#cannot believe we have to live like this for the next three months

[kindahoping4forever]

Ashton @ The 5SOS Show Tour Buenos Aires Night 2 - 20 July 2023

[heartysworld]

Lovely coincidences // L. Norris x Fem. Reader

A/N: There was no way I was gonna miss the opportunity and post something about today's events, which, by the way, made me jump out of bed with a gasp at 8am.

W.c: 1.2k

MASTERLIST

You sit cross-legged on the couch, your phone in one hand and Lando’s head resting in your lap. His curls tickle your fingers as you absentmindedly play with his hair, scrolling through Instagram. Your draft post stares back at you, nerves fluttering in your stomach. The picture is perfect—Lando’s hand protectively resting on your bump, your fingers intertwined, both of you glowing in the soft light of the sunset.

You've been trying to do this all week but always ended up backing out right before you hit the "post" button. Every time it fel as if you were about to expose the most private part of your private life to the public. However, at some point you came to the realization that it's better to do it yourself before a media outlet ratted your secret out first.

The caption reads:

"Plot twist of the year: Lando and Y/N +1 coming soon 🍼❤️."

“Do you think it’s too cheesy?” you ask, looking down at him.

“Cheesy?” Lando scoffs, twisting so he can meet your gaze. “Y/N, the fans love cheesy. And let’s be real—this is huge. They’re going to lose their minds.”

“They already think you’re the chaos driver,” you tease. “Now they’ll think we’re bringing another tornado into the world.”

“Exactly!” Lando sits up, grabbing his phone with a grin. “It’s perfect. Our little chaos baby.” He pauses, looking serious for a moment. “Are you ready, though? This makes it real, you know?”

His sincerity warms you, and you nod. “I’m ready.”

“Alright then,” he says, holding up his phone like he’s at the starting grid. “On three. One… two… three—post!”

The moment you hit post, your phone buzzes like a swarm of bees. Likes, comments, and DMs flood in at a dizzying pace. Lando’s laugh fills the room as he scrolls through the comments.

“Look at this,” he says, showing you Carlos’ reply: “Mini Lando incoming? Poor Y/N. The grid’s not ready for this!”

“Carlos has a point,” you quip, nudging him.

Before you can reply to anyone, Lando’s phone buzzes again. He freezes, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he reads the notification.

“No way,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief.

“What?”

“It’s Max.” He turns his phone toward you.

You squint at the screen. Sure enough, there it is—Max Verstappen and Kelly Piquet’s baby announcement, posted mere minutes after yours. The picture shows Max and Kelly in a cozy living room, her bump visible under her flowy dress, and the caption:

"Baby Verstappen loading… can’t wait to meet you, little one ❤️."

Your jaw drops. “You’re kidding me.”

Lando’s already dialing Max. The phone rings twice before Max picks up, his calm voice a stark contrast to Lando’s giddy disbelief.

“What’s up, Norris?”

“What’s up?” Lando exclaims. “What’s up is that you just stole our baby thunder!”

There’s a beat of silence, then you hear Kelly laughing in the background. “Oh no,” she says through her giggles. “Did we steal their thunder?”

“Steal our thunder? You drove right through it!”, Lando replies, though his grin betrays his faux outrage.

“Not my fault you have bad timing,” Max says dryly.

Lando groans. “I cannot believe this. First you steal first place on teack, and now you’re trying to win the baby race?!”

“First place is first place,” Max says smugly.

The banter continues until you grab the phone from Lando, laughing. “Alright, thays enough. Max, congratulations to you and Kelly. But I think we all know who the real winner is.”

“Who?” Max asks.

“Me,” you reply, smirking. “Because I have to deal with Lando’s reaction to this for the next nine months.”

The delivery room is a whirlwind of emotions, but through it all, Lando is by your side, holding your hand, cracking jokes, and whispering words of encouragement. When the nurse finally hands you your baby—a tiny, wriggling bundle swaddled in white—you’re overwhelmed with love.

“She's perfect,” Lando whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “Absolutely perfect.”

Later that night, Lando posts the first photo of Baby Love Norris: a close-up of their tiny hand clutching his finger. The caption reads:

"Our greatest Love. Welcome to the world, little lady ❤️."

Two days later, your phone buzzes with a notification. You open Instagram to see another post from Max. It’s almost identical—a photo of his baby’s hand holding his finger, with the caption:

"Our little Love has arrived. We’re so in love ❤️."

Your eyes widen. “Lando!”

He rushes into the room, disheveled but alert. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Max and Kelly named their baby Love.”

Lando stares at you for a moment, then bursts out laughing. “You’re joking.”

“Look!” You show him the post, and his laughter grows louder.

“Of course they did,” he says, shaking his head. “I swear, Max is doing this on purpose.”

By the next race, the entire paddock is buzzing about the two Baby Loves.

“You sure they're not twins?” Oscar asks one morning, his grin as wide as ever.

“Must be something in the water,” Charles adds with a smirk.

Max and Lando handle the teasing with their usual banter.

“They’re basically the same kid,” Lando says during a press conference, leaning back in his chair.

Max nods. “Mine’s faster, though.”

“Oh, please,” Lando shoots back. “Mine’s already smiling. Yours just cries.”

“They’re newborns, Lando. What do you expect?”

One afternoon in the paddock lounge, Max walks in carrying Baby Love Verstappen, who’s swaddled in a pastel yellow blanket. Lando immediately perks up.

“Look who finally showed up!” Lando says, grinning as he leans over to get a look at the baby.

“She’s beautiful,” you say, smiling warmly.

“Of course she is,” Max replies smugly. “She’s a Verstappen.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lando mutters. “But I bet she’s not as cute as our Love.”

“Are you seriously competing over babies?” you ask, rolling your eyes.

“They compete over everything,” Kelly says, sitting beside you. “It’s like having two toddlers already.”

By the end of the weekend, people start reposting a meme of the two baby Loves photoshopped into tiny F1 cars, complete with helmets and matching “Love” liveries. Both Lando and Max share it, each captioning it:

"Team Love: P1 and P2 ❤️."

Life is hectic, chaotic, and overwhelming, but as you watch Lando cradle your baby, his face lit with pure joy, you know it’s exactly how it’s meant to be.

MASTERLIST

[seresinhangmanjake]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Soap's Sister!reader

Summary: Because Johnny found him sleeping with his sister, Simon had to live the last three months without you, but he's about to get his girl back.

warnings/notes: a little smut 18+, cursing, drinking. That's probably it. Oh, typos, im sure, as well.

words: 1830

Part 1

He drinks at the same bar. The one his team practically lived in when they were all together for an evening, but that doesn’t happen anymore, not with the entire group. Johnny stays home if he knows Simon will be attending the night out, and Simon, if informed Johnny wants to be with the team, elects to remove himself from the situation for everyone’s comfort. He figures it’s the least he can do. He’d slept with his best mate’s sister, he’d fallen in love with his best mate’s sister, and so he has taken on the consequences, no matter how infuriating and unreasonable and unfair. 

“You want another, Honey?” the bartender asks. She grins. Her eyes shine with desire, as they have all night, and it might be a pleasant sight if Simon had never met you. He might’ve taken her home, fucked her like a toy until he was spent and she was happily ruined by his cock before he kicked her out. But she isn’t you. No woman is you.

“Keep ‘em comin’,” Simon replies, downing the amber liquid in his glass. 

Suddenly, the stool beside him slides across the hardwood floor, now occupied by a newcomer he wouldn’t hesitate to shove to their ass if he could do so without causing a scene. What kind of rude bastard risks sitting next to someone when ten other seats are open?

“Actually lass, do me a favor and cut ‘im off. I need ‘im in his right mind.”

Simon almost chokes at Johnny's voice but he doesn’t turn his head as he slowly sets the glass back down on the counter, his fingers tightening around it. Anger, confusion, pain, anxiety. It all crashes over him in a hefty wave, because rolled into this one man is both the friend Simon has missed for months and the asshole who has forced him to be apart from the love of his life. And it’s almost too much to handle at once.

“I’ll take his drink,” Johnny tells the bartender, who has lost all hope now that the man she’s been attempting to charm is no longer lonely enough to be convinced to take her home. When she places the glass in front of him, he takes a sip. “You look like shit, Ghost.”

“What do you want?”

“We got a problem,” Johnny says, getting right to it. “A bit of a disaster, really, and I gave it my best shot, but I can’t fix it.” Simon blinks. His brows pinch. Johnny drains the remainder of the alcohol and wipes his mouth with the back of his forearm. “She’s miserable. And considerin’ the timeline, I’d wager it’s because she’s without you.”

Simon’s heart—though had fallen from his chest months ago—sinks lower into his gut. 

“Look, I didn' believe it was that deep,” Johnny continues. “Figured you were jus’ messin’ around. Being stupid and disrespectful with my baby sister. But I cannot have her miserable, Ghost. It won’t do.” He looks at Simon and releases a long sigh. “She loves you. I don’ like it but she does, and you need to make it better.”

“What exactly are you askin’ of me?”

Johnny’s eyes land back on the empty glass. He plants his elbows on the counter and rubs his fingers across his forehead, kneading the wrinkles. “Just…go to her, alright?”

That snaps Simon out of his grumbly attitude. “You serious?”

“Unfortunately,” Johnny says. 

Simon practically leaps out of his seat, nearly knocking the stool to the floor as he shrugs on his jacket. He’s almost at the door, but then he stops. Taking a breath, he turns back to his old friend. “Will you be able to handle this?” Simon asks. “Me and her? Because you can't ask me to let her go, Johnny. Not twice.”

Johnny takes a second, then he gives a brief nod. “I’ll adjust. Somehow. With time; lots of time.”

It isn't much reassurance, but it's enough for Simon to be on his way. He rushes out the door, jumps into his truck, and races down the road. He forgets the seatbelt. Ignores the speed limit signs. You don’t live far, and you’re worth the risk if it means getting to you faster. 

He knows the elevator in your building is much too slow because he’s been in it a hundred times. He has made out with you in it; fucked you in it, slamming the emergency button so no one could interrupt on the nights you couldn’t wait to get to your bedroom. So he takes the stairs. Two at a time, up eight flights, and down the hall. With a heaving chest, he bangs on your door. 

“Love, open up!” He knocks harder. Loud enough to make your neighbor pop her head into the hall to understand the ruckus. 

“Oh, wonderful. You've returned,” the old woman huffs. “And just when I was starting to believe I’d never again have to endure listening to that moaning and groaning at all hours.”

“We talked ‘bout this back in June, Mrs. Brimsby. Get yourself some earplugs,” Simon retorts before calling for you again. “Baby, please, it‘s me!”

“I’ll report the two of you for the noise.”

“You probably should. You’re in for a long night.” He hears a scoff but doesn’t bother to glance in the direction it comes from. 

“Still so disrespectful,” she spits before slamming the door to her apartment. 

Simon has held a low level of hatred for the old bat since the morning after the first time you’d slept together. It was an early Sunday full of soft touches and kisses and tea to nurse the mild hangovers you’d both had because of a couple of drinks the night before—the drinks that allowed the two of you to finally surrender to the sexual tension. After kissing you goodbye, he’d stepped out of your apartment with a smile he hadn't donned in quite some time, only to have it wiped away from the unexpected grandma in a collared nightgown tapping her foot as she stroked the fur of the cat in her arms. 

“You kept us up all night,” she had scolded. “We need our sleep.” The cat then hissed for emphasis. 

Now, Simon has never been so happy to have that woman blathering in his ear. She reminds him of home, because home is with you and this is where you are. Getting yelled at shoots him into the memories of the time you spent together all those months ago. The stupidly high levels of bliss that, based on the trajectory of his life at the time, he’d assumed was more of a myth than anything. But you had made it real. You had soothed the pain. You were the patch on his wounds; the brightest spot in his life which dimmed the trauma and horrors. 

He’s so lost in those thoughts that he doesn’t immediately notice when his banging fist plummets through the air.

“Si?”

At your voice, Simon’s mind instantly clears. His eyes meet yours.

“Fucking finally,” he mutters, not letting a beat go by before he’s bending at the knees, wrapping his arms around your waist, and lifting you up. Instinctually, your arms snake around his neck, your legs circle his hips, and he feels his cock begin to swell from the reminder of how natural that action is for you. How right it is that you fit together like lock and key. 

Many questions are brewing in your eyes, but you don’t ask them. You kiss him instead, hard and thoroughly as he carries you into your apartment and kicks the door closed behind him. When he sits you atop your kitchen counter and settles himself between your spread legs, his hands go everywhere; under your sleep shirt, up the curves of your body to squeeze your breasts then back down to your hips. His palms slide around to your ass and jerk you closer so the center of those thin little shorts is pressed against the mound protruding from his jeans. 

Buttons scatter across the tile from his impatience, unwilling to delicately undo each tiny closure of your shirt. Your fingers trickle lower on his body to the belt buckle you quickly undo and the zipper you harshly yank down. He’s about to tell you to lift your hips, but you do so without his command, shimmying out of your shorts, and Simon takes the chance to do the same, pushing his pants just below his ass. He springs free, the heavy column of flesh landing at your navel. 

Leaning back, you guide his cock through the slickness of puffy lips into your tight, clenching walls. It sucks the air from his lungs. His head falls to your shoulder as you both try to breathe at a steady pace. His hands brace on the counter on either side of your body, nails digging into the granite. Home.

“Simon…baby, you have to move,” you pant. “I c-can’t take it.”

“I’ve got you,” he whispers in your ear before lifting his head and placing a quick peck on your mouth. Shifting his hips, he pulls out and then slowly eases himself back inside of you. His groan drowns out the sweet song of your moan. “I’ve got you, love.”

—

“Your neighbor still hates us, jus’ so you know,” Simon says as he slides under the sheets. Were he not so exhausted, he’d chuckle at the idea of being beside you in your bed and not immediately trying to fuck you, but after the kitchen counter, then the couch, then the living room floor, you’re both worn out and in need of a good night's sleep. “Probably more now than she did before.”

Normally, you would have found his words amusing, but you remain silent on your back, staring straight up at the ceiling. Simon raises a brow and flips onto his side. Then he sees the tear slip from the corner of your eye down to your ear. 

“What're you thinkin' about, love?” he asks as he places his hand on your cheek and turns your face toward his. 

“I'm scared,” you tell him. “I've missed you so much, but the second you leave, everything will go back to how it was without you. That broke me the first time, Si. How do I go through it all over again?”

His eyes pinch tight and he sighs in shame. He should have told you. It should have been the first thing out of his mouth, but then he saw you and he needed you and that was all that mattered in the moment. “Baby,” he begins, brushing the hair back from your face. “I'm not leaving you, and we are not goin’ back to that, ok?”

“But Johnny—”

“We don't need to worry about Johnny.”

Your eyes widen. “What? Why not?”

“Because, love,” Simon says, his hand finding the middle of your back and snuggling you into his chest, “Johnny sent me.”

@universitypenguin @ghostslittlegf

[venerawrites]

Hi! I feel so blessed to have found your blog, your fluff is top tier 🫶🏻 Can I please request fluff for Kakashi x fem!reader where they take their son (who looks exactly like Kakashi) to meet Team 7 and they're all enamoured by baby Kakashi and how happy he is with wife reader? I feel like it'd be so cute~ I hope that's an alright request. Thank you so much! 😘

author's note: this is such a cute request and it has been sitting in my drafts for a while, since I have been waiting to be in the right mood for it! It was such a pleasure to write it and I hope you enjoy it as much as I do! Thank you for requesting! <3

If there was anything Konoha did best, it was celebrating.

Compared to many of the other villages, the Leaf had some form of a festival almost every month. The first Sakura trees have blossomed? Celebration. The war is won? Celebration. The Hokage has a birthday? Celebration. 6 months without any outside threats? Celebration.

For the outsiders these constant festivities were both bizzare and a bit foolish. They could only imagine how much money were spend from the yearly budget, yet somehow the village blossomed economically. The other Kages tried to ask Lady Tsunade more than once in the past how exactly do they manage to do that, but they could never get anything more than a smug smile from her.

You, unlike your husband, loved a good party. During events like this everything felt different - the people were happier, the streets were busier, even the air felt more fresh! You have been waiting for the Spring festival for a while now - not only because you loved trying all the delicious street food, but also because this year you were taking your baby with you.

Being only a few months old, your son was an exact copy of Kakashi. His hair, his eyes, his nose, his lips, even the way he pouted was absolutely the same as your partner. There were times when you sat next to his crib, looking at him for hours, trying to find at least one thing in his appearance that he may took after you. While there were none, you found solace in the fact that he showed at least some traits of your personality - the main one being obsessed with Kakashi, of course.

As you watched your husband gently rocking your child in his arms and whispering sweet words to him, you couldn't stop the smile from spreading wide on your lips. Kakashi hasn't noticed your presence by the door yet, too busy booping your baby's nose and listening to his happy laughter.

He was definitely the favourite parent.

"I can't believe I carried him for nine months and I am still the second best in his eyes", you finally said, making Kakashi whip his head in the direction of your voice. He smiled sheepishly at you, his one free arm extending for you to take.

"You know that is not true, my dove", he tried to reassure you, his attention moving back to the bundle of joy who kept twitching in his grip, "No one can replace mommy! Isn’t that right, little man?"

Almost if understanding his words, the baby turned toward you, reaching one of his small hands toward your face. You immediately melted at the gesture, before carefully grabbing it in yours and lying numerous small kisses on his little fingers.

“Do we really have to go?”, your husband groaned, looking at you pleadingly. If it was up to him the three of you would stay in your house, enjoying a cosy evening just playing and goofing around the living room. With his new role as a Hokage, your time together was limited anyway and he liked to grab any chance he got to spend a few hours with you at home.

“You were the one that promised Naruto you would finally let him see the baby”, you cocked one of your eyebrows and Kakashi immediately shut his mouth, knowing he cannot argue further.

Even since you told Team 7 that you are pregnant, Naruto has shown an enormous enthusiasm about welcoming the baby. He self proclaimed himself “the best uncle to ever exist” and has bought dozen of plush toys and clothes before you even found what the gender is. Both you and Kakashi found this amusing, yet cute, promising him that he would be one of the first people to see your son once he is born.

However, things didn't go as planned and since he was on a mission outside Konoha for the last three months and a half, Naruto was now one of the last people to meet your child. Sakura has asked you countless of times during this period to let her and Sasuke come to your house, but feeling it was unfair to Naruto, you refused every single time.

Now that the blonde was back, however, all three were eagerly waiting to meet the young Hatake.

Kakashi gently passed you the baby, while he went to the corridor to grab the baby carrier wrap he liked to use. One thing about your husband was that he absolutely refused to use a pram.

"It is safer for them to be close to me", he often said, not even hiding his overprotectiveness. Despite your baby already being the village's favourite, he only allowed people to watch him, but never touch him or hold him. It was almost like your son was some kind of a rare jewel, which was so delicate, it had to be admired from a far. And while you found Kakashi's behaviour funny, he was being very serious about it, going as far as to glare and hiss a warning at Guy and Genma every time they tried to pinch your baby's chubby cheeks.

Once the little one was safely wrapped against your partner, you both made your way toward the village centre, where you could already hear music sounding. The streets were flooded with both adults and children, who were all eager to try some foreign food and watch special performances. Every year there were entertainers coming from different lands, performing traditional songs and dances from their cultures. While you knew you couldn't stay for all of them, since you had to put your child to bed quite early, you were excited to see at least some.

You felt one of Kakashi's arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer to him, while he shielded your son's body with the other one. While there were none real threats or risk for any of you, the amount of people made the man anxious. You were just about to grab his hand and try to make him relax, when Naruto's loud voice sounded from somewhere in front of you.

"Kakashi-sensei! Y/N! Over here!", he waved his hands energetically in the air, while both Sasuke and Sakura looked away embarrassed from his behaviour. Your smiled at the blonde, waving back, while your husband couldn't do anything else than let out a sigh.

Once you were a few meters away, the Uzumaki ran toward you, his whole face lighting up once his eyes met those of your son. He pushed past you, without even paying any attention to you, before leaning his head close to the baby's.

