#every time i try to read or play more of something

[rose-in-blue]

"Any Time, Mon Cher"

Alastor x reader

Warnings/tags: fluff, Alastor being smarmy, afab reader, an aggressive amount of commas and parenthesis, deer kink(?), slightly suggestive, Alastor isn't repulsed by touch at least not from (Y/N), cursing, thoughts in italics, the hotel has a kitchen?

A/n: this is my first time posting fanfic, so please go easy on me, guys! let me know if I made any errors in the comments <3

1176 words

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“I seriously can’t believe you, Alastor!” you shouted, for what seemed like the hundredth time. 

“I really don’t see the problem here, dear,” he said, slightly more passive aggressive than normal.

You two had been fighting for the last 10 minutes or so, standing in the small kitchen of the Hazbin Hotel. While your fight had started with a simple argument over a slight misunderstanding, soon the gates broke and the flood began— every single thing that Alastor had done that ticked you off just rushed out in a wave that you couldn't seem to stop.

“Argh, you’re just… the… the worst!!” you screamed into his face, lacking better words. 

Alastors eyes narrowed, shit-eating-grin strained slightly, ears flicking back for a brief moment. You barely caught the change in his eyes or smile, but your eyes darted up at the movement from his fluffy, red and black ears.

You’d never admit it, but ever since you’d arrived at the hotel, you’d had a bit of an obsession over the Radio Demon. He was aggravating and full of himself and bitchy and narcissistic, but something about him always seemed to make your heart beat a little faster. Especially his more… deer-like features.

Antlers, ears, (speculated) tail— you were fascinated by it all. All you wanted to do was run your hand up the back of his ears, tangling in his hair, while you lay, gasping, helpless beneath him, completely at his mercy…

You blinked, realizing that you’d been staring for a few moments too long. Alastor noticed, of course. Smiling wider, he decided to have some fun with it.

“Really, darling? In what ways am I…” he flicked his ears backwards, then forwards again, “the worst?”

You blushed, eyes never breaking from his ears. “Uh, well, I… for starters…” you trailed off.

“...Yes, dear? I’m listening.” His left ear flicked to the side.

“Oh, well, you know…” you desperately tried to gain control of the conversation, looking into his eyes again. “You’re incredibly full of yourself.”

“Oh, really, (Y/N)? And you’re so humble?” He grinned impossibly wider, ears flicking in every which way.

“Well, ya know, I…” Get a hold of yourself, (Y/N), you thought, eyes trying to focus on anything else but the demon in front of you. “I’m not an asshole about it.” Fuck, why did you say that?!

Alastor threw his head back and laughed, his ears finally stopping. You pouted, hating to be the butt of whatever sadistic joke you were to him. “Really? Is that what you think of me?” he asked, still laughing.

“I… I mean, I…” What did you mean? Sure, Alastor could be shitty at times, but he seemed to have a soft spot for you… at least, that’s what you thought. You didn’t really know anymore.

He bent at the waist, face drawing closer to yours, and it seemed as if he read your mind. “What did you mean, sweetheart? I’m listening.” His ears shifted back (purposefully, of course– he just loved to see you squirm). That was the final breaking point for you.

“Oh, fuck you, Alastor!” you turned your head away, suddenly very aware that your back was now firmly pressed against the kitchen counter.

“You’re welcome to try, dear.”

HE DID NOT JUST—

You blushed, and your eyes flashed to his instantly, because there was no way in hell that he just said that.

The smirk that played across his face told you that he had indeed just said that.

“I…I…I-I,” you stammered, not quite able to process it. His smirk grew, especially after his ears twitched to the front again and your eyes followed every movement and his eyes followed yours.

Changing the subject (thank Satan), his smile shifted to a kinder one, eyes looking up to where his ears stood, then back at you. "Would you like to touch them, darling?"

You were silent for a moment, taken aback. "What-- I'm sorry?"

You heard him, of course, and he knew that, so he continued. "As long as our little argument is over, that is." He reached down and took your hand, eyes never breaking away from yours. "As much as I love our friendly banter, it hurts me so much to see you so angry at me."

You didn't know what so say for once, so you just let him bring your hand to to the side of his temple, almost touching his hair.

"...I..." Honestly, you were surprised you got that much out.

Still smiling, his eyes stared into your soul. "Use your words, dear."

Well, there was no going back now. You threw all your embarrassment out the window and nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes, Alastor, I do."

Alastor smiled (you could swear there was kindness behind it), bowed his head, and pressed your hand to the base of his ear.

You almost gasped. The hair (hair? fur? hair-fur?) was soft, softer than you'd imagined. Your fingers gently danced up and down his ear, and then moved over to caress his antlers.

Meanwhile, hidden from you, Alastor's face was a mess of emotions. Every bone in his body screamed at his to leave, to vanish, to get away from the danger that physical contact might bring. His eyes flashed into radio dials, then back again. However, within only a few seconds, he relaxed into your touch, letting out a soft exhale.

You were enthralled with his ears and antlers, so much so that you brought your other hand up to the back of his head, unintentionally pulling him closer to you. Alastor stepped forward slightly, swallowed his pride, and trailed his hands up the sides of your thighs to your waist, while your fingers kept toying with his hair.

Alastor, head still lowered, shifted enough to where he could look up at you. Finally, finally you were able to stop looking at the top of his head (satiated for now), and stared deep into his crimson eyes. (Were his pupils more dilated than normal?)

Slowly, he stood up straight, eyes still fixated on you. Your hands fell from his ears to his hair, and then to his chest. You seemed even more aware of the counter behind you, especially as Alastor took another small step toward you, almost pressing into you, hands tightening on your waist.

"Thank you," you whispered, almost inaudibly, head reaching up slightly.

"Any time, mon cher," he whispered back, as his head lowered.

At that moment, Charlie burst into the kitchen. Immediately, you spun around to face the sink, while Alastor shadow-traveled a few yards away to the fridge. "Alright, you two! I hope you're ready for some group exercises!" she bubbled.

You cleared your throat, blushing (grateful that she didn't see the almost-kiss). "Of course, we'll be out in a minute!" you assured the princess.

"No, no, right now! Let's goooo!" she dragged you out of the kitchen.

Before you passed the now open doorway, you caught Alastor's eye.

He smiled at you.

You grinned.

"Any time, dear," he whispered once more as you disappeared. "Any time."

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

the reader has each time that a member of her family tries to create a bond with her:I am not your pet, I never liked you, I don't care about you I won't wait for you. I hate you.

Yum, good soup!

They'll do anything to spend time with him. Bruce has never watched anime in his life, but you love *Ouran High School Host Club* and *Soul Eater*. With no choice, you watch with him, only for him to ask fifty or more questions. And you always end up leaving him behind in the dust. But he's trying; you're still his baby, even if you side with him like that.

Dick always wanted to help you out with your like a big brother should, showing you the way, but you growl like a wild animal if he gets close to curls. Sure, you let him put growth oil in your cornrows, but that's all he'll ever do. You avoid that man like he has cheese touch.

Jason hasn't been a teen in forever, maybe reading a comic or two and bonding with you about how stupid comics draw women or how ugly the super-realistic style is, just for readers to roll their eyes every time he speaks. Why is he talking to me? Come on, laugh at his jokes; he knows you, he's funny. Come in and giggle!

Tim, you both are nerds. Why don’t you guys play some D&D? "Nah, I have my own party." Tekken 8? Nah, you prefer MK. Come on, just hang out with him! Geeks stick together, but for some reason, you’d rather play with random online players. He’s literally the superior player, and he’s way cooler and funnier, so don’t ditch him for your friends—he's a better rival!

Damian, please, oh, please let him hang out with you. Let him be a little brother; let him ride on your back. Let him play video games with you. Let him come to your room when you have a night in, but you refuse; you blow him off like the plague. Don’t tell him you’re not free—he tracked your schedule!

Stephanie, let's go shopping, paint each other's nails, talk about our crazy crushes, go shopping, and max out Bruce's cards. Oh, you're busy? That's cool. Wait, all your friends are hanging out together, and you're going to Chuck E. Cheese? Why don't you let her join? Oh, you guys were planning this and you don't have an extra space? Maybe next time you'll spend time with your favorite gal pal.

Cass will psychoanalyze all the shonen you've ever watched. Even if it's unrealistic and people don't scream for 15 minutes and suddenly get powerful in the show. Oh, Kengan Ashura! Tell her about the lore and all the fighters; please talk to her about it. She'll pose like the fighters and recreate the moves for you. Come on, just hang out with her. She won't talk, or she'll talk your ear off, but your face of indifference tells her you really don't care; you'd rather watch something else. Fine, Cass will watch it with you.

Duke, come chill with him. Sure, you guys have only had two conversations, and so what? You can't have more? Listen to Kendrick with him; why don't you both bond over not liking and hating on Drake? Schoolboy Q shit. He'll even play Doechii's Chromakopia is out. Let's rap to Sticky. You don't fuck with that? Oh, it's cool; he'll listen to whatever you like. He'll do whatever you like! You guys can watch Boondocks together and make random references that only you two understand. Let him give you a retwist. Let him be your brother, but you'd rather hang out with some loser from your school? What's that about?

[bubbipond]

I meant to say this yesterday but ThamePo is killing it with the way they are handling a mixture of emotions. One thing I absolutely hate in romances is when an MC is regrettably wrong, but the shows overall message, and normally the love interest, push the narrative that everything is fine because they are good people. Instead, in this scenario, we have Jun acknowledging that Thame is not being a good partner. He is a good friend but not a good partner at present.

Jun was right, he tasked Po with a lot of stuff that Po even expressed unease about doing. He never actually asked if Po was good at certain things he was tasked with and he didn’t have the time to help Po if Po needed it. He consistently had to choose something else over Po and while, yes he always apologized and corrected himself, he still was not prioritizing his relationship with Po. It’s okay to call out even the best people for not showing up the way they should.

That was always the source of Thame’s jealousy. He wasn’t jealous because he thought Po liked Jun more, he was jealous because he acknowledged that Jun was, at that moment, the better option. He couldn’t easily talk to Po like Jun or have friendly banter like Jun. he had zero time to understand his feelings between Pepper helping him realize them and his encounter with Jun. He was willing to let Jun fight for Po because he thought that they were on even playing ground, if not Jun being higher than him. This was always because he knew he wasn’t doing his absolute best. This is also why PepperGam exists in this world. To show how a person can easily give up everything for one person. Pepper and Thame are ultimately two sides of the same coin. Pepper is willing to forfeit as he doesn’t see being able to have Gam and have MARS. But Thame believes he can juggle them both without giving up either.

As I have said before, ThamePo has always been centered around Thame and Po’s ability to stick together despite the outside sources trying to rip them apart. But in this case, if Thame had lost, he can easily acknowledge that it wasn’t entirely Jun’s fault, he would share blame in being incapable of reading how Po actually felt. Which is proven in every time Pepper had to alert him that he was inadvertently hurting Po’s feelings. So I love the show for keeping Thame accountable even though he’s literally the best person on the show; and for acknowledging two people can deeply love each other, and still be right person, right time, wrong place. In other words, Thame and Po are at an advantage for time and person but an unusual disadvantage in placement of their individual positions.

[cherryxbooo]

omg i love your mason fic, the angst one. please write more angst i love your writings!!

Lost me forever

Summary: You thought you had finally found 'the one' and that you were the first choice all along, but that was until the truth finally came to light.

Note: Thank you so much lovely! As for the angst request, your wish is my command! I chose to write this for Mason since I found it fitting. Hope you enjoy it!

Reader x Mason Mount

Genre: Angst

Loving Mason Mount felt like the easiest thing in the world.

It was effortless, like breathing, like waking up to golden sunlight streaming through the curtains, warming my skin before his arms ever had the chance.

From the moment we found our way to each other, it felt like the universe had been waiting for it to happen.

Like everything before him had been grayscale, and he was the color I’d been missing.

He made life feel lighter, and softer. It wasn’t just the grand moments, it was the little things.

Like the way his fingers would find mine beneath restaurant tables, absently tracing patterns against my palm as he listened to me talk.

Or how he would pull me back into bed on Sunday mornings, refusing to let me go,

his voice thick with sleep as he mumbled, “Five more minutes, baby. Just five more.”

And we both knew it would never be just five.

It was the way he’d insist on carrying my books when he met me outside my lectures, even though I told him I could handle it.

“I know you can, but I like taking care of you,” he’d say, pressing a kiss to my temple before reaching for my bag anyway.

Late-night drives with the windows down, my feet propped up on the dashboard as he glanced over at me, grinning like I was his favorite sight in the world.

“You know I love you, right?” he'd say out of nowhere, his voice soft but certain.

And every time, my heart would stumble over itself as I whispered back,

“Yeah. I know. I love you too.”

The way he’d tuck me into his chest on the couch, his fingers running lazily through my hair as we half-watched a movie, more focused on each other than whatever was playing.

Or how he’d tease me when I got grumpy, pressing exaggerated kisses all over my face until I was laughing, pushing him away only for him to pull me right back.

He made me feel adored. Cherished.

Like I was his entire world.

And for a while, I truly believed he loved me just as much as I loved him.

But I didn’t realize that, all along, he was still orbiting around someone else.

The change was subtle at first. So subtle that I almost convinced myself it wasn’t happening.

At first, it was little things.

Mason would forget to text me back, not just for a few minutes, but for hours.

I’d send him something funny, something I knew would’ve made him laugh before, and the read receipt would linger, unanswered.

Maybe he’s busy. Maybe he’s just tired. I made excuses, brushing it off like it wasn’t the start of something unraveling.

Then he started canceling plans last minute.

"Sorry, something came up. Training ran late. I’m exhausted, let’s do tomorrow?"

Tomorrow would turn into the next day, then the next, until suddenly, I realized I was the only one trying to reschedule.

Our deep, intimate conversations, the ones where we’d stay up until three in the morning talking about everything and nothing, where he’d tell me about his childhood dreams, his fears, the things he never admitted to anyone else, turned into empty small talk.

"How was your day? Did you eat?"

His words felt distant, mechanical, like he was just going through the motions.

I tried to ignore the way his responses lacked warmth, the way he barely asked about me anymore.

And when we were together, it felt like he wasn’t really there.

He’d sit next to me on the couch, but his body was tense, like he was waiting for an excuse to leave.

He’d hold my hand, but it didn’t feel the same, his grip wasn’t as firm, as reassuring.

His kisses were quick, and absentminded, like they were more of a habit than something he wanted to do.

The worst part? He stopped looking at me like he used to.

The light in his eyes, the way they used to soften when they met mine, it was gone.

Now, when I caught him staring, it felt like he was searching for something that wasn’t there anymore.

I tried not to let it bother me. I told myself it was stress, that he was overwhelmed with training, with matches, with the constant pressure to perform.

It has nothing to do with me. I repeated it like a mantra, like if I said it enough, I’d believe it.

But deep down, I felt it.

The distance. The absence of his warmth.

The quiet way he was slipping away from me, little by little, day by day.

Then came the late nights.

I’d wake up to an empty bed, the sheets cold where he should’ve been.

At first, I thought maybe he couldn’t sleep, maybe he was just restless.

But then I heard it. The hushed whispers from the other room, the way his voice softened in a way it never did with me anymore.

The first time, I told myself I was imagining things.

The second time, I told myself it was probably a teammate.

The third time, I stopped lying to myself.

Because when I walked in too quickly, when I caught him sitting on the edge of the couch, phone pressed to his ear, he snapped his head up so fast it was like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

His expression shifted, just for a second, before he forced a smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he murmured, shoving his phone into his pocket.

“Didn’t wanna wake you.”

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to trust him like I always had.

But my heart was screaming at me. Telling me something was wrong.

I just didn’t want to ask.

Because I already knew I wouldn’t like the answer.

The night everything fell apart,

I was at Mason’s place, curled up on his couch, wrapped in the blanket he always draped over my shoulders whenever I got cold.

It smelled like him, like the faint traces of his cologne mixed with something unmistakably him, something that once made me feel safe.

I had been waiting for him to get back from training, my phone resting loosely in my hand as I scrolled absentmindedly, not really paying attention to anything on the screen.

The TV hummed softly in the background, playing an episode of a show we had started together but never finished.

He used to insist on waiting for me before watching the next one. Lately, he didn’t wait anymore.

I tried not to think about it too much.

I tried not to think about any of it too much.

The unanswered texts. The canceled plans.

The way his kisses felt like muscle memory instead of something he wanted.

I had spent weeks, months, convincing myself that this was just a rough patch.

That things would go back to normal once the season settled, once the stress faded, once he had time to breathe.

That we would go back to normal.

I wasn’t looking for answers that night.

I wasn’t searching for proof that something was wrong.

But sometimes, the truth doesn’t wait for you to be ready.

Sometimes, it finds you when you least expect it.

And that night, it found me in the form of an unexpected message on Mason’s laptop.

The screen lit up suddenly, casting a soft glow over the coffee table. At first, I barely noticed.

I was too lost in my own head, too focused on distracting myself from the gnawing ache in my chest.

I wasn’t the kind of person to snoop. I had never needed to be.

I trusted Mason.

