the feel of him slowly, slowly filling you. You hand finds purchase on his shoulder as though you’re anchoring yourself to him, to the way he feels moving into you, and Husk moves to kiss your forehead again, murmuring so quietly with his lips pressed to your skin that you can’t make out all the words.

“That’s it… feels… fuck…” his claws ghost against the side of your throat. “…good girl for me… that’s it, baby…”

Husk fucks you so, so slowly, each press of his hips into your accompanied by a soft sigh that fans across the top of your face and makes your lashes flutter. You run your fingers through the fur of his chest, reach up to carefully unwind the scarf that’s still wrapped around his neck. Husk lets you toss it aside, smiles as you replace where it rested against the side of his neck with your palm. You rub your fingers through the fur there, down to the massage the nape of his neck and between his shoulders. Husk kisses you again and you let the touch linger, your other hand – the one of the arm trapped beneath you – finds his paw and wraps your fingers around it. The bartender squeezes your hand back, kissing the spot between your brows tenderly.

“Husk…” you breathe his name into his neck, voice catching as he adjusts the angle of his hips. “Fuck…”

Every slide of his cock stretches you wonderfully, every drag of those barbs against your flesh sending sparks up through your spine to curl inside your belly. Husk keeps growling low, chanting your name like some kind of benediction as you squeeze around him. You hook your leg higher on his hip, pressing yourself closer, and you let out a curse, high-pitched and breathy, as it brings him deeper into you.

The heat of Husk’s body, his breath, his cock inside you, is such a contrast to the chill still clinging to your cheeks, and you nuzzle further into his chest as Husk fucks you, nice and slow and agonizingly deep, bottoming out inside you with every thrust. His claws tighten where they clutch at your waist, sliding around to squeeze at your ass, and you gasp into his fur as the move encourages you to stretch wider for him.

“Fuck, baby…” Husk groans into your hairline, voice muted as though he doesn’t want to break the space between you. “Fuck, you feel so good… feel so fuckin’… Christ, you’re gorgeous…”

That tone of voice, those words, they never fail to make you flush, and you tilt your head back and press a kiss to his chin. Husk meets your eye, ghosting a paw up over your side to brush hair away from your face, and he kisses you again.

This kiss lingers all the way through until your orgasm rocks through you, your breath catching in a quiet, shaky moan. Husk watches your face with an almost enraptured look on his, the softest of smiles pulling at the edge of his lips as you shudder in his embrace. He dusts kisses over your face, ghosting his lips over your cheeks, your brow, your nose and always back to your lips as he chases his own release. And when you tease your nails through the fur over his hip he lets out a moan of his own and spill himself into you with one more long, deep thrust.

“So good for me…” he croons, nosing at your temple until you meet his lips again breathlessly. When he breaks the kiss, he doesn’t pull away, speaking softly against your lips. “Love you, sweetness.”

You smile, squeezing the hand he still has wrapped in yours. Husk returns the expression, catching your other hand and lifting it to his face, pressing a kiss to the back of your fingers. Your voice catches a little when you whisper back:

“I love you, too.”

[fernsproutxx]

just a moment ago realized that i fucked up by being very rude to a friend on accident and he proceeded to just stare at me in silence like bro maintaining eye contact isn’t gonna make it better i KNOW what i did was wrong but now you’re just making me feel overwhelmingly uncomfortable and less likely for me to address you and apologize

and also like fuck off because he’s stated multiple times that he doesn’t even care about apologies because he doesn’t forgive and never forgets bruh then why would i even bother in the first place if he’s just gonna be a bitch about it

“i want an apology but i don’t really care about it because you were rude and i will always remind you of it” okay girl fuck you stay upset hope your day gets worse like actually lmfao

i mean i genuinely get the sentiment of wanting others to feel an ounce of your own hurt but even i know that’s just plain toxicity and i don’t know about him but personally i’m trying to break off that bullshit habit

he’s not beating the walking red flag allegations fr ugh

[doumadono]

sorry if this sounds rude 😢 but you haven’t been posting a lot of stories lately and that’s like the only thing you have to do? just post something it’s not that big of a deal? dygwim? i think fanfic writers especially on the anime side like to exaggerate things too much and if you don’t post then just deactivate? there’s no point in staying if you’re not gonna do anything but reblog silly content all the time? i don't understand how so many ppl can follow you when you are not even trying to be grateful and you only write not what people request but what you find interesting (which is not, like vampier Shigaraki???? viking Dabi???? so silly stupid ideas imo 😒)? whoever finds your writing or you as a person nice is either blind or stupid. and even if you write something chaptered it takes you literally months to update which isn't fair to people?? but I guess you don't care at all. you must be a freaking entitled white woman to treat otherz the way you do.

(again sorry, didn't mean to sound rude) 😔

When I first read your message, I was completely speechless for a minute or two, anon.

Firstly, it seems there’s a misconception about what fanfiction writers, or any creative individuals for that matter, have to do. Let me clarify something important: creativity isn’t a tap that one can simply turn on and off at will. It’s a complex, often unpredictable process that cannot be rushed without compromising the integrity and quality of the work. Quality stories often require research, plotting, editing, and revising before they’re ready to share. My creative process isn’t a fast food joint, nonnie, and I'm not here to serve up reheated ideas just to fill the silence.

My blog belongs to no one but me. I post what I want, when I want. As for the content of my stories, I believe every writer has the right to explore subjects that excite them the most - even if that means delving into topics or settings others may find odd, like vampires or vikings. My goal is to write stories I’m passionate about and then offer them freely to anyone who might find them entertaining. Some people will, others won’t, and that’s absolutely okay.