" Kakashi! That's your twin, dattebayo!", he shouted and moved his finger between his sensei and your son. Kakashi flicked his hand away, glaring harshly at his student. You sniffled a laugh, before you felt Sakura's hand on your shoulder. Turning around, you offered a smile to both her and Sasuke.

"Don't touch, step back and only watch from a distance", Kakashi instructed, his eyes narrowing at Naruto. The blonde, however, didn't acknowledge his words in any way, instead turning toward you.

"Can I hold him?", he asked, his blue eyes sparkling.

"No!", Kakashi immediately answered for you and you rolled your eyes at your husband, before moving toward the males.

"Of course you can!", before your husband can protest, you gave him a stare and he reluctantly picked up your son from the carrier wrap. He held him in his hands for a few more seconds, eyeing Naruto with suspicion.

"Be very, very, VERY careful!", he said, while passing the wriggling baby to the boy's stretched out arms, "And make sure to support his head! No, not like that... Naruto, I swear to Kami-"

You cut off the white haired male's rambling by wrapping your arm around his waist and placing your head against his shoulder. The Uzumaki was doing just fine, but Kakashi being Kakashi started to panic just at sight of someone else holding your little treasure.

The baby seemed to like the blonde, as he giggled, stretching his small hand toward his face. Sakura, who has been patiently waiting for her sensei to relax a bit, immediately rushed to her teammate's side, uncapable of controlling herself longer. She wriggled her forefinger in front of the child's face, her heart melting once he caught it.

"Hello, little one! I am auntie Sakura!", the baby grinned at her with its toothless smile and she let out an "aww" sound, before turning to you and your husband, "Kakashi-sensei, he really is your exact copy! Y/N, are you sure that's your child?"

You laughed at her joke, before shrugging your shoulders and pressing yourself closer to Kakashi.

"Trust me, I ask myself that every single day!"

Finally tearing your gaze away from Naruto and Sakura, you looked over to Sasuke, who remained frozen in his place. His eyes were focused on the little baby and there was a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, but unlike his teammates he maintained a safe distance. Feeling someone was watching him, he turned his head in your direction, his cheeks going bright red once he realized you caught him staring.

"Sasuke", you smiled at him and everyone's attention went to the Uchiha, "Do you want to hold him too?"

The dark haired male gulped, his eyes widening. He nervously scratched his shoulder, his gaze going down to his feet.

"I...", he became silent, stealing one more glance at the baby. You found it almost amusing how he was a fearsome ninja that could take dozen of enemies at the same time, yet he felt scared to hold a tiny human.

Looking over at Naruto, you nodded your head, signalling him to pass your son to Sasuke. The blonde let out a huff, dragging his feet toward his teammate.

"Be careful! And hold the head!", he warned the Uchiha, who rolled his eyes in response.

"I know how to hold a baby, dobe! I am not stupid!"

"Language!", Kakashi warned next to you and you looked up at him, only for him to shake his head. It must've been hard dealing with these two for so many years, yet you knew your husband wouldn't had it any other way.

At this moment, surrounded by so much love and happiness, you felt like you finally had everything you wanted in life - an amazing husband, a healthy child and enormous support by anyone around you. If you could choose to re-live only one moment of your life, it would be this.

"You okay, my dove?", Kakashi whispered and you nodded your head, laying a small kiss on his covered chin.

"Never been better."

Unbeknown to you, all of Team 7 smiled at both of you, admiring how happy their sensei was. After decades of suffering and loss, Kakashi took the leap of faith and opened his heart to you. While he was unsure in the beginning if he was ready to be with someone and have a family, looking back he was glad he did.

Pulling down his mask, he laid a soft kiss on your forehead, before nuzzling his nose against it.

"I love you."

"I love you more."

cc artwork: Pietro Smurra

[imsosleepyofyourbull]

This is an impulsive draft of a scene I thought up based on @orange-artist‘s Time Travel AU of the Kamaboko Squad… if you read this, know that I love your art and that I genuinely can’t stop thinking about it. Please enjoy the hyper-fixation soup of words that I call my unedited writing!

“Kanata and Kiriya,” Kagaya gasped, his usually gentle and composed features overrun with surprise as he desperately hoped he had not misheard them. “How… how many of the children did you say survived this year’s Final Selection?”

“Of the thirty-three test takers, thirty-three have passed and will continue to serve the Demon Slayer Corps,” Kanata replied dutifully.

“Of those thirty-three,” Kiriya continued after, already anticipating their father’s next question. “Five were noted to be especially skilled.”

“The independent swordsman who developed his own breathing style, Hashibira Inosuke.”

“The independent swordsman who does not use a breathing style, Shinazugawa Genya.”

“The youngest student of the retired Rumbling Pillar Kuwajima Jigoro, Agatsuma Zenitsu.”

“The newest student of the retired Water Pillar Urokodaki Sakonji, Kamado Tanjiro.”

“And the only student of the current Insect Pillar Kocho Shinobu, Tsuyuri Kanao.”

Kiriya gave their father a moment to commit the different names to memory before concluding, “the remaining twenty-eight state one or more of these five had saved their lives at least once and stayed close by until they were healthy enough to survive the rest of the week. We saw each of them waiting at the edge of the forest for the rest of the stragglers before passing themselves. Additionally, the Kasugai Crows we sent on a final expedition of the forest afterward reported that only one or two of the demons were left alive.”

Kagaya had believed the Miracle Selection to be a once in a lifetime phenomena — marked by a lonely gravestone in their strange family’s shared cemetery and the memory of a peach colored fox wielding violent waters in defense of its peers.

Unimaginable, and unrepeatable.

He was right, but only because this Miracle Selection was nothing like the first. This one was intentional and decisive and everything that his family made of blood, bone, and steel had been waiting for. The beginning, or perhaps just the first visible omen, of a change in the very course of the world that Kagaya had been unable to foresee until it had already happened. Was it any coincidence that there were thirty-three survivors specifically? That, of those thirty-three, five of them in particular had saved the rest?

The Ubuyashiki were superstitious by nature; marrying their heirs to the daughters of priests and teaching their children to create rings of salt around their beds when they wanted some extra protection at night. The importance of the numbers three and five were not lost on him. With the three sacred treasures and the five directions (the five senses) marking their way, there was no question as to what he must do. Kanata and Kiriya know it too, or they would’ve sent a crow instead of making a personal report.

“Tell our most reliable kasugai to follow the five children you just mentioned,” he ordered Kanata, “they don’t have to be especially quiet… though I would appreciate it if they were undisruptive.”

He could not see her, but he knew that she gave him a solemn bow before turning to leave.

For Kiriya, “I need a missive to be sent to all of the currently active Pillars as well as the retired Rumbling and Water Pillars for a meeting at the northwestern estate three months from now.”

“Understood.”

The tide of change was fast approaching, and he knows that it will spell the end of this centuries long battle against the night. Kibutsuji Muzan will not live to see the next era — that, he promises.

(What he does not know just yet is that his chosen children have already sat on the horizon of a demon free world, and they know that they cannot afford to fail twice. Once was enough.)

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Chapter 15 - La Vie En Rose

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Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, romantic vaginal sex, a brief reference to oral sex. Also features time jumps and the war coming to England.

Word Count: 2.4k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl. Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. This is the last chapter, and our pair finally have their idyllic home together in Wiltshire. There will also be an epilogue for this story that will be posted shortly after this chapter. Thanks as always to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Wiltshire, UK, December 1939 - December 1940

The early December chill creeping under the hem of your wool coat instantly evaporates as your husband carries you over the threshold into your new home, warmth radiating from the roaring fires that blaze in each room.

“Welcome home, Mrs Bridgerton,” Benedict smiles, placing you gently onto your feet in the hallway, even as you do not relinquish the loop of your hands around his neck.

“Kiss me, Mr Bridgerton,” you appeal, pushing up onto your tiptoes and capturing his lips with yours.

Living in Aubrey Hall for the autumn was lovely, but a challenge to find privacy. Yes, time well spent as you were able to triage your friendship with Eloise, but tempered by a yearning to be with Benedict alone in your own home, impatient for the purchase to go through. It is three weeks before Christmas when you are finally able to take the last drive down to Wiltshire—this time for good rather than just a fleeting visit.

“I can't believe we are finally home,” you breathe happily over his lips, both of you breaking into matching grins.

“We are indeed,” he assures, withdrawing from your embrace to shuck his coat and help you out of yours. 

“Are we alone?” you whisper as he hangs both in the hallway cupboard.

“I told the two staff we have here to take the night off once we arrived, to return in the morning. They are in the little cottage down the lane, so yes, we are indeed alone, darling wife. What on earth do you have in mind?” He teases, sauntering back to you, that beguiling crooked grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I would like to christen our house,” you declare, raising an eyebrow suggestively as you slide your hands up his biceps and hook them around his shoulders, pushing your body into his, your intent more than obvious.

“Which room, my love?” his voice is like velvet.

“All of them, husband,” you declare, loving the way his pupils dilate and his breath hitches. “Absolutely every single one…”

—

Refracted flames dance across his glassy pupils as he moves over you, taking you with him, dewy skin from the heat of the fireplace you lay next to. The rug is a slight burn under your shoulder blades, not that you would ever ask him to stop, wanting marks on your body from this magical night, so long overdue.

“What are you thinking of, my darling?” 

His voice resonant as your nails scratch lightly along his spine, your toes running down his calf muscles, squeezing him between your thighs as he gently thrusts into your body.

“I am thinking…. I am thinking how free I feel,” you confess breathily, pushing your breasts into his broad chest, undulating your hips to meet his, wanting him so deep inside you are altered in some way. “I can scream your name like I have wanted to for months…”

He groans loudly, capturing your lips in an artless, open-mouthed, desperate kiss, his hands hooked around your shoulders, using his forearms as leverage to pull you into his rhythm. “Please do, my love, please do…. I have longed to hear you let go completely….” he admits stutteringly.

“I cannot believe I had to sneak around for weeks with the man I was married to,” you giggle, recalling those heady weeks in summer when all was a secret.

He huffs a laugh into your throat, kissing there. “And I cannot believe my wife had to sleep in a separate bed from me for so long…” After his proposal, admittedly, you had moved to sharing his bedroom, but seeing as it was right next to Eloise’s, it has been many months of quiet intimacy. The autumn night being too cold to spend in the unheated summer house by the lake. 

Your hands grab his shapely bottom and encourage his movements, harsher now, chasing that moment of bliss for you both.

“Never again….” you counter emphatically, twining yourself around him like a vine, never wanting to be separated from his naked body, for him to be inside you always, always….

“Never indeed….” he concurs, his voice gravelly and cracked with emotion as he spears deeper and makes you cry his name, the sound echoing up your living room walls.

—

As the winter months slip by, The Cottage, as you have both taken to calling it, is your constant refuge. And thanks to its smallholding farm, Anthony is able to pull strings and secure Benedict's status as exempt from military conscription, a relief you are thankful for every day.

Your home is a welcoming embrace when you step in from a rewarding but chilly day working in the drafty local village library—your insistence on wanting a job something Benedict never disputed. And his artistic career blossoms, too, each piece he completes becoming a hotly contested item at auction in London. A small conservatory attached to the back of the house transforms into his art studio, where he works most days crafting beautiful, lyrical landscapes that steal your breath with their scope and beauty.

And as much as your home is a place of peace, tranquillity and creativity, it is also filled with passion; many hours are spent in joyous lovemaking in any and every room of the house, the novelty still not wearing off for either of you, even months later. 

Indeed, your staff, a benevolent, older married couple who become more akin to family, soon learn to turn a blind eye to any amorous activities they may unintentionally encounter. Including one unseasonably mild and memorable evening when they returned from dinner to find you upon the lawn, screaming at the dome of stars above—your nails scraping across Benedict’s scalp as he feasted between your legs.

—

It is a cold February morning when you blink awake to the melodic trill of a robin outside the dining room window. Benedict is fast asleep as you lay cocooned in his embrace under a blanket, embers glowing ashy white in the fireplace beside you. You must have fallen asleep here after a rather vigorous late-night session on your sturdy dining table—a nightcap becoming so much more, two drained whiskey tumblers still sitting upon the gleaming mahogany.

You smile at the memory, then turn your attention to the man wrapped around you, following your compulsion to map the raised veins on the back of his hand in front of your face. Your tongue trails those contours to the constellation of freckles on his forearm that you kiss. He is so fast asleep that he does not even seem to stir…

“Maam, a telegram has just come for you,” a tentative voice calls from the doorway as you startle.

You look up to see Mrs Crabtree, sweetly averting her eyes.

“Thank you, Mrs Crabtree,” you breeze, trying to conceal your slight embarrassment at having been caught red-handed kissing your slumbering husband’s arm rather covetously first thing in the morning.

She politely bustles over and drops the envelope next to you before making herself scarce. You peel open the message, then emit a wracking sigh as a warm pair of lips slide across your shoulder.

“What’s the matter, my love?” Benedict queries, voice rough from sleep.

Wordlessly, you hand him the telegram, his eyes scrunching slightly, attempting to read it without his glasses. 

In it, your parents tersely remind you of the money outstanding to the vendors for your cancelled nuptials to Stanley and request you to send additional funds as soon as possible.

“You have been sending them money?” Benedict looks appalled.

“Yes,” you sigh, sheepish to confess to the one thing you have been keeping from him for a while now. “I have been using my income to wire back money in instalments.” 

“Darling, they should not be asking you to do such a thing!” he argues, getting slightly agitated. “They were plenty rich enough to pay for their daughter to travel to Paris a few months ago! This feels rather too close to extortion…”

“I do not wish to be beholden to them, Benedict,” you answer fiercely, “for anything.”

He sees the fire in your eyes, and his face softens, nodding in understanding, always your greatest advocate. “May I at least pay them instead?” he offers. “I am the reason you are not marrying that man after all,” he reminds you with a dry chuckle, nuzzling your cheek before twisting to discard the telegram into the fireplace.

“I knew I was not marrying that man the moment I dropped that damn shoe,” a light-hearted giggle bubbling up as you push onto your hands to hover over Benedict, recalling with perfect clarity the moment you first clapped eyes on the man lying beneath you now.

“You did?” he lilts, a demure smile claiming his handsome features, a hand landing warm on the curve of your bottom under the blanket, encouraging you to settle on top of him.

“Even if nothing had ever happened between us, I suddenly knew what desire truly was,” you concede, a nostalgic pang to return to Paris with him, to experience its beauty mirrored in his hazy eyes again.

He chuckles warmly, looking up at you with gentle, hooded eyes as you feel something swelling between your bodies. “It was love at first sight for me,” he confesses tenderly. 

“It was?” you gasp softly, smiling broadly, staring down at the man you cannot imagine your life without, touching his cheek reverentially. 

“As I said when I proposed, I would marry you a hundred times over,” he enunciates slowly, assuredly, every cell of his being radiating his sincerity and desire. 

“And I would to you, Mr Bridgerton,” you grin, leaning down to capture his lips and claim him for yourself, his breath a shocked staccato as he slides into your body for the first time without protection, so much heat and skin.

“Mrs Bridgerton,” he moans, his voice a symphony of wrecked and potent desire.

“Call me your wife,” you say breathlessly, pushing up to sit upon him, the blanket falling away from your back, your naked bodies glowing in the early morning light as you begin to move.

“Wife,” he calls, hands clamping firmly around your hips as you rise and sink upon him.

“Husband…” you call back and pull his left hand up to your face, sucking his wedding ring finger into his mouth as you stare down at him challengingly, knowing how aroused he gets when you use that word, the metal clinking against the ivory of your teeth as you shudder lightly around his stretching invasion.

This. This is all I want.

—

The following spring, May 1940, Paris is invaded. 

You manage to reach Solène and are grateful to hear she is well, the occupation for the most part peaceful, if not odd and jarring. Life for you in rural Wiltshire, on the other hand, is idyllic, spring bringing life to your gardens, a riot of flowers, herbs and vegetables growing, beehives buzzing with life—a wondrous time that is indelible in your mind, even in your later years.

But, as with all things that are perhaps a shade too good, that temporary peace is shattered a couple of months later, an air and sea blockade beginning in July, followed shortly after by the Luftwaffe bombing military targets on the mainland. A resolute but stoic fear gripping the nation as summer drew on, knowing civilian targets would inevitably be next.

At the end of August, Anthony commands the rest of his family to evacuate Aubrey Hall, the location far too close to the French coast for his liking, knowing as an insider that matters could escalate within a matter of days rather than weeks. You receive word that the family are moving to stay with Daphne and Simon further north in Yorkshire. Well, all except one key person. Eloise. 

Ever the rebel, she telegrams to tell you she has eloped with Phillip to Gretna Green, much to Anthony and Colin's (and now Benedict’s) chagrin, moving in with him defiantly, his home not far from Aubrey Hall. Instantly becoming a stepmother, too.

“Eloise, are you certain?” you implore into the telephone, September 4th, sitting in the office of the village library.

“About Phillip? Of course I am, you idiot!”

“Not that,” you wave an unseen dismissive hand. “I knew from that first night in Portsmouth you were as gone for him as I was for your brother…” you argue, her sneer at that evident even down the phone. “I meant remaining in Kent. It seems dangerous. Why don't you and Phillip come here to Wiltshire? At least for now? We have spare rooms, and you are most welcome to stay…” you appeal, chewing your cuticle nervously. 

Last night, you and Benedict had agreed she would more likely take up an invitation extended by you than him.

“I’ll talk to Phillip,” she sniffs, which is the closest you will get to a thank you for the offer.

Two days later, Eloise, Phillip and his twins are at your doorstep, and not a moment too soon as the period, latterly known as The Blitz, begins the following night. Their home in Kent is spared, but the village school suffers some damage the following week and even without her saying a word, you can see the gratitude on her face as she watches the twins play safely in your back garden.

—

“Here you go, Amanda,” you smile down at the little girl, handing her a shiny metal star to hang on the Christmas tree.

Her toothy grin is adorable as she places it on a branch, giving herself a round of applause before running off to crawl into Eloise’s lap, who is busy making festive paper chains.

It is early December 1940, and the Cranes have been living with you for four months now; you imploring them to stay as the Blitz drags on. There has been bombing all over the country, primarily larger cities, but rural Wiltshire feels as safe of a bet as anywhere, not under the Nazi flight path to London in the same way that Kent is. 

Strong, warm arms wrap around your waist from behind, and you smile to yourself as Benedict crowds into you, admiring your handiwork on the tree.

“It looks beautiful, y/n,” he opines sweetly, bussing a kiss onto your temple. 

“Thank you, my love,” you reply, swaying gently in his arms, watching the children giggle as they throw strands of paper in the air; Eloise’s appeal to them not to do so falling on deaf ears, her expression one of fond exasperation.

“I never thought I would see the day…. Eloise Bridgerton, a mother,” you chuckle quietly as he joins in.

“Believe me, as her brother, I feel sorry for those children every day,” he jests. “But even I have to admit she has taken to it better than any of my other siblings, to be honest,” pausing before pulling you tighter into his embrace. “And what say you to children, Mrs Bridgerton?” he queries, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice suddenly silky, that tone that has a frisson running down your spine.

“I say maybe, Mr Bridgerton, just maybe…” you respond breezily over the strain of carol singers from the wireless Phillips flips on, feeling the lightness of hope in your being - that one day, just one day, this war will be over, and the world will be free again.

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[eyneyke]

Oh Christian...

Pairing: Max Verstappen x PewDiePie!sibling Summary: What if Felix had a genius brother who works as a RedBull's engineer and is also secretly dating Max part 39 of A Calm to my Storm Masterlist

It all comes out...

It was a regular Thursday before the race weekend, and the paddock was starting to buzz with the usual pre-race excitement. Christian Horner was standing with a group of journalists, talking about Red Bull’s strategy for the upcoming weekend. Max and Sam were nearby, seen in the background, casually chatting and scrolling through their phones.

Max leaned against a stack of tires, lazily scrolling Twitter, while Sam stood next to him, sliding though tiktok edits of Max. Max glanced over his phone at Sam, smirking.