Or at least, I thought I did.

But then, my eyes flickered to the name at the top of the message.

And my heart stopped.

Her name.

His ex Charlotte.

I stared at it, my breath catching in my throat.

It was just a name. Just a simple notification.

And yet, it felt like the ground beneath me had shifted.

There was no reason for them to be talking. No good reason, at least.

Mason never spoke about her. He had told me, once, that their story was over.

That I was the only one he saw a future with. That she was a part of his past, and that’s where she would stay.

I wanted to believe him. I had believed him.

So then why was she here, on his screen, reaching out like she had never really left?

For a moment, I hesitated.

I wanted to look away, to pretend I hadn’t seen it, to act like it was just some meaningless message.

That would be easier, wouldn’t it? I could go back to the way things were, smiling through the doubt, pushing aside the way he had been slipping away from me piece by piece.

But then I saw the preview of the message.

Just a few words.

But they were enough to send ice through my veins.

I miss you.

My hands shook as I reached for the laptop.

My heart pounded against my ribs, screaming at me, begging me to stop.

But I couldn’t.

I clicked on the message.

Then another. And another.

And with every message I read, my world crumbled around me.

It wasn’t just casual conversation.

It wasn’t Hey, how have you been? or Hope you're doing well.

It was confessions whispered in the dead of night.

It was I think about you all the time.

It was I miss everything about you.

It was Being with her doesn’t feel the same.

It was I still love you.

The air rushed from my lungs.

I blinked. Once. Twice.

Waiting, praying, for the words to change.

For my eyes to be playing tricks on me.

But they didn’t change.

They sat there, staring back at me like undeniable proof that I had been living in a lie.

Every moment Mason and I had shared, every soft I love you, every late-night conversation, every time he had pulled me close and promised me forever, it had all been meaningless.

I had just been something to fill the space she left behind.

A placeholder.

A distraction.

A way for him to forget the girl he really wanted.

And the worst part?

I never even saw it coming.

I had been so sure of him. So sure of us.

I had loved him with everything I had, blind to the fact that his heart had never really been mine to begin with.

Tears blurred my vision, but I couldn’t cry. Not yet.

Not until I heard the sound of keys jingling at the door.

Mason was home.

And I had a choice to make.

Pretend I hadn’t seen anything, pretend I hadn’t fallen apart while reading his betrayal in black and white.

Or look him in the eye and ask the question I already knew the answer to.

When Mason walked through the door, tired and unsuspecting, his duffel bag slung lazily over his shoulder, I felt my entire body lock up.

He ran a hand through his damp hair, his shirt sticking slightly to his skin from the shower he took after training, and for a fleeting second,

I saw the version of him I used to love, the boy who used to make me feel like the center of his world.

But that version of Mason didn’t exist anymore.

He didn’t know it yet, but I had seen everything.

His lips parted slightly when his eyes landed on me, confusion flickering across his face as he took in my stiff posture, the way my arms were crossed tightly over my chest like they were the only thing keeping me together.

His gaze shifted to the coffee table, to where his laptop sat open, the screen still glowing.

He didn’t know yet, but he would.

The air in the room shifted.

"Hey, love." His voice was soft, familiar, too familiar.

Like he hadn’t just shattered me beyond repair.

I didn’t respond.

I reached for the laptop, my movements slow, deliberate, my fingers curling around the edges before I threw it onto the table between us.

The loud smack echoed in the silent apartment.

Mason flinched slightly, his brows knitting together. “What the hell—”

"Tell me the truth." My voice trembled, but there was an edge to it, sharp enough to cut.

His eyes darted between mine, searching, confused. “Y/n, what—”

I lifted a hand and pointed at the screen, my entire body trembling with the weight of what I had just discovered.

"Don’t. Just tell me the truth."

His eyes flickered down.

And in that moment, I saw everything.

The way his entire body tensed.

The way his face lost its color, his jaw tightening as his throat bobbed.

The way his fingers twitched at his sides, his breathing suddenly uneven.

He didn’t have to say anything.

I already knew.

But I wanted him to say it.

I wanted him to look me in the eye and own what he had done.

He let out a slow, shaky breath, his lips pressing together as if he was trying to find the right words.

"It’s not what you think—"

A bitter laugh burst from my lips before I could stop it.

I felt something inside me snap.

"Not what I think?" I repeated, my voice rising, the disbelief dripping from every syllable.

I jabbed a finger toward the screen, toward her name, toward the messages that had destroyed me.

“So you didn’t tell her you missed her? You didn’t tell her being with me wasn’t the same? You didn’t tell her you still love her?”

Mason inhaled sharply, his lips parting like he wanted to deny it,

God, I wanted him to deny it, but no words came.

His silence was louder than any excuse he could’ve made.

My throat tightened, the lump there threatening to choke me, but I refused to let him see me break.

I had already given him too much of me. I wouldn’t give him this too.

"Was I ever anything more than a rebound to you?" I whispered.

His face crumbled.

"Y/n—"

"Answer me!" I snapped, my voice cracking.

His lips pressed into a thin line. His hands curled into fists at his sides.

And then, hesitation.

Just a second. Just the briefest pause.

But that was all I needed.

I let out a sharp breath, my hands trembling as I wiped at my eyes, willing the tears away.

"I hope she was worth it, Mason." The words felt like acid on my tongue.

I turned away, grabbing my bag from the couch with numb fingers, my entire body screaming at me to run, run, run.

"Y/n, wait—" His voice cracked.

I felt his hand wrap around my wrist, not rough, not forceful, just desperate.

For the first time, I looked at him, really looked at him.

His face was drawn, his eyes wide, pleading.

His grip on my wrist tightened slightly, like he was afraid that if he let go, I’d disappear.

"Please." His voice was barely above a whisper.

I swallowed hard, my chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

"You don’t get to do that," I said, my voice barely steady.

I yanked my wrist free, stepping back.

"You don’t get to break me and then ask me to stay."

Mason exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face, through his hair, looking more panicked now.

“I never meant—” He cut himself off like the words physically hurt to say.

I shook my head. “You never meant for me to find out.”

Silence.

He didn’t argue.

He didn’t fight for me.

Because he knew.

He knew there was nothing left to fight for.

I felt a sob clawing at my throat, but I swallowed it down.

I refused to break in front of him.

I took a shaky step back. Then another.

"Goodbye, Mason."

And then I turned.

I walked to the door, my steps unsteady, my hands trembling as I reached for the handle.

"Y/n." My name was a whisper, a plea.

I didn’t stop.

I didn’t look back.

And Mason didn’t stop me.

Because he knew, he had already lost me. Lost me forever.

Mason stood there,

This is what he wanted right?

Now he could go back to Charlotte without having to hide it.

But if this was what he wanted, why did he feel so guilty? Why does it feel like he has lost something big? Why was he feeling... regret?

Mason shrugged off those feelings before muttering "She was just a rebound, this is what I wanted right?"

And that was all it took for him to move on.

Well at least for now.

Mason got back together with his ex two weeks later.

At first, it felt right.

She was familiar. She was comfortable. She was the girl he had spent so long missing, the one who had haunted his thoughts even when he was with Y/n.

For a brief moment, he convinced himself he had made the right choice.

But then, the cracks started to show.

The first time he noticed it was during dinner.

They sat across from each other at a high-end restaurant she had insisted on, a place where the food was overpriced and the lighting dim enough to make everything look perfect for Instagram.

Mason had been talking about his match earlier that day, how exhausted he was, how he’d nearly scored but missed by inches.

She didn’t even look up from her phone.

"That’s nice, babe," she murmured, her perfectly manicured fingers typing away.

He stared at her, waiting, expecting her to say more.

She didn’t.

Instead, she snapped a photo of their untouched plates, adjusted the lighting, and posted it with a caption that had nothing to do with him.

That was just the beginning.

The thoughtful gestures, the ones Y/n had done so naturally, were gone.

There were no lazy Sunday mornings where she curled into his chest, tracing mindless patterns on his skin.

No soft kisses just because.

No remembering how he liked his tea or sneaking his favorite snacks into the fridge after a long day.

Charlotte wasn’t cruel. She wasn’t awful. She was just… absent.

It was clear she loved the idea of him, the status, the lifestyle, the way people looked at them when they walked into a room together.

But him? The man behind the footballer, the one with worries and insecurities, the one who needed comfort just as much as anyone else?

She didn’t see him.

And suddenly, Mason realized, he had been chasing a ghost.

The woman he had truly loved, the one who had memorized every detail about him, who had supported him through every loss, who had loved him for the man and not the player, was gone.

Y/n had been that woman.

His Y/n.

And he had thrown her away like she was nothing.

One night, after another meaningless fight, this time over why he wasn’t posting her on social media enough, he sat alone in his apartment, scrolling through his camera roll.

The pictures of Y/n were still there.

Her smile, so genuine.

The way she looked at him like he was her entire world.

The little videos she had taken when he wasn’t paying attention, him cooking, him laughing at something dumb, him asleep with his arm wrapped around her waist like he never wanted to let go.

He had been so loved.

And he had destroyed it.

By the time he realized his mistake, it was too late.

Y/n had vanished from his life.

Blocked his number. Deleted their pictures. Disappeared without a trace.

At first, he thought maybe she just needed time.

That eventually, she’d cool down, pick up one of his calls, and answer one of his texts.

She never did.

He tried her best friend.

"She doesn’t want anything to do with you."

He tried her family.

"Mason, you hurt her. Let her go."

Her colleagues, her neighbors, nobody would tell him where she was.

And then, one day, when he came to her house once again he heard one of her neighbors call out for him.

"You should stop trying son. Didn't you hear? She left the country."

His stomach dropped.

"What?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, she moved. Took some big job offer or something. Left everything behind."

Mason’s heart pounded in his chest.

She had left.

His Y/n had left.

Started fresh. Moved somewhere new. Somewhere he could never reach her.

And for the first time in his life, Mason Mount, who had always been able to fix his mistakes, to win people back with a smile or an apology, knew he had lost her forever.

And this time, there was no getting her back.

That night, I made my decision.

I sat in my apartment, staring at the email that had been sitting in my inbox for days.

A job offer.

My dream job. The one I had turned down for him.

For so long, I had let my love for Mason dictate my every move.

I had stayed when I should have gone, let him convince me that we were enough, that we could make a future together.

I had put his dreams, his career, his needs first, and let mine slip into the background.

But that future didn’t exist anymore.

And now? I had nothing left to lose.

So, I took a deep breath, wiped away the last of my tears, tears that had been falling for weeks now, and clicked accept.

The next few weeks passed in a blur of packing, selling off things I didn’t need, and coming to terms with the fact that I was leaving the place that had once felt like home.

It wasn’t easy, but it was necessary.

"Are you sure about this?" my best friend asked, standing in the middle of my now half-empty apartment.

I exhaled slowly, trying to hold it together.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

And I meant it.

The morning of my flight, I did one last thing before leaving.

I blocked Mason. Everywhere.

His number. His Instagram. His Twitter. His email.

I erased him the way he had erased me.

And then I left.

As the plane took off and the city shrank beneath me, I finally felt it. The weight lifting from my chest.

The space inside me that had been filled with doubt, uncertainty, and longing, is now empty but... free.

A new country. A new life. A fresh start.

No more waiting for someone to choose me.

This time, I was choosing myself.

And Mason?

He was just a chapter in a book I had already finished reading.

Mason thought he had made the right choice.

He thought that getting back with his ex would fill the emptiness he felt after losing Y/n, but all it did was magnify the hollowness in his chest.

It was then, in the quiet moments of the night when he lay awake in his bed, that it hit him.

Y/n had been the one.

She had been the one who truly understood him.

The one who saw the person behind the jersey, behind the fame, behind the image.

She was the one who had loved him for him, not for the trophies or the spotlight.

And he had thrown it all away.

He had thrown her away.

But now, it was too late.

The more he tried to convince himself that things were fine, the more he realized that nothing felt right.

His ex wasn’t the person he needed.

And he was so damn lonely.

Training started slipping. He missed passes, lost focus, and the frustration was unbearable.

His coach started noticing, and his teammates were starting to get concerned.

He couldn’t even summon the motivation to push himself. Every match felt pointless, every goal out of reach.

He couldn’t concentrate. His heart wasn’t in it anymore.

His head wasn’t in it. His life wasn’t in it.

And the worst part?

He couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Y/n.

The way she would smile at him after a tough day, the way her laugh would fill the room like music.

The way she would hold him close when he was stressed or frustrated, as if just being near her was enough to make everything better.

The way she’d remember the smallest details about him, how she would surprise him with his favorite snacks or take care of him when he was sick.

He had taken it all for granted.

And now, he would never have it again.

One night, after yet another argument with his ex, something about him not being “present enough”

Mason sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his phone.

He had tried calling Y/n again. She didn’t answer.

Of course, she wasn't going to answer.

She had blocked him everywhere, but every day he hoped that for some magical reason, she would've unblocked him everywhere.

He checked his messages, hoping, praying, that maybe, just maybe, she would reach out. But nothing.

It was as if she had vanished from his life completely.

And that’s when the weight of it all crashed down.

He realized that he had let her slip through his fingers, and now, she was gone.

For good.

Days blurred together as Mason sank deeper into his depression. His training was a mess.

His performance on the field was getting worse by the day.

His teammates were starting to notice his lack of focus and his erratic behavior. He didn’t care. He couldn’t care.

And then, it hit him like a slap in the face.

It was Y/n all along, not Charlotte. Y/n was his girl and not that fame-sucking ex of his.

Mason had spent so long taking her love for granted, thinking it would always be there, thinking he could come back when it suited him.

But now? Now he realized the truth: She had been the love of his life.

And he had lost her.

Forever.

He spent days in his apartment, alone with his thoughts, battling the crushing weight of regret.

He would never see her smile again, never hear her voice telling him that everything would be okay.

He had let the one person who truly loved him slip away because he couldn’t appreciate her until it was too late.

And in the silence of his empty apartment, with nothing but his thoughts and his guilt to keep him company,

Mason finally understood what he had lost.

Y/n.

The girl he had taken for granted. The one who had loved him without hesitation.

The one he would never get back.

The end

[steveseddie]

‘cause it’s you and me

rating: g | cw: none | wc: 1,9 k | tags: eddie lives, hospitals and injury recovery, steve has a crush, he also knows how to play guitar, fluff

written for @steddielovemonth day one | You and Me by Lifehouse & the quote “every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet.”

read on ao3

Steve doesn’t know how much time he’s spent on the chair that is next to Eddie’s hospital bed.

Too long probably, if the recurrent pain on his back means anything. But not even that is enough to prevent Steve from staying glued to that chair, neither are the doctor’s mean looks or Robin’s insistence about him getting proper sleep or meals for that matter. Steve only leaves the chair when he has a shift or when he wants Wayne to have time alone with his nephew or when the nurses wheel Eddie away for surgery or tests or physical therapy. That’s it.

It makes the months that Eddie spends recovering blur together. Sometimes, Steve even forgets what day it is, only managing to keep track of it by the nurse’s schedule or depending on who shows up to visit Eddie. The kids and Wayne and Robin all come on different days, effectively balancing keeping their friend company with their everyday lives.

All of them except Steve.

Ever since Spring Break, it’s been Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Find Eddie. Get Eddie’s heart beating again. Drag Eddie out of the Upside Down. Pray that Eddie makes it out of surgery. Wait for Eddie to wake up. Comfort Eddie when he’s in pain. Take Eddie’s mind off of the murder charges that haven’t been dropped yet or the loss of their trailer or the long hours of physical therapy ahead of him. Listen to Eddie ramble on the days that he feels better about books and music and Dungeons and Dragons. Watch Eddie sleep and only then try to get a little sleep himself.

The last one might sound a little creepy but Steve thinks it’s justified considering he still can’t forget how Eddie looked when they found him– pale, bloody, dead. Watching him sleep, his chest rising and falling slowly but steadily is the only thing that calms Steve enough for him to doze off in that damn uncomfortable chair.

Only at some point it stops being entirely about making sure that Eddie is alive– the staring. Suddenly, Steve can’t keep his eyes off of Eddie at all times.

Steve stares at his face while Eddie reads a book to him out loud and forgets to pay attention to what he’s saying. He stares at Eddie’s hands while he explains something to the kids and completely miss a question from Henderson. He stares at his mouth while Eddie slurps the extra jello cup that Robin sneaked in past the nurses and blush when she catches him and smirks knowingly at him.

It takes Steve some time to figure out why he looks at Eddie so much, obvious as it is, and when he finally does he actually leaves his chair and heads to the bathroom for a proper floor freak out.

He just doesn’t know what to do with these feelings for Eddie or where to go from there so he just– doesn’t do anything.

And things stay the same.

Except for the way Eddie keeps getting better.

The doctors are so optimistic that they announce that Eddie might get to go home soon. They have him doing laps around the hospital and start slowly tapering off his pain meds and encouraging him to pick back up things he used to do like writing and playing guitar to work on his dexterity, they said.

It’s why Eddie starts writing down plans and ideas for future dork campaigns again and why Wayne brings his sweetheart to the hospital.

(Eddie almost cried when he saw it, making grabby hands and hugging it against his chest with a happy sigh.