Contrary to your belief, I don't exist solely to churn out stories at the speed you dictate. I write on my own time and for my own pleasure. The notion that I should be a content machine is, frankly, laughable. Writing takes time, creative energy, and often real-life circumstances can slow the process. I post when I’m ready, and if that doesn’t align with your desired schedule, you’re free to unfollow or seek out other writers who update more frequently. Suggesting I deactivate because I’m not constantly posting or because I reblog content I enjoy is dismissive at best. I'm not a streaming service like Netflix, darling🙄

Calling me an entitled white woman or implying I’m ungrateful crosses a line. You know nothing of my background or personal circumstances, and bringing race or entitlement into the conversation is neither accurate nor constructive. My ethnicity or personal identity, whatever it may be, does not diminish the value of my creative output, nor does it affect my commitment to my followers. I appreciate every person who visits my page - whether they come to enjoy what I reblog, to read stories I post or to offer critique.

It's also laughable that you think my followers are stupid. Just because their tastes don't align with yours doesn't make them any less intelligent. Diversity in fandoms exists because creativity resonates differently with everyone, something you seem incapable of recognizing.

In the end, I won’t apologize for taking the time I need to create or for following my own interests - that’s part of being a writer. I do, however, expect basic respect in return. If you can’t extend that courtesy, I hope you'll block me, step away from my blog, and never interact with any of my content again.

With all this in mind, it's precisely why I've stopped taking regular requests. Last year, I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of requests and the rudeness in many messages, pushing me to my limits. That's why I've decided to concentrate on my own projects and only accept commissioned work.

I'm taking a few days off to gather my thoughts and concentrate on my writing projects.

[28harryssunflower]

Fix me if you can

The festival grounds were alive with music and chaos, the kind of electric energy that only came from thousands of people packed together, hearts thundering in anticipation of the next act. Harry stood near the side of the stage, his sunglasses shielding him from the sun and, perhaps, the look in his eyes that he didn’t want his bandmates to catch.

He was watching you.

You were halfway through your set, and to say you had the crowd eating out of the palm of your hand would be an understatement. The moment you strutted onto the stage, wearing a black crop top that showed off every curve and a pair of denim shorts that left little to the imagination, you commanded attention.

You didn’t just perform. You owned the space. Your lyrics were explicit, your voice sultry, and the way you moved was… intoxicating.

“Mate, you’re drooling,” Louis said, breaking Harry’s trance.

“I’m watching the performance,” Harry replied, though even he didn’t believe his own excuse.

Louis smirked knowingly. “Sure. Watching the performance. That’s what we’re calling it now.”

“She’s trouble,” Liam added from beside him, arms crossed as he surveyed the stage.

Zayn nodded, exhaling slowly. “Yeah. Trouble with a capital T. She’s not the kind you take home to Mum.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, though he said nothing. He didn’t care about your reputation - or the countless stories that followed you wherever you went. The media loved to call you a bad influence, a bad girl, someone who didn’t care about rules or expectations. But Harry wasn’t interested in the rumors. Watching you now, he didn’t see the person they described. He saw someone fierce, unapologetic, and utterly magnetic.

“Don’t get your heart broken, Haz,” Niall chimed in, always the voice of cautious optimism. “She’s not the girlfriend type. Not for someone like you.”

Harry glanced at his bandmates and shrugged. “Maybe I don’t want a girlfriend. Maybe I just want to talk to her.”

Backstage, the festival grounds were a maze of equipment, staff, and performers coming and going. You stepped off the stage, your adrenaline still surging, your skin glistening with sweat. The roar of the crowd still echoed in your ears, but you were already focused on getting to your dressing room.

That’s when Harry made his move.

“You were incredible,” he said, his voice soft but carrying enough weight to catch your attention.

You turned, your brow arching as you sized him up. “Thanks,” you said shortly, continuing to walk.

“I’m Harry, by the way,” he said, keeping pace with you. “Styles. I’m with One Direction.”

“I know who you are,” you replied, your tone clipped.

For a moment, Harry faltered. You weren’t making this easy. But he wasn’t about to give up. “Right. Well, I just thought I’d tell you how much I enjoyed your set. You’ve got this… thing about you. It’s amazing.”

You stopped in your tracks, spinning around to face him. “Look, I just got off stage, and I’m not in the mood for small talk. So, if you don’t mind-“

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted, raising his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Something in his voice made you hesitate. He wasn’t like the other guys who had tried to hit on you backstage - full of empty compliments and flirts. Harry seemed… genuine.

You sighed, your expression softening. “It’s not you,” you said after a moment. “I just… performing takes a lot out of me. I get a little on edge afterward.”

“I get that,” Harry said, his tone understanding.

You studied him, your guard up but wavering. “Sorry for snapping at you,” you muttered.

“It’s alright,” he said with a small smile. “Can I make it up to you by asking for your number?”

The corner of your mouth quirked up into a smirk. “Nice try, Styles,” you said, before slipping into your dressing room and shutting the door behind you.

——————————————————————————

Weeks passed, and you didn’t think about Harry much. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself. But then, at an afterparty following another festival, there he was again.

“Miss me?” he asked, his dimples on full display as he sauntered up to you.

“Not even a little,” you lied, though your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

The night unraveled quickly. A few drinks, some harmless flirting, and before you knew it, you were in his hotel room.

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the windows of Harry’s hotel room, casting everything in a soft, golden glow. The room smelled faintly of his cologne and your perfume, mingled with the remnants of last night. The sheets were a tangled mess, draped haphazardly over the two of you.

You stirred awake first, the haze of sleep still clouding your mind. Blinking, you sat up slowly, careful not to wake Harry, who lay sprawled on his stomach beside you, his face half-buried in a pillow. His hair was a mess of curls, wild and carefree, and his back rose and fell with each deep, steady breath.

For a moment, you just looked at him. He was beautiful, vulnerable in sleep, and it made your chest ache in a way you didn’t want to examine too closely. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to let him get this close.

Quietly, you slipped out of bed, gathering your clothes from the floor. The soft rustle of fabric was the only sound in the room as you pulled on your shorts and slipped your crop top over your head. You moved with the precision of someone who’d done this a hundred times before, ready to disappear before things got complicated.