Max (teasing): "Getting distracted by your nightmare boyfriend again?"

Sam (laughing): "Shut up, you’re just jealous."

Before Max could respond, they heard Christian’s voice get louder. One of the journalists had brought up Sam’s mysterious boyfriend — again.

Journalist:

"So, Christian, the Internet's been going wild. Any chance we can get your comment on Sam’s infamous boyfriend?"

Christian, half-distracted by the rest of the conversation, casually waved his hand, chuckling.

Christian (without thinking): "Oh, you I mean, I don't know what you want me to say. He and Max are happy, so there's nothing for me to say—"

Christian froze, his brain finally catching up with his mouth. His eyes widened, and he immediately stopped talking, glancing over to where Max and Sam were standing.

Max, holding back laughter, raised an eyebrow at Christian. Sam, who had been messing around with his phone still, paused and looked up. They both locked eyes with Christian, whose face was now flushed with panic.

Christian (trying to backpedal): "Uh, I mean… hypothetically. Not literally. Or maybe it’s a different Max…"

The journalists, of course, were far too sharp for that. Christian's eyes darted from the journalist to Max and Sam, realising that he had just unintentionally outed the relationship. The floodgates were about to burst.

Sam snorted, shaking his head as he strolled over to Christian.

Sam (calmly): "Relax. It’s fine. You didn’t say anything we weren’t expecting to come out eventually."

He patted Christian on the back, trying to calm him down as Christian started apologizing repeatedly.

Max (grinning): "Yeah, besides, I’ve been calling myself a nightmare boyfriend for months now. I think it's time for everyone to know what a great boyfriend I actually am." He says as he smirks in that overconfident persona he sometime gets for the cameras.

Sam rolled his eyes but smiled. Christian still looked like he might need a few days and a drink to recover, but Max’s casual attitude seemed to reassure him.

The journalists, now buzzing with excitement, tried to ask more questions, but Sam held up a hand.

Sam (shrugging): "Look, it's true and I know it's exciting now, but just because it's outthere and y'all know about us now, does not mean we don't like our privacy anymore. So, you can ask as many questions you want, but the three of us are gonna go now."

The gathered press erupted into questions, but neither Max nor Sam seemed fazed. In fact, they looked like they were trying not to laugh at the whole situation as they led still out-of-it Christian back inside.

Meanwhile, social media was having an absolute meltdown. The moment Christian had slipped, fans watching the live coverage of the paddock interviews caught every second of it.

---

Fan Tweets:

User 435: "Wait… did Christian Horner just accidentally OUT Max as Sam’s boyfriend?????"

User 436: "MAX. IS. SAM’S. BOYFRIEND. I CANNOT BREATHE."

User 447: "Max was trolling us the whole time calling himself a douchebag??? ICONIC."

User 448: "I can’t believe it. They were right in front of us, teasing us for MONTHS, and we had no clue."

User 449: "MAX VERSTAPPEN IS SAM'S BOYFRIEND AND HE'S BEEN SHADING HIMSELF THIS WHOLE TIME 😂"

User 450: "Max calling himself clingy and a disaster… at least we know the phone thing is true as Max is our offline king."

---

As they are leaving the paddock that day, Max's hand casually around Sam's shoulders, journalists and fans basically pounce at them with questions. They both seemed completely unbothered by the attention.

Journalist: "So, Max… you’ve been calling yourself a nightmare boyfriend in interviews for months. Was that all part of the plan?"

Max (mock serious): "Well, I had to keep it entertaining, didn’t I? Plus, I thought it was hilarious that no one realised I was talking about myself. I mean, you'd think people would notice there was not a new face sneaking around Sam in the garage?"

Sam laughed, shaking his head.

Sam (playfully): "And most things he said are true tho."

Fan#1 (laughing): "So, you’re saying Max is actually clingy?"

Sam (grinning): "Oh, absolutely. He's the clingy-est ever. But I’m stuck with him, so I guess I can live with it."

At that moment, Christian joined them and was also attacked with questions about Sam and Max by fans.

Christian (chuckling): "I owe them both a big apology for outing them like that. I honestly didn't mean to do it, but I've been one of the few people who knew about the relationship so it just slipped out."

Max waved him off, still grinning. "Nah, it was bound to happen eventually. Besides, now I don’t have to pretend to be annoyed about Sam’s ‘boyfriend’ anymore."

Sam raised an eyebrow, his smile widening. "And I now don't have to Max's ludicrous ideas of how we should reveal the relationship when the it was the time. Seriously guys, his suggestions were horrible."

Max leaned in, whispering just loud enough for the people around them to hear. "Okay, fine. Maybe my ideas weren't the best, but you know what is? You." He finishes off with a big smile as he pulls Sam closer and fans aw at them.

Sam playfully shoved Max’s shoulder, laughing as the journalists and fans snapped photos of the couple, now openly affectionate in front of the cameras.

By the time the evening rolled around, Sam and Max were trending on every social media platform, and fans were in full meltdown mode.

Fan Tweets:

User 451: "I CAN’T BELIEVE WE’VE BEEN TROLLED THIS WHOLE TIME AND DIDN’T EVEN SUSPECT IT."

User 452: "The fact that Max has been shading himself for MONTHS is the best part of all this."

User 453: "I knew there was something sus about how much Max was dragging Sam’s boyfriend and Sam not saying anything back."

User 454: "MAX VERSTAPPEN LITERALLY CALLED HIMSELF A NIGHTMARE AND WE ALL BOUGHT IT 😂"

User 455: "Sam saying Max calling himself a disaster is truth killed me. They’re such a chaotic couple."

---

As the night wound down, Max and Sam were still receiving messages from friends and fans. Sitting in Max’s hotel room, they both scrolled through their phones, occasionally showing each other particularly hilarious fan reactions.

Max (smirking): "Everyone's convinced I’m an absolute walking disaster."

Sam (grinning): "Well, they’re not wrong. You did almost set the fire alarm off last week."

Max rolled his eyes, leaning over to kiss Sam’s temple. "Guess I’m lucky I’ve got you to stop me from breaking the place down, then."

Sam (laughing softly): "Yeah, yeah. Just don’t break the car tomorrow and we're good."

They both laughed, completely at ease with the fact that the world now knew about their relationship. To them, it didn’t matter how it came out — they were just happy to finally share it, sarcasm and all.

As they sat together, ignoring the chaos still raging on the internet, Max smiled to himself. Maybe he was a bit chaotic and unhinged, but he had Sam by his side — and that was all that really mattered.

--- 

Once fans calmed down a bit and realised that Max had been roasting Sam’s "boyfriend" — who was secretly himself — they went wild trying o find every single moment where Max talked about 'the boyfriend'. All the sarcastic comments, the self-deprecating jokes, and the hyperbolic insults suddenly took on a whole new meaning. It was clear that Max had been trolling everyone from the start, and fans couldn’t get enough of it.

Fan Tweets:

User 456: "Max Verstappen called Sam’s boyfriend a 'total nightmare,' and it was HIMSELF all along??? This man was having fun with our feelings and bloody well enjoyed himself."

User 457: "Max: ‘Sam’s boyfriend is clingy, burns toast, and is basically the worst.’ Also Max: looks in the mirror."

User 458: "He’s been talking trash about Sam’s ‘boyfriend’ and it turns out… IT WAS HIMSELF. I’m screaming."

User 459: "Max roasting himself as Sam’s ‘terrible’ boyfriend has to be the biggest plot twist of the season."

User 460: "Max said Sam’s boyfriend is the 'most annoying guy in the world,' and that guy is literally Max himself. Iconic."

User 461: "I can’t get over the fact that Max has been dragging himself as ‘Sam’s boyfriend’ this whole time, and we all thought it was some douchebag."

User 462:"Remember when Max said Sam’s boyfriend ‘got lost in the garage and ended up in Aston Martin’? That was him!!"

User 463:"I’m dying. Max really said, ‘Sam’s boyfriend is the most irritating person I know.’

User 464: "Max called Sam’s boyfriend ‘the clingiest guy ever,’ meanwhile it’s literally Max texting Sam every 5 minutes on race weekends."

User 465: "Max is the biggest troll. He really spent months calling himself ‘bad boyfriend’ while being the best one."

User 466: "Max: ‘Sam’s boyfriend is the worst.’ Also Max: wins every race and texts Sam ‘goodnight’ every single day they are not together probably."

User 467: "Max has been giving himself the worst review as Sam’s boyfriend for months, and now the whole world knows the truth."

User 468: "Max said Sam’s boyfriend is 'a total disaster.' Meanwhile, it’s just Max burning toast at 5 AM before a race trying to make them breakfast. I’m crying."

User 469: "The way Max has been shading himself as Sam’s boyfriend for months is pure genius. He really had us all fooled."

User 470: "Max calling himself clingy and annoying as Sam’s boyfriend is the biggest plot twist of the year. He knew exactly what he was doing."

User 471: "Max was right there, roasting himself in public, and we all thought he was talking about someone else. 10/10 trolling."

User 472: "People were calling Max toxic, and it was literally a joke all this time.’ The ultimate power move."

User 473: "For me it's just how chill they both were when Christian accidentally outed them live."

Fan Edits (posted on Twitter and TikTok):

User 474: "Max: ‘Sam’s boyfriend is the worst cook ever.’ || Max: burns toast, orders food, makes sure Sam is happy and fed."

User 475: Video compilation of fan filmed videos of Max texting and just messing around with his phone while the background music is quieter as he is quoted: "‘Sam’s boyfriend is clingy and texts constantly.’" ||

User 476: "Max: ‘Yeah, Sam’s boyfriend? Totally a nightmare.’ || Picture of Sam and Max hanging out laughing in the paddock."

User 477: "Max: ‘Sam’s boyfriend sucks in the kitchen.’ || Max pretending to cook while Sam actually does all the work in the small community kitchen in Milton Keynes filmed for Red Bull PR."

User 478: "Max: ‘I’m a total disaster as Sam’s boyfriend.’ || Also Max: is the fastest man on the planet, WDC."

User 479: "Max: ‘I don’t even know how Sam puts up with him.’ || Sam: ‘Yeah, me neither.’"

---

Max (grinning after reading comments): "I think they’re slowly getting used to the idea of us…"

Sam (laughing): "You literally called yourself a ‘total disaster’ multiple times and no one knew."

Max (playfully): "Hey, at least I’m honest."

Sam (mock seriousness): "You did burn breakfast twice last week."

Max (smirking as he feigns offense): "Hey, you distracted me!"

---

Fans couldn’t get over how Max had played them for so long, turning every negative comment into an exaggerated joke about himself. Now that the truth was out, the internet was in a frenzy, loving every second of it.

Fans shared more clips, commenting on Max’s self-deprecating humor.

---

Fan Tweets:

User 480: "Max calling himself the worst boyfriend ever is the ultimate ‘f you’ to all his haters, and I respect the hell out of it."

User 481: "Max Verstappen: ‘Sam’s boyfriend is a total disaster.’ Max Verstappen, also: wins every race of the season so far."

User 482: "Max called himself ‘the clingiest, most annoying guy ever,’ and we just thought he was being jelaous. I love this man."

User 483: "The way Max has been calling himself out this whole time is brilliant. Dude really trolled us all."

User 484: "Max trolled the haters by calling himself Sam’s ‘nightmare boyfriend,’ while actually being the best one. I can’t get over it."

---

Max and Sam still couldn’t stop laughing as more comments came flooding in, watching as the world finally pieced it all together. Even though they’d been outed, neither of them cared. Max had been in on the joke the whole time, and now the fans were in on it too.

Max (mock serious): "So… should I stop with the comments about the boyfriend?"

Sam (grinning): "Please. Or at least say how great you are to me."

Max (smirking): "Fine. But just because I don't want to be believed the worst boyfriend ever."

Sam (smiling lovingly at him): "And yet… you’re still better than everyone else."

[mothiir]

i am foaming at the mouth waiting for more of the aeldari/diplomat fic. the way you write the alien perspective is So! Good!!! please tell me you have more writing/headcanons for the xenos factions, i love those silly space elves and space robots!!

i will be working on my next taleath/diplomat fic soon, but here are some headcanons to tide you over because GW neglects Eldar and half the fandom just boils them down to pointy-eared waifus rather than truly alien creatures, which bugs me. these are all 100% my own invention and based on nothing but my own perception of what would be cool.

Random thoughts on Aeldari culture:

since the vast majority of Craftworld Eldar live lives of carefully curated experience in order to avoid succumbing to their degeneracy of their past, it stands to reason that sex is a Big Deal for them. Romantic relationships between Aeldari can take decades to form — sometimes centuries can pass before a couple so much as hold hands. Even when things are moving relatively swiftly by Aeldari standards, there will be months of meditating beside each other, ensuring that they can stand to be in each other’s presence without losing their grip on their feelings. It’s very common for older Aeldari to serve as chaperones for young would-be lovers; they are tasked with ensuring things do not get too intense. When the pair do have sex, it is often intensely ritualistic. Since Aeldari are so psychically gifted, they need layers of protection and care to ensure they don’t give half their Craftworld a really awkward dream. No one wants to have a vision of their brother getting backshots for the first time.

Exodite Eldar - the ones that ride dinosaurs and haven’t had a lore update since about 2005 - view sex very differently. It is a gift from their mother planet, and meant to be enjoyed. They do not casually procreate, but this is because they believe it is their duty to raise strong children to benefit the collective. Arranged marriages are common, but always done with the consent of the children involved (the children in question are generally about two hundred years old — the Craftworld Aeldari think this is appallingly young). The fertile Aeldari are encouraged to procreate as much as possible, and families of ten or more children are common. Since the Fall, infertility is very common among both males and females, so those that cannot bear their own young will work to raise the young of those who can, freeing them up for more frequent pregnancies (since Aeldari children taken at least three decades to reach what we would consider prepubescence, the help is much needed).

Since Yvraine’s big song and dance about Ynnead, more and more Drukhari are defecting — some directly to Yvraine, some to the Craftworlds. Obviously, there are all sorts of problems with integration — including detoxing from literal soul addiction — but one of the more mundane ones is sexual frustration. Imagine going from shagging every time you feel like it to being told that even looking lustfully at another Eldar is considered a grave breach of protocol. Taleath has spent more time than he will ever admit meditating away a boner.

And the more NSFW stuff:

Yes, they have dicks. They look very human in that respect. Never mention this to them, because they will not appreciate it.

Most Aeldari will tell you that they could never look lustfully upon a human, as this would be equivalent to you looking lustfully upon an ape. You are utterly beneath them — you barely qualify as sentient to them — and sex with you would qualify as bestiality to them.

Most Drukhari will tell you that Craftworld Aeldari are filthy liars with a stick so far up their arse it’s a wonder they manage to get anything done. Yes, humans are totally beneath Aeldari — they’re mewling, miserable creatures with short pathetic lives and nothing to redeem them apart from how delicious they are when they die screaming. Or, even better, fail to die, and just scream and wail for mercy and — wait, what were you asking again?

Basically, Drukhari will fuck humans — not all Drukhari, not all humans, and we are going to have to play fast and loose with the definition of ‘fuck’ because a lot of the stuff that happens in Commoragh defies even my attempts at description.

Aeldari will not, in general, fuck humans. This does not mean that some do not want to. They just cannot acknowledge it without going against the deeply held taboos of their culture. The fact is that they will say it is because humans are disgusting and completely beneath them — which is, from their point of view, largely true — but that is an effective shield against the actual answer, which is deeper and more complicated than anything they really want to admit to outsiders: that the Fall warped every aspect of Aeldari society, including sex. The rituals they have prior to building a relationship, let alone prior to sex, are so intricate and long that a human could well age and die before the Aeldari even feels ready to admit their feelings. It just isn’t worth it.

BONUS: How to Tell If An Aeldari Is Crushing On You

Aeldari are creatures of bizarre mannerisms and a culture so alien that it makes the orcs look familiar. However, here are some signs to watch out for if you think that your Aeldari is harbouring some heretical feelings:

They occasionally refer to you by name instead of ‘Mon-Keigh’. (Note: if they start fondly referring to you as ‘little pet’ or ‘little prey thing’ I would advise reading up on your life insurance policy as this is not an Aeldari, this is a Drukhari, and only the Emperor’s Mercy can help you now)

You keep bumping into them. Normally you will walk into what you thought was a perfectly empty room, only to find them meditating. They will normally sigh, and declare something about not being able to be free of your pestilential species, and make to swan off. If you apologise profusely, they may graciously permit you to join them. This is the Aeldari equivalent of a blow job in church, so be try and be good.

They loudly state how annoying and loud all these humans are. Aeldari do not normally need to say this out loud; it’s a given. If they are saying it, they are trying to remind themselves of the fact they are meant to dislike you.

They mastermind a plot to save you from a minor inconvenience that leaves thousands of your kin dead or dying. They do not understand why you are upset at this. The others are just humans, yes? You are their human. That is the difference. (Contrary to what you might think, this is not a purely Drukhari trait. This is something all types of Aeldari will do. The only difference is that a Drukhari will try and fuck you after doing it, possibly as you cry out of guilt, and an Aeldari will try to hold you hand, which is their version of fucking)

[therealcocoshady]

Recovery - Chapter 1

Eminem x Reader (Y/N) fanfiction

Summary : Y/N is getting sober and trying to rebuild her life after a hard breakup when she meets Marshall Mathers.

Tags : mention of SA ; Miscarriage ; Addiction

Author’s note : this is my first shot a my writing a fanfiction. Hope you enjoy it x

Chapter 1

- Thank you for having me, you said to Talia.

- No problem, baby. You stay as long as you need to, she answered while giving me a hug.

You looked around, taking everything in. In a matter of days, you had lost nearly everything. It all started when you woke up in the hospital, several tubes attached to your body.

FLASHBACK

Apparently, you had been in a coma for three days. Simon, your boyfriend of two years was sitting in a chair next to your bed.

- I can’t believe you did it again, Y/N.

- It’s not what you think, Simon.

- It is exactly what I think. You need help. You need to get yourself together. Next time you might not be so lucky. You might actually die, he said.

Dying. To be fair you hadn’t really tried to kill yourself. It was more complicated than that and Simon knew it.

- I’m sorry, you said, trying to hold his hand.

- No, he simply answered, taking his hand off yours.

He looked at you with a piercing gaze, not saying a word for what felt like forever. He didn’t need to, anyway. You already knew it was over.

- I love you, Y/N. I really do. But I can’t go on like this. You need to seek treatment, he said with tears in his eyes.

- I just wanted to sleep, you know, you tried to explain.

- By taking over 100 pills of Xanax ?! Are you fucking kidding me ? He asked, fire coming from his eyes.

- I…

Tears started rolling on your cheeks. As much as you knew you had done something terribly stupid, you wished he wouldn’t break up with you. You wished he would understand.

- Simon, don’t do this, you pleaded.

- I’m sorry, he simply said, getting up and grabbing his jacket. You have a problem and I cannot deal with it.

He walked towards the door and faced you for the last time.

- Your stuff will be packed when you get out of here.

And there it was. Shortly after moving in with your boyfriend, you were homeless.

END OF FLASHBACK

- Are you ok, Y/N ? Talia asked.

- Yeah. Sorry. I just… I can’t believe it’s over, you said. I really screwed up.

She gave you a big hug again.

- What’s done is done. Now you need to focus on getting better, she said.

- Thank you for being here for me. And allowing me to move in with you. And not judging me.

- What you need now is not judgement. It’s support. I am a bit mad though, she explained. I wish you had come clean to me about all those prescription pills.

- I thought I could manage, you tried to explain.

- Well you thought wrong.

Your best friend was being hard on you, and she had every right to be. For months, you had been lying through your teeth to everyone in your life. You had pretended that you were this happy-go-lucky girl who had it together. On the outside, you had everything : you were successful in your PhD research at university of Michigan, a loving boyfriend you had just moved in with and a tight-knit circle of friends who loved you unconditionally. But deep down, you had been unable to handle the pressure of your studies and, the hardest thing of all, you had lost your baby, going through a miscarriage at 13 weeks of pregnancy.