“I swear you’re happier to see that thing more than you’ve ever been to see me,” Steve muttered through pursed lips.

“Steve, don’t call her a thing! She can hear you!” Eddie protested, appalled. Which wasn’t a no but at least later he tells Steve that there’s enough room in his heart for two sweethearts.)

It’s not like Eddie goes back to being a rock god on the guitar right away and his writing is intelligible more often than not, but none of that stops him. He keeps trying, keeps practicing, and Steve loves him more and more for it.

Yes. Love. The first time the word pops up in Steve’s head it leads to yet another bathroom floor freak out but once he realizes it, he has to bite his tongue to stop himself from blurting it out several times a day.

He’s doing it right now while watching Eddie excitedly write down a D&D character sheet for him with his tongue poking out adorably between his lips, tempting Steve to lean in and kiss them. So when a nurse interrupts them to take Eddie away for some test, he appreciates the short break.

When he’s alone, Steve reaches for the notebook that Eddie left on the bed. It’s off limits for any of the kids, but Eddie has let Steve peek at it before. He doesn’t think he’ll mind.

He reads his character sheet, recognizing some of the nerdy words while others fly completely over his head. Then he leafs lazily through pages of notes and doodles until he pauses at what looks like an unfinished song, fragments of lyrics and melodies written messily over the page.

Steve sends a sidelong glance to Eddie’s guitar where it’s leaning against the wall.

He’s never told anyone but he took some guitar lessons back when he started high school, hoping that playing an instrument would help get him girls. He knows how to read music and can fumble his way through a few simple songs, but he never made it past that. It seemed useless when he already had Nancy, and then when he didn’t have her anymore, he had the kids and the Upside Down and playing guitar didn’t seem like a useful skill to have when fighting monsters.

He chuckles. “Guess I was wrong,” he mutters to himself, thinking about Eddie saving the world with a Metallica song of all things.

Without giving it much thought, Steve stands up and carefully grabs the guitar, bringing it back with him to the chair and resting it on his leg, Eddie’s notebook open on the bed in front of him.

He clumsily places his fingers on the fretboard and tries to play the melody that Eddie wrote down. He messes up a few notes, but for someone who hasn’t touched a guitar in years he thinks he plays it decently enough. Eddie would surely do a better job, but it still doesn’t sound half bad. Maybe he can ask Eddie for help to improve and–

“What are you doing?” Eddie’s voice breaks through the melody. His fingers slip and the guitar makes a loud, screechy sound that makes Steve wince.

He whirls around and finds Eddie staring at him from the door, his face unreadable.

Steve gulps, his cheeks pinking up at being caught. “Playing guitar?”

Eddie’s eyebrows knit together. “Since when do you know how?”

“I– uh, I took lessons years ago but I stopped,” he says, tripping on his words. “I– I found your– your song and I was trying to play it–”

Eddie’s eyes dart to the notebook on the bed. Steve winces again, worrying that Eddie will get mad because he went through his things or because he touched his sweetheart.

“That sounds nothing like what I wrote.”

Or because he butchered his song.

Steve blushes brighter, reaching for the notebook and fumbling to close it. “Sorry, I– it’s been a while and I was never that good to begin with.”

With three long strides –and a lot less limping than a month ago, Steve proudly notices– Eddie reaches his side and snatches the notebook from Steve’s hands.

“Give me that!” He says, flopping down on the bed and flicking furiously through the pages, his face pinched.

“Shit, Eddie, I’m sorry, I– I didn’t think you’d be mad–”

“You bet I’m mad!” Eddie says with a huff, patting the bed sheets, trying to find something.

Steve shrinks down on the chair. “I– I think I’m gonna go–” he says, pushing himself to his feet. Better to leave now before Eddie finds whatever he’s looking for and throws it at his head.

“Aha!” Eddie gasps, holding up his pen. Then he notices Steve standing awkwardly and frowns at him. “Wait, what? No, stay. Play it again.”

Steve blinks down at him. “What?”

“The song!” Eddie urges him but his voice is soft, gentle. “Play it again, Stevie, please.”

Stevie. Please. He’s not mad.

“What?”

Eddie heaves out a sigh, but it comes across as fond. “Dude, I’ve been trying to figure out the right melody for that song for like, half a year!” He says, shaking his notebook aggressively. A few pages fall off, but he pays them no mind. “But I just couldn’t get it fucking right, there was always something missing! And it was whatever you were doing when I walked in!”

“So you’re not mad at me?”

“Not at you, Stevie, no,” Eddie chuckles. “Just mad that it was you who figured it out with your secret magic guitar skills and not me.”

“Oh,” Steve says, and he can’t help but let out a chuckle himself. “So you want me to do it again?”

Eddie nods enthusiastically and that’s enough to make Steve flop back down on the chair, propping the guitar on his legs and doing his best to play the song like he did before.

He must get it right because Eddie lets out an adorable squeal before using his pen to cross out something and write down whatever Steve accidentally came up with.

“Goddamn, sweetheart, I’m gonna have to dedicate this song to you now as a thank you,” Eddie says, grinning so wide at his notebook that it shows off his dimples.

Steve hangs a hand from his neck. It feels hot to the touch, probably from the pet name. “Too bad it’s a love song,” he jokes weakly, even if he wants nothing more than for Eddie’s words to be about him.

Eddie glances up, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. “I know,” he says softly, his eyes flickering nervously over Steve’s face.

Oh. Oh.

Stomach fluttering with butterflies, Steve stands up, grabbing the guitar by its neck to prop it up against the wall.

“Uh, you– are you leaving?” Eddie asks, chewing anxiously on his pen as he watches Steve move around silently. Little does he know that his heart is currently screaming at him to gently tackle Eddie into the bed.

But first–

“Just making sure your guitar is safe before I go over there and kiss you, Eds,” he says, the corners of his mouth ticking up when Eddie squeaks again, his eyes widening.

“Oh, o–okay. That’s smart. Yup,” he stammers out, his voice an octave higher, his cheeks pinking up. “Does that mean you also–”

“Feel that way about you?” Steve asks, sitting on the bed next to Eddie, who nods expectantly. Steve reaches out and tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. “Yeah, Eddie, I do.”

When Steve leans in and finally, finally kisses him, Eddie lets his notebook fall to the floor so he can grab Steve’s shoulders. The urgency to write down that perfect melody now replaced by an urgency for Steve.

But it doesn’t matter, Steve thinks that melody is now seared into both of their memories forever, as is their first kiss. The first of many.

[weekendlusting]

A TALE OF FAME

pairing ꪆৎ charles leclerc x ahaana patel ᥫ᭡. f1 driver x bollywood actress au

chapter ꪆৎ 3

summary ꪆৎ she's everything, and he just drives.

note ꪆৎ no hate to any characters used in the story, none of what i write reflects on how they actually are. all my love, happy reading.

prev

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Charles Leclerc sat in his hotel suite, fingers drumming impatiently against the glass of whiskey in his hand. He wasn’t even drinking it—just swirling the amber liquid in the dim light of his room, as if the motion itself could steady his thoughts.

Alex was late. Of course, she was. She had a way of dragging things out, prolonging the inevitable, believing that if she held on long enough, reality would bend to her will.

He heard the sharp knock at his door and exhaled slowly before getting up to open it. Alex stood there, all too put together—her blonde hair in effortless waves, her lips curved in a knowing smirk, like she already thought she’d won whatever game she was playing.

“Chéri,” she purred, stepping past him without waiting for an invitation. “Miss me?”

Charles shut the door and ran a hand through his hair. “Sit down, Alex.”

She turned, arching a perfectly sculpted brow. “Oh? We’re being serious now?” She strolled over to the couch, sitting with the grace of someone who still thought they held all the cards.

Charles didn’t sit. He remained standing, arms crossed, his jaw tight. “I told you this was over.”

Alex let out a soft laugh, tilting her head as she crossed her legs. “And yet, you called me here. Mixed signals, don’t you think?”

“I called you here,” Charles said, voice measured, “because you don’t seem to get it. We are done, Alex. Finished.”

Her smile didn’t waver, but something flickered in her eyes. “Are we?” she said smoothly. “Because I keep hearing your name next to mine. The media still calls me your girlfriend. You haven’t exactly rushed to correct them.”

Charles clenched his fists. “I shouldn’t have to. We broke up. You just refuse to accept it.”

She leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm. “Or maybe you’re just confused. Maybe this—whatever this little tantrum is—will pass, and you’ll realize that I am the only woman who truly understands you.”

Charles let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Tantrum? You think I’m throwing a tantrum? Alex, I am exhausted.”

Her smirk faltered slightly, but she masked it quickly. “Exhausted of what?”

“Of you!” His voice rose, exasperation lacing every word. “Of the mind games. Of the manipulation. Of the constant need to control everything, including me.” He pointed at her. “You think if you show up enough times, if you insert yourself into my life over and over, I’ll just—what? Change my mind?”

Alex’s eyes darkened. “I wouldn’t have to insert myself into your life if certain people weren’t trying to replace me.”

Charles exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And here we go.”

She stood, arms folding as she stepped closer to him. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, Charles. That little actress you’ve been parading around—Ahaana.”

Charles’s eyes snapped to hers, his posture stiffening. “Ahaana has nothing to do with this.”

Alex scoffed. “Please. You think I don’t see the way you looked at her that day?” She stepped closer, voice dripping with venom. “She is nothing. She’s a novelty. A shiny new toy for you to play with. And once the excitement fades, you’ll realize what I’ve always known—you and I are inevitable.”

Charles’s jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. “You are delusional, Alex. And actually fucking crazy if you think that Ahaana has anything to do with this.”

Her lips curled. “Am I?”

“Yes,” he snapped, stepping forward, closing the space between them. “I have never—never—been more certain about anything in my life. We are over. I am breaking up with you. I don’t love you. I don’t even like you.”

She inhaled sharply, but before she could speak, Charles continued.

“You want to know why? Because I see you now. For who you really are. You’re not the woman I fell for—you’re a version of her, twisted and bitter, clinging onto something that doesn’t exist anymore.” He exhaled harshly. “You’re right about one thing. I do look at Ahaana differently. Because she isn’t like you.”

Alex’s face twisted, her hands curling into fists. “She will never be me.”

“Thank God for that.”

The silence between them was thick, charged with something dangerously close to hatred. Charles had never wanted to hate Alex—had never even imagined he could—but looking at her now, seeing the pure, unfiltered malice in her eyes, he realized he might be close.

She straightened, lifting her chin. “You’ll regret this.”

“No,” he said quietly. “I won’t.”

She stared at him, something almost desperate flickering across her features, before she masked it with indifference. “Fine,” she said. “Have it your way.”

Charles said nothing. He just watched as she turned, her heels clicking against the floor as she stormed toward the door. But before she left, she paused, glancing back over her shoulder.

“This isn’t over,” she said, voice eerily calm.

And then, she was gone.

Charles stood there for a long moment, his heart pounding, his fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms.

But then he exhaled, shaking his head, as if shedding the last remnants of whatever hold Alex had on him.

For the first time in a long time, he felt free.

Meanwhile not too far away,the hotel room was bathed in soft hues of twilight, the warm amber glow of the setting sun spilling through the sheer curtains. Ahaana sat curled up in a chair by the window, her phone resting idly on the armrest. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the rim of a coffee mug, long gone cold. The day had been uneventful, yet her mind was anything but still. The ghosts of the past lingered in the shadows, whispering doubts, tugging at old wounds she had worked so hard to forget.

India.

Film city.

Even the thought of it sent a strange chill through her veins. It wasn’t fear—not exactly. It was the weight of something unfinished, something unresolved, lurking in the corners of her memory. The industry that had once been her playground had also turned its back on her when she had needed it the most. And yet, here she was, being offered a way back in.

What the fuck is happening? She sighed to herself, rubbing her temple.

The phone buzzed suddenly, pulling her out of her thoughts. She glanced at the screen, expecting yet another half-hearted PR email or a message from her manager. But instead, a name lit up the display, and for the first time that day, she felt something shift inside her.

Varun Dhawan.

She hesitated for only a second before answering. “Hello?”

“Finally! Madam has answered my call.” His voice was light, teasing, filled with the familiar warmth that had always made her feel like home.

Ahaana huffed out a small laugh. “Hi, Varun.”

“Hi, she says. That’s all I get? After ignoring me for days?”

“I haven’t been ignoring you.”

“Really? Because Karan and I were starting to think you had developed some severe phone phobia. Should we be concerned?”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Dramatic? Me? Never.” His tone dropped slightly, losing some of its playful edge. “Ahaana, you know why I’m calling.”

Her smile faltered. Of course, she did.

“You and Karan are relentless,” she muttered, leaning back against the chair.

“Because we believe in you,” he countered immediately. “And because we know you still love this. Don’t pretend you don’t.”

She exhaled slowly, staring out at the dimming sky. “It’s not that simple, Varun.”

“Yes, it is.” His voice softened. “You were born for this, Ahaana. And you know it. Whatever happened before—”

She stiffened slightly. “Let’s not talk about that.”

There was a pause, as if he was choosing his next words carefully. Then, he sighed. “Fine. But don’t let the past dictate your future. You’re not that person anymore.”

She wanted to believe that. She really did.

“You don’t have to do this alone, you know. And we’re still your people, Ahaana.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. She had spent so long pushing everything away, convincing herself that she didn’t need anyone, that she had forgotten what it felt like to have people who cared. People who wanted her back.

Then, before she could respond, another voice chimed in from the background. “Has she said yes yet?”

Karan Johar.

Ahaana let out a small laugh despite herself. “Karan, are you eavesdropping?”

“I don’t eavesdrop. I supervise.”

Varun snorted. “He’s been pacing for the past ten minutes, by the way. I think he might actually combust if you say no.”

Karan’s voice came through again, a touch more serious this time. “Darling, you’re a star. Stop dimming your own light.”

Ahaana stared at the city skyline, a myriad of thoughts swirling inside her. But for the first time in a long time, the hesitation didn’t feel quite as heavy. Maybe Varun was right. Maybe Karan was right. Maybe it was time to stop running.

She inhaled deeply, a quiet moment of clarity settling over her. Then, she spoke.

“Okay.”

A beat of silence. Then Varun whooped so loudly she had to pull the phone away from her ear. “YES! Ladies and gentlemen, she’s back!”

Karan’s relieved sigh came through the speaker. “Finally. I was this close to staging a full intervention.”

Ahaana laughed, shaking her head. “You two are impossible.”

“And you love us for it,” Varun quipped.

She did. More than she cared to admit.

And maybe, just maybe, it was time to come home.

The gang had game nights far too often then they'd like to admit, Max and Kelly were ofcourse there, Ahaana was there, Carlos and Rebecca joined, Lando somehow always inserted himself in even though everytime he cheated and got himself uninvited. Even Alex Albon and Lily joined them from time to time, but couldn't make it this time and Charles was with them for the first time ever.

The night was young, but the energy in the room felt like the start of a Grand Prix itself—fast, loud, and filled with the potential for absolute disaster. The gang had gathered in Max’s hotel suite for a game night, and true to form, it had already descended into chaos.

“I’m telling you, Lando cheats,” Ahaana declared, pointing an accusatory finger at him as he smirked from his spot on the couch. “There is no way you won that round fairly.”

Lando, lounging back with all the ease of someone who had just scammed his way into victory, dramatically placed a hand on his chest. “How dare you? I am an honest man.”

“Honest, my foot,” Kelly interjected, shaking her head. “Even Charles saw it, didn’t you?”

Charles, who had been uncharacteristically quiet for the past few minutes, blinked. “Huh?”

“See? He wasn’t even paying attention,” Lando scoffed. “Probably too busy thinking about how free he is now that he’s finally dumped his psychotic ex.”

That got everyone’s attention.

Rebecca, who had been stacking poker chips, froze mid-motion. Max, who had been snickering at Lando’s misfortune, raised a brow. Ahaana, who had been preoccupied trying to figure out how Lando had managed to win five rounds in a row, looked up.

“You finally did it?” Carlos leaned forward, grinning. “You actually told Alex to get lost?”

Charles exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. “It was not exactly smooth.”

“Of course, it wasn’t,” Max said. “She’s like an overly attached leech.”

Kelly winced. “Oof. Harsh, but fair.”

“I don’t even want to know the details,” Lando said, tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Actually, no. I do. Tell us. In detail.”

Charles groaned. “Why are you all like this?”

“Because this is the most entertainment we’ve had all season,” Rebecca quipped. “Now spill.”

Charles rolled his eyes, but he recounted the story of his final conversation with Alex. The room responded accordingly—with gasps, laughter, and a few muttered curses aimed at Alex’s name. When he finished, Ahaana just shook her head, unimpressed.

“She’s delusional,” she said simply. “Absolutely delusional.”

“I would’ve paid money to see her reaction when you told her it was over,” Max admitted, grinning.

Charles smirked. “It was… satisfying.”

“Okay, enough about the she-devil,” Lando said, stretching. “Let’s get back to the game before Ahaana starts accusing me of cheating again.”

“You do cheat,” she said without hesitation.