“Don’t go.”

His voice was soft, rough with sleep, and it stopped you in your tracks.

You turned slowly to find him awake, his green eyes blinking at you as he propped himself up on one elbow. His hair fell in messy waves across his forehead, and his voice, low and pleading, struck something deep inside you.

“I have to,” you said quietly, your hands fiddling with the hem of your top. “This… it’s not who I am, Harry.”

He sat up fully now, the sheets pooling around his waist as he ran a hand through his hair. “Why not? Why can’t it be?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Because I don’t stay. That’s not what I do. I don’t wake up in the morning and stick around for breakfast. I don’t… I’m not that girl.”

Harry stood from the bed, the way he moved so natural, like he wasn’t even conscious of his own grace. He stopped in front of you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body, and reached out to gently take your hands in his.

“I don’t care about what you’ve done before,” he said, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “I don’t care if you’ve never stayed before. I’m asking you to stay now. Just this once.”

You looked up at him, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “Harry… I’m not good for you. I’m not good for anyone. You’ve heard the stories. You know what they say about me.”

“I don’t care what they say,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “I know you. And I think you’re scared. I think you’ve spent so much time convincing yourself that you don’t need anyone that you’ve forgotten what it’s like to let someone in. But you let me in last night. Don’t act like that didn’t mean something.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. He wasn’t wrong. You had let him in. More than anyone else in years. But that terrified you. Because if you let him in, if you let yourself believe that this could be real, what happened when it all went wrong?

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to be what you want me to be.”

Harry’s expression softened, and he stepped closer, his hands sliding up to cup your face gently. “You don’t have to be anything other than who you are,” he said. “I’m not asking you to change. I’m just asking you to trust me. To trust that maybe this could be something good.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you hated yourself for how vulnerable you felt in that moment. But Harry didn’t pull away. He just stood there, waiting, as if he had all the time in the world.

“Harry…”

“Just stay,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “For breakfast. For today. And if you still want to leave after that, I won’t stop you. But at least give me that much.”

Your resolve wavered, the walls you’d built around yourself crumbling brick by brick under the weight of his gaze. No one had ever looked at you the way he did - like you were more than the sum of your mistakes, more than the stories people told about you.

Finally, you nodded, the smallest movement, but it was enough.

Harry’s face broke into a soft smile, and he pressed his forehead against yours, letting out a shaky breath. “Thank you,” he whispered.

You stayed.

The morning unfolded slowly, the two of you moving around each other in the quiet intimacy of his hotel room. He made you coffee, insisting on adding just the right amount of sugar despite your protests that you liked it black. You sat on the couch, your legs curled beneath you, and listened as he told you stories about growing up in Holmes Chapel, about the time he got a cut from a mango (a story you couldn’t stop laughing at).

And for the first time in a long time, you felt… safe.

When the morning turned into afternoon, and the conversation turned from lighthearted to meaningful, you realized something else: you didn’t want to leave.

Maybe you didn’t know how to be in a relationship. Maybe you didn’t know how to stay. But Harry wasn’t asking for perfection. He was asking for a chance.

And for him, you were willing to try.

That was the day everything changed. Slowly, day by day, you let him in a little more. And every time you stumbled, every time you felt like running, Harry was there - steady, patient, and unwavering.

Because maybe love wasn’t about being perfect. Maybe it was about finding someone who saw your flaws and stayed anyway.

And for the first time in your life, you believed you could stay, too.

[possibilistfanfiction]

caitvi prompt: work

[sry i have been so busy but i love these two & this silly world & have been thinking abt firefighter vi & what a constant thirst trap she would be without even doing anything, god bless. u know i love outside pov. ao3.]

//

‘your hot firefighter is here again,’ kazim whispers, elbowing you in the shoulder. you perk up immediately, as does ada, and you glare at her.

maybe it’s not the most professional thing in the world, because you are at work, but you’re interns and your shifts in the ER are long and brutal and, more often than not, kind of devastating. ‘rock, paper, scissors?’

‘fine.’ she sets her hands seriously. ‘best two-of-three?’

you nod, and kazim rolls his eyes. ‘on shoot.’

it must be your lucky day, despite the fact that not one but two people have thrown up on you and you’re not even halfway through your shift. you straighten your lab coat, thankfully spared both times from the vomit, and ada shoves you — playfully — forward.

‘lieutenant,’ you greet as she walks purposefully out of the room she’d just dropped a new trauma off in, which ada is scurrying along to; she stops at the desk to finish filling out her report. 

she smiles, and you kind of go weak at the knees: she’s got freckles and her short, messy hair falls into her stormy eyes until she brushes it back, a little careless and so sexy, revealing the press of her muscles covered in tattoos against her tight fire department t-shirt even more than normal. it’s tucked into her uniform firefighter pants, held up with suspenders. ‘dr. fernandez,’ she says, and you have to stop yourself from swooning at the fact she knows your name. ‘how’s it going today?’

‘busy,’ you say, not mentioning the unfortunate vomit incidents. ‘but it’s worth it, saving lives, you know?’

her laugh is kind. ‘well, you guys do the hard part, i think.’

you shake your head. ’no, there’s definitely no way i could do even half the physical —‘

‘—vi,’ someone calls from behind her, an emt from her station with a perpetual scowl. ‘we just got another one. let’s go.’

she puts the pen down on the desk and smiles again. ‘well, duty calls,’ she says. ‘see you around.’

she’s off before you can ask her if she’d like to grab coffee, or dinner, or lunch, or anything. ‘yeah,’ you say, even though she’s striding off down the hallway. ‘can’t wait.’

/

it’s the middle of the night, a few weeks later, when you see her again. she looks exhausted, slumped over at the desk, her hair darkened a little by ash, a smudge of it on her cheek, more along the neckline of her shirt. fire had just brought in a ton of people from an apartment building burn, and you just offer her a smile and a little wave as you rush to trauma bay 3 to help on an intubation. 

she salutes you lazily, friendly even at two in the morning, before she turns back to the paperwork.