- You should rest before I take you to your meeting, Talia said. And then, we’ll go to the studio. Jamal invited us.

- Do we have to ? I think I’d rather come back here right after the meeting, you pleaded.

- Meeting new people will be good for you, she said. And I won’t lie : I don’t think you should be alone in here.

She was making it clear that she didn’t trust you. After all, how could you possibly prove that you weren’t going to be popping pills as soon as you were alone ?

- Right, you said.

She left you to your new room. Thank God she and Jamal, her boyfriend, were living in a big house with plenty of room to spare.

Jamal was a beat maker and producer and had made quite a name for himself. He was now starting to work with famous people. One of them was Eminem. You weren’t a big fan, although you did enjoy some of his most well-known music. In fact, this man was to be credited for you learning how to swear in English, as you’d learned the language by watching movies and listening to music. You hadn’t listened to him in a long time though and you were kind of wondering what he was up to, now.

Talia sometimes went to the studio with Jamal and she was getting along with everyone. According to her, “Em” (as she called him) was a great guy and she was pretty sure the two of you would get along.

FAST FORWARD

You had officially made it through your first NA meeting. It had been emotional but you were glad you went. Now was the time you dreaded : meeting everyone at the studio. As much as you appreciated Talia’s efforts to help you clear your head, you weren’t exactly the social type.

As the two of you entered the studio, you were greeted by half a dozen people. As soon as he saw you, Jamal got up and have you the biggest hug.

- How did it go ? He asked.

- Uh… it went well, I guess, you answered.

You weren’t particularly intent on talking about it, especially in front of people. Fortunately, Jamal was wise enough not to elaborate. The two of you were close and he knew better than to embarrass you. Still, you were thankful for his concern. From the moment he learned you’d be moving in with them, he had been nothing but supportive. « I know you’ll get through it », he had said.

Talia introduced you to everyone.

- So, this is Y/N, our new roommate and my very best friend, she said.

- How come we never met you before ? Somebody asked.

- Well, Y/N is a scholar so she doesn’t have a lot of time for people with lesser minds, she said jokingly.

You blushed immediately. Your best friend was the most supportive person of your work and she never stopped telling you how proud she was.

- Nice to meet you all, you said a bit awkwardly.

You shook everyone’s hand and you kind of had a shock as you introduced yourself to Eminem. You remembered him from at least fifteen years ago, blonde hair and clean shaven. He was now sporting brown hair as well as a well-trimmed beard. You would never have recognised him, had the two of you crossed path in the street. You couldn’t help but think to yourself that he was rather good looking. And in pretty good shape for an older dude who was in his early fifties. In fact, he did look at least ten years younger.

- Call me Marshall, he said as soon as he shook your hand.

- Ok, Marshall, you said while looking in his deep blue eyes.

He wasn’t as cheerful and smiling as the others, but he wasn’t distant either. You had always pictured him as a loud person, but the man you had in front of you was far from it. In fact, he seemed like the quiet, rather serious type. He looked like he was staring at you as if he was trying to read into your soul.

You joined Talia and sat on one of the big leather couches while everyone got back to working. You looked around and noticed that the studio seemed like a very comfortable, soothing space. For the first time today, you eased a little.

After some time, the group decided to take a break. Most of them went outside to smoke a cigarette and get some air, but you stayed inside. You did indulge in the occasional cigarette but you had been told it would be easier for you to refrain from taking any substance. You tried to be reasonable and not get tempted by the smell.

At some point, you were left with only Marshall, who was listening to the tune they just recorded in his headphones, pushing buttons on the mixing desk.

- So, how long have you been sober ? He asked as he looked at you.

- How do… how do you know ? You asked in shock.

- I was with Talia and Jamal when they got the call about one of their friends behind in the hospital after an OD. And you playing with your NA chip kind of tipped me off, he shrugged.

- Oh. Right. Actually, today was my first meeting, you said and blushed a little.

- Recovery is hard, he pointed out. Congrats on taking the first step.

You didn’t say more and he got back to mixing, as you stayed silent and watched him being extremely focused. As you studied him, you couldn’t help but notice an AA necklace dangling from his neck.

- So you’re in recovery too ? You asked.

- Yeah. Been sober for fifteen years now, he said with a smile.

- Wow. That’s impressive.

- Doesn’t mean it’s always easy, though, he confessed. But it’s 100% worth it.

There were a hundreds of questions going through your mind, but you clearly did not know him enough to ask them. Instead, you just smiled.

- Want to give me your opinion on the track ? He offered with a smile while handing you the headphones.

- I know nothing about music but sure, why not, you said, taking place in the chair next to his.

You placed the headphones on your ears and he played the song. You closed your eyes, in order to concentrate on what you were hearing. You were amazed at how fast this man was able to rap. Yet, you could hear and understand every single word. You particularly enjoyed the rhyming schemes. And, as ever with Jamal, the music was on point.

- it’s good, you said. It’s really good.

- Good to hear, he said with a smile.

The others came back to the room and Talia seemed extatic at the sight of you and Marshall talking. She knew how shy you were and every time you talked to someone new, she saw it as some sort of victory.

- So, people, Jamal said. How about y’all come to our place after ?

Everyone cheered and agreed. From what you gathered, it was usual for the group to meet at Jamal and Talia’s after a long day at the studio, so that they could kick back and get their mind off work. Talia held your hand in hers.

- I forgot Jamal wanted to have people over, I’m so sorry she said.

- It’s fine, you reassured her. But I’d rather stay in my room, if you don’t mind.

As everyone was arriving at Talia and Jamal’s, you said your goodbyes decided to hide in your room. Not that everyone hadn’t been super nice, but you highly suspected that there would be alcohol involved, if not weed. While you were climbing up the stairs, Talia grabbed your arm.

- Are you going to be ok ? There won’t be any hard liquor or anything like that, Y/N. Just a few beers, she said.

- I know, but… it’s been a long day. Meetings, people… I’d rather rest, you reassured her.

- Sure, she said as she gave you a peck on the cheek. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.

As soon as you entered your room, you changed into some comfier clothes : a cream-colored, cashmere set. You removed your makeup and put your hair up in a bun. You weren’t going to see people anyway so why bother ? You decided to watch Friends (your favorite show on Earth) and snuggle under a throw that reminded you of the place you shared with Simon.

After a couple of episodes, you heard a unfamiliar knock.

- come in ? You said.

The door opened and you saw Marshall standing there.

- So, are you hiding ? He asked with a smile.

- Kind of, you admitted.

- You have nothing to be scared of, he said. It’s very chill, downstairs.

- There’s still booze, right ?

- Just beer.

- I don’t really trust myself, you admitted.

- You had a drinking problem too ? He asked.

- Nope. Just pills. But now that they’re gone, I swear I’d take anything just to feel remotely… whatever.

- I feel you, Marshall said.

- Do you ?

- Yes, he simply said, showing his AA necklace.

- How do you feel so comfortable in a setting like this then ? You asked, wondering if you would ever get to the same point.

- It’s been 15 years, he explained. It gets easier with time. Plus, I’ve come to value the person I’ve become much more than the person I used to be when I was using. No money in the world could convince me to come back to that.

- It’s hard, you know. Hiding here when I know what’s going on down there, I said.

- Talia already gave Jamal so much shit about it, he said with a laugh.

This made you smile. Deep down, you knew Jamal didn’t mean harm, so you were kind of hoping Talia wasn’t giving him too much of a hard time.

- Thank you, you whispered. I don’t want to deprive you of your own fun, though.

- It’s fine. I don’t think I’m gonna stick around for long. I wanted to see if you wanted to go for a drive. You know, change your mind …?

- Uh… sure, I replied. Give me 5 minutes so that I can get dressed ?

He left the room and you quickly put together an outfit with a pair of dark wash jeans, a black turtleneck, a pair of knee-high boots and a blazer. You put your hair in a sleek ponytail and added some mascara for good measure. You weren’y trying too hard, but I definitely wanted to make an effort. After all, you had just met him - and he was extremely attractive.

- Ready to go, you said as you emerged of my room.

- Some sweats would have been enough, you know, he said joking.

- Oh. I started blushing.

- You look great though.

He didn’t say a word more and you got downstairs.

- Y/N and I are going on a drive, Marshall announced.

- Wait a minute, Talia said before you got the chance to get through the door.

She looked at both of you.

- No messing around. No drinking. No smoking. Nothing illicit or illegal. And you’d better be back home before midnight.

- Yes, Marshall noted with a chuckle.

- Yes Mom, you said jokingly while giving her a peck on the cheek.

As you got ouf of the house, you got to an impressive car. You were never good at recognising the brands or models, but this one was huge and it seemed like it was really expensive. It was also a bit contrast with Marshall, who did not look like the over-the-top stereotypical rapper. In fact, he was wearing normal clothes - jeans and a hoodie, no luxury logo to be seen.

- Where are you taking me ? I asked.

- You’ll see, he said with a voice full of mystery.

Normally, you wouldn’t have agreed to a car ride with someone you barely knew, but you were so eager to leave the house that you did not really care.

You took place in the car and Marshall started driving.

[redclercs]

DELICATE✰ CHARLES LECLERC.

x. what a shame she's fucked in the head.

— the one where they tell you what your word is worth.

❝𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘐 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦❞ —𝘛𝘢𝘺𝘭𝘰𝘳 𝘚𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘵, 𝘊𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘢 𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘵.

warnings: abuse downplay, bashing towards taylor swift (i obviously adore her pls don't come for me haha), online bullying, new york inaccuracies, corny taylor references per usual, etc. 2k words + articles

in my head there's a mix of begin again and cornelia street playing as background music.

masterlist ✢ next

NO one likes a mad woman, but not for the reasons Taylor Swift made you believe in the lyrics of her 2020 song. Although we are definitely afraid y/n might get 'more crazy'.

Honestly, who gave her the right to speak like that about Aidan Kim? As it turns out, the three-year relationships she willingly stayed on was a 'dead-end' one, and Aidan "abused" (and I cannot stress the quotations enough) her through several stages of their shared time.

Well, I call bullshit.

How is it that after Aidan Kim helped her build whatever she has going on that people call a 'career' she wasn't bothered about being told 'how to look and how to act' (direct quote from her own video, by the way).

Breaking up with your sneaky link and calling him your friend won't save what you did before, y/n, it's the oldes trick in the book. Everything she said in her Youtube video, one I regretfully watched despite the knowledge that I won't get those 45 minutes of my life back, is rehearsed and calculated and just tried to paint the real victims in a bad light.

Playing the victim worked for Taylor Swift in 2009, 2017, 2019... but we surely won't let it happen again, right folks? y/n needs a new tactic to crawl back from the hell, because we're not believing anything that comes out of her mouth anymore.

It's true what they say, an untalented actress makes an untalented liar.

By Lia Yim

Victoria Presley is worried about best friend's y/n y/ln's well-being after the actress 'completely ghosted her' since moving back to New York.

"One day we were fine and the next, she had packed her bags and left my house," Presley said in an exclusive interview with iNTouch. "I'm not going to lie, I was deeply hurt by her actions. I offered her my home as a safe haven and she left without explanation."

y/n had been living in Victorias Los Angeles home since mid-February until this month when she returned to her infamous SoHo apartment, one she shared with Aidan Kim until their breakup.

"I can find it in my heart to forgive her, of course," 'Vic', as she's known on social media, added. "Right now, I just want my best friend back. I want the y/n I've known for years and not this person she became since Matilde Bassi and Charles Leclerc inserted themselves in her life."

Victoria Presley, the founder and CEO of Presley Beauty, is the daughter of Luke Presley and Claire Walker and has been in the influencing business for a few years now.

"If y/n ends up reading this, I want her to know that I will support her decisions but not in the way her new 'friends' are doing. I just want what's best for her."

SEE ALSO:

→ Vic Presley on having to start from zero: "I'm not a nepobaby!"

→ A look inside y/n's SoHo apartment, the one Aidan Kim paid for.

→ Is Charles Leclerc's career going downhill thanks to y/n?

By Beatrice Mann

With y/n y/ln's latest controversy, the whole world has turned their backs on the actress. But, is it really that bad? Or is it just because she's a woman in the business?

The online community's hottest topic is y/n's Youtube video where she speaks on her relationship with Aidan Kim, her friendship with Charles Leclerc and, most importantly, how all of this has affected her career. And I want to tell you all, y/n is right.

If the roles were reversed, Aidan Kim would be thriving on a newly unlocked 'Heartbreaker' persona and y/n would still be constantly humiliated for not being 'wife material'.

I believe y/n deserves much better than what she's getting. The woman admitted she escaped a relationship where her partner LAUGHED at her and manipulated her actions for his comfort. And people are still siding with the man? Seriously, people, use your brains and dig up your morals!

The only thing we're communicating to younger generations by constantly doubting women's words and putting them in the spotlight for standing up for themselves, is that only men's words are worth something.

June 14th, Manhattan, New York.

It isn't much of a surprise when Charles calls you while you're trying to get your Moka pot to work that morning. It's your third attempt at it and the previous mornings you've left it alone with tears in your eyes to walk down the street and get Starbucks coffee. You might be a little too attached to that coffee maker.

Charles got to New York city the previous night, and reminded you that you promised to show him around more than once. You intended to keep your promise, thinking you would have more time before the day came.

But as you walk to the restaurant where you decided to meet him, you can't help but think how exciting it is that you get to show the city you love so much to Charles. And just like that morning in Monaco, you can't help but remind yourself that this is a friendly get-together.

Charles has slowly, but surely, become one of your closest friends in the middle of the frenzy that your life is. With your ex-best friend saying you walked out on her and your failed fiancé insisting that it was you, who acted like a 'total psychopath' towards the end of your relationship, you have more fingers than people you can count on.

You watch him carefully as he smooths the napkin on his legs twice and then drops in on the table again, fidgeting with the loose threads in the corner.

Your wristwatch says it's 10:00 am, which is the exact time you agreed to meet. You wonder how long he's been waiting if there's an empty cup of coffee in front of him.

"You know, it's also rude to be too early for a meeting," you say as a form of greeting once you approach the table.

This startles him enough to drop the napkin on his lap again, proceeding to scramble to return it to the table before pushing his chair out to get up.

You chuckle, but before you can say you were joking, Charles is engulfing you in a hug. Your stomach flutters because of the way he holds the back of your head with his palm. It feels like you're being reunited after months instead of just two weeks. Time doesn't feel real sometimes, you would know.

"Soleil!" he says excitedly, putting his hands on your shoulders. "It's so good to see you,"

"It's nice to see you too, Charlie."

There's the nickname again. You've tried not to think too hard about it. Is it a European thing to call your friends that? When you asked him about it the last time he called before taking his flight to New York, his response was a simple 'it suits you'.

Charles pulls your chair for you and grabs your purse to place it on the empty chair between you two. He grabs his napkin again, pulling one last time on a thread before smoothing it down and forgetting about it.

"How are you?" Charles asks, a bright smile on his face. It falters in a barely perceptible way because he doesn't want to give you bad thoughts, which seem to come automatically every time the question is asked.

"Well, I'm okay," you assure in a soothing tone, "Still looking for jobs. And you?"

"Alright. Lots of work in the simulator and I'm hoping this is a good weekend,"

"Are you sure you'll be okay getting to Montreal tomorrow?" you smile at the waitress that approaches your table, "Can I have some coffee, please?"

"Of course," Charles assures, with a gesture of his hand. He's getting to Montreal at seven in the morning and running straight to his motorhome. "There's time for everything."

"What do you want to do, then?"

You don't want to exhaust him by showing him around New York, he has a long weekend ahead. To be honest, you really wonder what compelled him to make this stop instead of going straight to Canada. Sure you had talked about him coming to New York, eventually. Not a day before he had to start his Grand Prix weekend.

"Anything you want us to do," he replies, the single-dimpled smile on his face. "I'm open to anything."

"MoMA? Central Park? Something not so touristy?" you suggest, before thanking the waitress as she places a hot cup of coffee on the table.

"Just show me the places you like, y/n, don't stress about it." Charles laughs, eyes returning to the open menu in front of him. "I only care about hanging out with you."

"Thanks," is all you manage to say as you sip the scalding coffee, you do your best not to wince as it burns your tongue and down your throat. "Let's do it then."

"So, what do you think? Everything you expected and more?"

You're taking a walk in Central Park after Charles agreed to see the Alice in Wonderland statue. It's a warm morning in New York and although you haven't been walking around for that long, Charles seems content enough with what he's seen.

"It's very... you," Charles replies, and you're sure he means it as a compliment, but New York can be really ugly too. "In a good way!" he adds when he sees your expression.

"Thank you, Charlie." you laugh again. It's easy being with Charles, laughing with sincerity and really being in what's happening in the moment.

You didn't lie when you said you weren't afraid of speaking up anymore, but the dread of actually doing it is inevitable. Your words are being twisted and marked as false because Aidan is far 'more loved' than you are. Not to mention Victoria's interview about your lack of reciprocity to her humble feelings

You're still thinking about suing her. But it hurts to know that she was your best friend a week ago.

A few people stop you both to ask for pictures and autographs on the back of phone cases. A few of them ignore you, others smile politely at Charles before asking him to take their picture with you.

"I'm really polishing my photographing skills," Charles jokes as you walk away from a group of young girls who gush about how much they wish they could dress like you.

"Sorry if it bothers you," you whisper, looking at him only from the corner of your eye.

"Of course not, y/n. They ask nicely, and you're okay with it." he shrugs.

There was one time when a teenager, around fourteen or fifteeen, asked Aidan if he could please take a picture of her and yourself. It was an innocent question, she had already acknowledged him as 'that guy from Star-5' and how he'd been in Supercut with you.

But just by the way you saw his expression change, you told the girl a selfie was a better option, you would hold the phone yourself if she was okay with it.

You didn't hear the end of it for the rest of night. Aidan berated your career for the first time of many, saying it was frankly offensive that he’d been treated that way. It didn't matter that you told him the girl was barely a teen and she hadn't been rude. Still, he was more famous than you, he didn't deserve to be made felt like the opposite.

"What are you thinking?" Charles asks, touching your shoulder gently to make you pause your walk.

You really don't want to admit you were thinking about your ex-boyfriend. Not that it matters, Charles knows you think about Aidan often in a mostly negative light, but it feels weird to say it here. So you shrug and sigh. "I wish I thought of nothing, to be honest."

Charles squeezes your shoulder in a half hug. He doesn't push your boundaries, although he wishes he knew what was actually going through your mind.

─────────

It's when you two are having dinner in a restaurant in SoHo that Charles asks the question that has been eating him away since he landed in New York the previous night.

"Do you want to come to Canada with me?"

"Am I not blacklisted from the paddock?" you tease, although Elix is gone. You wonder if Ferrari people blame you a little bit for their sponsor dropping them.

"Absolutely not," Charles frowns, "And you would be my guest, you get to be in the Ferrari Suite like always."

"Thank you, Charlie–"

Charles tries not to seem disappointed as he waits for the 'but' to follow, so he drinks from his wine.

"—but I have some back to back things to do this weekend," you do regret not being able to make it, you loved the few Grand Prix you were able to attend and you would love to see Carlos too. But you have booked a few interviews with people who, more than anything want to consume gossip, but have disguised it as 'letting you tell your truth in more depth'. You cannot back down from what you started.

"That's okay," he assures with a quick wink. "You know you can come to races whenever you want to, though, right?"

"I can?" you raise both eyebrows and Charles rolls his eyes. "The benefits of having a Ferrari driver as a friend. I should have befriended you sooner."

"Very funny," he says as he hides his smile behind his glass of wine again. "Do I get invited to the Red Carpets?"

"You kind of befriended me at the downfall of my career. It's going to take a while for you to be on a Red Carpet."

Charles clicks his tongue and shakes his head. "You're only just getting started, soleil. Don't say that."

You hope he's right, because you have castings lined-up for next week too and you don't want to call him, or Mati, or your mom, crying about how unwanted you feel.