“I do not—”

“Lando, you have a history of cheating at literally every game we’ve ever played,” Max said, unimpressed.

“I prefer to think of it as strategic improvisation.”

“Strategic bullshit,” Rebecca muttered.

The next hour was filled with absolute mayhem. There was yelling. There was a near-brawl between Carlos and Lando over an Uno reverse card. At some point, Kelly got so frustrated she threw a playing card at Max’s head, which only made him laugh harder. Charles, for the most part, found himself entertained just watching it all unfold.

Ahaana, in particular, seemed to come alive in the chaos. Her laughter was light, effortless, and every time she rolled her eyes at Lando or tossed a witty remark at Max, Charles found himself watching her just a little too long.

“Alright, alright,” Ahaana said, throwing her hands up in surrender after another brutal loss. “I need a break before I throw Lando out the window.”

“Jokes on you,” Lando said. “I’d land gracefully.” To which Max snorted.

Ahaana got up and stretched, and that’s when she casually dropped, “Oh, by the way, I officially start shooting for Jigra in 17 days.”

The room went silent.

“What?” Max was the first to react, blinking.

“You’re actually going back?” Lando added.

Rebecca gasped. “Finally! You’re returning to the big screen!”

Ahaana smiled, a little softer this time. “Yeah. It’s time.”

There was a beat of silence before Max, ever the older brother figure, crossed his arms. “Are you sure?”

She looked at him, understanding the weight behind his question. “I am.”

Max studied her for a long moment, then exhaled. “Alright. If anyone gives you trouble—”

“I know, I know.” She grinned. “I’ll call my attack dog Verstappen.”

He smirked. “Damn right.”

After a long round of jenga and then stuffing their faces in food, the last slice of pizza appeared on the table, and the room instantly went silent, all eyes locked on it.

Ahaana leaned forward, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “Well, look who’s in the spotlight now.”

Carlos didn’t miss a beat. “I’ve been eyeing that slice for the last ten minutes.”

“Oh, please,” Ahaana shot back. “You just noticed it now because it’s the last one.”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “You’re really gonna fight over pizza? This is an all-time low, even for you.”

“Shut up, Lando,” Carlos grumbled. “It’s mine.”

Max chuckled from the side. “This is gonna be good.”

Ahaana picked up the slice like it was some sort of prized possession. “I’m just saying, I’ve had a long day. So I think I’m entitled to this.”

Carlos shot up from his seat, but Ahaana held the slice just out of reach, her smirk widening. “Nice try.”

Max shook his head, watching the two of them. “This is the dumbest thing I’ve seen all week.”

Ahaana, sensing victory, took a deliberate bite of the pizza. “Too slow, boys.”

Lando leaned back, popping a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “Well, that was anticlimactic.”

Later that night, after the raucous energy had settled slightly, Charles found himself watching Ahaana from across the room. She was laughing at something Lando had said, her head thrown back, eyes crinkled in amusement. The dim lighting softened her features, casting warm shadows over her skin, making her look almost ethereal.

He didn’t know when it started, this quiet admiration of her. Maybe it was when she first walked into his life with that effortless confidence, like she belonged in every room she entered. Maybe it was when he realized she wasn’t just sharp-tongued but also deeply, frustratingly kind. Or maybe it was moments like this, when she wasn’t doing anything extraordinary—just laughing, existing—and yet, she managed to pull his entire attention like a force of gravity.

There was something in the way she carried herself—unapologetic, bold, yet with an underlying grace that was hard to ignore. She was an enigma, a storm and a lull all at once. And he was starting to realize he liked that about her. A little too much.

“Are you staring at Ahaana?”

Charles nearly choked on his drink. He turned sharply to see Max smirking at him, amusement flickering in his eyes.

“No,” he denied, a little too quickly.

Max hummed, unconvinced. “Sure. And I’m a level headed person when angered.”

Charles groaned. “Can you not?”

Max chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. “Oh no, mate. I definitely can.”

Across the room, Ahaana caught his gaze, a small, soft smile playing on her lips. Charles smiled back but quickly looked away because he was scared his blush would be way too evident, but the warmth on his face lingered and Ahaana caught it anyway, chuckling a bit at the very handsome man, which Charles heard.

Yeah. He was in trouble.

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ᝰ.ᐟ third part! hope you guys like it!

next

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tags @seonghwaexile @bookishprophecy @justadesirebel @peterholland04 @bakingpiastries @ricciardosheart @mikefaistgf @sp1rl @charlesgirl16 @leila-030304 @uhcalli @blahblechblah @phobiccneel

comment to be added to taglist

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© weekendlusting

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[thatguyjam]

F1 drivers with Autistic!Boyfriend

Piastri, Verstappen, Hamilton, Alonso, Bottas, Zneimer

Headcannons

Oscar Piastri -

Perfectly fine with you stimming with him

Like playing with his fingers or hair, or just his entire arm

He'll just be your doll to move around

Also gives the best bear hugs, and is absolutely open to being a human weighted blanket

Uses tone tags all the time with you even irl, bc he knows he's not always the most expressive or easy to read

Is fine with rewatching the same movie over and over again

Especially if it's cars

His mom also absolutely is just so incredibly accepting

Her entire house is you friendly

She only cooks food she knows you like when you're in town

Max Verstappen -

Stims with you

Human weighted blanket pt.2

An avid listener to infodumps

Avid giver of more infodumps

If you don't like the texture of his jeans/redbull shirt he might actually wear other things

Absolutely makes sure Redbull releases at least one hoodie that you like the texture of

Will always clarify his true intent/feelings if you look a bit confused

Lewis Hamilton -

Always has a bag full of high quality headphones, fidget toys, and clothes that he knows you like the texture of

Makes sure that all of the tags of the clothes that you steal from him are removed

Will bring back things related to your special interest(s) from every race

Always makes sure to have comfort food for you, even if it's not vegan

He understands that you have different lifestyles, and it's more important that you're comfortable

He and Roscoe are always available to be cuddle partners if you are overwhelmed or overstimulated

Fernando Alonso -

Always opts out of social events if you're not up to it

Is always happy when you're not up to going places lol

He doesn't seem to be listening to your infodumps, but he'll occasionally buy things that you mention

When introduced to tone tags he starts using them with everyone

he hates digital communication

Buys whatever fidget toys, or special interest related things you want

He'll see like a sensory swing, or something else he thinks you might like, and instantly buys it

If you don't like it ya'll can donate or give it to a friend

He just wants to try and make you happy and comfortable as much as he can

Valtteri Bottas -

Mutters what people expect you to do to you when in public with you

Absolutely goes with the flow, aka whatever you want

Memorizes how to cook all your comfort foods

Tries to slightly widen your palate, but in reality doesn't really care that much if you hate any new foods

You guys have an arrangement where you get something you know you like, and he'll get something outlandish for you to have a bite of

Really good at having routines

If he is gonna do something that he doesn't normally do, he gives you at least 24 hours notice

BONUS!!!

Lily Zneimer (she is actually the love of my life, I absolutely write for her and please send in wag asks) -

I think Lily kinda just goes with the flow, and has a good time

She will listen to your rants for hours, and she always remembers at least half of it

Her favorite thing to do is to bring up something you mentioned in a rant and see your eyes light up

She only wears clothes that are textures you are comfortable with

She is absolutely perfect for when you are overstimulated or having a meltdown

She'll just sit next to you and talk about engineering, or Oscar to distract you and provide a more positive thing to focus on

She always has a fidget toy or two in her bag just in case you want one

Kinda giving AuDHD vibes overall but whatever

Guys this always had a picture and tags stfu

Taglist: (comment if you want to be added)

@koalapastries @justaf1girl

[sesmiq]

happy birthday୨ৎ (drabble) ── .✦pairing: artist male y/n x childhood friend oc —warnings: this author have not written anything other than his uni essays for months ^^!, v rushed, not proof read, hyeon being a red flag lowk harhar, y/n developing stockholm syndrome, manipulative/yandere behavior (i do not condone irl!! all is fictional, please be safe.) —sequel ? to this! ; Lee Hyeon

7th November 2023, 11:32 PM The ticking of the clock annoyed y/n, each tick was too loud, or too sharp. Its as if it is mocking him, counting every minute of his misery. He could feel every tick like a small puncture to his already frayed nerves, his heartbeat syncing with its rhythm. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it out, but the sound only grew louder, more suffocating. He sat on the bed, one of his legs shackled to the wall, while the other wrapped in bandages, a small reminder of what had happened the day he tried to escape from the mansion. He glanced at the clock on the wall, ..it was a few minutes before his birthday, Honestly, he doesn’t even know why he bothered to keep track of the dates,, but it should be more than half a year since he's been isolated from the world. y/n let out a bitter laugh, hyeon- his supposed savior, his childhood friend, also, his captor, had gone to a quote on quote business trip after he tried to flee the mansion again. Hyeon had been gone for days, maybe even a week.. his stomach suddenly twist from hunger, the.. food hyeon had left for him (a packet of cheap instant cup noodles that lasted about 3 days or so. though, no hot water was even given to cook it.) were long gone. He misses hyeon’s home cooking. But even as the emptiness clawed at him, there was something else—something darker. A sense of longing. For Hyeon. A strange attachment that twisted inside him like a knot in his chest.

He cares about me, Y/N thought, though he had no idea where this feeling came from. It was hard to fight when his mind was fogged by exhaustion, but somewhere deep down, he felt like the pull toward Hyeon was the only thing left.

Hyeon was there during his worst, he was there the time his parents kicked him out for wanting to pursue an artistic career. He was there to lend his shoulder when y/n was dumped during their college years. (guess what happened to the person dumping y/n lolol) When is he going to come home? Did hyeon finally get bored of him? What if he never comes back? Will y/n die by himself in this stupidly large mansion in the middle of nowhere? It terrified him. As if right one cue, y/n heard a faint footstep right outside the door. His heart skipped, is his mind playing with him? Is the lack of food finally catching up to him..? And then, the door creaked open. 7th November 2023, 11:56 PM Hyeon stepped inside the dark room, carrying a box of cake along with a few shopping bags.. He looked.. calm. yet, he didnt say anything but let out a small sigh when he saw y/n’s condition. He put the stuff away before kneeling down in front y/n, his eyes softening slightly. Hyeon’s hand reached up, gently brushing the other’s hair away from his face. “You’ve been so good.” he murmured, his voice like silk., his hand sliding to cup y/n’s cheek. y/n didnt pull away, instead he leaned into hyeon’s toucj, his eyes fluttering closed as the warmth of hyeon’s hand.. was comforting compared how cold the room is. He hated it. Hes not supposed to like his captor. Hyeon’s other hand came up, tilting Y/N’s chin upward to meet his gaze. The affection in his eyes was gone, replaced by something that made shivers run down his spine. “I’ll never leave you.” he whispered, smile was gentle, as if trying to reassure his beloved. “You won’t leave me, will you?” Y/N’s heart thudded painfully in his chest, too weak to protest, too desperate to care. Hyeon’s touch was the only thing that made him feel alive again,, 8th November 2023, 12:00 AM Hyeon leaned in, his lips pressing a soft kiss to Y/N’s forehead, a gentle gesture that felt almost like a promise. “Happy birthday, y/n.”

a/n: omg a ghost is talkimg,, haha. v rushed, (as u can see) been trying to write something since idk, august? but i dont think the school excuse is gon' work,,, in all honesty i had no motivation to write, like at all. i couldnt think of a single idea (hence this sequel),, though i have a bunch of draft with what i want to write thats not even 50% completed lol i hope i can post them in the future! forgive me for going MIA ^^ i hope you enjoyed this,, will probably edit this once i wake up (currently 2:34 am) goodbye ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა

[ughdontbeboring]

Let Me In

Smoke X Black/WoC Reader X Stack (👀😮‍💨🥵)

A night at the speakeasy that changes y’all lives forever

warnings: uh angst? and twin Mike’s lol (I wish there was smut but maybe once I see the movie idk)

side note: not sure if I even wrote that out correctly but the twins share reader there is no incest in the pairing. I thought about this late at night after seeing the trailer that just dropped and yea lol I haven’t been in Mike’s fanfic section in a while and all my Killmonger fics I never post so funny enough without the movie even being out this is my first fic for Mike ever posted.

I may follow up and do more after the movie drops and I see more of their personalities only time will tell. I’m def playing around with something a little prequel just to show their dynamic a bit but again time will tell 🥵

it’s so early on idk what to even tag this 😭 is anyone even reading this now or are we waiting on the movie to drop??

❤️💙

Smoke stood there yelling trying to calm down the group of hysterical night goers who now found themselves in an impossible situation. A situation that shouldn’t be a reality but let the old tales tell it, it was just as true. 

And now your small group of survivors is finding that out. 

The lively party under the moon light quickly taking a turn after unwanted guests arrived odd and full of smiles. 

It started with that Mary woman who had flirted her way in. She was out of place here and maybe that’s why Stack seemed so intrigued. He never could turn down a mystery, your wild boy.

Now there was no way out that any of you could see just yet but you knew Smoke would think of something, he always did.

Pearl wailed in front of everybody, her body shaking uncontrollably as the other women rushed surrounding her, trying to give some comfort.

You seen Delta take that moment to approach Smoke who was deep in thought, closer to the front door than anyone else. That far away look on his face when he was racking his brain for a solution. 

The realization that Stack had become a night creature, a vampire from the folklore of time immortal, from tales stretching across the world in different cultures, different languages was unfathomable. He had become whatever they were and it was settling into the group with dread. 

But none more devastated than Smoke and you. 

Now while Smoke was thinking of this with the rationality of surviving you just couldn’t accept this. 

“Smoke what we gon’ do without Stack?” Delta tried to whisper. He was unsuccessful because you could still hear him even with the group of women between y’all. 

You feel the room spinning again and you just need a moment. Hearing him speaking of Stack in that way had the air rushing from your lungs. No not Stack. You thought. Not like this. 

You know Smoke said for everyone to stay together and away from the walls, the doors, the windows any part of the foundation but you just need a moment because you feel like you can’t fucking breathe. 

Everyone is occupied when you slip away silent in your kitten heels you had choose for the night, your careful to not make noise with your form fitting dress that’s decorated with beadwork at the hem. All night the dress had swayed and shinned in the low lit speakeasy. You had danced all night your dress adding its own sound to the lively music with the heavy beadwork while switching between the strong arms of your boys during every song when the other wasn’t busy. 

Stack danced with you and Smoke would just hold you and kinda sway as you danced on him. Ever the serious one. 

You find yourself in the smaller back room that’s used for storage with a back entrance. Even though you needed a moment the small space was quickly becoming suffocating causing your grief and disbelief to swell within you. It choked you. Now you felt like you were standing out in the fields on a hottest summer Mississippi day. You felt like you were dying.

You quickly realized you were hyperventilating. You needed air. 

Over your deep breathing you hear softly yet unmistakably beyond the door “It’s ok baby”. Your blood goes cold and your body freezes. 

“Stack?” You question softly as your eyes start to water while staring straight ahead of you. 

“Yea, it’s me baby” He says in his familiar thick accent. 

“Ho-how?” You stutter in disbelief. How’d he know you were back here? Out of everyone it could have been how’d he know it was you? Was he alone? So many questions ran through your head without ever making it to your lips.

“Baby I knew it was you. Don’t cry babygirl just open the door fo’ me” He coo’s softly. 

“I-I can’t” you replied sounding even unconvinced to your own ears. It feels wrong to deny him. 

“Why? Baby I don’t wanna be out here no more all alone. let me in so I can get away from these crazy crackers” He mutters a little bit impatiently. That bit wasn’t your Stack. Stack out of the both of them always was patient with you, it was almost sickening how he caved for you. 

His patience’s with you gave people the false hood of a saint when his reality was he could flip in a moment. Just like Smokes quietness and how gentle he was with you gave people a false impression of calm man. They were both ticking time bombs on any given day, at any moment. 

“And it’s really you Stack?” You ask again begging your mind to believe what your heart does. That he’s still in there somewhere. 

It’s quiet for a moment before he's able to muster an almost forced reply. “Of course-“

“The hell you doing?” You hear barked behind you in that deep Mississippi drawl. 

It’s not even seconds later when you feel his presence behind you and his large hand gripping your arm yanking you slightly back.

“It’s Stack! We have to help him! Let him in! Please Smoke!” You beg facing the other half of your heart, staring up into Smokes eyes. You seen the anger and the hurt swirling in the deep brown.  

“It ain’t him!” He yells down at you as he towers above you. His handsome face menacing as always. 

You’re not sure if everyone had come back with Smoke or if they’re just getting there but you feel everyone’s eyes on you. You know they must think you crazy. You seen what everyone else outside the speakeasy did to eachother yet here you are begging for Smoke to find a way to save Stack, bring him back to you.

“Oh come on now no fighting with our babygirl, just open up fo’ me twin” Stack taunts from the other side of the door. 

The sound of his voice has you staring at the door with your conviction growing before Smoke is pulling your attention back to him. 

“Aye. Hey baby look at me that’s not Stack. Not no more” He tries again with concern flickering in his eyes. He’s not sure what will happen if he can’t get you to accept it. His stomach turns with the thoughts of all the possibilities. He can’t loose you too. Not now not never. 