/

‘thank god it’s you,’ vi says when you walk into the trauma bay.

you try not to blush, but she’s gotten a haircut since you saw her briefly last week, and she’s got her shirt off, and you haven’t slept in twenty hours — she’s handsome, sue you. you had panicked a little, to be fair, when you heard that there was a firefighter coming in, and then you had panicked a little more when you heard her name. but it seems like she’s fine, sitting up and talking, looking genuinely annoyed at having to be in the room at all; her boots are still on. 

‘want to tell me what happened, and what hurts, and then we’ll get you out of here if everything is fine?’

she rolls her eyes. ‘i told them i’m fine already.’

you look at her side, where you can see some purple bruising already starting to form, and raise a brow.

‘sorry.’ vi sighs. ‘i’m just grumpy; this whole thing was stupid. anyway, a beam fell on me, i lifted it off and finished rescuing the dog, and now i’m here, waiting to be cleared to go home.’

‘a dog?’

vi laughs. ‘that’s your professional medical doctor takeaway?’

you shrug. ‘i like dogs.’ she seems like the kind of person who would like dogs too. you put on gloves and, after vi consents with a nod, touch gingerly around the bruising on her ribs. you do your best to focus on the medical task at hand and not the fact that you’re close enough to her you can smell sweat and ash but also something warm, palo santo and bergamont, or that you can feel the flex of her abs beneath your hands when you hit a particularly tender spot and she winces. fortunately, nothing feels broken; you’ll get an x-ray just in case, but she really does seem fine enough to be discharged. ‘how heavy was the beam?’

‘can we stick to dogs? i have one.’

you just wait, even though you so badly want to ask if she wants to go on a walk in the park; you would love to meet her dog.

‘a couple hundred pounds, i think. but it just glanced me.’

‘you… lifted it off yourself?’

her friendly smile turns into a smirk, and — god help you — she brings an arm up and flexes her extremely impressive bicep. ‘not just for show.’

‘i — uh. wow.’

vi laughs deeply, then grimaces. thankfully, your brain whirs back into action; you tell her that you’ll order an x-ray, but if it’s normal a nurse will wrap it and you’ll order her some painkillers that she’ll be able to pick up some painkillers at the pharmacy before she goes home. ‘you should be good to go in a few weeks.’

‘thanks.’

‘and, i’d, uh, i’d love to know more about your dog.’

just your rotten luck, your pager goes off, a huge trauma incoming, all hands on deck. ‘rain check?’ she offers.

‘please.’

/

you look extra nice today, even though that’s always a risk in the ER, just asking for some gross bodily fluid to come flinging your way, because there’s some big meeting for funding for your department; you’d heard that the new head of all medical care in the region is trying to increase staffing and pay for nurses specifically — a huge win — and so everyone is on their absolute A game. 

you think it’ll probably only help your cause when you see vi at the desk, an elbow on the counter, leaning casually. her uniform is neat today, typical of what the department wears when they’re not on calls, and you’re about to walk up to her, to finally work up the courage to ask her out, when she stands up straight and then melts a little when she sees someone walk through the doors. your whole world kind of crashes down a little when that someone is tall and elegant and incredibly poised with a sharp, beautiful face and electric blue eyes, a white coat on over her turtleneck and neatly pressed slacks. 

‘hello, lieutenant,’ she greets vi, whose smile is so soft and fond you know it was always over before it began. 

‘dr. kiramman,’ vi says, leaning up, a little on her tiptoes, to press a kiss to her mouth. it’s short and professional, but intimate nonetheless. ‘got time for lunch with a lowly firefighter before your big meeting?’

dr. kiramman rolls her eyes but laces their fingers together, bumps vi’s shoulder gently, and they head out toward the courtyard.

ada slumps into a chair next to you. ‘wow. huge bummer.’

kazim slides in between, even though you both roll your eyes at him. he whistles. ‘dr. kiramman. you know she’s in charge of, like, everything, right?’

you knew the name, of course, everyone does, but you just didn’t know that she was young and gorgeous and, apparently, vi’s partner. 

kazim shrugs. ‘maybe they’re poly.’

ada shoves his shoulder and you say, ‘shut up,’ but you all end up laughing anyway. you go out for drinks later, after your shift is done and after dr. kiramman had pushed through funding for your department and pay raises for everyone, according to your chief resident, at least, and a hot girl gives you her number. there are more fish in the sea.

[yelenasdiary]

hi, I only recently saw your Yelena Belova x Reader! Super Soldier and I really liked it, idk if you did but can you make a part 2 or write something similar to it?

Whispers of Hydra

Pairing: Yelena Belova x GN Super Soldier! Reader

Summary: Life was peaceful until a knock at the door reminds you of what you were designed for.

Angst & Light Fluff

Warnings: Mentions of Red Room, Trauma, Scars, Hydra, Mentions of the conditions of Red Room, Mentions of brain washing, Mentions of weapons, Mentions of blood| 1.6K

AC: Thank you for sending this! It made me miss these two so much! I had so much writing this one that I am 100% open to a part two!!  I hope you enjoy! x

The fireplace crackled, casting dancing shadows on the log walls of the cabin. Outside, the wind howled a soft lullaby like song through the tall pines that helped keep the cabin hidden from any hikers that dared to tackle the harsh conditions of the mountain. In the kitchen, Yelena, stirred a pot of stew she had been making for the last two hours while you sat in a worn armchair taking in the peace that you both had created. 

From the armchair, you could see Yelena stirring away at the pot of stew, watching as she was focused on making another tasty meal for the two of you. You pushed yourself up from the armchair and wandered over to the doorway that separated the small living room and kitchen. 

“You know” you began, your voice soft, “you’re a much better cook than I ever was”.

Yelena scoffed, looking over her shoulder at you, “I knew that when you set fire to the toaster trying to make pop-tarts!”. You chuckled lightly, “that was an honest mistake”.