You shrug, drinking from your own wine.

"I'm being serious, y/n," Charles' tone is stern for a moment, yet not aggressive. "You have a lot of wonderful things to do in the future."

"Yeah, thanks." you dislike yourself for ruining the mood yet again, but Charles isn't bothered as he smiles at you once again.

"I mean it,"

He does, and so does Mati, and your mom. You are bound for great things, although they're taking time to find you right now.

"I know. Thank you Charlie, you're very kind. I hope you have a good race this weekend."

Charles huffs. "Yes, me too. Wish me luck?"

"I feel like I jinx you more than help you, Charlie."

"You didn't wish me luck in Spain, look how that went," he fakes a shudder and you snort. You hated every minute spent in Spain after FP3.

"Good luck, you'll do great." You pat the hand that he keeps on top of the table a couple times and before you can take your hand back, he grabs it, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Your heart races and you take a deep, sharp breath, like that would help it go back to normal. You have tried not to overanalyze everything about today, from the way Charles looked to the words he said, to the way your body responded to it. You don't want to go down that specific spiral.

"Thanks for stopping by," you take your hand back and keep it busy with your almost empty glass of wine. The alcohol has turned your cheeks warm. "You really want to see New York, huh?"

"I really wanted to see you," Charles replies, nonchalantly.

And you know you'll be spiraling, despite your best efforts.

─── team principal radio: ❝thanks for reading! also thank you so so so much because last chapter got to 1k+ interactions and i was beyond shocked!! it means a lot that you're enjoying delicate!♡❞

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[shizunitis]

MENG MO X YUE QINGYUAN??? I'm intrigued

i had to go into my notes from months ago for this, because i'm SO sleepy i'm not sure i can rework it properly right now, but i love this ship a Normal Amount. so, with some editing:

IMAGINE (and do not think too much about the details, airplane’s world is ours to do with as we please):

yue qingyuan: sect leader whose favourite (not that he has favourites) shidi went off into the big wide world and married (without inviting him. he found out months after the fact.) his demon emperor student after almost starting a war with the demon realm by way of thinking too much, and he's kind of stressed about all of it.

which isn’t great. mu-shidi has recommended “peace and quiet”. yue qingyuan doesn’t laugh in people’s faces, but he came incrementally close to doing so that day.

though he’s keeping up with the demands of the sect, as he always has, people keep saying he “has the energy of an empty nester wraith” (qi qingqi, always a pleasure and a delight) and is “bringing the vibes, like, way down",” (wei qingwqi, with shang-shidi’s influence, he correctly guesses ) which is, perhaps, reason to believe the “peace and quiet” plan of action isn’t going great.

his most basic issue at the moment is his sleep. he can’t rest , and when he does sleep, it’s only an hour of quality sleep per week. which, in spite of being a powerful cultivator, is not a good way of living. he meditates and deals. whatever.

then shen qingqiu (who was so embarrassed about the sect’s reactions to his shotgun wedding (offended and/or amused, mostly) that he put off his return by an extra fourty three days, not that yue qingyuan is counting) finally visits. he brings as many souvenirs as he deems sufficient bribery, which yue qingyuan is not too proud to monopolise. he's the sect leader for a reason.

they somehow end up talking about luo bignhe’s proficiency with the demonic dream arts, and how wonderful it’s been to have him watching over shen qingqiu’s dreamscape every now and then. shen qingqiu recommends it, with a not-so-subtle pointed look at his undereye bags, and yue qingyuan resolves to look into it, see if there’s any merit in the idea. he dismisses it when it doesn’t seem to be possible without involving demonic practices, but it was worth a try.

the days pass, the not-so-newlyweds go about their days, and yue qingyuan notices luo binghe looking like he’s planning something. he’s got that “vibe” about him. it’s the shifty eyes.

since yue qingyuan is seemingly the only one in the sect who respects shen qingqiu’s choice in partner, he decides to do some… not meddling. it’s more of a show of respect! a token of… being someone’s brother-in-law!

he regrets it immediately.

he quickly realise sluo binghe is looking to actually get the sect to accept him as shen qingqiu’s husband and not just the limpet they have to suffer to see their sect sibling, which now makes it an Official Sect Problem.

yue qingyuan cannot let him try with liu qingge first, mu qingfang is still annoyed about the kidnappings, and qi qingqi will get shen qingqiu sarcastic again, which is delightful but not exactly conducive to a Peaceful and Quiet Time. so, he goes ahead and makes small talk.

it is as painful as he imagined. how is an actual emperor this bad at casual chitchat?

this and that is said, and in a last ditch attempt at salvaging the situation, yue qingyuan brings up the dream stuff. he says he’s been trying to research more dream arts techniques, and luo binghe’s eyes do a thing, and the next thing yue qingyuan knows, it’s the evening and a dream demon is stuck in his head with clear instructions not to let yue qingyuan feel an ounce of stress while sleeping.

he immediately feels a lot of stress.

the reaction of yue qingyuan’s sleeping mind at having a demon infiltrator sniffing around is enough to startle him. meng mo, who yoe quingyuan has never met before, takes a look at the place and says, “well it’s not worse than that brat’s, at least,” which is worrisome.

since they’re both stuck like this, and meng mo (who shen qingqiu has apparently been calling “senior”, which yue qingyuan decides to do as well, on principle) doesn’t seem hyped about the situation either, yue qingyuan decides… well.

what’s the worst that can happen?

so he spends his nights half-confiding to an ancient demon who controls nightmares and loves conjuring up weird things he saw in people’s dreams, and half-listening to him complain about the luo-shen couple and binghe’s insufferable thoughts and dreams. he learns more than he probably should. definitely more than he wanted to.

honestly, it’s kind of nice. so nice, that he makes a mistake: he gets complacent.

the mix of everything that’s been happening in the last few months finally catches up to yue qingyuan. it results in having some less-peaceful dreams.

meng mo being there proves to be a surprisingly good thing. though they’ve built up a rapport over however many weeks it’s been, yue qingyuan did not expect meng mo to help him with guarding nightmares, regardless of what luo binghe had said. it’s not like yue qingyuan was inclined to snitch on the old man.

meng mo isn’t kind about helping him, but he is so unphased by the myrriad of horrible memories stuck behind yue qingyuan’s pleasant and placid gaze that yue qingyuan finally makes some progress in his cultivation after years of stagnation.

of course, this is put into perspective when, for some odd and airplane-esque reason, yue qingyuan has a sex dream. this, more than anything, intrigues meng mo, who is above all a proud filthy old man. meng mo has criticism for yue qingyuan’s ideas of sex and a fun time, so pitying his lacklustre imagination, he provides him with more gratifying dreams that night.

meng mo is an old man, but he is undeniably handsome. he’s got that severe, masterful air about him, a sarcastic and prideful bearing, and a penchant for vulgarity, and… ah.

yue qingyuan is not going to think about that too much, actually.

meng mo is obviously aware that yue qingyuan is an attractive man, since he has refereed to his pecs as “a treasure wasted on someone who doesn’t know how to use them properly”. yue qingyuan is given many nicknames, like “pretty boy” or some such.

over the whatever next amount of time, they end up actually getting together by grace of meng mo’s schemes and manipulations (he just like. conjures vaguely sexual stuff with increasing frequency, until yue qingyuan finally takes the bait and lets it happen), which yue qingyuan is so confused about. not that he likes it, but that it’s actually helping with the “peace and quiet” treatment plan.

he does not tell mu qingfang. mu qingfang somehow, for some reason, knows. yue qingyuan will not that about that too much, either.

//

so that's where the note ended. if i remember correctly i immediately fell asleep, and i think that last line is meant as a meng mo/yue qingyuan/mu qingfang throuple kind of thing but i can’t be certain. i’m sorry. 😔 i just feel like these three, but especially yqy & meng mo would mix together in such Weird ways.

also i firmly believe yue qingyuan should get what binghe didn’t: an old man to fuck. and actual conversations about his trauma.

[andreafmn]

Bound | Chapter 8

Word Count: 3.4K Warnings: queer slurs

Summary: Rosalie always carried the resentment of not being able to fulfill the image of the perfect family she had in her head. But the universe had set out to grant her everything she could’ve hoped for in the most unconventional way and in the form of a witch. Can their love withstand the promise of forever or will Rosalie and (Y/N) succumb to the grapples of time?

A/N: I cannot believe how long I've neglected this story. I am ashamed 🫣😭

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Forks, Washington was everything Rosalie had thought she would hate from a town as a human. It was quiet, secluded, and a place where things seemed to stay stuck in time. There was no novelty or grandeur. A small town, after all. 

The girl didn’t have much interest in the town. Then again, she hadn’t had much interest in any town since she had left Rochester. Sure, Tennessee had gifted her with Emmett, but the town was never what interested her. Once she had left her home, there was nothing that could pique her interest quite like the life she had left behind. 

Still, she didn’t mind a small town anymore. Especially for the being she was now and the opulent grandeur the Cullens seemed to always live in. Surrounded by trees and winding down a lonely road, their new home came into view. Gravel crackled under their cars, announcing their arrival to whatever was out there. 

The house was a beautiful Victorian build, with a wrap-around porch and high ceilings. It was an architectural marvel and the perfect place for the family to hide out in. They were surely not going to encounter any problems. 

Surely. 

However, only a month into living in the new town, they encountered neighbors they had never expected to meet. Much less while they fed on a herd of deer. 

“We’re not alone,” Edward called out, his gaze set deep into the woods. “There’s someone there.”

“Other vampires, perhaps?” Carlisle questioned. “I heard there were a few nomads canvassing the area.” 

“No. Not vampires,” he grimaced. “Something else. Much different.” 

The family rushed cautiously deeper into the forest, Edward taking the lead as he followed the intruders’ thoughts. 

Their smell hit them first—a mixture of wet dog, fresh-turned dirt, and soot. It made them all turn their noses, wishing their halted breath stopped their scent from traveling through their nostrils. 

Then, three massive wolves broke through the woods. Their teeth were bared, and their claws dug into the dirt in preparation for a fight. But their presence wasn’t as intimidating as much as it was surprising. From what Carlisle had told the family, the Volturi had killed all of the Children of the Moon. Yet, right before them stood what appeared to be three of them.  

“We mean you no harm,” Carlisle said as he stepped in front of the family protectively. “My family and I have recently bought a house a few miles off the town of Forks. We didn’t know there were Children of the Moon here.” 

The dark brown wolf that stood in front growled in response, its mouth slobbering with rage. On any other occasion, the vampires would have fought the animals and more than likely come out victorious. But their coven had an advantage that none other did. And it came in the form of a six-two egotistical mind-reading vampire.

 “They say they’re not children of the moon,” Edward recited. “And that our kind is not welcome in their land. No dead walkers have survived them.” 

“I assure you we are like no other vampires you may have encountered before,” Carlisle continued. “We mean no harm to humans, for we do not need of their blood to survive. We exclusively feed off animal blood.” 

“They say they can’t trust you simply off your word. Especially when they don’t even know your name.” 

“My apologies,” the older vampire smiled. “I am Carlisle. The boy translating for us is Edward. This is my wife, Esme, and the newest additions to the family, Rosalie and Emmett.” 

“From left to right, Levi Uley, Ephraim Black, and Quil Ateara II,” Edward said. “They say they are shapeshifters tasked with protecting the land from any and all enemies. Like us.” 

“I assure you, we do not mean to cause you any harm,” the patriarch affirmed. “In fact, I propose we make a treaty. A mutually beneficial agreement that shall extend to all of your descendants for the rest of time. What do you say?”  

The three wolves looked at each other, lost in thought, as they deliberated silently on the vampire’s offer. Given the position they were in, there was only one answer they could give, and it was the one they had all been expecting. 

“They agree that given our claimed diet, a treaty is the best decision,” Edward said. “They want to meet three miles west of this location at midnight over a bonfire to discuss the terms of the agreement.” 

“I don’t see why not,” Carlisle agreed. “We shall see you then.”    

The wolves waited until the family was a safe distance away before turning back to where they had come from. The vampires found their very existence befuddling. They looked exactly like the werewolves that had once been—men who turned into wolves and looked at vampires as their natural enemies. Yet, these ones could shift in the light of the morning. They seemed in control of their actions, and they ran in a pack. More than that, they had faced them, and they were still alive. Children of the Moon, they definitely were not. 

The Cullens headed back to their home to await nightfall, still unsure of who exactly they had just encountered but certain they’d end up with a good enough deal in their new town. 

“That was awfully easy, wasn’t it?” Esme said as they settled around their living room. “I thought we were sure to get a bigger fight.” 

 “Those mutts knew they were outnumbered and outpowered,” Edward chuckled as he slumped into the couch. “They would never put up a fight with us.” 

“Do you actively wake up in the morning and decide you’re gonna be a giant prick?” Rosalie scoffed. “Or is that just an awful character flaw you were born with?” 

She couldn’t help the smirk that stretched across her mouth as Emmett snickered beside her, a sense of accomplishment surging deep within her. 

Emmett had quickly become the blonde’s closest friend and confidante. While she helped him with his dietary struggles, he kept her company. And for the first time in the couple of years of her turning, she didn’t feel alone. 

He’d kept her secret as he had promised. He said every time he felt the thought sprouting in his head and Edward was around, he would scream as loudly as he could in his mind. And he’d known it worked when the older vampire flinched for no reason at all. It had become a sort of challenge to the boy. He had gravitated from screaming to picking a jingle or a phrase a day that he would repeat over and over until Edward either left them or tuned him out. And he had done it all for the friendship he had built with Rosalie. 

“What? You’re gonna defend them?” Edward countered with disgust. “As if you hadn’t thought the same thing. As a matter of fact, we all did. So, don’t go around thinking you’re better than me.”  

“At least none of us said it out loud, Eddie-boy,”  Emmettt interjected.  “That’s the difference here. Don’t get angry because other people have some shred of dignity.”  

“Oh, please, you’re only saying that because you always take Rosalie’s side,” the boy grumbled. “If it weren’t for her, you would be saying the same thing.” 

“Is that right?” the bigger vampire challenged. “You think you know me, Edward? Do you really think you know a single thing about me?”

“I know enough. There’s only so much you can hide from a mind reader, Emmett.” 

“You’d be surprised,” he smirked. “Just because you can read my mind doesn’t mean you’re getting anything of substance.”

“Well, I normally do when my subject’s lights are on upstairs,” Edward jabbed. “But I can’t ask a lot from a guy who thought they had a chance at winning against a bear.” 

“Maybe not then, but I’ve taken one on now,” Emmet spat, standing in front of Edward and towering over the boy as he stood. “And I can most definitely take you on as well if you want to question what’s going on in my head. And we both know who is going to win between us.” 

“Alright, boys, that’s enough,” Esme interrupted, ever the mother she was. “It does us no good to fight within the family.”  

“No, I think it’s healthy to air out our grievances from time to time,” Emmett continued, his eyes trained firmly on Edward’s. “Sometimes people need to be knocked down a peg or two. Works wonders for the ego.”

“I don’t know why you’re being so protective over Rosalie,” Edward said, suddenly snapping his eyes toward the girl. “You shouldn’t be so protective of this fairy lady.”

If Rosalie had been able to breathe, she was sure those words would have knocked the wind out of her lungs. How could he have known? She’d guarded her thoughts well, and she knew Emmett had as well. “What did you just call me?” 

“Come on, Rosalie. Let’s not play games here,” he smirked. “We both know what I’m talking about.”

“That’s enough, Edward,” Carlisle tried to interject, but the boy continued. 

“If you wanted to hide your true self so much, maybe you shouldn’t leave your journal where anyone can see it,” he said. “It doesn’t take a genius to know that you’re a dyke.”

The sound of a slap echoed through the room as Rosalie’s hand smacked Edward’s cheek, the suddenness enough to have him stumbling back. He stared at her in shock, surprised at her break in composure. 

“Take a walk, Edward!” Esme finally exclaimed. “You’ve gone far enough.”

But the girl didn’t stay long enough to see if he would stay or leave. She sped out the front doors and didn’t stop until she felt she was far enough away. 

Anger bubbled deep in her chest, and she had no other method of release than violence. She pounded her fists into a tree, over and over and over until she had almost made it through the other side. She punched through her sadness, punched through her ire, punched through her fear. She punched until the tree could not hold itself upright anymore, tumbling to the ground with a deafening thud. 

She had been so careful. Handpicked every single thought she had, kept her distance, and hid her personal things. And yet, Edward had been able to figure out her secret because of one careless day. One measly careless second, and he’d been able to see the one thing she kept closest to her heart. 

“Do you mind if I sit with you?” she heard Carlisle ask from behind her. 

She had sat on the tree she had broken, listening to the quiet of the forest before he arrived. It made her feel… well, alone. “Sure,” she sighed, brushing away the dirt that had stained her knuckles. “Can’t really stop you.”

“I wouldn’t if you didn’t want me to,” he said with a smile. They sat in silence for a moment as he tried to find the right words. “I’m sorry about Edward. He’s a good kid most times. Just… emotionally challenged.” 

“Nice way to say he’s an asshole,” she scoffed. “I’m guessing you’re here to say I should start looking for a new coven.”

“Why would you think that?” 

“Come on, Carlisle. I’m surely not what you expected me to be when you turned me,” she said, her eyes trained on her feet, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes. “I’m definitely not someone that aligns with your moral values.” 

Carlisle could only chuckle softly at the girl and her misconceptions. She’d been with the family for three years, and yet, she barely knew them at all. “When I was still a human, I used to judge everyone I met,” he said. “I was raised by a pastor, and I became a vampire hunter. Although, at the time, I didn’t know I was passing judgment. All I had known was that different meant bad, even when I strived to be better than my father. “But life quickly showed me that nothing is simply black and white,” he explained. “I’ve lived too long now to keep those misconstrued thoughts alive in my head and my heart. I mean, I became what I was raised to hate most in my life. And I learned that just because you’re different, it doesn’t mean you are bad.”

“This is different from being a vampire, Carlisle. Even your bible says people like me are sinners and vile,” she said, her voice trembling under the weight of her words. “I am condemned and doomed just for who I love.”

“How is it any different? Well, I guess you weren’t born a vampire,” he chuckled softly. “But, it is still something you cannot change about yourself. In my eyes, loving someone could never be a sin. Even the good book says so. You’re not damned, Rosalie, and you certainly are not doomed.”

The last thing she had expected was Carlisle to be one of the most accepting people she could have met, other than Emmett, of course. She knew of his religious path and the beliefs he still held close to his heart. Those had her fearing the repercussions of him knowing her true self. Her sexuality was the only thing she could keep for herself. Guard it close to her heart so no one could use it against her—not that it had worked with Edward. She had gone two decades of her life hidden in the shadows, trusting only two people with her secret, but it had all been for naught. The people who truly cared for her wouldn’t mind who she loved as long as she was happy. 

“I promise I will reprimand Edward for the words he said and for infringing on your privacy,” Carlisle smiled. “And I give you my word that he will never, ever use that hateful rhetoric in our house ever again.” 

“Thank you, Carlisle,” Rosalie beamed. “You can’t know how much this means to me. Truly.” 

“We’re on your side,” he said. “Whether you feel it or not, Rosalie, you are part of this family. And we’ll stand beside you through it all.”

The girl couldn’t help but wrap her arms around the man. All words escaped her as she tried to pick the right ones, but a hug seemed like the right response. Carlisle had brought her into this new world out of pity, but he’d gently guided her to people who loved her unconditionally—except for the one exception. Even if she detested the life she had to live as a vampire, she was grateful to have at least that. 

“Well, we should head back and get things sorted before tonight,” Carlisle said. “We need to go into this as a united front. Or at least appear like we are.”

“As long as Edward stays as far away from me as possible, I don’t see why we won’t.”

“You won’t have to worry about that,” he assured. “And just so you know, Esme gave him quite the talking to before I left. I bet we could catch the end of it if we hurry back.”

Rosalie reciprocated Carlisle’s playful grin before they took off in a sprint back to the house. Lo and behold, Esme was still yelling at Edward when they arrived, his face solemn like that of an ashamed child. Meanwhile, Emmett stood not too far back, snickering to himself and, more likely than not, giving the mind reader hell inside his head. 