“Please! Please I can’t-I can’t leave him out there!! He’s not safe” You begged staring up at him. Your eyes pleading with him to understand. 

But that flicker of concern is quickly extinguished by the anger that replaces it in his brown eyes. He’s shaking you as he turns you to face him. He needs you to understand.

He yells your name full of anger. “You’re not safe if you let him in! He’ll kill you and everyone else in this fucking place!” He roars at you. 

It’s starting to dawn on Smoke he may have to take more precautions if you don’t show him you’ve accepted what has happened to Stack.

You’re not sure why he allows it or if you’ve just caught him off guard but you yank your arm away and move near the door. 

You can feel the tension in the room at your sudden proximity to the door. There’s a small opening in the door just about your eye level in your short heels. It’s about the length of your middle finger and horizontal. 

“Stack pl-please baby please tell me it’s really you. You’re still my Stack, right?” You beg softly as you stare at Stack’s throat that you can see through the opening. Your fingers inching up to right below the hole.  He’s some how closer and your pointer finger ventures outside just barely to run along his full bottom lip. You shudder at the feel of his skin and how it’s something between hot and cool but not warm. It was odd and unsettling.

There’s a long pause and you can feel Smoke slowly move closer to you. 

The silence is deafening to you as your heart starts to pick back up. 

You see him shift a bit and when you crane you neck your able to see his eyes. You couldn’t see Stacks eyes before, not this close anyway since he changed.

They’re grey almost sliver and mostly lifeless, the brown warmth from them missing. But the guilt that flickers across them fans the embers of your hope. 

What is said next is so soft you almost don’t hear it if it wasn’t for the view you also had of his lips with the way he’s tilted his eyes to look down at you. 

But the rasp of his voice is unmistakable when he whispers “I love you” 

Your heart can’t take it and even if his eyes are different your Stack is still in there somewhere. Your hand rushes the door handle. 

It’s not Smokes booming voice behind you yelling “NO!” that startles you, it’s the earth shaking bang on the door in-front of you when you can do longer see Stack’s eyes that freezes your movements. Your hand inches from the handle.

The bang comes again as Stack yells “Let me in!”. Your body feels like you were just dumped into the Mississippi during winter. The cold realization settles over you. No he’s not your Stack, not fully at least.

Had he not banged on the door startling you, you would have surly opened it and thrown yourself into his arms. This was his way of showing you, your Stack that was still in there was trying to get through to you over the force that was consuming his body. He was trying to scare you.

The next bang is just as loud and aggressive and it causes you to stumble, falling back, your hands breaking the fall and scraping against the wooden floor as your bottom takes most of the impact. 

Your heart is racing faster than you thought possible as you stare up wide eyed at the door Stack continues to bang against 

“LET ME IN!” 

You feel Smokes rough hands wrap around your waist pulling you up. His arms wrap around you as you snob in your hands. His full soft lips at your neck shhing and comforting you.

“It’s ok baby, gonna be ok, you safe with me” Smoke whispers softly against you. 

They always had their different ways of dealing with you and it just worked having both of them. It wasn’t unusual for Smoke to be so soft with you but it didn’t happen as often as it did with Stack. Smoke was definitely your grumpy one, hardly if ever smiling if it wasn’t for you. 

They both came in your life at the same time sweeping you off your feet without even trying, They both pulled you in in their own way true to their own personalities. When you realize that you couldn’t choose you decided you would walk away, and they refused to let you go. They decided it was only right to share you with boundaries in place over loosing you. It was by far nothing any of you had experienced before or would have been willing with anyone else. But here the three of you were years later. You never looked back. 

“You and your man could be together and even better if you come out or let us in little lady” It’s another voice the room full of people hear, his voice, the white man who brought this hell to their little speakeasy paradise.

“Such a pretty pretty thing, we’d make you a queen” he continues with a groan almost like he was thinking of how your blood would taste or maybe even more sexual thoughts. Either way it caused you to shudder in Smokes arms pressing more into him. 

You know you aren’t mistaken when you hear a familiar growl. It’s not him it’s Stack. The sound causes your stomach to turn a bit knowing that’s the part of him that’s still Stack. He was always so jealous it was a wonder he was able to handle the relationship of 3. Even turning didn’t seem to change that in him. It was a sound you heard many many times before. A man any man would be beat within an inch of his life for disrespecting Stack or Smoke by gazing upon you for a moment too long. 

You’re not sure if you should be happy or devastated by the realization. Apart of you wants to be with him, be whatever he is now. Stay by his side like he had always been by hers. 

But then you feel the warm squeeze of Smoke’s arms behind you and his hands turning you into his chest as the tears you didn’t notice start again keep falling. 

Smoke’s large hands grab your face softly and his thumbs wipes the tears away. You couldn’t give up, not when you still had your Smoke. You had to fight for him even if that meant letting go of Stack or whatever Stack had become. 

His face is close to yours making you hold eye contact. 

“Shh baby m’ here, you safe. Just stay here with me” He says watching you, you nod finally giving him some relief you’re starting to accept this night and the twisted turn of fate. “If that was still Stack he’d want you safe baby. We both know that. He’d want you safe and with me.”

You shake your head in understanding but it doesn’t stop the tears. He leans in to softly kiss them away. 

“We gon’ be good. Ight baby? I got you.” He promises holding your eyes in place with the conviction in his. 

And you believe him. Not matter how impossible the situation seemed you believed him to always come through for you. 

“Did y’all hear that? Where’s that coming from” Delta panics leaving the room to search for the source. 

You steal a glance back and notice that Stack is still staring through the opening as Smoke pulls you away. 

“I love you” you whisper back with a finale look before turing into Smoke’s embrace as he leads you safely away from the temptation of his twin. 

Smoke knows that Stack is still in there somewhere but his bloodlust seems to be his main controller and  he can’t let you hold out on hope and get yourself killed or worse turned trying to prove your love. Trying to prove Stack is still in there. 

So he keeps you close as possible as they enter the main room following the rest of the group. 

“I love you Smoke” you say softly as you stop and look up at him. 

Smoke knows you do just as much as you love Stack, you’ve never shown favorites. He loves you more than he’ll ever be able to say, you both know that. After tonight though he might have to work on being able to tell you just how much he does. 

Smoke doesn’t care what happens tonight as long as he gets you safely away from this. Not only for himself but for Stack too. 

❤️💙

[reidtina]

Restrained

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Content warnings: +18 MDI sex, roleplay, handcuffs, petnames, orgasm, creampie (youre on the pill tho and youre married), idk

Word count: 4.9k

Summary: Spencer Reid and Y/N had been married for nearly 10 years, and things got a little boring in the bedroom department, so they decided to spice things up a little. Tonight they're using his handcuffs for something other than arresting criminals...

a/n: this is my first spencer fic, so idk if its good, hope yall like it just as much as I liked writing it. Btw, its also on ao3, as always. love you guys. If you enjoy it pls like and repost

You and Spencer had been dating for nearly 10 years (9 years, 8 months and 24 days, like he pointed out earlier), and had been married for about half of this time, and you quickly found out that the whole “couples stop having sex after a while of being married” thing is not entirely bullshit. It’s not like you didn’t ever have sex, but with work and him being out of town all the time things just got colder, you did have sex, but it wasn’t so exciting and to be honest, as much as you were attracted to each other, it felt more like a chore. So that’s why you decided to try something new every week, you missed the beginning stages of dating and how a minor touch turned into you two sweating and trying to breath as your bodies collided in the most delicious dance.

Tonight’s idea wasn’t entirely new, you always had a thing for him wearing his FBI bulletproof vest or anything that reminded you that he was an FBI agent, a really hot one, by the way. And when you brought up the idea, he was more than willing to try, he had been meaning to try new things as well, as he had read that it’s a good idea to spice things up so the marriage don’t become boring and falls apart.

So tonight, when he got home from a work trip, still wearing his suit and looking extra hot, he decided to try out your suggestion, taking the opportunity as you had said it’d be even hotter if you weren’t expecting it, adding spontaneity to the mix.

He opened the door just to find you on the couch, reading a book and drinking a glass of wine wearing only an old shirt of his and pajama shorts. He grins at the sight, he loves to watch you read, but it makes him want to rip your clothes off. When you look up at him, you know what’s going to happen next.

“I’ve heard someone here hasn’t been exactly a good girl” he feels a little embarrassed to say this, but the look on your face quickly makes him lose any embarrassment he could possible feel.

“Am I not a good girl?” you ask as you put down your book on the side table next to the glass of wine. He pretends to consider this as he sits down next to you on the couch “Well, most of the time you are a very good girl… but you can be naughty sometimes too.”

You smirk, starting to enjoy this “Oh, yeah?” you ask almost in a whisper.

“Oh, don’t play coy with me,” he says, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “I can think of a few times just last week when you were being very naughty”

“Like when?” you whisper.

“Oh, I could give you a list if I wanted to,” he answers, his lips now grazing your neck. “But I can think of one specific instance that really stood out.”

“And what was it?” you genuinely had no idea what he could say, considering that with this whole “let’s spice up our marriage” thing you had been having insane amounts of sex and doing all sorts of new things.

His hand slips under your shirt, his fingertips gently tracing along your skin. “Let’s just say that little stunt you pulled in front of the bedroom mirror a week ago really got me going.”

Now you remember, last week he fingered you in front of the full length mirror you have in your room and made you watch. You lean into his ear and whisper “Oh, you mean when you fingered me in front of the mirror so I could watch it?”

He shivers at your words, his hand clutching at your hip. “Yes, that, exactly that,” he growls in your ear. “I really loved that little show you put on.”

You raise your eyebrow in a fake surprise and ask “Did you?”

He nods, his hand slowly moving up your torso again. “Mhmm, I especially enjoyed the sounds you were making.”

You smirk and say “I can't help myself when your fingers are inside me”. His hand finally reaches its destination, cupping your breast, he’s always glad you don’t wear a bra when you’re home. “I know you can’t. And I certainly enjoy it.” He nips at your earlobe, his breath hot against your skin. “I was so excited about it, in fact, that I wanted to reward you right then.”

“Maybe you should reward me right now.” you whisper back to him. A low growl escapes his throat as he pulls back slightly to look you in the eyes. “Oh really? You think you’re ready for a reward now? Don’t you think you’ve been a bad girl?”

“I guess it’s your job to find out, Agent Reid.” you say, the title you just called him making you even wetter.

He moves closer, his body pressing against yours. “You know, I’ll have to conduct a thorough investigation to make sure you’re a good girl…” You chuckle and reply “Do what you must, agent.”

He grins, clearly enjoying the roleplay. “Oh, I plan on it.” He suddenly stands, gently grabbing your hand and pulling you up along with him. “Now, come with me. I need to thoroughly investigate.” You stand up and he guides you down the short hallway to your bedroom, walking backwards and keeping his eyes firmly fixed on you. He pushes the door open and steps inside, pulling you in behind him. “Now, we’ll need somewhere to conduct this investigation…” He looks around the room pretending to look for something, before his gaze settles on the bed, a knowing look in his eyes.

He pushes you back towards the bed, gently guiding you down to sit on the edge of the mattress. “First, we’ll need to begin searching for any evidence of bad behavior…”  He steps back slightly and pretends to look you over intently, as if inspecting you for any indications of misconduct.

“Mmm, I’m not seeing anything so far…” he says, his eyes roaming over your body. “But, just to be safe, I will need you to lie down, please.” Not even a second after he said that, you’re laying down on the bed.

He steps forward again, standing in between your legs, his gaze hungrily taking in the sight of you. “Mmm, much better. The more evidence there is, the better…” He slowly reaches down, his hands roaming up your bare legs, he loves it when all you’re wearing is one of his old shirts and really short shorts. “Now,” he continues, his voice lower and huskier now. “How far does the evidence go?”

His hands continue to move up up your legs, reaching the hem of your shirt and pulling it up slightly. “Let’s start here,” he mutters, his hands gently pushing your shirt up further, exposing your stomach. “I need to make sure no bad behavior is hiding under here…” His hands continue up, inching your shirt even higher as he takes his time inspecting your body for any signs of “bad behavior”.

 “Looks all clear so far… but I can’t be too careful…” He lifts the shirt up over your head, gently removing it and tossing it aside. “Ah, much better. Now I can see my evidence a lot clearer.”  He grins mischievously, his eyes raking over your bare chest. “And I see a few things I should inspect more closely…”

You breathe deeply as he gets closer to your breasts with his face and you can feel his hot breath on your bare skin. He looks up at you, his eyes full of lust. “Mmm yes, I see some very important evidence here that I need to get a closer look at…”

He grins at your response, his lips now ghosting over your skin. “Excellent. I’ll need to take my time with these…they’re very important to the case.” He moves closer, his mouth finally making contact with your skin as he slowly starts peppering kisses along your chest and you moan softly. He smirks at the sound of your moan, his lips curving against your skin. “Yes, don’t hold back your sounds, sweetheart. I need to hear every response.” He continues kissing across your chest, his tongue occasionally darting out to taste your skin.

He moves in, his lips hovering just above your skin as he speaks. “You don’t mind if I have a closer look, do you? You have to collaborate with this federal investigation” You shake your head “I don’t mind, go ahead, agent.”

“So far, this evidence is turning out to be very good…” he mutters against your skin, moving towards your right nipple. “But I think I need to investigate further…” His mouth moves closer to your nipple, and you can feel the heat of his breath against your sensitive skin. “I see something very interesting right here…” He stops just short of your nipple, looking up at you with a sly grin. “But before I get started, I’ll to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

You sigh with disappointment and say “Go ahead.” He grins, enjoying teasing you, his mouth still hovering tantalizingly close to your breast. “Good. This won’t take long, I just need to make sure you’re being honest with me, sweetheart.” He pauses, waiting for a hint of confirmation from you before continuing, you nod.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his breath tickling your skin. “Now, the first question is… do you know why you’re being investigated today?”

“No, sir, why?” you ask in fake innocence. He smiles, continuing his teasing. “Well, reports claim that you’ve been quite naughty recently…” He lifts his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours. “Is that true? Have you been naughty lately?”

“That wouldn't be me, agent.” you say, trying to hold back a grin.

“You know lying to law enforcement is illegal, right? And the sources say you’ve been doing some very naughty things…” he counters, his lips still a breath away from your skin. “Oh, yeah? Like what?” you try to look surprised. He grins again, his lips now grazing your skin. “Oh, various things…but especially this little incident that just happened a week ago…” He leans in closer to your ear as he whispers, “I think you know what I’m speaking of.”

“I have no idea, agent, what is it?” you want to hear him saying. He laughs softly. “Oh, don’t play coy with me. I know how good your memory is…” He moves back, his gaze holding yours firmly. “Do I need to remind you what happened, miss?”

“Yes, agent Reid.”

He smirks, enjoying the roleplay more and more. “Okay, maybe I can jog your memory, then.” A shiver runs through him as he speaks, remembering the night in question. “Think about a week ago. What happened with us in front of the mirror?”

You smirk just from thinking of it. “Do you mean when you fingered me to tears and made me watch?” He lets out a soft chuckle, his fingers digging into your legs slightly. “Yes, exactly that… and how did that make you feel?”

“Good as fuck… sir.” You pause before calling him sir, still a little shy about the roleplay. He laughs, his teeth scraping against your collarbone. “I know it did. You were making the most delicious sounds…”  He leans in close to your ear, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “But don’t you think that was naughty behavior?”

“Maybe it was, agent.” You pretend to look innocent, but deep down you just want him to punish you in the hottest ways possible. He chuckles, clearly not buying your act. “Maybe it was? I think it was.” He moves his head back to look you in the eyes again, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “And do you think naughty behavior deserves a punishment?”

“Absolutely.” You nod, eager for whatever punishment he decides to give you. He grins, clearly enjoying this game just as much as you. “Good answer. So you admit that you deserve to be punished for being naughty?”

“Yes.”

“And if you admit that you deserve a punishment, then you should also agree to take this punishment like a good girl, shouldn’t you?”

“Absolutely, agent.”

“Correct. And luckily I have just the punishment in mind for you…” He moves back, standing up straight. “Since you seem so eager for your punishment, I think I’ll just start with it right now.” He looks down at you, a devilish gleam in his eyes. “Now, I need you to do something for me, okay?”

“What is it?” you ask, barely able to wait for him to touch you.

He smiles, his fingers gently tracing along your legs. “I need you to sit up for me, please.”

 You sit back up as he asked.

“Good girl” he says, his voice soft and approving. “Now, I’m just going to grab something quickly, alright?” He turns away, grabbing his handcuffs from his drawer in the nightstand.

He looks back at you, holding up the handcuff with a smirk. “Perfect. Now, hold your hands out, please.”

“Such a good girl.” He says when you hold your hands in front of your body. He moves forward, carefully handcuffing you. He looks down at his work, inspecting your hands with a nod. “Looks good. Now, lie back down.” As you lie down, he moves back up to the bed, crawling up to kneel between your legs. “Now, I have another request for you.” He pauses, his hand gently trailing up your legs. “I need you to keep your legs open for me… don’t move them at all.”