“Well, maybe if you watch me cook, you might learn something!” Yelena replied, a small chuckle escaping from her as you pushed yourself off the doorframe and made your way over to the blonde. You wrapped your strong arms around her waist, resting your chin on her shoulder, “I guess the tables have changed” you smiled softly, “teach me to cook” you added.

Yelena naturally leaned back into your hold, her free hand softly finding yours, weaving her fingers with yours. “So, you remember” she said softly. A faint memory of when she was just a young adult in training while you told her commands to spar against her fellow widow. Your eyes slightly dropped, “I do but I don’t want that to ruin this moment” you replied, watching as the wooden spoon circled the pot. 

The shared history was complex. You had been one of Yelena’s trainers in the Red Room, an almost mythical figure in the blonde’s younger life. To you, you were nothing more than a weapon to cause harm, to train others to cause harm but to Yelena? You were everything she didn’t know she needed. You had been forced out of the Widow training program before Yelena’s graduation, leaving a void that nothing and no one had ever filled. 

Natasha was the one that found you with the help of Steve and Bucky. Hydra’s grasp on you was strong, your brain washing was severe with a tangled web of false commands and implanted memories. Nothing seemed to work, no therapy or desensitization. You were injected with the super serum well after Steve and Bucky’s time, leaving Bucky to be somewhat thankful that his therapy and treatment worked but seeing you suffering daily tore at every body's strings. When things didn’t look to be getting better for you, it was Natasha that took the risk and brought in a reluctant Yelena to the compound hoping that maybe if you saw somebody real from your past, it might break Hydra’s toxic hold. 

It had, like a tsunami flushing out all the horrible things you were made to do. It took some time for Yelena to rebuild her trust within you by reconnecting with her, your mind allowed the therapy and desensitization to work its wonders and finally free you from Hydra. 

Now, trying to live a life of normalcy, you and Yelena spent your quiet days hiking through the woods, creating new memories together and now Yelena teaching you to cook was added to the list of things you wanted to fulfill in your new life.

“Do you mind handing me the pepper?” Yelena asked, respecting your wish to not dwell on a memory that was still so fresh to you. 

----

A week later as a harsh winter storm began to descend, blanketing the woods in a thick layer of snow. Yelena was in the city, helping Kate with a lead on a mission, leaving you at the shared home. You didn’t mind, you enjoyed the peace and a little down time to yourself, but it was the weather than made you uneasy that morning. As you pour yourself an extra hot mug of black coffee, a knock at the door echoed through the wooden cabin. 

Your body tensed in a familiar sense of readiness as you slowly and quietly walked over to the door on cautious feet. A hidden knife in arms reach for protection, you peeked through the small peephole. A tall, broad figure stood on the porch wearing a long, black trench coat that failed to hide the weapons at his belt. 

As you opened the door, allowing the cold wind to rush into the warm cabin, the man was large and his face showing no expression as he held a small metal case in his gloved hand. “I believe this belongs to you” his voice was rough, deep and laced with an accent you hadn’t heard in a long time. “I was told you’d come here, that you went soft”. 

“Who sent you?” You asked, keeping your posture on alert for anything.

“That is not important. What’s important is this” he tossed the metal case to you, landing at your feet with a dull thud. 

Not taking your eyes off the unknown stranger, you leaned down and picked up the case, opening it to find a familiar set of files. Images from the Red Room back in the day but most disturbingly, a picture of you and Yelena that had been taken only a few days ago. Your blood turned to ice knowing that the peaceful sanctuary you and Yelena shared had been breached. You weren’t forgotten like you had hoped. 

“This isn’t going to work” you said, your voice dangerously low.

The man laughed, “I thought you’d say that” he said, drawing his weapon from his coat. “There’s a big number above that head of yours, soldier!” He added. Quickly, you raised the metal case to your face, blocking the bullet that was meant for your face. The fight was brutal, fast and explosive. Years of training and somehow you managed to not forget a single thing. You skillfully dodged the soldier’s attacks. Blocking the flurry blows that would have broken the ribs of any ordinary human. 

His gun now knocked out of his hand, you kicked it to the side, making sure it slid out of arms each before you threw the soldier across the small cabin, sending him into the support beam. He grunted as he hit the floor before shaking off the blow and launching himself back at you. Throwing a punch at you that you were able to block and delivered him a left hook that sent him reeling. 

The soldier laughed, “you’re not as fast as you used to be!” He said, spitting out blood onto the wooden floor. He looked at you for a brief moment before pulling out a second weapon, “you’ve spent too much time being soft!” He said, breaking the silence as he charged towards you. 

Using your enhanced strength, you grabbed the man’s weapon, wrenching it from his hand. “Or maybe you’re just weak!” You spat as you spun, using the barrel of the gun to deliver a sharp blow to the soldier’s temple. His lifeless body felt, sending a thud through the cabin as his blood pooled around him. You dropped the gun in relief as your eyes dropped to the floor, watching his blood river over the photos of you and Yelena on the floor.

“Y/n!” Yelena called in a worried voice, rushing over to you. “Y-you’re hurt!” She said, looking at your face. You didn’t hear her motorcycle roaring up the snowy mountain, you barely even heard her voice over the shock that took over you. It had been so long since you took the life of another person. 

“I…I’m fine” you stuttered as your eyes slowly looked up at her. 

“Who is that?” Yelena asked, stepping over the body to get to you. “It doesn’t matter” you replied as Yelena gently cupped your face, wanting to draw your attention to her. “They’ll just come back” you added. Yelena could see the fear in your eyes, the realization of the danger that they were now in crashed over her like a wave. She knew that the peaceful life was now gone but she refused to let you see her own fears. 

“Then we’ll fight them” she said in a low, soft whisper. 