It took everything in the girl not to boast as she walked past him, her head held high and a grin adorning her pink lips. He wouldn’t meet her gaze, his eyes trained on the tips of his fingers. She rather preferred it that way. Edward had no right to look her in the eyes, and she was glad he finally knew his place. 

For the first time in the three years she had been with the Cullens, she had finally felt part of the family. She hadn’t expected them all to rally behind her against Edward, but her heart warmed as they did. They had all seen past her cold exterior and inhuman beauty. They had seen her soul and learned her worth. They cared for her, and they weren’t ashamed to show it. 

At that moment, she wondered what would have happened if Vera had also become a vampire. They could have both joined the Cullen family and finally have the life they had dreamed of—at least the mirage of it. They would have been able to love each other and live freely amongst the immortals, sure that they’d be loved and protected. She thought they’d have love stories written about them, poets and singers would cry at the mention of their love. They would’ve had eternity and a day to bask in the warmth of the other, and no matter what anyone thought, they could simply be. 

But then, there’s a reason why dreams only appear when we’re asleep. At some point, they end, and you wake up. 

There would never be a perfect ending for them whether they lived for eternity or just a day more. Their love was meant to end at one moment or another. There had been a semicolon placed on the story the moment Vera got married and had Henry. And a period ended their sentence the second blood stopped rushing through Rosalie’s veins. 

Vera had always been a dream for Rosalie, and turning into a vampire simply woke her up.

Hours passed, and finally, the moon had reached its highest point in the sky. The clock on the living room wall confirmed that midnight had arrived, and it was time to face the wolves once more. In the distance, a string of smoke signaled their destination, and they rushed toward it. 

The smell of fire filtered through their noses soon enough, mixing with the scent of the wolves and the forest. The wind murmured a quiet warning to everyone and everything around; what was about to occur that night was nothing short of history in the making. 

When the Cullens arrived, three men wearing wooden wolf helmets were waiting for them. Behind them, a large bonfire crackled and danced, filling the darkness with a bright and warm hue. It would have been a beautiful sight to behold had it not been for the menacing stares the three men were gifting the vampires. 

“I take it you’re Ephraim Black,” Carlisle said, breaking the silence and extending a courteous hand toward the other man. “As I said before, my name is Carlisle Cullen, and this is my family…” 

“We can skip the niceties, cold one,” Ephraim interrupted. “We are here to settle business and go our own ways.” 

“Alright, if that is what you choose,” the vampire smiled. “Shall we begin then?” 

That night, a treaty was formed between two unlikely kinds. Between maps and discussions, an agreement over land and behavior was reached, pertinent to their current lives. Mutual discreteness over their supernatural status, explicit boundaries in regions of the town, and, most importantly, no harm could ever come to a human, whether by hunting or transforming them into a vampire. If any of these terms were broken, it would mean the start of a war between the Quileute tribe shapeshifters and the Cullens. And a war would mean an inevitable end to one of the races. 

Rosalie understood the need for a treaty. Being at odds with someone so close by could only lead to pain and discomfort, and she already knew what it was like to live with that. 

But seeing the shifters’ ability to put everything aside for the common greater good—regardless of whether or not they had felt outnumbered—gave her the best solution to her Edward-shaped dilemma. After that night, he would never treat her like he had, and she’d behave amicably toward the boy, pretending he was nothing more than a thorn in her side—a tiresome nuisance, if you will.

At the end of the day, it was only eternity. 

Next ->

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[brewsterispunkk]

THE TUTOR

eddie munson x reader

part 1/4

pairing: eddie munson x f!reader, eddie munson x shy!reader (only one use of y/n and I cringed writing it)

rating: 18+ mature! minors be gone!

summary: reader has had a secret crush on Eddie Munson for months, only she has been too scared to tell him. When she’s forced to tutor him, she lets it slip that she feels like she’s missed out on the normal “high school experience.” Eddie aims to change that.

A/N: this has been in my drafts since LAST MAY!!! & i am just now finishing it jfc. this is part one to a series I’m looking to make three parts! I’ll finish it if it’s the last thing I do!

You hated first period. Always had, ever since sophomore year when you’d had AP literature with the juniors and Carol Perkins had made it her life’s work to make your life a living hell.

You didn’t know exactly what you had done to make her hate you so much, but early on in the year, she’d made it abundantly clear that you were going to be her new target. And you, being the only awkward, braces-faced sophomore in the class, had elected to suck it up and take the bullying.

After all, she was telling you everything you already knew; your hair was frizzy, your teeth were crooked, your acne was ugly and awful. The usual things that you, with the same awful self esteem that was characteristic of every knobby-kneed 14-year-old, had already heard and already believed.

Eventually, when your study-buddy and the only other underclassman in the class, Nancy Wheeler, found out about the full extent of the bullying, she’d done something about it. She had just started dating Steve Harrington at that point, and despite his larger than life hair and not so great reputation, he was nice to you by association. He was the one who got Carol to stop.

Still though, you thought that that god-awful year of excruciating first-period classes had ruined them for you for good; conditioned you somehow into expecting the worst from your first class of the day so that now, as a senior, you still dreaded it.

Today was no different.

You tapped your foot distractedly in the back seat of Steve’s car as he pulled out of your neighborhood.

“For the last time, Robin, no you cannot play the new Clash cassette. Put it away—“

“Oh come on, Harrington. It’s good.” Robin sighed exasperated. She’d been your next door neighbor since you were five, and your best friend ever since.

“Oh, oh! Like the new Madonna album?” Steve asked, eyebrows raised as he looked at Robin in the passenger seat.

“Or the Duran Duran one?” You piped in, biting your nails and looking at her expectantly. Immediately, her head whipped back to you, mouth open in a silent gasp.

“Wha—“ she made a choked sound, looking between you and Steve before bringing her gaze back to you, narrowing her eyes. “Who’s side are you on?”

“Uhm, the side of good music.” You countered, playfully sassing your best friend.

“Wow..” she drawled dramatically, interrupting you.

“And right now,” you continued. “Harrington has the better mixtape. Sorry!” You batted her hand away as she reached back to smack your arm.

“Boom!” Steve declared triumphantly, raising his hands from the wheel for a split-second. “Sorry, Robs, we love you but if I have to listen to one more of your mix tapes, I’m gonna—“

“Yeah, yeah! I get it.” Robin was silent for a moment before turning around to glance between the two of you. “You know, every day I remember how it was me that got this little group together, and every day it comes back to bite me in the ass.”

“Oh right,” Steve scoffed. “You’re forgetting, I’ve known y/n since junior year, and I’ve only known you for like, I don’t know, nine months.”

“Okay, but you two weren’t friends.” She gave Steve a pointed look. “It wasn’t until I convinced her to come work with us at Scoops Ahoy that we all started hanging out. So what I should be hearing is ‘thank you Robin.’”

In the rear view, you saw Steve roll his eyes at her antics, a smirk on his face.

“Actually,” you pointed out. “Steve and i hung out almost every day sophomore year.”

“Yeah,” Robin pressed. “But that was because of miss prissy-pants, Nancy Wheeler, not because you two were friends.”

You bristled a bit at your best friend’s name for Nancy. You knew she probably didn’t mean anything by it, but still. She didn’t know Nancy like you did. And Nancy had been nice to you when you didn’t have many friends besides Robin. She’d made it her problem when you were being bullied and did what she could to stop it, when she didn’t have to.

You and Nancy hadn’t really talked much since she and Steve broke up. Even after the whole ordeal last summer, with the mall “fire,” and Russian agents in Hawkins, you two hadn’t really reconnected. But there was no bad blood there. You wished her the best.

“I don’t know, Robs,” Steve interjected. “I think she gets bragging rights for knowing me longer.”

You laughed at that.

“Oh whatever,” Robin shook her head, leaning her elbow on Steve’s open window, bopping her head to the music pouring through the speakers.

“Good god, I don’t wanna be going back there.” She groaned as Hawkins High came into view. “It’s not too late to skip you know.” She craned her head back to look at you, a hopeful look in her eyes.

“I’m highly considering it.” You bounced your knee, trying to relieve some of the tension in your limbs.

“Ugh, no I can’t.” Robin exasperated. “My moms gonna kill me if she finds out I skipped again.”

There goes my chance, you thought, knowing there’s no way you’d skip without her.

“Yeah, I do not miss this place, gotta say.” Steve mused as he pulled into the parking lot. Robin rolled her eyes at him. You chuckled. They fought like an old married couple.

“I have Ms. Taylor first period,” you groaned at the memory of the stern, mean older woman who you had for home room this semester.

“Oh god,” Steve laughed. You smacked his shoulder. “Well, good luck with that. I’ll see you two at 3.”

You and Robin begrudgingly exited Steve’s car, facing the pit of despair known as Hawkins High School.

Thank god this was your last year, you thought to yourself.

As you eyed down the beige brick building, you could’ve sworn you felt a bit of your soul get sucked out. It may sound dramatic, but it was true. You felt yourself retreat into yourself the closer you got.

Something about Hawkins high just did that to people. Made them retreat and put on whatever mask they had to go get through the day. You were no exception.

“Let’s get this over with,” Robin mumbled beside you, beginning to walk toward the doors.

“Let’s.” You sighed back.

- - - - - -

There was one aspect of first period English with Ms. Taylor that you considered a saving grace—not that you’d ever admit it out loud.

Eddie Munson.

You weren’t sure why it started, if you were honest with yourself.

In fact, at the beginning of the year, you, like everyone else, were actually a little bit terrified of the lanky, tall metalhead that the rest of the school had dubbed “the freak.”

Before this year, you hadn’t really had many encounters with Eddie Munson. You’d known of him, sure, but never really interacted with him. Besides the few random outbursts he’d have in the cafeteria, and one time when you’d given him a pencil in your art elective freshman year, you’d kept your distance. Most of what you’d heard about him came from the kids; which meant they were lies, at worst, and exaggerations at best. You could tell they admired him from the way they spoke of him—Dustin in particular, who had spoken of Eddie in the way he’d only ever spoken of one person before: Steve. But that was the extent of your knowledge.

Eddie had been two years ahead of you technically, although now he was a senior, same as you, and stuck in the same miserable first period English class with Ms. Taylor.

It had started out innocent enough, you liked to tell yourself. You weren’t always swooning over him and his leather jackets or studded rings. It had just snowballed.

It had begun like this: it was the first day of your senior year, and to add to your nerves at a new dreadful year, Ms. Taylor had given you, and all your classmates, assigned seats.

Great, you’d thought. Just great. Now you had to sit next to a complete stranger while also being a complete ball of anxiety all class.

You were early. Much to your chagrin, Steve had insisted on picking you and Robin up earlier than usual because it was your first day, and what if you have trouble finding your classes. Completely ignoring the fact that you and Robin had gone to Hawkins High for three years and knew it like the back of your hand.

Still, it had gotten you here, 15 minutes early to the first bell, trapped in a room with no one other than Ms. Taylor, and Eddie Munson himself.

“You’ll be right there, beside Mr. Munson.” Ms Taylor had drawled monotonously, eyes focused on a stack of papers on her desk.

You froze, looking over at Eddie, who was scribbling down in a notebook in the second to last row of desks from the back. He looked up at you for a moment before going back to his writing.

“Did you hear me?” Ms Taylor said your last name. You snapped out of it, smiling over at her and gripping the strap to your backpack before making your way to the seat.

“Yeah. Sorry, Ms. Taylor.”

You sat down rigidly, looking anywhere but at Eddie. Ms Taylor left the room to refill her coffee cup in the teacher’s lounge, leaving you and him the only people in the room.

You felt your hands begin to shake at the impending doom of first period rolling around. You knew it was dumb; it’d been two years since the first-period-from-hell, and you still couldn’t shake your fear of home room. You clasped them together, folding your fingers on top of each other on the desk, trying to calm your breathing. Your heart pounded in your ears.

“Look, you can relax, okay,” Eddie’s annoyed voice beside you snapped you out of it. “I won’t bite.”

You looked over at him, his face looked impatient, though if you looked closely, you thought you could detect a little bit of hurt there too. Your eyebrows furrowed, before you realized what he must have been thinking.

He thought you were scared of him.

It made sense, though that was far from what was going through your head.

“No,” you began quietly, before clearing your throat. “That’s not what I—that’s not—that’s not it.”

“Whatever you say,” he mumbled, eyebrows raised as he continued writing.

That was the day it started. The watching him.

It’d begun as a way of coping; a way to distract yourself from Ms. Taylor’s droning on about Shakespeare, or the whispers of the two mean girls who sat at the front and liked to glance back at you and snicker.

Your therapist had mentioned the method to you a few months before, a way to maybe cope with your anxiety in anticipation with the upcoming school year. It was a method that your shrink had described as a way of ‘hyper-focusing’, or concentrating on one thing until the anxiety wore away.

And in the haze of your first day, you’d focused on Eddie.

But eventually, as the year wore on, it developed into something different.

You began to notice his hair; how it would fall over his face as he frowned in concentration at whatever he was writing in that book. His hands, big and flanked with gaudy silver rings. You began to wonder how they’d feel on your skin, running through your hair, over your stomach.

It was almost a type of game you played with yourself; a form of escapism. On days your anxiety got too much, the days your hands would sweat and your feet couldn’t cease their tapping, you could look beside you and focus on Eddie. And it would all fall away.

You supposed that’s why you kept your little obsession a secret; it was embarrassing.

Not the fact that you were infatuated with him, but the fact that you’d been using practically a complete stranger to talk yourself down from anxiety attacks. You hadn’t even told Robin, the person you shared everything with. And somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew that this wasn’t some little crush or admiration—it was more than that.

But you refused to admit that to yourself, because there was one huge, glaring problem. That being that Eddie Munson hated you. You were sure of it.

It was as if after the awkward encounter you’d shared at the beginning of the year, he avoided you like the plague. Not looking, talking, or even so much as breathing your way once. And the one time when you’d gotten the nerve to ask him a question, he’d barely grunted out a response before the had rung and he was gone.

That had been the first and last time you’d attempted to talk to Eddie Munson. Your crush was doomed, you knew it. Not only were you convinced he couldn’t stand you, you also were almost positive that he still thought you were scared of him, like he did at the beginning of the year.

Which, to be fair, you were. Just not in that way. As far as Eddie was concerned, you were scared of him in the judgy, superficial, ill-intentioned way that the rest of Hawkins was, not in the butterflies, tongue-tied, make-your-hands-sweat way that you truly were.

Besides, even if you were the most confident person in the world (you were far from it), and if Eddie didn’t, for some inexplicable reason, hate you, you were sure that you would have absolutely no chance with him anyway. Because why would Eddie Munson, all crooked smiles and sure steps and kind eyes, be even the least bit interested in you? It was inconceivable. Because you were shy and scared and binary and everything he was not.

So, you’d deduced that you were doomed to wait out this life-ruining crush the same way you’d been doomed to wait out countless other things in your high school life: silently.

- - - - -

Today was no different than the other nearly insufferable first periods you’d endured this school year, aside from the fact that today was Monday, which brought with it a more tired you, and a much, much more irritable Ms Taylor.

She’d assigned two detentions so far this period, to Bradley Green and Doug Mitchell, two boys from the basketball team that had been throwing spitballs and harassing Eddie, who merely smirked at them in response, effectively egging them on.

You glanced at the clock, tapping your foot subconsciously on the off-white tile below your feet.

5 minutes left, you reminded yourself, watching the clock tick down. Your hands started to clam up. Perfect.

You let out a shaky breath. A few rows in front of you, Pam Simpson and Diana Fiorelli glanced back, eyes zeroing in on you, before Pam snickered and leaned over to whisper into Diana’s ear.

This wasn’t new; they always had some off-color remark or an unnecessary eye-roll to throw at you ever since they found out about your close friendship with Steve Harrington, former king of Hawkins High.

How two nerds like yourself and Robin Buckley had managed to bag someone as popular as Steve the hair Harrington as a best friend seemed to be beyond them, and they sought everyday to punish you for it.

The truth was: Steve had left all of that behind. From the wake-up call that was his break-up with Nancy, to the whole fighting-monsters-from-another-dimension thing, he didn’t really care about it anymore. He’d found better friends in you guys. The whole Russians-in-Hawkins, and Starcourt “fire” helped too.

It was true what they said about trauma: it brought people together.

You tried to ignore their whispering, like Robin had encouraged you.

She was absolutely livid when she’d found out that Diana had “accidentally,” spilled her yogurt parfait over your new blouse last week. It had taken a whole five minutes of both you and Steve talking her down from her stupor to stop her from marching straight to the gymnasium, interrupting cheer practice, and giving Diana a black eye. After though, when you’d managed to calm your best friend down, she’d gone off—trying to convince you to stick up for yourself, to say something. If not to the mean girls themselves, then to Ms Taylor at the very least.

But that was the difference between you and Robin; where she would act, you would listen. Remain passive. It was a trait that served you well when it came to retaining information or solving upside-down-related issues, in situations like these, it kind of screwed you over.

You turned your head from the front of the classroom, blocking out Ms Taylor’s lecture on T. S. Elliot and instead turning your head to the desk beside yours. Eddie’s desk.

He was hunched over, head on his hands, which were crossed and folded on top of the desk in front of him. His chin rested there, and his dark eyes were focused on the board, squinting, as if trying to make out what it said.

He seemed to be trying to pay attention, a stark contrast to how you usually saw him hunched over around his worm notebook, scribbling or drawing.

He wore dark blue jeans today, instead of his usual black ones, and a Quiet Riot band T-shirt . His leather jacket was draped over the chair behind him, as Ms Taylor’s room was hot today. His hair fell messily over his back and in front of his face. His ringed fingers tapped on the desk—he was evidently as anxious for the class to end as you were.

You knew he had trouble focusing. You’d picked up on as much throughout the school year, watching him try and try and try to stay locked in to whatever Ms Taylor was teaching.

So many of your classmates had written him off: cult leader, satanist, idiot, freak, but you saw something different. The Eddie you knew (well, not really knew, more like observed) was none of those things. He was different, yes. Flamboyant, sure. But he was not an idiot. Nor was he evil or freakish or anything of the sort.

The ringing of the bell snapped you from your thoughts. You jerked your head back to your desk as your classmates began to pack up and bustle out to their next classes, the sound of backpacks zipping and chatter filling the classroom.

Per usual, Eddie was the first out of his seat, already packed and ready, before leaving the classroom with long strides, eyes trained on the floor, narrowly avoiding your gaze.

You shoved your notebook into your bag, bending over to zip it up and run like hell out of the classroom. You hoped to avoid any unnecessary contact with Pam and Diane. Ms Taylor cleared her throat, before saying your name.

“I’d like to see you for a moment, please,” she said monotonously, eyes focused on the grade book in front of her. A shot of anxiety spread through your stomach.

“Yes, Ms Taylor?” You asked quietly, noting that you were the only two people left in the classroom.

“You have one of the top grades in the class, second only to Mr. Levy, did you know that?” She asked, still not looking up. You puzzled. So you weren’t in trouble?

“Uh-I-no, I didn’t, actually.” You mumbled, brows furrowed.

“Indeed,” she hummed. “I also have been made aware that you are lacking an extracurricular for graduation, is that correct?”

Shit, you thought. She was right.

Last summer, you’d been set to take a summer gym elective; the ones that the school offered during the school year were too crowded and made your anxiety act up, so you and Robin had both signed up to take summer gym. However, the upside-down and the Russians’ presence in Hawkins at Starcourt had had other plans, so both you and her had failed the class, due to bad attendance. And while Robin had made sure to complete her gym credit last semester, you’d completely forgotten about the whole debacle until now.

“Yeah,” you breathed, in shock that you’d managed to forget about something so important when graduation was only months away. “I-I forgot—“

“I figured as much,” Ms Taylor cut you off, finally looking up at you. “Well, seeing as it’s too late in the semester to sign you up for any electives, it would seem that you’ll be having to repeat your senior year.”