You open your legs, and now your panties are picking out from the waistband of your shorts. He grins, his eyes roaming hungrily over your body. “Good girl. You know how to listen well…” He reaches down, his fingers sliding up under your shorts, slowly pushing it down to reveal more of your skin. “But you don’t move your legs until I say so, do you understand?”

“Understood, agent Reid.” you say and feel kinda proud you’re also a Reid. “Very good.” He moves closer, now hovering just above you. “You’re a perfect little canvas to work with right now.” He rests a hand on your stomach, tracing small circles with his fingertips. “But I do need to know something else first…”

“What is it, agent?” you ask genuinely curious and eager for him to just touch you already. He grins, clearly enjoying the fact that you’re eager and desperate for his touch. “I need to know how badly you want this. How badly do you want me to touch you right now?”

“Really bad.”

He laughs lightly at your response. “I can see that. But I need you to tell me in words. How badly do you want me?”

“I want you really bad.”

He leans down, his mouth hovering just above your body. “And I know you’re desperate for my touch, aren’t you?”

“I am.” That couldn’t be more true.

He moves down, now resting on his forearms as he positions himself between your legs. “I can see that. You’re practically trembling… begging for me to touch you…”

“It’s torture.” You say.

“I know. But I need to be thorough. I need to collect all the evidence that I can… and I’m finding plenty of evidence that you’re being desperate and needy…”

“Does it mean I'm being a bad girl?” you ask teasingly.

He lets out a soft chuckle. “Yes, I would say it does. You’re having such a desperate, needy reaction to me right now… it’s incredibly bad girl behavior.” He leans down and kisses your inner thigh. “But you’re also being a good girl, because you haven’t closed your legs yet…”

“I'm not all bad, you see?” You smirk.

He smiles up at you, his mouth still trailing kisses on your thigh. “Mhm, and I’ve also discovered that you’re being a very good girl, because you’ve been so eager and compliant… it’s making the evidence collection very easy for me. But you know what I really want to do right now?” He looks up at you, a gleam in his eyes.

“What?”

He moves back up, his mouth hovering just above yours. “I really want to taste you…”

A smirk takes over your mouth as you ask. “And what's stopping you from doing so?”

He laughs, his lips just barely grazing against yours as he speaks. “Nothing. But first I need a little confirmation from you, sweetheart.”

“Confirmed.” You say softly as you nod eagerly.

“Perfect.”

He presses his lips to yours in a deep, hungry kiss. As he kisses you, his hands begin to roam up and down your body, gently exploring every inch of skin.

He gently tugs at the fabric of your shorts without breaking the kiss. “Mmm, this is in the way.”

“Take it off, agent.” you whisper.

He smirks at your eagerness, and then moves back, his hands moving to the hem of your shorts. “I will. But first I have something else I want to do.”

“Something ELSE?” You sigh in frustration “What is it now?”

He laughs lightly at you reaction. “My needy girl is impatient, is she?” He reaches up and pushes his hand into the side of your hair, tugging gently until your head is tilted back. “I just want to ask you one more question, sweetheart.”

“What?”

He leans in, his mouth by your ear. “Do you know why I want to taste you so badly?”

“Why, sir?” you shiver at the feeling of his breath on your skin.

“Because you look so delicious right now.”  You smirk at the complement.

He moves back, his gaze raking over your body. “With your arms restricted and your little short barely covering your thighs… it’s too tempting. I need a taste.”

“Have it, please.” You’re begging now.

He grins, clearly amused by how desperate you are. “Mmm, since you asked so nicely, I think I will.” He moves down, his mouth going to your thighs, slowly kissing and running his tongue along your skin.

His mouth travels higher and higher, until he finally reaches the edge of your shorts. He looks up at you, a glint in his eyes. “These are a bit of a blockade, aren’t they?”

You nod and say “I hate those.”

He smiles, his fingers hooking under the waistband of your shorts and your panties as well. “Then I’ll just have to take care of that problem…” He starts to tug at your shorts and panties, slowly sliding both of them down your legs. “There we go…”He pulls them off, dropping them to the ground beside the bed. He looks down at you, a look of pure hunger in his eyes. “Mmm, now I have complete access… and I’m going to enjoy taking my time with you.”

He lowers himself back down, his mouth continuing its journey along your body. His lips and tongue trail up your legs, then along your inner thighs until finally, they’re where you want them most. He pauses for a moment, his eyes meeting yours. “You taste so sweet… just like I knew you would.” You moan at the praise.

He smiles, clearly enjoying the noise you’re making. “I like that sound.”

He starts to move again, his tongue flickering against your flesh as he explores it. “So needy and desperate… my little sweet treat…” You can feel his nose on your clit while his tongue is exploring your pussy. He moans softly, enjoying the feeling of your body trembling underneath him, the vibration of the moan stimulating you even more. “You’re being so good for me, sweetheart.”

He continues to use his mouth to devour you as if he can’t get enough of you. “I’m going to drive you insane.” He says, but he’s already driving you fucking crazy, he always does, no one eats pussy like Spencer Reid.

“You already are.” you say through heavy breaths, your whole body trembling. He laughs lightly. “But I’m not done yet.” He looks up at you, his eyes holding yours as his tongue continues to work. “I’m going to play with you until I’m satisfied… and right now, I am far from satisfied.”

The look on his eyes combined with his pussy eating abilities make your whole body tenses up and then, a few seconds later, it relaxes in an orgasm as you scream. He grins, clearly pleased with your response. “There it is.” He says moving back up your body, his mouth now on your neck. “I love making you scream.”

“Fuck, Spencer.” you say, trying to catch your breath again. He laughs against your skin. “I love hearing you swear.” He presses his body against yours, his mouth by your ear. “And I’m not done with you yet.”

“Thankfully, cause I'm not either.” You say, already ready for more of him.

He chuckles, clearly enjoying your enthusiasm. “I knew you’d want more.” He rolls over onto his back, pulling you up on top of him so that you’re now straddling his hips. “I’m not going to release your hands just yet.” He looks up at you, his hands going to your hips. “But you look so pretty like this… all tied up on top of me…”

You smirk, his compliments still making you blush, even after being married for so long, maybe that’s true love. He smiles, he knows and loves the fact that you’re still so affected by his words. “And it gives me so many possibilities.” He looks up at you, a glint in his eyes. “For example, I could just pin you down and do whatever I want to you right now…”

“… but instead I’m going to let you do the work.”

He loosens his grip on your hips slightly, giving you the freedom to move. “How does that sound to you, sweetheart?”

You nod “I like it, agent.”

“Good girl.” He smiles, his hands roaming up and down your sides. “Now I want you to start riding my thigh, sweetheart.” You start moving your hips back and forth, creating friction between his pants and your clit. He moans softly, his hands still on your hips. “There you go, princess. Just like that… nice and slow. You look so pretty like this.” He has always liked the sensation of you pleasuring yourself on him. He moans softly, the opposite of your own loud moans, his hands gripping your hips a little tighter. “You’re so needy and desperate… it’s driving me wild.”

“Can you please fuck me?” you finally ask.

He grins at your forwardness, clearly enjoying the effect he’s having on you. “You want me to, sweetheart?”

You pause your movements and nod. “Yes, agent.”

“Then you’re going to have to beg for it.” You’d get on your fucking knees and beg if you had to. “Please, agent Reid, you said you'd reward me if you found I've been a good girl, and I have, you didn't find any evidence of bad behavior.”

He laughs lightly at your pleading as if he hadn’t asked for it. “I did say that, didn't I?” He moves his hands up to your sides, his thumb tracing circles on your skin. “And you’ve been such a good girl for me, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I have.”

He smiles, his hands roaming up and down your body. “Then I suppose you should have your reward, shouldn’t you?”

“Please.”

He moves his hands down to your thighs, his fingers trailing up and down your skin. “Okay, sweetheart. I’m going to give you what you want. But first I need you to get off me and lie back down on the bed. Hands above your head, just how I like it.”

You smirk and do as he told you to. He grins, clearly enjoying the fact that you’re obeying him. “Good girl. You’re just being so obedient for me, and that’s how I like you… so obedient and pliable. Doing whatever I tell you to, no questions asked.”

He moves up, now hovering over you. “Now, I want you to keep your hands above your head. Don’t moving them at all, understood, sweetheart?”

“Yes, agent.”

“Good girl.”

He starts to kiss and bite your skin, his mouth moving down to your collarbone. His hands roam up and down your sides, his touch leaving a trail of heat across your skin. He moves back up to your mouth, his lips crashing into yours in a deep kiss. His mouth devours yours, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth.

He looks down at you, his eyes practically eating your body. “You look so pretty like this… all tied up and desperate… so obedient… and all for me…” He leans down, his mouth attacking your neck. “And I’m going to enjoy every second of this.”

He pulls back from the kiss, his eyes roaming down your body. His hands move to his belt, unbuckling it with practiced ease. He looks up at you as he takes off  his blazer and throws it on the floor then takes off his tie and opens his shirt, revealing his body.

When he already threw all off it on the floor, he leans in, his mouth attacking your neck once more, leaving a trail of kisses and bites along your skin. His hands roam down your body, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake.

He gets up and looks down at you, taking in the sight of you in nothing as he unzips his pants, pushes them down and tosses them to the side, leaving him in his boxer briefs. “Mmm, now we’re more equal, aren’t we, sweetheart?”

You chuckle “Almost”

He smirks, his eyes roaming over your body. “Almost.” He agrees as he pulls his boxers off revealing his big dick and then crawls over you, his body covering yours. He looks down at you, a smile spreading across his face. “Now there’s no barriers between us.”

“Like it should be” you whisper.

He smiles pleased by your answer. “That’s exactly right, sweetheart.” He nuzzles into your neck, his lips trailing kisses along your skin. He then places his dripping tip on your entrance and looks you in the eye as he slides it in. He’s watching your reaction as he pushes in, his hands gripping your thighs, his eyes locked on your face the whole time. “You feel so good” he says and you both moan when he’s fully inside you.

He looks down at you, his face full of need. “You feel so good around me, sweetheart. So tight and so eager….”

He moans softly, his grip on your thighs tightening. “I’m not going to last long if you keep doing that…” he says when you moan his name into his ear.

You put your legs up his shoulders, making him hit the spot that makes you both go crazy. He hisses as he hits it, his head rolling back. “Fuuuck, you’re going to make me lose control.“ You’re nearly crying outta pleasure and it's getting hard to keep your hands up.

“I can tell you’re getting tense… you’re not going to be able to hold out for much longer, are you?” You shake your head and say “No.” He knows you and your body so well, that’s the result of nearly 10 years of marriage.

He grins, loving the power he has over you in this moment. "But I'm not done with you yet sweetheart."

Your breath becomes heavier and faster as you’re reaching the second orgasm of the night “I’m getting close.” you manage to say through moans and heavy breaths.

He keeps the pace steady. "I want you to let yourself go. I want you to give into the feeling." his words were all you needed to allow the orgasm to take over your body.

He feels you tighten around him as you orgasm and he whispers in your ear "That's it… good girl.”

He keeps moving, his movements more urgent, more desperate now as he’s trying to reach his own orgasm. He can tell he’s getting close, the feeling starting to overwhelm him, his muscles tensing. “Sweetheart… I can’t hold back any longer…”

“Cum inside me.” You ask, but he always did, you were on the pill anyways, but saying it felt so hot.

He starts moving faster, driven by your words of encouragement. His breath quick as his hands slide down your body leaving his fingerprints all over your skin. He’s getting close, you can tell. His body is tense, his eyes locked on yours. He shudders with pleasure as he reaches his orgasm, his eyes locked on yours, his breath ragged and labored. “That was incredible.” He says as he collapses on top of you, his body trembling with aftershocks.

You take a deep breath before agreeing. “Yes, it was.”

He buries his face in your neck, still trying to catch his breath. “Sweetheart, you were amazing. You are amazing. Always”

You smile at the praise and say your favorite words. “I love you, Spencer.”

He smiles back as he replies “I love you, Y/N.” he pauses before saying. “Now I need to get those handcuffs’ keys, we don’t want you restrained forever”

You chuckle, “Oh, you better know where they are.”

[bunnyb0ne]

Isolated Memory

A short story from the better days. Eng/Rus versions. Sorry for any mistakes, I am not a native speaker, feel free to suggest and correct me <3

Its name is Yarnaby.

It is a big toy with a colorful yarn mane, heavy clawed paws, charming round eyes, and a wide goofy smile. It’s much bigger than a dog, but not taller than a horse, at least that's what they tell—Yarnaby itself has never seen horses, only in pictures, and there they are no bigger than its paws. It lives in a large room with walls sewn from scraps of soft leather. It often tears them up, leaving large marks on the floor, walls, and even the ceiling; this way, it sharpens its claws. There is a large warm dog bed in the room, which has been worn out for a long time, but Yarnaby still sleeps on it. There are also lots of pillows, toys, a table that you can jump on and it won't break, chairs that you can't jump on, and to not be tempted by them, Yarnaby always pushes the chairs to the corner farthest from the dog bed, using his head and paws. Not far from a large iron door with a small window, there is a cage where Yarnaby can only climb in by crouching down. There are bowls of food and water. When it's time to eat, and it usually comes at the same time every day, the cage closes, the bowls disappear behind the wall and fill with food and water, then reappear, and the cage opens. This means that you can eat. Yarnaby eats meat; it especially likes to gnaw and smash bones, eggs with shells, vegetables, and berries. Sometimes there are pieces of sweet chocolate in a mix. Yarnaby licks the bowl clean, especially if there is some sweet syrup, yolk, or blood residue at the bottom.

His name is the Doctor.

He's the one behind the wall filling Yarnaby's bowls. He takes it out of the cell once a week to take it to a smaller room, where there is already a basin, colored bottles, and a towel on the floor, which the Doctor uses to wipe Yarnaby after washing. Before sitting in the water, Yarnaby always tastes it, then carefully jumps into the basin, trying not to wet the Doctor, although he, having learned from past experience, puts on an apron beforehand. He gently combs through the yarn fur with his hands and talks with Yarnaby, and even though many of the words remain incomprehensible, everything immediately becomes clear from the tone of Doctor’s voice. When the Doctor is kind, he talks softly, and often asks Yarnaby questions. "Who's a good boy?" is one of them, and Yarnaby doesn't know why the Doctor repeats it. He's probably checking to see if his stuffed animal has forgotten the answer. But Yarnaby remembers. It opens its toothy mouth and purrs in a long, hoarse voice: "...Ya-a-arnaby...". Then the Doctor smiles, and Yarnaby becomes even happier. When the Doctor is angry, he talks, but not to Yarnaby, but to someone who is not in the room - or maybe it is an invisible being, and the Doctor snaps, screams and hisses, pulls the yarn painfully and pushes, and Yarnaby always feels very guilty. Sometimes the Doctor comes to feed it personally. He throws pieces of meat and sweet and sour berries when Yarnaby does something right. The doctor likes to start with simple tasks: sit, down, stand, voice, fetch, roll, near. Then they become more difficult: divide the toys by color, get food out of a narrow glass, name the objects correctly, read the words, and count to a hundred. Sometimes they even go into the playroom, where there are many different boxes, grids, tunnels, and ropes, and Yarnaby climbs to the top, runs after a small squeaking toy, and then grabs it in its jaws and brings it to the Doctor, where he examines a chick, a bear cub, or a kitten and throws it back on the playground—this means that now Yarnaby can chase it down and eat it. The Doctor has his own room. When he's there, Yarnaby can be around, but it cannot run, jump, or make noise. Yarnaby tries to play quietly when the Doctor is working: he sits at his desk and writes something, writes a lot, and then writes not on a piece of paper but on a computer, calls, writes more, sighs, and turns away from his notes. When Yarnaby gets bored of playing, it sits in a corner and watches the Doctor closely. Even if the Doctor doesn't pay attention to it, Yarnaby likes just looking at him and knowing he's there. When the Doctor turns to it, Yarnaby begins to play a cheerful tune coming from somewhere inside its body, and the Doctor smiles. The Doctor is all that Yarnaby has. And Yarnaby is all the Doctor has. Yarnaby doesn't have anyone else to talk to, and the Doctor likes to talk with his pet. Yarnaby listens with great interest, trying to catch every word.

"Doctor..."

"What?"

"Ba...ball."

"Not now. I'm busy."

"Work?"

"Yes. Don't bother me."

"But...ball. Long time..."

"I said don't bother me, Quinn—"

The Doctor turns to Yarnaby, anger and... confusion in his eyes? The Doctor blinks and rubs his face with his palm. He is tired. "Quinn?"

The Doctor's lower jaw tightens. Yarnaby feels a pang of fear but decides to ask anyway.

"Who is this?"

When the Doctor hears the simple-minded question, he blinks again, but this time longer, and grins, shaking his head.

"Oh...nevermind. Ball?"

Yarnaby's pupils get even bigger, and it jumps up, bringing the slobbery ball to the Doctor's feet. They play and play, and the strange nickname disappears behind thoughts of how much the Doctor loves Yarnaby and how much Yarnaby loves him.

His name was Quinn. But only the Doctor remembers it.

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Его зовут Ярнаби.