The weight of the fight fell heavily on you; after removing the lifeless body from your shared home and Yelena cleaning up the blood left behind, the next few days were spent in a tense silence. Fear of the unknown taunting you. Each night Yelena woke up to find you staring outside the window over the snow-covered woods. She wrapped her arms around you from behind, pressing her back into your back.

“I’m afraid too” she whispered, her voice trembling.

You turned around, her green eyes filled with fear as you pulled her into a tight embrace, “I’m afraid they’ll take you away again” she admitted. 

“I promise you, they won’t” you replied, your voice firm. “I won’t let them” 

“We…” Yelena started, pulling away to look up at you with her eyes now filling with tears, “We could leave, find a new place. Tell nobody” She suggested but you shook your head, “baby, I’m not going to take you away from your family and friends” you said, gently cupping her face, “I’m done running” you added. 

Yelena nodded softly, “then we fight them together. Promise me…. promise me we’re in this together”

You hated knowing that Yelena was in just as much danger as you, that you were the one that put her in this position. “I promise” you replied softly, placing a kiss on her forehead. You knew better than to argue and if you were being completely honest, you needed her just as much as she needed you.

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[winchestersisterimaginessss]

Request: can I get a fight between Dean and sister?

A/N: Hope this is what you were looking for! Requests are always open:))

The silence in the bunker was thick, suffocating. The low hum of the lights seemed to echo in the space as you stood at the kitchen counter, hands trembling slightly as you fought the urge to scream. You’d been stuck in here for days, confined within these walls, and every second of it felt like an eternity.

Dean was hovering again. He’d been doing it since Crowley resurfaced. Every time you moved, he was right there, watching you, making sure you didn’t wander off. He hadn’t let you go anywhere alone. And it was driving you insane.

You weren’t a child anymore. You knew what was at stake. You were old enough to understand the dangers, old enough to make your own decisions. But no matter how many times you told him that, Dean just wouldn’t listen.

Tonight was no different. You had had enough.

You turned, eyes locked on Dean as he stood by the door, arms crossed, his jaw set in that familiar, protective way. “I’m going for a walk,” you said, your voice tight with frustration.

Dean didn’t flinch. His eyes narrowed, and he took a step closer. “No, you’re not.”

You felt your heart rate quicken, the anger flaring up. "What? Why? Dean, I’ve been stuck in here for days. I’m just going for a walk. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” he snapped, his voice rising with tension. “Not with Crowley out there, kid. Not with the him sniffing around.”

“I’m not a kid anymore!” you shouted, the words burning in your throat. “You don’t get to keep treating me like one, Dean!”

Dean’s face hardened, his voice cutting through the space like a blade. “You’re 17. You’re still a kid. That means you’re my responsibility. You don’t get to make decisions like you know what’s out there. You don’t get to walk off into that mess alone. I’m not letting you.”

Your chest tightened, the frustration boiling over. “I’m not a kid, Dean! And you’re not Dad!” The words left your mouth before you could stop them, raw and full of all the resentment you’d been holding back.

Dean froze, his expression going cold for a split second. But then his eyes flashed with something darker, something more desperate. He stepped toward you, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

“Yeah, well,” he ground out, his voice rough, almost shaking with the intensity of his emotions. “Dad’s not here, is he? Huh? He’s not here to look after you. He’s not here to keep you safe. I am. And until I know you’re safe, you’re not going anywhere alone. Not with that son of a bitch out there.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Your throat tightened, the breath getting caught behind the weight of what he’d said. For a moment, neither of you moved. The anger lingered in the air, thick and suffocating, but beneath it, there was something else—something softer, more fragile.

Dean’s jaw clenched, and he took another step toward you, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “You think I want to be doing this? You think I like treating you like you’re some little girl I have to watch over? Hell no. I know you’re tough, I know you’re strong, I know you can handle yourself. But you’re my responsibility, kid. You’re all I’ve got left. And I’ll be damned if I let anything happen to you, not while I’m breathing.”

You stared at him, your mind spinning, heart hammering in your chest. You wanted to argue, to scream that you didn’t need him to control you. But you couldn’t. Because deep down, you knew he was right.

Dean wasn’t just trying to control you. He was terrified. Terrified of losing you. Terrified of Crowley getting his hands on you.

“I get it,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I get why you’re doing it, Dean. But, I can’t keep living like this, always under your thumb, like I’m some helpless little thing. I need to breathe. I need to be me.”

Dean’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second, and you could see the conflict swirling inside of him. He was struggling too—trying to balance that protective instinct with the realization that you weren’t a child anymore. That you needed space.

But the fear in his eyes was still there, burning. “I’m not trying to control you, kid,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m trying to keep you alive. I don’t know how to keep you safe when I don’t know where the hell Crowley is or what he’s planning. I’m not losing you.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with all the weight of the years you’d spent together. You could feel the love, the desperation, the sheer panic that came with the thought of losing someone you cared about. But at the same time, you wanted to be your own person. You wanted to make your own choices, not be treated like a child, even if it came from a place of love.

“I’m not gonna let you walk out there and get yourself caught up in something you don’t understand,” Dean continued, his voice lower now, pleading. “I can’t.”

The raw vulnerability in his voice hit you harder than anything else. You knew he was scared. You knew he was just trying to protect you. He was trying to keep you alive. Trying to keep you from walking into something that could tear you apart—something that could tear him apart, too.

Dean’s voice was low, almost apologetic now, as he stepped back and placed his hands on his hips. “You know I’m not doing this to control you, right? I’m doing this because I don’t want to lose you. You’re all I’ve got left, kid.”

The words hit you harder than anything else. Your anger faded into something softer, something more raw. You felt your own breath catch in your chest as you took a step closer to him.

“I know,” you said quietly. “I know, Dean. I get it. I do.”

Dean gave you a long, searching look before he nodded, his jaw tight. “We’ll get through this, okay? Together. You’re not walking out there alone with Crowley still lurking around. Not until it’s safe.”