Your breath left your lungs.

No, you thought, no, no, no. The last thing you could handle was another year stuck here. In this high school, in this city. You felt your breathing stutter at the thought.

“Luckily for you,” Ms Taylor continued, refocusing you on the moment. “I have a solution that may just save you from that.”

You blew out a breath between your lips, looking at her anxiously.

“Yes,” you breathed out. “Anything— I completely forgot about—“

“I trust you’re familiar with Mr. Munson?” She interrupted you. Your brows furrowed. What did Eddie have to do with this?

“Yes.”

“Well, then I’m sure you’re aware that this will be his second time repeating his senior year.” Ms Taylor looked up at you now, her beady eyes laser-focused. “If he fails again, the school won’t be giving him another chance. It would seem that this class is one of the only things standing between him and a one-way ticket out of this school.”

“I dont think I follow—“ you began.

“You will tutor Mr Munson.” She clarified, face stoic as ever. “From now until the end of the spring semester. If you do this, and if I see improvement, I will make it count as your extracurricular. You’ll be able to graduate on time, and he will get the hell out of my classroom for good.”

You were stunned—not only by the fact that you’d be forced into proximity Eddie Munson for the rest of the year, but the fact that Ms Taylor would speak so candidly about a student.

“I—I-“ you tried to articulate what to say next, but found you were unable to gather your thoughts.

“I can’t,” you finally managed, dumbly. Ms Taylor raised a thin eyebrow at you.

“Well,” she said. “It seems that unless you want to repeat your senior year, you don’t have much of a choice.”

“But, Ms Taylor, I—“

“Look,” she sighed your name. “You’re a smart girl. Mr Munson may be… a handful, but I promise he’s harmless. You will be fine. You can even meet on the school premises, if you’d feel better about that.”

Dear Lord, you didn’t know how to tell her that the reason why you couldn’t tutor him was not because of his reputation, or that you were scared of him, it was because you could barely form a coherent thought in his presence.

“Are we clear?” She asked, arms crossed. You tried to speak, but your mouth was dry. You just gulped and nodded.

“Good,” she smiled tightly. You sighed, turning to leave, already knowing you’d be late to your next class. She called your name as you began to exit, your hand on the door handle.

“Just know, I will be checking weekly with Mr Munson to see how tutoring is going. So don’t think that if you fail to show up I won’t know.”

You nodded, shutting the door behind you as you left.

Great. No escaping it. What if you embarrassed yourself? What if he really did hate you? What if—

“Hey.”

You jumped, too caught up in your thoughts to even notice the tall, lanky figure leaning up against the lockers next to Ms Taylor’s classroom.

“Jesus, sorry.” Eddie looked at you with wide eyes, an arm coming to steady you on your shoulder. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

When you just stared at him, he cleared his throat, removing his hand from your shoulder. A part of you mourned the loss.

“So, uh,” he began, looking down at his feet as he walked alongside you. You tried not to notice the faint scent of his cologne that sent a thrill through your gut. “So I guess she told you? About the tutoring?”

When his curly head snapped up to meet your eyes, you quickly faced forward, realizing that you’d been ogling his side profile while he was stumbling over his words. You nodded in confirmation.

“Ok,” he said, rubbing his hands on his legs. “Ok,” he repeated, stopping and turning to face you. “I’m just gonna cut the bullshit: I really, really need the help in this class.” His eyes were a bit wild, panicked. Like he thought you were going to run away from him the moment you got a chance. “Like, ‘really,’ as in, if I don’t pass, I don’t graduate. And I know you really don’t wanna do this, and she’s forcing you, and that you hate me, and you’re scared of me, and all that, but if you could please—please— just help me get through this class, I will make it as painless as possible spending all the time with me.”

By the end of his little speech, he looked frantic, like he was pleading—and you suppose he was. And before you could stop yourself, you just nodded, looking at him dumbly, before remembering to speak.

“I’ll help you pass.” Was all you could manage.

He sighed a breath of relief, running a hand down his face.

“Thank you,” he said, and you could’ve sworn it was the most sincere you’d ever heard him. “Thursday after school in the library sound good?”

- - - -

You arrived early, because, of course you did.

To say you were nervous would be an understatement; you were terrified. Mostly of making an even bigger fool of yourself than you had earlier in the week.

You’d spent the better part of the last three days poring over your last interaction with Eddie in the hallway, when he’d begged you to tutor him, and you’d gotten about five words in edgewise.

He’d practically accused you of hating him, and instead of correcting him—like you’d been dying to do for the whole semester—you stood there like an idiot.

You wished you’d told him then and there in that hallway that he was wrong; that you weren’t scared of him, and that you didn’t hate him. That you were just shy and awkward and he unnerved you. So, you decided to do just that.

Last night, while finally talking through the whole situation with Robin, you’d decided that the first words you’d say to him would be: “I’m not scared of you and I don’t hate you.”

It was a bit abrasive and to-the-point, you knew that. But, you also knew that if you let him get a word in before that, you’d lose your nerve. At least this way, you got your point across.

Your eyes ran over the page of your book for what felt like the fiftieth time. You sighed, throwing the worn novel down on the table.

There was no way you’d be able to get any reading done, not with your nerves eating you alive.

The book wasn’t that good anyway. You had no clue what Robin meant when she said Hemingway was ‘profound.’

You sighed again, eyes finding the clock in the library.

He was five minutes late.

You felt something deflate inside you. Maybe he’d been bluffing about the whole thing, or maybe he’d changed his mind and wouldn’t show. Your mind ran with the possibilities.

The library was sparse at this time.

It was just past three, and most students had already rushed out of the building. It was Thursday, which meant that the town was just waking up for the weekend. It wasn’t uncommon for friend groups to have small get-togethers, or even for one of the bigger cliques to throw a party.

In fact, Steve had managed to convince Robin and yourself to attend one later that night. Which was a feat, because you didn’t make a habit of going out.

It was at Darren’s house: one of the few friends from high school that Steve actually kept up with after, y’know, everything.

Robin was hoping Vicky would be there. You were just hoping to let loose a little.

With all this business with Eddie and your impending (maybe) graduation, your nerves had been through the roof. A party was just what you needed to calm down.

“Sorry,” he appeared out of nowhere, and before you could stop yourself, you jumped.

“Sorry!” Eddie rushed out, slumping down in the chair across from you. “Really, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to scare you all the time. Sorry I’m late.”

You stared at him.

God, he was pretty.

His hair was big and frizzy, per usual, and fell around his face as a halo. His brown eyes were wide and almost doe -like, and his cheeks were rosy with exertion.

He must have been running, you thought. But why? He wasn’t that late.

“Were you running?” You blurted before you could think. Your brows furrowed as you looked at him.

“Uhhhh, yeah,” he drawled. “Yeah, I ran into some trouble getting here.”

“What trouble?”

“The usual.” Eddie rubbed his eyes, and for the first time since he’d sat down, you noticed how disheveled he looked.

His white tee shirt was stained on the shoulder with what looked like… fruit?

“Is that… food on your shoulder?”

“Shit,” his gaze snapped to his shoulder. “Yeah, uhm. It’s jello.”

Eddie looked… embarrassed. For the first time in the time you’d known him, he looked sheepish.

“Was it Jason?”

“That obvious?” He laughed mirthlessly. In fact, it was a little menacing.

“He’s a dick.” You said without thinking.

Eddie just nodded, staring down a place on the table.

“Are you okay?”

He looked at you, dark eyes guarded.

He seemed to be sizing you up, eyes following you up and down. But his usual playfulness was gone. Instead, he looked almost… forlorn.

“Uh, yeah.” His lips lifted into a humorless smile. “Just done with this bullshit, I guess.”

“Hmm,” you hummed.

“I’m tired of people looking at me like I’m a freak. I’m tired of not behind able to fucking walk to class in peace, I’m tired of people being fucking,” he slammed his hands on the table in front of you. When you jump, he throws them up. “Scared of me!”

You stay silent for a moment, letting him stew and collect himself. After a few seconds, Eddie sighs.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t—“

“I’m not scared of you, and I don’t hate you.”

“—mean to—what?”

“I’m not scared of you.” You repeated, wiping your clammy hands on your jeans. “And I don’t hate you, like you said on Monday. I’m Im just,” you stopped to take a breath. “It’s just hard for me sometimes. With… new people.”

“You sure? Because you look scared to me.”

“You aren’t helping.”

Eddie shivered, rubbing at the jello-colored stain on his shoulder.

“Do you… want to change?” You asked shakily.

“What?”

“Nevermind,” you rushed out, shaking your head. “It’s nothing. You just—looked cold. I have an extra sweatshirt.”

“And you think it would fit me?”

“I like to wear them a few sizes too big.” You added lamely.

Eddie contemplated you for a moment, before sighing.

“What the hell,” he said half to himself. “Why not?”

After he pulled the lilac crew neck over his head, he smiled.

“Okay,” he chuckled. “I’m sorry. Thank you for doing this. I know it can’t be great for your…image.”

You snorted at that.

“Yeah, my image isn’t exactly suffering.”

“Yeah?” He leaned forward, setting his chin on his fists.

God, his forearms. You forced yourself to look away.

“Yeah. Not exactly prom queen here.”

“Eh, prom queen is overrated.”

You laughed, your own crinkling eyes meeting his. You thought you saw his eyes soften as they looked at you. The vision of him there, in front of you, made your stomach flip.

You cleared your throat, turning to your notes in front of you.

“So,” you straightened your notebook. “Ready to talk about T. S. Elliot?”

- - - -

The party was loud. Mötley Crüe boomed through the speakers that Darren’s rich family had in what seemed like every room.

You silently thanked Darren for having good music taste. The party would have been unbearable otherwise.

You sighed as you walked out the back door of the house. The inside had gotten a bit too stuffy for you, and with Robin trailing after Vickie and Steve reconnecting with one of his old flames, you were flying solo for the time being.

You brushed your jeans with your hands before sitting down on the back step, a lukewarm rum and coke in the solo cup in your hand.

You felt yourself deflate.

As a senior in high school, this was the closest you’d come to actually living.

While Robin had had her fair share of secret flings and parties and Steve had lived a wild four years of high school, you were just… there.

At eighteen years old, you felt like you’d missed out. Been robbed. The Upside Down had something to do with that, you supposed. Fighting for your own and the kids’ lives from Russians and other-worldly demon creatures tends to do that. Still, it didn’t stop your friends from living. You felt like you’d let your teen years pass you by, but mostly, you felt pathetic.

Sure, you had the grades, but rather than that? You had nothing to show for your time at Hawkins High.

“Hey tutor,” the smooth drawl came from the side of the house. You’d know it anywhere.

Eddie rounded the corner of the house, approaching where you were sitting on the back step.

He wore the same black jeans he wore earlier today, but his jello-stained shirt and your lilac crew neck were gone, replaced by a t-shirt with what looked like Judas Priest’s logo. His arms were crossed over his chest, covered by the black leather he wore more often than not.

“Hey,” you offered lamely, rubbing your hands together.

“What ya doing out here all alone?” He came to stop in front of you, his chunky combat boots taking up your line of vision.

“Just…taking a breather.” You smiled up at him, tight-lipped.

“Hmm,” he hummed. “Scoot over, then. It’s a little too… preppy for me in there.”

You obliged, scooting over a few feet so he could sit next to you. As he dropped down on the concrete step next to you, he was close enough that you caught his scent.

It was deep, some kind of cologne, mixed with cigarette smoke and a hint of what you knew was weed.

“So…” Eddie bumped his shoulder into yours. “Thought this wasn’t your crowd?”

“It’s not,” you pressed your hands between your knees. “Robin and Steve dragged me here. I thought it would help me… unwind.”

“Robin… she’s in band right?”

You nodded.

“And Steve… I don’t think I know that one.”

You chuckled.

“You definitely do,” you peeked over at him, eager to see his reaction. “Uh, Steve Harrington?”

Eddie looked at you like you grew a second head.

“The hair?” He asked incredulously.

“The very same,” you nodded.

“God, sweetheart.” Eddie shook his head. “I’m beginning to question the company you keep.”

Your heart leapt at what he called you. Sweetheart.

“I know, I know,” you held out your hands. “He was an asshole. But he’s different now.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“He is!” You turned to Eddie defensively. “I wouldn’t be friends with him if he was still the way he used to be. He isn’t like…”

“Jason?” Eddie raised an eyebrow at you. “Like Pam and Diana?”

“Exactly.” You nodded. “He’s still… peppy. He just lost all the bad parts.”

“Hmm,” he crossed his arms. “I’ll take your word for it.”

A moment of silence passed between the two of you, the only sounds being your breath and the roar of the party inside. Your breaths swirled in the chilly air around you.

“Why are you here?” You spoke finally. “You said this wasn’t your scene.”

“It’s not,” he shrugged, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a little baggy filled with green substance. “I’m, uh, supplying the party favors.”

You snorted at that.

“These things good business?”

“You have no idea.” He nodded to the inside of the house. “A lot of these kids’ allowance is more than what my uncle makes in a week.”

You hummed, content to just sit in silence.

Eddie tilted his head at you, leaning his chin on his hands again like he did earlier in the library. He tilted his cheek toward you, an easy smile on his lips.

“So, why are you really out here, tutor-girl?” He looked at you curiously. “You look upset.”

You drew a heavy breath, before sighing.

“It’s dumb.” You picked at your nails.

“Try me.”

“I feel like..” you looked up, before turning to Eddie. “I feel like I’ve missed out. I’m a senior, I’m graduating this year, and I have done nothing.”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow, but he doesn’t move to interrupt you. He only leans further toward you, spurring you to continue. The alcohol gave you the rest of the confidence you lacked.

“All my friends have had their little rebellions. Their flings, all of it. And I have done nothing, except drink shitty booze and nearly lose my mind.”

You blew a deep breath once you’d finished. Somehow, you felt even worse—more pathetic—now that you’d vocalized it.

But Eddie didn’t look at you like you were pathetic. Instead, he looked pensive, hand on his chin as he contemplated. It was your instinct to backtrack.

You moved to stand

“Sorry. That was a lot. Nevermind. Let’s just forget I—“

“No, no, don’t apologize.” He grabbed your arm and gently pulled you back to sit beside him. “Especially after what I dumped on you earlier.”

Your cheeks were red, you could tell. Whether that be because of the combination of the alcohol and the confession, you couldn’t tell.

“Hmm,” Eddie hummed, still thinking. You snuck a glance over at him and noticed a wry smile on his face. “Let’s fix it then.”

“What?”

“We have til May, don’t we? That’s eight months. Your senior year isn’t over yet.”

You laughed nervously.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that—“

“You’re not! I’m offering. Consider it payback for all the hours you’ll be tutoring me in Taylor’s class.”

“Okay…”

“Okay.” Eddie smiled. “It’s a deal, then .”

[klausysworld]

(I had so many requests for this and they all went in such different directions so I decided to just do what I could imagine instead of trying to combine them all or make multiple desperate alternate endings. Obviously peoples requests have influenced what i had written to an extent.)

A life I do not deserve part 2

Part 1

I hadn’t exactly thought it through when I drove away. 7 month’s pregnant with minimal money and low battery on my phone. It wasn’t ideal.

I was sat in a shitty motel, heavily pregnant while trying not to let my emotions overtake me. Having to lay beneath the cold thin sheets was awful, the baby kicked nonstop without Klaus being there to sooth her into calmness. Even the baby knew something was wrong and it was exhausting.

By morning my phone was dead and i was just sat in my car trying to think of anywhere i could go.

Moving in with the Mikaelsons in New Orleans, a city i do not know, was a terrible idea. A supernatural city at that. Vampires and witches were everywhere, werewolves were beginning to get more comfortable as well.

That night I slept in my car.

The next morning I scraped together the last of my money to buy an overpriced beignet. Klaus used to buy them for me, it was something i had craved remembered since the pregnancy. I wasn’t aware of how stupidly expensive they were in this town. At least the glass of water was complimentary.

I managed to dodge any supernatural beings on my way back to the car. Once back in and safe i went over my options

Steal money, fill the car and drive as far as i can

Steal money to buy a charger to call Rebekah to help me without telling Klaus

Steal a charger to call Rebekah to help me without telling Klaus

Go by foot with a lack of food and water and possibly pass out and yet eaten by A)wolves or B)Vampires

Go back to the abattoir and hope i don’t bump into Klaus before making it to A)Rebekah B)Elijah C)Marcel

Only issue is: there’s a higher possibility that Elijah or Marcel would tell Klaus out of their weird undying loyalty together.

So basically in any situation where I live, I need Rebekah.

And so there I was, silently sat beside the door inside Rebekah’s bedroom waiting for her to walk in.

I could hear Klaus and Elijah talking int hallway outside.

“She can’t be far, she only left three days ago, she’s probably just processing” Elijah persuaded. Klaus was pacing up and down, i could tell that much

“No, we need to get her as soon as possible. I can’t let her think I don’t love her and our child. That’s another thing, she’s with child! Anything could happen to her! What if she fell Elijah? We should check the hospital again” he rambled

“We still have people waiting there. Someone will call if they see her. Just sit and wait, she’ll come home soon” Elijah continued to convince

“She won’t. Not willingly. You didn’t see her face, it was like someone had witnessed a massacre” he muttered and i brought my lips into a tight lip smile, tears burning my eyes

“Can you blame her, Niklaus?” Elijah murmured and i fought against sniffing

“I had to use Cami, it gives our enemies someone else to go after instead of Y/n.” He whisper yelled.

I wasn’t able to believe that. And even if it was true, he didn’t have to sleep with her in a room where we’d been together too. He didn’t have to paint her in the room next to what would be our baby’s bedroom.

“Still. You certainly could have gone about it better, you already hurt her before” he reminded and i heard Klaus growl

“That was different. How on earth was I supposed to believe a bunch of witches that I could create a child!?”

“You didn’t have to call her such…drastic words”

My eyes dropped knowing exactly what he was referring to.

“I didn’t mean a word of it” he murmured back

“But you said it and you watched her cry on the floor and still walked out. You cannot expect her to come flying back with open arms. Give her time” Elijah coaxed

“She doesn’t need time! She needs to listen!” He hissed

“You need to leave her be”

“I do not care how far she thinks she can get, i will hunt her down and drag both her and my child back until she is back in my house, in my arms and not able to go anyplace other” he snarled and I felt the fear bubbling inside me. A lone tear dropping from my eye as I pressed my back to the wall

“You sound like Mikael” Elijah breathed and i covered my mouth.

An immediate flow of yells and smashing was followed. Both of them arguing endlessly as each of them were shoved and thrown.

Slowly i moved to lay in Bekah’s bed. I doubt she would rat me out, but it was clear she wasn’t coming back for a little while and neither the motel or the car had provided me with any rest.

I stayed as quiet and as still as I could despite the aggressive kicks from within me and the urge to throw up at the back of my throat. Silent tears streamed down my cheeks as i kept my eyes closed, welcoming the darkness to overcome me.

A hand on my shoulder had be jolting awake. My arms quickly moving to push myself up but the hands were keeping me down

“Sh love, sh just go back to sleep” he whispered. Klaus.

I froze in place keeping still. His hand rubbed up and down my arm lightly. My eyes began to adjust to the darkness and i came to the realisation that i was in our his room. I could feel and hear my heart pounding in my chest and ears as my breathing picked up.

His arm draped over me, his hand on my stomach keeping the kicking child at bay.

“Klaus…what are you doing?” I asked hesitantly as his lips pressed to my shoulder

“I’m keeping you safe. Both of you.” He murmured

“I don’t want you to” i whispered and he hummed

“Just go back to sleep” he muttered

It was only when the cloudiness of the situation wore of that i realised exactly where i was. I was in his bed? I felt the sick rising in my throat as i forced myself to sit up despite his protests

“Oh god” i mumbled repeatedly, disbelief spreading through me. I could see his worried face as I scrambled off the bed

“Love-“

“You- oh my god Klaus. You put me in the bed you fucked her in?” I yelled and his eyes went wide

“Sweetheart- I’ve washed everything” he began but my choked sob cut him off

“No. No. I wouldn’t care if you had bought a new bed, how could you do this?” I cried and he stood up making his way toward me

“You’re right- I’m sorry, okay? We’ll go to a different room, just take my hand” he persuades, his hand outstretched for me to take

“I’m gonna be sick” i whispered feeling a chill go through me before i turned and bolted for the conjoined bathroom.