Он большая игрушка, с цветастой гривой из пряжи, тяжёлыми когтистыми лапами, очаровательными круглыми глазами и широкой забавной улыбкой на морде. Он гораздо больше собаки, но не выше лошади, по крайней мере, так ему говорят – сам Ярнаби никогда не видел лошадей, только на картинках, и там они все не больше одного его пальца. Он живёт в большой комнате со стенами, сшитыми из лоскутов мягкой кожи. Он часто рвёт их, оставляя большие следы на полу, стенах и даже потолке, так он точит свои когти. В комнате есть большая тёплая лежанка, давно потерявшая форму под весом Ярнаби, но никакого места уютнее он не знает. Ещё здесь много подушек, игрушек, стол, на который можно прыгать, и он не сломается, стулья, на которые прыгать нельзя, и чтобы в лишний раз не соблазняться, Ярнаби всегда отодвигает их в самый дальний от лежанки угол, толкая мордой и лапами. Недалеко от большой железной двери с маленьким окошком есть клетка, куда Ярнаби может забраться только пригнувшись: там стоят миски с едой и водой. Когда настаёт время есть, а оно обычно настаёт каждый день в одно и то же время, клетка закрывается, миски исчезают за стену и наполняются едой и водой, а потом появляются обратно, и клетка открывается. Это значит, что можно есть. Ярнаби ест мясо, особенно ему нравится грызть и крошить кости, яйца со скорлупой, овощи и ягоды. Бывают дни, когда его балуют, и прибавляют кусочки шоколада. Ярнаби вылизывает миску дочиста, особенно если на дне есть немного сладкого сиропа, остатки желтка или крови.

Его зовут Доктор.

Это он за стеной наполняет миски Ярнаби. Он выводит его из камеры раз в неделю, чтобы завести в комнату поменьше, где уже стоит таз, цветные бутылочки, где на полу лежит полотенце, которым Доктор обтирает Ярнаби после того, как моет, тщательно прочесывая руками всё, покрытое пряжей тело. Перед тем, как сесть в воду, Ярнаби всегда пробует её на вкус, потом осторожно запрыгивает в таз, стараясь не намочить Доктора, хотя тот, наученный горьким опытом, и так надевает фартук. Доктор что-то рассказывает ему, и, пусть многие слова остаются непонятными, но по тону голоса всё сразу становится ясно. Когда Доктор добрый, он разговаривает мягко, неспешно и часто спрашивает что-то Ярнаби. «Кто хороший мальчик?» - так звучит один из его вопросов, и Ярнаби не знает, зачем Доктор его повторяет. Наверное, проверяет, не забыл ли его плюшевый зверь ответ. Но Ярнаби помнит. Он раскрывает зубастую пасть и протяжно, хрипло урчит: «…Я-я-ярнаби…». Тогда Доктор радуется, и Ярнаби тоже становится ещё счастливее. Когда Доктор злится, он разговаривает, но не с Ярнаби, а кем-то, кого нет в комнате – или, может, это существо невидимое, и Доктор огрызается, кричит и шипит, больно дёргает за пряжу и толкается, и Ярнаби всегда чувствует себя очень виноватым.

Иногда Доктор приходит на кормёжку лично. Он бросает кусочки мяса и сладкие и кислые ягоды тогда, когда Ярнаби делает что-то правильно. Доктору нравится начинать с несложных заданий: сесть, лечь, встать, зарычать, принести мяч, перекатиться, идти рядом. Потом они становятся сложнее: разделить игрушки по цветам, достать еду из узкого стакана, правильно назвать предметы, прочесть слова и посчитать до ста. Иногда они даже уходят в игровую комнату, где много разных коробок, решёток, туннелей и верёвок, и Ярнаби забирается на самый верх, бегает за маленькой пищащей игрушкой, а потом хватает её челюстями и приносит Доктору, где он осматривает цыплёнка, медвежонка или котёнка и снова бросает на площадку – это значит, что теперь Ярнаби можно догнать его и съесть.

У Доктора есть и своя комната. Когда он там, то Ярнаби может побыть рядом, но нельзя бегать, прыгать или шуметь. Ярнаби старается играть тихо, когда Доктор работает: сидит за столом и пишет что-то, очень много пишет, а потом пишет не на бумажке, а на компьютере, звонит, пишет ещё, вздыхает и отворачивается от своих записей. Когда Ярнаби наскучивает играть, он садится в угол и внимательно наблюдает за Доктором. Даже если Доктор не обращает на него внимания, Ярнаби нравится просто смотреть на него и знать, что он рядом. Когда Доктор поворачивается к нему, то Ярнаби играет весёлую мелодию, исходящую откуда-то изнутри его тела, и Доктор улыбается.

Доктор – всё, что есть у Ярнаби. И Ярнаби всё, что есть у Доктора. Больше Ярнаби разговаривать не с кем, а Доктор любит говорить. Ярнаби слушает с большим интересом, внимая каждому слову.

«Доктор…»

«Что?»

«Мя…мячик».

«Не сейчас. Я занят».

«Работа?»

«Да. Не мешай мне».

«Но…мячик давно не…»

«Я сказал не мешай мне, Квин-»

Доктор поворачивается к Ярнаби, в его глазах злость и…смущение? Доктор моргает и трёт ладонью лицо. Он устал.

«Квин?»

У Доктора напрягается нижняя челюсть. Ярнаби чувствует укол страха, но всё-таки решает спросить.

«Кто это?»

Когда Доктор слышит простодушный вопрос, он снова моргает, но теперь дольше, и усмехается, качая головой.

«О…неважно. Мячик?»

Зрачки Ярнаби становятся ещё больше, и он подскакивает, принося слюнявый мяч к ногам Доктора. Они играют и играют, и странное прозвище растворяется за мыслями о том, как же Доктор любит Ярнаби, и как же Ярнаби любит его.

Его звали Квин. Но об этом помнит только Доктор.

[arahir]

sorry for getting deep but how do you make your life stop feeling meaningless and stuck on the routine and never doing anything memorable and feeling like time and youth is slipping through your fingers and-

i wish i had any easy answers for you! bear with me because this is long.

i think this is truly, the hardest thing any of us will have to contend with: life has no inherent purpose. you're a collection of cells given sentience for a period of time. this can be horrific, or beautiful, and our ways of dealing with this are myriad. some people find god. some people find a more private spirituality. some people throw themselves into work, into art, into family and friends, into some form of legacy, into hedonism. most of us do all of that to various degrees.

this is what i will say: it got better for me after i hit 30. it got better for me when i got good friends and started putting my effort into them. it got better for me when i started indulging hobbies and larks, taking time to seek out and appreciate art in whatever form and making time to make my own, a nice see-saw of creation and appreciation. it got better for me when i accepted that i can be a scientist and an atheist and still find something spiritual and magical and deeply meaningful in the world around me. there's no one answer.

i find it both forgiving and encouraging: there's no inherent purpose, so you really can't mess up in deciding what yours will be. there's no inherent purpose, so any purpose you give your life is more than there was before, and to that end, you can only win. if you do anything to make the world or your life even marginally better by whatever metric you set (and i trust that all of us here are the sort of people who believe good can exist), you've done it. and better, you can keep doing more of it.

so: making time for others, showing appreciation, showing gratitude. call someone and tell them you love them. write a letter. send something to a friend, even a dm. make a date to see someone you haven't in a while. make small talk. study some art, make some art. go somewhere new, even if it's walking down a new street. play a new video game, read a new book, read a fic, watch an episode of a new show. set a tiny, miniscule goal and complete it.

i can say that doing anything will help more than worrying about not having done enough. it's never too late to start doing something, even doing a tiny bit a day of anything is enough, and you can't get it wrong as long as you're trying. and above all, as always, be nice to yourself. it can feel like you've done something wrong to end up where you are, but every decision you ever made in your life, you made for a reason that made sense at that moment and that's not nothing. wherever you are now, you have choices about how you move forward. you can fall back, fuck up, waste a day. it's all going to be fine. find something that brings meaning to your life and pursue it. sometimes that's yucking it up on tumblr, and sometimes it's reading poetry, or going for a hike, or writing a novel, or doing something good for someone or for society. and sometimes it's eating fried noodles. it doesn't matter as long as you're moving forward <333

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

YOU ONE OF THEM QUEERS???

Yandere Conner Kent x Weird black!reader

So what if you invited your brother's best friend to watch One Piece with you? He said he never had! What kind of psycho has never watched One Piece? You thought, but then again, the psycho was a test tube baby; he wouldn't know about the amazing run of Disney Channel back in the day, how it used to be, or how hyped everyone was for the Kaido fight with Luffy, or understand the cultural significance of a DBZ movie in theaters. You had to show this little lab rat the greatness of TV. Sure, he knows, but he doesn't know more. I mean, he never rushed home to watch Toonami after school. You had to teach him, and well, your little guinea pig was eager to know. Connor wanted to get closer to you in every way possible—be your best friend, be your favorite superhero, maybe even boyfriend if you catch the hints he's dropping. No, he doesn't just want to play Smash Bros; he wants you guys to be more than tag team buddies, but you'll only see him as something friendly. He calls you "babe," and you hit him with a "bro," you're breaking the poor boy's heart. He holds your waist; you think it's just a friendly gesture. He leans his head on your shoulder, smelling the cocoa butter you spread in your dreads and how it sticks to anything he wears. But to you, "Awe, the little guinea pig is sleepy," you teased, and this was the night you invited him over to the mansion. I mean, there's literally an entertainment room; it would be a shame not to watch the best story created by my man on a freaking projector!

"Wow, you're early; the popcorn ain't even poppin'!" you joked, a coy little smile on your face.

"I like being on time, babe," he smirked back, entering the mansion. "Hey, no boots, mister! This floor is hardwood, and I know you walk around in mud!" you warned, but there was still a playful edge to it.

“Ugh, babe, buy me a drink first before you see my feet!” Conner said with a big grin, and you made a fake gagging sound, causing the two of you to laugh. You took him by the hand and pulled him to the entertainment room.

"So how far are you in One Piece?" you asked. You forced him to watch it, but you couldn't call it force, because he watches it with you, telling him to listen and obey whatever you say. "Don't watch the movie; it's a waste of money." He was looking forward to it, but if you hate it, he hates it too. "Yuck, I hate the comic writer; he retcons almost everything if he can't fit it into a plot." If it's that bad, he won't read their comics.

"This fandom is pretty toxic, but come on, the merch is amazing! I mean, look at these MHA pins; they're too cute!" If you like those pins on your bag so much, then he'll wear a Todoroki pin on his leather jacket to make you smile.

You sat with Conner in the theater; it was the whole Cake Island arc. You were already on Wano, but Conner was new to the game, so you didn't mind going a couple of arcs back for him. His head was laid gently on your shoulder; you felt him sniff you and nuzzle his nose into your neck, which made you giggle.

"Dude, quit staring in. Try to pay attention; this is important for later arcs," you always say, but you're way more important to him.

"You say that every time," Conner huffed.

"Cause it is!" you gave a half-hearted laugh.

You looked down at him, and for some reason, the glowing light of the projector made you look stunning. The blue light cascading on your dark skin made you look so surreal, as if you weren't from this planet.

"Come on, Conner, just pay attention for a minute. I promise it'll be worth your while," you said softly. It felt so intimate, like you guys were in an actual movie theater, and you were like.

"Shhh, baby! We can't make out right now; the fight scene is happening." You're such a dense dork, but oh, it just makes it even better.

"Yeah, I'll pay attention." News flash: he won't. He'll be too busy staring at you and how your face lights up during the fights. His super hearing means he'll still listen, but he'd rather watch you, and maybe later he'll watch a YouTube video explaining the arc.

"God, I wish I were as cool as Sanji. He looks so wicked in that red cape! You know, you should really get a cape like that. I know your whole thing is leather jackets, but come on, you have to try out red. Plus, I heard it makes a person's eyes..." You trailed off as you turned to look at Conner, who had his full attention on you, and, God, it made you blush a slight purple.

"Shit, I'm rambling again. I know you don't want to hear me yap. Good, I feel like such a skeeze-"

"No, you're not," he said softly but firmly. It made you giggle like a schoolgirl.

"What?~" you said, nervously

"I like your voice a lot, baby." Now, when he says it like that, it doesn't feel like a cute little nickname he came up with.

"And I like it especially when you talk about shit you like. You're so passionate about it; you don't see that with regular people. You're so genuine," he continues, getting closer. You turn away, covering your face. God, you're such a dork. He just wants to take you right here and now, but that would be unlawful.

"So what, you think I'm cool or something?" You laughed with a half-hearted smirk.

"I think you're amazing, babe," he answered, grabbing your face to look at him, and you laughed, covering your mouth with your hand. This made Conner laugh too.

"I'm trying to be smooth, and you're laughing at me!" Conner chuckled.

"Smooth? Yeah, right! You're as smooth as the acne on my forehead!" Then you both burst out laughing, your foreheads connecting. "Goofy-ass motherfucker!" you said in between giggles.

"Come on, baby, you know I've moved some; they say I've got rizz~" You pushed Test Baby to the side, snorting.

"Who the hell lied to your bum ass?" you snickered.

"No one!" He protested.

"Uh-huh," you pulled yourself closer to him, wrapping your long arms around his neck. "You have no game."

"You just don't want to admit I'm cooler than you," he quipped.

"In your clone dreams," you snapped playfully.

"You're in my cloned dreams," he said, your face getting uncomfortably close; it made you laugh.

"That shit was corny as hell," and you and Conner giggled some more; he felt your touch ever so gently.

"Can I?"

"Can you?"

He then pressed his lips to yours, and Conner could have sweated as he ascended to another state of being. Your lips tasted like buttered popcorn and cheap soda—something he loved more than anything, especially if that flavor was you. He pulled you closer, his hands wrapping around your slim waist. Your hand was now placed on his cheek as you felt him slowly start to get on top of you, and you let him. And shit, who cares if you're kissing your brother's best friend? He should have called dibs by now.

You gasp for air, but Conner doesn't let you recover. He presses his lips against you hard this time, passionately. He has kissed a whole ton of people before, which gives him the experience you lack. You feel him suck on your tongue, and you whimper just a little, shivering. Is this how it feels to kiss? ‘Cause if it is, God fucking bless! You feel his gloved hand reach underneath your Wonder Man hoodie. You grab his arm and pull away. He hears the great Superboy whine like a puppy, and it makes you snicker just a little. Your hand that was on his cheek moves to his now swollen lips.

"Kon, pay attention; this part is important. This is when Luffy fights Katakuri, and we get to see his Devil Fruit," you whispered against his lips. Da fuck? You stopped good kissing and touching for an anime fight??

Your lucky he thinks your hot.

(Made this one while listening to chapple roan God I love that little lesbian)

[grimoireofhayley]

Shackles

Leon S. Kennedy x TF141!Reader

Inspired by both events of Modern Warfare 2, Resident Evil (Games & Animated Movies) and the Song Shackles by Steven Rodriguez

Shackles Master List

Warnings: Smut (Eventually), Swearing, Blood & Gore, Flirting, BDSM (Eventually), Implied Mental Health Struggles, Alcoholism, Trauma, Torture, Eventual Kidnapping , Age Gap (Leon is 48 and reader is 25), Enemies to Lovers, Leon is an absolute ass at first, Slight Ghost x Reader x Soap if you squint, Abuse, Masochism

A/n: I apologize if reader seems like a Mary-sue… I couldn’t help it, I wanted the reader to seem more badass/Independent… I’m not very good at describing it, however, I hope you enjoy. 😊 Also, this song inspired the way this chapter played out lol. Listen to it as you read, you won’t regret it.

Chapter 4:

Price, Soap, Ghost and Gaz were standing to the side, having watched the events unfold in front of them. They were trying to contain their amusement, but the entire situation was just too good to be true.

Soap slapped his knee, bursting out into laughter. “That was bloody brilliant.”

Price shook his head, a smile playing at his lips. “That’s one hell of a woman,” he chuckled, “Thank god she’s on our team.”

Ghost let out a low whistle, still in shock at what he had just witnessed. “I don’t know if I’m more surprised or impressed. That was some serious power she had over him.”

Soap chuckled again, “She’s got ‘em right where she wants him.”

Price nodded in agreement, “Seems that way. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so rattled before, even when I held him at gun point…”

The four men continued to watch, all of them amused and entertained by the situation. They knew Leon wouldn’t recover from this.

Leon stood up, dusting himself off, as he looked over at the four, a look of embarrassment on his face. He could hear the sound of their laughter, it was annoying.

He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. He knew he had been humbled for maybe the first time in his life, and it was by a woman no less.

And a woman that he can’t get out of his head.

Soap snickered, “Look at his face. I dinnae think I’ve ever seen him look so defeated.”

Gaz smirked, “The look of a man who’s been put in his place, isn’t it beautiful?”

Ghost chuckled, “Looks like he finally got what he deserved. Cocky ‘lil bastard.”

All the men laughed again, clearly enjoying Leon’s current state.

Leon watched as (Y/n) brushed past him, her eyes avoiding his gaze. He wanted to call out to her, to say something, anything, but the words refused to come.