You looked him in the eyes, and for the first time in a long time, you let the fear in his gaze sink in. You understood why he was doing it and you were okay with the compromise.

“Fine,” you said quietly, looking down at the floor. “But only until it’s safe.”

Dean finally let out a sigh of relief and, for a brief moment, he reached out to give your shoulder a firm but gentle squeeze. “Thanks for understanding, kid. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

You didn’t say anything back, you just nodded and leaned into his chest. You let the moment pass, feeling the weight of it hang between you, and realizing that he wasn’t hovering out of control. He was doing it because he loved you. Because you were his responsibility, and as much as you wanted to fight it, that meant everything.

[heliosunny]

CALEB AT MEOW'S CAFE - Part 1

Yandere!Cat!Caleb x Reader

Meow's Café had always been a charming little place, but things had gotten a lot stranger—thanks to Caleb.

It all started a few weeks ago, during the café’s annual “Cat Lovers’ Festival.” The event was meant to celebrate the café’s theme, complete with cat-themed games, limited-edition treats, and a special presentation from a local animal shelter. One of the activities had been a harmless “fortune-telling” booth run by an eccentric old woman. She’d promised to reveal people’s “inner animal” and claimed it was all in good fun.

You didn’t think much of it when Caleb was dragged over to the booth by a group of squealing customers. He’d gone along with it just to avoid causing a scene.

But something… happened.

The woman had smiled at him knowingly, muttered something strange under her breath, and handed him a small vial of glowing liquid. “Drink this” she’d said with a wink.

Caleb had stared at her, unimpressed. “I’m not drinking that” he’d grumbled, crossing his arms.

“Suit yourself” the woman had replied. “But your destiny will find you, whether you like it or not.”

That night, Caleb had gone home. But the next morning, when he arrived for his shift, it was clear something wasn’t right.

You’d been setting up tables when you heard a low growl behind you. Turning around, you found Caleb standing there, looking disheveled and irritated. At first, you thought he was just having a bad morning—until you noticed the dark, triangular cat ears poking out of his messy hair.

“Caleb…?” you’d asked hesitantly, your gaze drifting down to the long, fluffy tail swishing behind him.

“Don’t” he’d snapped, his purple eyes narrowing. His voice was still the same—low and gruff—but the way his ears twitched betrayed his discomfort. “Don’t say anything.”

“What happened to you?” you’d asked, trying (and failing) to stifle a laugh.

He’d glared at you, his tail flicking sharply behind him. “I don’t know” he’d growled. “I woke up like this. And don’t even think about laughing.”

Despite his warning, you couldn’t help but chuckle. “Well, I think it suits you.”

“It doesn’t” he’d muttered, tugging at one of his ears in frustration. “And it’s your fault.”

“My fault?”

“You’re the one who made me go to that festival,” he’d grumbled. “That weird fortune-teller must’ve done something to me. I’m going back there to—”

Seems like whatever is happening to him affects his mood greatly.

But before he could finish, a group of regulars had entered the café, and the sight of Caleb with his new ears and tail had sent them into a frenzy. From that moment on, there was no turning back.

Fast forward a few weeks, and Caleb had begrudgingly accepted his new reality. His cat ears and tail were impossible to hide, but they’d somehow made him the most popular maid at the café. Customers adored his mysterious demeanor, and his new features only added to his charm.

But while the customers were smitten, Caleb’s possessive tendencies had gotten worse.

Today was no exception. A pair of regulars had been monopolizing your attention, their playful flirtations growing bolder with each passing minute. Caleb had been watching from the counter, his ears flattening against his head and his tail lashing behind him.

By the time you brought the customers their drinks, Caleb had had enough.

“Y/N” he called, his voice sharp.

You turned to find him stalking toward you, his purple eyes blazing. Despite the strange maid uniform and the soft swish of his tail, he somehow managed to look intimidating.

“What is it, Caleb?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he glanced pointedly at the customers, his ears twitching with barely concealed irritation. “Do you really have to humor them?” he asked finally, his voice low.

“They’re just being friendly” you said, rolling your eyes.

“Friendly” he muttered, his tail flicking sharply. “They’re staring at you like you’re the only thing on the menu.”

“Caleb—”

He stepped closer, his ears flattening slightly as his tail curled around your wrist. “I don’t like it” he said quietly, his voice tense. “I don’t like the way they look at you. Or how they’re always trying to keep you to themselves.”

“They’re customers” you said, trying to pull your hand free. But his tail held firm, the soft fur deceptively strong.

“They don’t deserve your attention.” he muttered, his gaze darkening. “You shouldn’t have to deal with people like that.”

You sighed, placing a hand on his arm. “Caleb, you’re overreacting. It’s part of the job. You can’t scare off every customer who talks to me.”

He frowned, his tail loosening slightly. “I’m not trying to scare them,” he said softly. “I just… I don’t like sharing you.”

Your cheeks burned at his words, but you quickly brushed it off with a nervous laugh. “Well, if you keep acting like this, we won’t have any customers left.”

Caleb’s ears drooped slightly, and he let out a reluctant sigh. “Fine. I’ll back off. But if they try anything, don’t expect me to stay quiet.”

You smiled, giving his arm a reassuring pat. “Deal. Now go deliver Table 6’s order before they think we’re ignoring them.”

Caleb cast one last glare at the offending customers before grabbing the tray and stalking off. His tail swayed behind him, still a little tense, but you couldn’t help but smile. Beneath all his jealousy and brooding, Caleb’s devotion to you was as endearing as ever—cat ears and all.

[pankowcrumbs]

Admit it X Joseph Quinn

The room buzzed with excitement and nervous energy as I stepped into the table read for Stranger Things Season 4. The cast and crew were scattered around the long table, scripts in hand, some already laughing and catching up. I had only a small role in the other seasons but this season I was one of the main characters so I felt a mix of nerves and exhilaration. Playing Tessa Harrington, Steve Harrington’s younger sister, was a dream come true, but it also came with a fair bit of pressure.