Immediately i was gagging and throwing up in the toilet, i could feel his hands holding my hair like he had done so many mornings before. His hand rubbing my back soothingly though it didn’t have the same affect now. If anything only made me more sick.

“I’m sorry” he whispered but i only sobbed louder, my forehead rested against my arms as I continued to vomit.

Once i sat back up he was wiping my mouth with a tissue gently before a little cup of mouthwash was offered to me which i used before slowly standing up.

My eyes found his as his adams apples bobbed. His eyes big and sad as he took a small step back so I could walk out the door. I immediately headed down the stairs toward the front door, my hand reaching for the door handle but before i could open it his hand was over mine.

I sighed as i kept my eyes trained on the exit in-front of me

“At least go in the morning, it’s the middle of the night” he uttered

“I’m not sleeping next to you” i told him seriously

“I know” he whispered

Slowly i made my way back upstairs, turning off to a spare room with Klaus’ eyes on me the whole time.

———————————————————————

It had been another month since everything. I had my own room down the hall, furthest away from Klaus and very rarely spoke to him.

Elijah had attempted to talk to me on behalf of Klaus but I ignored him until he left.

Rebekah had learnt not mention him and Marcel found it fun to flirt with me loud enough for him to hear.

Even Kol liked to how far he could get before Klaus would pull the daggers out for him trying to ‘feel me up’

I found great satisfaction in seeing Klaus sat with a clenched jaw watching as Kol pressed his ear to my bump, giggling when the baby kicked against him.

“Okay Kol that’s enough it’s starting to hurt” i said with a laugh as the baby kicked where his head was

“But it’s fun” he muttered

“Kol get off.” Klaus warned watching us from the doorway

“But i like it, i reckon the babys gonna be a boy” he mumbled poking my stomach. I winced when i was kicked harder from the inside and immediately Klaus had a hold of Kol’s arm, pulling him and out of the room.

“Klaus! Klaus it’s fine” i yelled as i tried to push myself up only to sink back into the seat with a groan. My hand gripped the sofa tightly as i felt my body contracting.

I let out a gasp as i felt my water break, fluid going all down my legs and onto the couch. My eyes went wide as I began to panic

“Klaus!?” I shouted and I heard his footsteps

“Yes, yes, I know! I didn’t bloody hurt him!” He yelled before pausing in step and staring with a wide mouth. I let out another long groan of pain making him snap back to reality, nearly flying forward to get a hold of me. He instantly pulled me into a bridal carry, running to the car

“It’s okay- hospital is just round the corner” he thought aloud while strapping me in. I grabbed his hand tightly as i felt the pain again and his face twisted into a pained expression

“Love- you’re hurting me” he breathed but i only squeezed tighter as the agony ran through me

“Would you just drive Klaus before I have to have your stupid baby in a car!?” I yelled, more aggressively than i had originally intended but made him start the car all that much quicker.

Once in the hospital and given out private room his hand was on the verge of breaking.

“You have- no idea- how much- I hate you” i told him through breaths like the doctor instructed and he winced with a nod

“Yep- I’m aware, I’m glad that you’re finally talking to me though” he said with that stupid grin on his face making me squeeze his hand enough for him to let out a yelp

“Okay! Okay! I’m sorry!” He apologised

“For getting me pregnant or cheating on me?” I yelled as i began to push

“The- second one! I’m sorry! Oh fuck, can we have this conversation after? Please??” He asked looking at me desperately

“Thought you really wanted to talk about it!” I yelled as i strained myself

“God, after! Just after!” He shouted as a tear left his eye.

“Really you wanna cry Klaus!? Try pushing a fucking baby out of your-“ i was cut off with my own scream as i pushed harder.

After way too long, I was lead with our daughter. Holding her closely in my arms as my eyes slowly found Klaus’. He was looking longingly at our child, hands fiddling as he leaned forward in his chair to get a better look.

I don’t think I could ever fully hate him, even after he broke my heart, when i look at him, I can’t help but see the soft side of him. The brighter parts of him, that shimmer in his eyes when he smiles.

I could’ve forgive him though, he was only kind when he had to be, he always did something to ruin the love i held for him. I wouldn’t be able to trust him again, i’ve only recently tolerated him being in the same room. Me being a labour and screaming is the most we’ve communicated in months.

“Do you want to hold her?” I asked, his face lit up as I passed her to him carefully. His mouth pulled into a grin as he looked down at her,his eyes shining in astonishment when her tiny hands grabbed his little finger.

Despite the beautiful moment, I couldn’t help the rush of sadness going through me. If he just hadn’t been so stupid and inconsiderate, we could have done this completely differently. We could go back to our home as a happy little family.

But I knew I couldn’t live with them much longer, now that i had the baby, I wasn’t really anything to them. A friend to Rebekah and Kol at most. My presence was merely an inconvenience at this point. Both Klaus and myself were uncomfortable in each others company, it was best that I left. But i knew I wouldn’t be able to take my daughter with me, he loves her too much.

I hate to admit that I thought of leaving without her. While she was still so young that she would just forget me, Klaus would keep her safe and the Mikaelsons would love her forever. She would be much better off without me really.

I thought it over many times, through the ride back home and over the next week. I was still at their house. Each day I felt more out of place, almost as though I wasn’t really there. Klaus always had our daughter-Hope. So I rarely even held her, Rebekah had gone out and bought baby formula without even asking if I had wanted to breastfeed. She was quickly drifting away from our friendship. I had nothing left.

I didn’t even have my own baby.

So there i was, sat on the bed i had been staying in with a suitcase fully packed. My train wasn’t for nearly two hours so i didn’t need to leave yet but I had nothing else to do but wait.

Klaus had taken Hope out somewhere, Elijah was communicating with the witches, Kol was off with Davina and Rebekah with Marcel.

After a little while longer I headed out, this time I made sure to bring enough money, and a charger.

I cried the whole journey, I felt awful, I had done the worst possible thing someone could do as a parent, I left. I left like Klaus had done to me.

But at least he came back, I had no idea what i was doing. It was like i was on autopilot.

My tears came to stop once lead in the hotel bed, my hands tightly clutching Hope’s onesie as I stared straight ahead of me aimlessly.

My phone rang beside me for nearly the 50th time. An endless flow of messages from Klaus going back for hours. It was well into the night, i was surprised he was still awake if I’m honest, normally he’s knock out as soon as Hope is down. If I’m entire truthful I didn’t think he would notice I was gone at all.

Over the next few days I managed to get all the way to New York through non-stop travel.

I was silently debating answering his call. He should probably know that I’m not dead. Though it may be better if he thinks I’m dead. But he might look for me, and that wouldn’t do any of us any good.

Hesitantly i pressed accept and put it on loud speaker. It was silent for a beat before he spoke

“Y/n?” He questioned, uncertainty in his tone. I couldn’t find it in myself to say anything, the guilt eating me from the inside out knowing what i had done and having to face it

“Love…would you come home please? Hope misses you…I miss you” his words grew quieter towards the end and i felt my eyes burn with tears, that familiar nauseous feeling rising through me

“Y/n? Do you want me to come get you?” He asked in a soft tone that had my heart aching, my hand covered my mouth as a sob broke through me but he still heard me

“It’s okay love, just- just tell me where exactly you are, i have a map in front of me, i know you’re in New York but i need you to tell me precisely, I’ll come bring you home” i could hear him walking as he spoke, the rustling of him pulling his jacket on

“I don’t want to go back” i whispered with a hiccup “I can’t do it Klaus”

“We need you y/n, Hope needs her mother” he reminded

“I’m sorry” i breathed, as a wave of nausea hit me

“Don’t be sorry, don’t be sorry” he murmured “Just stay on the phone with me”

And so throughout his drive over to New York I eventually told him where I was. He was quick to burst through the door, his hands quickly grabbing me and pulling me to his chest, his hand holding the back of my head as he sighed

“I thought you were gone” he whispered, I said nothing as my hands clung to the back of his henley and let my tears soak his henley

“I can’t live with you, any of you” i told him quietly

“I’ll get you a house” he promised “whatever you like just please never do this again”

“I want my baby” i whispered, his hand stroked my hair gently

“Of course, we’ll get her moved in immediately”

And when he said immediately, he really meant it. As soon as we were back in New Orleans he was driving us to a different house. Hope there in Elijah’s arms who quickly gave Klaus the baby and left with no more than a respectful head nod to me in acknowledgment.

Klaus turned back to me with our daughter in his arms, slowly approaching me and giving me my child. Her eyes sparkled like his did when she looked at me, she made small incoherent sounds as her arms waved about in the air.

I felt my eyes gloss over as i looked at her, she was so beautiful, like a little angel. I took her inside, the house already fully furnished and decorated. Klaus followed swiftly behind me, following me as I got into the kingsized bed, keeping Hope close to me as I held her like she were the most valuable jewel in the world.

Klaus pulled the blanket up over my body, leaning down to kiss the top of Hopes head and then my cheek

“I’ll come back tomorrow? We can talk a little?” He asked softly, kneeling down beside the bed to be eye level with me

“Can’t we just pretend nothing happened?” I breathed, keeping my eyes closed “just pretend that you never slept with someone else and I didn’t run away, can we just pretend for a little while” i whispered

“Love…”

“Please, just for a little while, just pretend” i pleaded “just lay with us”

Slowly, hesitantly, he did. Our faces in-front of each others as we curled around Hope, keeping her safe and between us.

“I wish we could be a family” i whispered

“We still can be” he murmured, his hand on my cheek as a lone tear strayed down my face

“No…I don’t think we can.”

People who commented for a part 2

@niklausmikaelsonsproperty @hyperactivewhore @reggiegyal @nataliewalker93 @elijahmikaelsonbitch @secretdreamlandmentality @susannahmikaelson

Plus some others but the users weren’t coming up when i types them in :(

Sorry for such the long wait and if it had disappointed you in any way, I’ve literally made it up as I’ve gone along. Not sure why it took so long or why certain things happened

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Dean Obeidallah at The Dean's Report:

I read Timothy Snyder’s, “On Tyranny: Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century.” I also re-read portions the compelling book, “How Democracies Die.” Add to that I took in chunks of two books about the Gilded Age (1870’s to 1900) where the arrogance and corruption of America’s wealthy elite led to The Progressive Era backlash of laws and reforms that reined in their power. (I’ll be writing much more in the future on the types of reforms needed now to end the new “Gilded Age” we live in headed by oligarch Elon Musk and the other modern day “robber barons.”) [...]

To wake up those who may be lulled into that sense that Trump wasn’t being literal, Snyder gave a chilling example. Just three days after Hitler became Chancellor of Germany on January 30, 1933, a leading newspaper for German Jews published an editorial that sought to alleviate concerns of the Jewish population.

As you read the excerpt below keep in mind it was written before any of the anti-Jewish laws in Germany had been enacted and well before Jews in Germany had been arrested and sent to death camps: “We do not subscribe to the view that Mr. Hitler and his friends, now finally in possession of the power they have so long desired, will implement the proposals circulating in [Nazi newspapers]; they will not suddenly deprive German Jews of their constitutional rights, nor enclose them in ghettos, nor subject them to the jealous and murderous impulses of the mob. They cannot do this because a number of crucial factors hold powers in check … and they clearly do not want to go down that road. When one acts as a European power, the whole atmosphere tends towards ethical reflection upon one’s better self and away from revisiting one’s earlier oppositional posture.”

This publication was not intending to gaslight the Jews of Germany. They had heard Hitler and his allies advocate everything listed above. Yet the editors and others like them sincerely didn’t believe Hitler meant what he said and that his “better self” would restrain him. But just four months after Hitler took power in Jan. 1933, he began to implement every single policy that he had vowed to do during the prior years. It all began in April 1933 with the passage of a new civil service law that removed Jews from civil service positions, including schools, universities, and government jobs. Next came laws barring Jews from public schools and working in newspapers--all building to the “Nuremberg Race Laws” in 1935 where “Jews lost their citizenship and became subjects of the state.” [...]

Let me end any delusions you may hold deep down. Trump—like Hitler did—will attempt to enact as policy every single thing he has vowed to do during the campaign. And while Trump in his first term was dangerous, this version of Trump is even more dangerous. He is angry and bitter. Trump believes he was wronged by Democrats who sought to hold him accountable for his crimes. He and his followers even believe Democrats were behind the attempts on his life. And in his second term, Trump knowns--courtesy of the corrupt GOP Supreme Court—that he has broad immunity for “official actions.” [...] Trump has repeatedly vowed to shutdown media outlets that he views as being unfair to him—from CBS to NBC News. He will attempt to do that as well as shutdown comedy shows that mock him--as he explored doing to “Saturday Night Live” in his first term. And the list goes on from prosecuting Barack Obama, New York AG Tish James, Adam Schiff and others to mass deportations which he vowed would be “bloody.” Everything Trump promised to do, he will try.

Dean Obeidallah wrote a solid column in his Substack on why Americans should take Donald Trump’s words and actions seriously, as he seeks to implement fascist policies that erode the Constitution and civil society.

All proper-thinking folk should resist this turn towards fascism with all of our might, including blue state defiance and secession if necessary.

[enluv]

love spill !

PAIRING! - rockstar!jay (enha) x fem!reader

wc: 1.3k+

warnings: angst-ish but not really + fluff later !!, reader is stressed/exhausted, profanity, slow burn(?)

coco’s ♡ note: this came from a mini game I answered once and literally could not get over because I need rockstar bf jay so badly, I might make more with this jay too so let me know if you like it or have any rockstar!bf jay thoughts because I will indulge and write them !!! literally adore this jay so much ahhhh!!!

Finally.

Finally some piece and quiet away from the shared apartment you live in with the three younger boys.

Perhaps living with your younger brother and his university friends wasn’t the best idea, especially when you had a ten page journalism report due by three pm the next day.

That’s why you find yourself here on a hot summers day sitting in your favorite cafe, it’s not busy on Fridays and is hidden enough so the boys won’t find you for a while, but they will come looking eventually.

The bell of the cafes door rings to signify it being opened but this report is due tomorrow and you can’t stop to look up, but maybe you should have. Maybe you should have because now as you watch the hot brown liquid seep into your laptops keyboard you become painfully aware of the boy in front of you who’d walked in early wearing the most guilt ridden expression. His words muffled as you watch your screen go black.

“Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m so sorry. Wait here let me get something to clean this up.” He’s fumbling with the other drinks in his hand as he tries to reach for napkins to clean the spill he’s made.

Where else would you go really? Right now you’re just waiting for the ground to swallow you whole. Had the program even saved the other three pages you’d written? Was your hard work gone just like that? Would your professor even believe you if you told him what happened? Even if it sounded straight out of a movie?

“Just leave it, I’ll clean it myself. Please leave.”

He stills at your words, no malice or emotions within them just exhaustion. The tone of your voice makes his heart ache, and he swears to himself that he’s going to make up for this for the rest of his life.

“I’m sorry for this really, I need to leave because I have a schedule to get to but I promise I’ll make this up to you. Can I have your number?”

Your stare makes him feel small, then he realizes how his question sounds after a minute passes between you two.

“Wait I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not asking you out. Not saying I wouldn’t ask you out but I’m not doing that right now! I just need it so I can text you to pay you back, or I can pay to get your laptop fixed. I’ll send you the money or even if you want buy you a new one.”

Jay can’t tell what you’re thinking but somehow he’s walking out of the cafe with your phone number and an assortment of drinks for his members. Dreading having to explain to them just what happened in the cafe.

unknown (2:46pm):

uh hey this is jay, I’m the one who dropped my coffee on your laptop, really sorry about that by the way!! um i want to give you these so I can say sorry again in person because my mom always said to apologize face to face or you don’t mean it and also that way we can figure out the laptop money thing together.

unknown (2:47pm):

four attachments sent

just stop by tomorrow and have some fun and then after I’ll come find you and we can talk!! what’s your name by the way?

you (3:12pm):

it’s y/n. thanks, I’ll see you tomorrow.

“I cannot believe some random dude gave you tickets to see downfall, like this show has been sold out for months and I mean months, talking eight months and he just gave up four tickets to see them? He must be loaded! Tell him you want a new computer and game console, I want the newest version.”

Jungwon’s excited rambles bring a smile to your face, sure just yesterday you’d cried almost all the water out your body until Jungwon had called your professor and explained in detail (along with sticking the phone in your room so he could hear your cries) the situation, but he’d also somehow gotten you an extension on your paper for the next week. He seriously deserved the random concert tickets the stranger, Jay, had sent you.

Receiving them was odd but he’d convinced you with the promise of fixing your laptop and that’s honestly all that mattered, so if you had to sit through a three hour long show next to some stranger who spilled coffee on your laptop then so be it because you’d be getting it fixed no matter what.

Except instead of said random stranger sitting next to you, an actual random stranger stood beside you excitedly yapping with her friends and the random stranger you had expected was perched on stage with a guitar in hand, microphone stationed in front of him like it belonged to him, and soon enough you’d realize from the crowds hollers that it did belong to him.

“ARE YOU READY FOR TONIGHT?” He’s met with screams all around the arena.

“That’s what I like to hear, alright let’s go.”

The shock of who Jay was really didn’t cease even after the show had ended and the four of you began to walk out the packed venue, it doesn’t really go away until a large man comes to escort you backstage.

“Hey buddy I think you have the wrong people, we’re just here still because my sisters waiting for someone.” Jungwon’s voice breaks you out of your shock and the man nods as if he knew what he was going to say.

“Yeah he’s backstage, just follow me.”

Jay fidgets with the bag he has in his hands, earlier he’d dragged the boys along with him to pick you out a new laptop and even threw in a new case and holder for it. He really wanted to get the image of your exhausted eyes out of his mind, he wanted to see you happy and healthy.

“Y/N you didn’t tell us the guy who spilled coffee on you was one of the members of downfall,” the voice he hears is failing to whisper as you get closer.

“Are we about to meet one of the members? What if it’s just like a staff or something like why would an actual member be getting their coffee and oh my god that’s the lead singer Jay.”

He laughs shyly at the boy who’s mouth is now wide open pointing excitedly at him, but he quickly shuts up as he spots you. You look so pretty, completely different from when he’d last saw you drenched in coffee and exhaustion all over your face. Right now you looked content and really really pretty.

“Hey Y/N, I know I said I’d give you the money to fix your laptop but I thought you should just have a completely brand new one, I’m really sorry for spilling my coffee on yours, I’m sure you were busy and needed it, I hope you can use this new one well,” his breath hitches as he holds out the bag to you and your fingers touch briefly, “and I hope you liked the show, I see your friends did.” He sends a wave their way and laughs when they all excitedly wave back.

A smile begins to develop on your cheeks and his heart races. This is exactly how he’d like to see you, happy and smiling.

Later that night as you pull out the new laptop determined to finish your nearly complete paper, a small card flutters out with it that reads —

“I wrote this to say not only sorry again, but to also ask if you’d like to go out with me sometime? and I mean it this time, as in I am actually asking you out unlike last time when I, you know accidentally asked you out unintentionally, this time I promise it’s intentional. Please let me make up the god awful first meeting we had, I promise it’ll be worthwhile. You have my number so if you want to then just shoot me a text but if not then that’s fine with me too! – Jay”

A smile forms on your face as you set down the card and get to working on your essay, the answer to Jay’s proposition already clear in your mind. Yes.

coco’s love note: i am so terribly down bad for jay it’s crazy. he’s so just perfect like I adore him so much!! and I’m the biggest rockstar!jay enthusiast like I just had to write something about it, plus I think it’s so adorable how he’s clumsy in this fic but a crazy rager on stage & only mc gets to see both sides of him fully! I hope you enjoyed this fic! As always, feedback & reblogs are appreciated! Thank you for reading <3

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