“Y/N!” a familiar voice called out, and I turned to see Gaten Matarazzo waving me over with an enthusiastic grin. his infectious energy had put me at ease instantly.

“Hey, Gaten!” I greeted, making my way over. He pulled me into a quick hug, then motioned toward the table.

“Come on, you’ve got to see everyone,” he said, dragging me along before I could protest.

I Greeted everyone not really knowing them well since I only had scenes with Joe and Gaten in the last seasons and then my focus zeroed in when we reached Joseph Quinn. He stood up as I approached, towering slightly over me with an easy, almost shy smile. His curly hair was tousled, and his brown eyes held a warmth that immediately made me feel less out of place.

“Joseph Quinn,” he said, extending a hand. His British accent caught me off guard for a moment.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” I replied, shaking his hand. His grip was firm but gentle, and the way his eyes lingered on mine sent a flutter through my chest.

“You’re playing Tessa?” he asked, his voice soft but laced with curiosity.

“That’s me,” I said with a small laugh. “I guess you’ll be seeing a lot of me.”

“Looking forward to it,” he said, his smile widening slightly. There was something earnest about the way he looked at me, like he was genuinely interested in every word I said. It was... distracting, to say the least.

“Alright, lovebirds, take a seat,” Joe Keery’s voice cut in, snapping me out of whatever trance Joseph had me under. My face heated instantly as I turned to see Joe smirking at us, his eyes darting between me and Joseph.

“We’re not—” I started, but Joe waved me off, clearly enjoying my embarrassment.

“Sure, sure. Just sit down before Gaten starts assigning nicknames.”

Joseph chuckled, gesturing for me to sit beside him. I did, trying to ignore the way my heart raced when our shoulders accidentally brushed. Gaten and Joe exchanged knowing glances, and I had the sinking feeling that this wasn’t the last I’d hear of it.

Rehearsals and table reads became a whirlwind of activity over the next few weeks. The cast quickly became like a second family, and I found myself growing more comfortable—except when it came to Joseph. Something about him left me feeling off-balance in the best way possible. He was kind and funny, always willing to help me with my lines or offer advice, but there was an undeniable tension between us that I couldn’t ignore.

Unfortunately, neither could Gaten or Joe.

“Hey, Y/N,” Gaten called one afternoon as we hung out on set. “What’s it like working with Joe Quinn? You know, since you two seem to have this... connection.”

“Oh, stop it,” I said, rolling my eyes. “We’re just friends.”

Joe Keery, lounging nearby, snorted. “Yeah, okay. Friends who stare at each other like they’re in a rom-com.”

“I do not stare at him,” I protested, feeling my cheeks burn.

“You kinda do,” Gaten said, grinning. “And he stares right back. It’s adorable.”

Before I could argue, Joseph appeared, looking between the three of us with a puzzled expression. “What’s going on?” he asked, his eyes lingering on me for a beat longer than necessary.

“Nothing,” I said quickly, shooting a glare at Gaten and Joe. They just grinned, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

It all came to a head one afternoon when we were filming on one of the sound stages. Gaten and Joe Keery had been whispering and plotting all day, which should’ve been my first warning. But I was too focused on my lines to pay them much attention.

During a break, I went to the greenroom to grab some water, only to find Joseph already there, sitting on the couch with his script. He looked up and smiled when he saw me.

“Hey,” he said. “Taking a breather?”

“Something like that,” I replied, walking over to the mini fridge. Before I could grab a bottle, the door slammed shut behind me, and I turned to see Gaten and Joe grinning like Cheshire cats through the small window in the door.

“What are you—” I started, but they were already locking the door.

“You two aren’t coming out until you admit you like each other,” Gaten called through the door, his tone sing-song.

My jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious,” Joe Keery added. “We’ll let you out in time for your next scene. Just... come to terms with your feelings first.”

I turned to Joseph, my face burning with embarrassment. “I am so sorry about this,” I said.

He laughed, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t be. This is... well, it’s Gaten and Joe. I should’ve seen it coming.”

We stood there for a moment, the silence stretching awkwardly between us. Finally, Joseph spoke.

“They’re not entirely wrong, though,” he said, his voice quiet but steady.

I blinked, unsure if I’d heard him correctly. “What?”

He looked up at me, his cheeks tinged pink. “I like you, Y/N. I have since the first table read. I just... didn’t know how to say it.”

My heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, I was sure I was dreaming. “You... like me?”

He nodded, his eyes searching mine. “I do. And I’m sorry if that makes things awkward, but I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore.”

I stared at him, my mind racing. Then, before I could overthink it, I blurted out, “I like you too.”

His eyes widened slightly, and then he smiled—a real, genuine smile that made my stomach flip. “You do?”

I nodded, laughing nervously. “Yeah. I’ve been trying to ignore it, but... yeah, I do.”

For a moment, we just stood there, grinning at each other like idiots. Then Gaten’s voice broke through the moment.

“Okay, are you done confessing now? Because we’re on in five minutes.”

Joseph rolled his eyes but laughed, stepping toward the door. He unlocked it and swung it open, only for Gaten and Joe to stumble inside, clearly having been leaning against it.

“Subtle,” Joseph said, shaking his head.

“So?” Gaten asked, looking between us expectantly. “Did it work?”

I glanced at Joseph, who met my gaze with a small, knowing smile. “Yeah,” I said, unable to stop myself from smiling back. “It worked.”

Gaten and Joe cheered, high-fiving each other like they’d just won some kind of contest. I couldn’t help but laugh, even as I rolled my eyes at their antics.

As we headed back to set, Joseph fell into step beside me, his hand brushing against mine. When I looked up at him, he hesitated for a moment before taking my hand in his, his fingers lacing with mine.

It was a small gesture, but it felt like the start of something big. And as we walked onto the sound stage, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for Gaten and Joe’s meddling. They might’ve locked us in a room, but in the end, they’d opened the door to something even better.