He felt a mix of humiliation and desire warring within him, and he didn’t know how to handle it. He could hear the laughs and taunts of the others in the background, mocking him for his current state, and it only made things worse.

Leon continued to watch her, her scent lingering in the air, his eyes following her every movement. He couldn’t believe what had just happened.

He was so used to being in control, but she had completely turned the tables, and he was struggling to process it.

He turned to look at Price, Soap, Ghost and Gaz, all still laughing at his expense. He scowled, “Piss off, all of you…”

“What’s the matter, Kennedy? Can’t take a little humiliation?” Soap taunted, still chuckling.

Ghost joined in, “Looks like someone can’t ‘andle a strong independent woman.”

Price had a smirk on his face, enjoying this more than the others. “I don’t know what’s funnier, you being put in your place like that, or the fact that you were practically drooling over our lil’ lass…”

Leon’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment as the rest of (Y/n)’s teammates continued to laugh at him. He knew they would never let him live this down.

He took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. “She just took me by surprise, that’s all,” he muttered.

Soap chuckled. “If by surprise you mean ‘completely knocked off yer feet’, then yeah, sure.”

Ghost raised an eyebrow, a smug expression behind the fabric of his mask, “You seemed to be enjoyin’ it, a ‘lil too much if you ask me…”

Leon rolled his eyes. “Like you’d fare any better in my position.”

Soap’s smirk widened. “Oh, I dunno about that. I think I could handle her.”

Ghost grunted, “You’d be on your ass in ten seconds flat.” His London-cockney accent deepening with each word he spoke.

Leon felt a pang of jealousy at the thought of Soap trying to hit on (Y/n). Something about the idea annoyed the hell out of him.

He clenched his jaw, trying to keep his expression neutral. “You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

She scoffed, her hands tightening around her weapon. “Enough, the lot of you.” She snivelled, “I am not a bet, or some whore you bed during missions..” (Y/n) groaned, “Just because I have tits and an ass does not mean you can treat me like a toy or act as if I am not here.” She brought her rifle up, pointing it to the ceiling again, leaning on one foot, “And besides, neither of you can handle me.” She barked, trudging past the males ahead of her.

Soap and the others fell silent, stunned by (Y/n)'s sharp response. They hadn't expected such a vehement reaction from her, at least, not to her own comrades… She knew they were kidding, right? Usually she’d be in on it, joking around with them, or maybe it was because Leon had gotten inside her head? Yeah, that had to be the case. Fuckin’ bastard.

Leon, however, felt a strange mixture of admiration and arousal as he watched her storm past them. Her confidence was both attractive and intimidating, and he found himself wanting to see more of it.

Gaz spoke up, his tone apologetic, "We didn't mean anything by it, lass."

“I know you didn’t…” She softly spoke, walking towards Captain Price. “Can we focus on the mission?” Her tone was neutral.

Price nodded, giving her a reassuring smile. “O’ course.”

The team regained their composure, refocusing their attention on the task at hand. Leon couldn't help but steal glances at her as they prepared for their next move. Despite her earlier outburst, he found himself more intrigued by her than ever even if she did humiliate him.

__

The groans and moans of the undead were heard like an orchestra of gurgling, loitering about outside of the Raccoon City Police Station, ramming into the doors, windows and walls trying to get in. No doubt from the commotion inside, especially when (Y/n) riddled the ceiling with bullets earlier - the noise brought unwanted attention.

Leon and the TF141 were swarmed and the things outside… were hungry.

The team prepared their weapons, getting ready for the imminent onslaught of undead. Leon checked his gear, securing his pistol and ammo. He looked to the others, nodding in readiness.

Gaz looked out through the window, “They’re practically pounding on the door. We can’t stay in here for much longer…”

Soap scanned the area, “Looks like our only option is to fight our way out?” He said more of a question than anything, feeling the unease set in from the mission.

“Fuck no.” Price spoke, “We need to come up with another plan first and fast.”

(Y/n) sighed, placing her weapon behind her, securely strapping it over her shoulder.

She had her own plan and it was only going to work if the idiots in front of her stayed distracted, or else they wouldn’t let her go out there on her own; they’d fight her against it.

(Y/n) had eyed a vehicle near by that was behind the horde, noise was the only thing that could get them to bugger off and away from the building, it’s the only way any of them have a chance to escape and get to the hospital - point B.

(Y/n) tiptoed around the men, heading to the exit door that was nearest to the car, she was on high alert, but she was determined, the plan had to work.

Crouching, she rested her hand above her switchblade, ready to pull it out in case a stray zombie spotted her as she opened the exit door.

__

Making her way to the car, she opened the hood of it.

Yes, this was going to work. There’s no way it won’t.

Bending over, (Y/n) smirked to herself, severing the wire to the car alarm. She closed the hood just as the summer breeze picked up, ridden with plague, as it blew her hair all over the place.

She pulled her leather glove tighter on her hand using her teeth, then made a fist, punching the glass to the drivers side, reaching her hand to the tab that locked the car, unlocking it.

__

Leon, Soap, Ghost and Gaz were still in the main room, discussing their strategy. They were oblivious to (Y/n)’s absence, focused on their own conversation.

Leon ran a hand through his brunette hair, deep in thought. "We need to be careful. If we alert the horde to our presence, we'll be overrun in seconds."

Soap nodded in agreement, "Aye, we need to find a way to distract them."

Ghost only looked ahead of him, watching as the dead continued to throw themselves at the building, gripping his weapon.

Captain Price was silent, deep in thought as his eyes flickered; something, or someone was missing…

Leon continued to strategize with the others, his mind occupied with figuring out the best approach. He noticed Captain Price was distracted, his eyes darting around the room, as if searching for something. Suddenly, he realized it, "Wait a minute...where's (Y/n)?”

__

(Y/n) opened the car door, closing it, adrenaline pumping through her.

She rummaged around, highjacking the car’s engine to get it to start, “C’mon…” She spoke quietly, trying to get a spark. “You can do it, baby..” She grunted, finally getting a reaction from the vehicle. She silently cheered as the headlights turned on, directing the soft glow to the Police Station where the others were.

__

Leon, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz turned towards the headlights, their eyes narrowing as the car engine roared to life.

Gaz's eyes widened, "Is she...?"

Soap smirked, "Looks like the lass has a plan of her own."

Ghost sniffled, "Reckless, but it just might work."

Captain Price raised an eyebrow, a hint of admiration in his eyes.

Leon now felt a mix of worry and pride as he watched (Y/n).

He turned to the others, “Is she out of her goddamn mind? She's going to get herself killed.”

Soap chuckled, clearly enjoying the situation. “Looks like she's got things under control.”

Gaz rolled his eyes, "Or she's about to get herself killed. You know how she is, bloody woman has a death wish.”

__

(Y/n) gripped the steering wheel, revving the engine, gaining some attention from the walkers, she quickly turned the radio on with a flick of her wrist and Hollywood Undead’s song ‘Riot’ started to play…

“I've been searching for an answer, but I ain't found one, I've been known to tear shit up and go off like a gun. I've been drinking way too much, but now I think I'm done…” The lyrics echoed loudly, alerting any, if not, all dead nearby.

“Okay, new plan…” She chuckled, revving the engine again and the tires skidded as she drove.

The men watched in astonishment as (Y/n) floored the gas pedal, heading straight for the horde of undead.

Soap whistled, "Bloody hell, she's doing it."

Ghost's eyes widened, "Is she nuts?"

"Apparently so," Gaz muttered.

Captain Price chuckled, "Can't say I'm surprised."

Leon couldn't believe what he was seeing. (Y/n), the woman who had just put him in his place, was now driving headfirst into a horde of zombies. It was both madness and impressive.

He shook his head, "She's going to get herself killed." He repeated.

Gaz smirked, "Or she's just being the badass we all know she is."

Ghost chuckled, "Aye, that's our (Y/n) for ya.."

The car plowed through the undead, sending them flying in every direction. (Y/n) expertly maneuvered the vehicle, narrowly avoiding the grasping hands of the zombies.

Soap, Ghost and Gaz were in awe, watching the spectacle unfold. Leon was still in shock, torn between admiration and concern.

The team could barely believe what (Y/n) was doing. Driving straight through a horde of undead was impressive enough, but to then reverse into the police station with only one hand on the wheel…it was downright crazy.

Soap groaned, “She's got balls.”

Gaz shook his head, "I'll never doubt the lass again."

Ghost just chuckled, unable to hide his smirk. Even Captain Price had a hint of a smile on his face, they had trained her well.

She poked her head out of the shattered window, waving her arm at them, her other hand still gripping the wheel. “Well, what are you dumbasses waitin’ for? Get in!” She ordered, turning the music off.

The team snapped out of their shock, quickly following (Y/n)’s command. They hurried to the car, climbing into the backseat and piling in, Leon found himself sitting in the passenger seat, their shoulders brushing against one another. He tried to ignore the flicker of electricity he felt at the contact, but eventually gave in to it as he sucked in a shaky breath.

Leon closed the door, "You're absolutely batshit." he said, unable to hide the admiration in his voice.

(Y/n) only shot him a wink.

Gaz, Soap, Ghost and Price were squished in the backseat, trying to find room to breathe. Ghost was particularly uncomfortable, grumbling about the lack of space, “Aye, you couldna find a bigger vehicle?”

(Y/n) laughed as she noticed Ghost's discomfort. "Sorry, mate, but beggars can't be choosers in a zombie apocalypse." She glanced in the rearview mirror at the team squished in the backseat. "Sorry lads, this was the best I could do."

Gaz tried to readjust himself, his elbow bumping into Soap's side. "Yeah, I can feel that."

Soap winced, but couldn’t resist adding a tease, "At least it's a bit cozy back here, eh?"

Ghost grumbled, trying his best to shoot Soap a glare, “If by cozy, you mean claustrophobic, then sure, it’s fuckin’ cozy.”

Captain Price just chuckled at their banter. "Stop squabbling and just be glad we're not being eaten alive right about now."

Leon leaned back in his seat, still in awe at (Y/n)’s driving. "You really are something else, you know that?"

(Y/n) shot him a playful smirk, "I know."

Gaz and Soap snickered in the back, knowing full well how much Leon liked that smirk.

Ghost groaned, growing more and more irritated by the cramped space. "Can we get movin’? I'm being crushed over here."

“Yes, sir.” (Y/n) mock saluted Ghost, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Hold on tight boys.” She purred, getting ready to move.

The team braced themselves for the impending speed, grabbing onto whatever they could to steady themselves.

Soap, as always, had a quip ready, "Well, this is just like a roller-coaster, innit?"

Gaz, who was smushed between Soap and Ghost, tried to find a stable position. "Aye, a roller-coaster with no safety bar."

Ghost grumbled, "I'd rather be chased by the undead than stuck in this car any longer." He attempted to adjust his long legs, but to no avail, he couldn’t budge.

Captain Price just chuckled at their banter. "You lads need to lighten up, it's not so bad."

Leon couldn't help but grin at the interaction.

(Y/n) leaned forward, quickly turning the music back on. “Aye, this is going to be a bumpy ride.” She warned.

The car screeched as (Y/n) slammed the pedal to the floor, the team holding on for dear life in the backseat.

Soap chuckled, "Bloody hell, she's a maniac behind the wheel."

Ghost gritted his teeth, "I think 'maniac' is being kind."

<— Previous Next —>

[jackiepackiee]

Telemachus x Apollo Blessed! Reader

Chapter six

Masterlist

Yall know the vibe by now… this one’s a bit shorter, sorry :p

Two weeks later…

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Telemachus was sitting in bed, dog curled up near his feet and slowly snoring into the late night.

Body resting against the backboard of his bed as he strummed the practice lyre that you had gifted it. Having bought it with him in the town marketplace before one of your lessons, which you’ve had multiple of by now.

He was trying to pluck the strings the way you told him to, and not too harshly like he did instinctively. But he couldn’t help but pull too hard like it was a fight. Music was meant to be handled with care, not brutality.

It was hours after sunset, and the entire palace was asleep. Yet he hadn’t even considered joining the resting world.

Right before the prince could get the notes to hit at the correct time, a familiar figure showed up in his window and stood tall. Blocking the moon light and making him sit up straighter, putting the instrument into his lap.

“Athena?” He asked, squinting his face and scrunching his nose to make out a silhouette from the moonlight. Petting his dog to not disrupt him from his rest at his feet.

Her tall figure and metal helmet gave an obvious and imposing impression in the room. Even though she had visited him many times, all the same divine entrance, he couldn’t help but let out surprise at her presence.

She simply stood still for a few seconds before moving towards his bed and gesturing her chin to the lyre in his lap. “You’re still practicing on that instrument?” Shoulders staying broad, she didn’t make any expressions or particular inflections in her observation.

Hearing this, he nodded sheepishly and moved the blanket over his legs to make room for him to cross his legs and hold the instrument more comfortably. “Well… yeah.” He admitted, letting out a single strum on the strings. Smiling when the song didn’t come out completely botched.

Looking on at his playing, the goddess let her shoulders relax down and arms rest at her sides instead of on her hips. “You shouldn’t spend so much time on one thing.” She began, sounding almost tired or bored. “And every time I visit it’s the same song.” Her voice was gentle, trying not to come off harsh or scolding despite her obvious lack of enthusiasm for his continuous songs.

Ignoring, or simply not noticing her distaste for his music, he looked at the lyre as it was something to be praised. The way he looks excitedly at papers of stories told of beasts and myths that heros wrote. “It’s the song she’s teaching me.” He told her, looking back up at her from the strings in his lap and smiling like a puppy. Cheeks getting plusher from the squish as a toothy grin took up part of his face. Eyes closed from the smile.

She looked at him, unable to ignore the feeling of nostalgia in her heart. Did he know he looked so much like his father?

Clearing her head and throat, she looked back out the window from which she came into the late night sky. “I know, you’ve mentioned.” She quipped, not liking to acknowledge the similarities he held so closely with a young Odysseus. She was just happy it was dark so he couldn’t read her face as well as he usually did.

He looked back down at his lap, not fiddling with anything but just looking and thinking.

Eventually, he spoke up with the same fiery determination Athena appreciated him for. “I need to practice so I can get better. She’s my teacher, I wanna impress her.” He claimed, gripping the sides of the instrument tightly while holding it out in his outstretched arms. Enjoying the way the moonlight bounced off the strings like raindrops.

She watched her student with the same knowing expression she had when Odysseus was beginning to fall for Penelope.

However, she never knew anything about romance. Only able to recognize it due to Telemachus’ resemblance to his father’s behavior. So, she decided to use her more knowledgeable skills to try and help a little bit.

“You can also impress her with your strength and cunning. With what I know you’re talented at.” She offered, speaking in a stiff way at the awkwardness she felt speaking of love. She wasn’t Aphrodite, but it didn’t take the goddess of love to see the boy begin to grow feelings.

The prince put the lyre back onto his lap, looking at Athena as she spoke. His face lit up, as if he was talking about his favorite topic. “Yeah… but you should see the way she lights up when she talks about music!” He beamed, smiling at the memory of your passion. Continuing, he trailed off slightly as he looked past Athena and out the window to the calm night. “That light in her eyes…” He whispered, smiling to himself while biting the inside of his cheek in thought.

Silence took over the duo, both thinking with their eyes out the window.

Athena facing her back to Telemachus, unable to shake the feeling of nostalgia that seemed inescapable when it came to the prince. He had no idea how much he was like his father, or how every new thing was a carbon copy of what happened some 20 years ago with Odysseus.

You and Penelope even had the same relationship with the boys, as if history was replaying before her eyes. Watching her student become a man she knew well, and who he longed to be.

Telemachus was not thinking of the past, but instead of the future. Planning in his head the next meeting you two would have. How he planned to impress you with his quick skills, even if half the time you didn’t actually play the instrument. Instead traveling around the island or talking about a random topic.

He wanted to show you he cared about your passion, and could be involved in that section of your life.

Quietly, he spoke again. Letting his voice travel through the night in a small question. “Athena?”

“Yes?” She hummed, turning around and looking back at the boy before her. Both appreciating the quiet nature of the night, soft and gentle.

“Do you think you could help me learn faster? You have wisdom, so can you give me some?” He asked, despite the question being undeniably childish. He couldn’t help but ask, wanting to do all he could for you. A girl he barely knew besides the fact that every moment spent with you feels perfect,

She crossed her arms, but spoke gently. Nevertheless, her wise words come off as half lecture, half advice. “I have wisdom, but not in music. All I can wisely say is that this practice is ruining your sleep by keeping you awake at night.” She gestured to the late night, and the absolute silence of the surrounding dark.

He however wasn’t disheartened by this, continuing to try and convince his way into gaining some kind of help, “I need to get better. You said it yourself that practice is necessary.” He reasoned, picking up the lyre and holding it out to her.

She shook her head, putting down the instrument with a gentle push by her fingers. Letting her get a clear view of his face. “Not for something like this. Music is okay, but it’s consuming your life.”

He looked at the strings and spoke in a dejected tone. “I’m bad at it, and I need to get better for her.”

She huffed, not appreciating how she couldn’t offer her help. So she did all she could, be honest.

“You’re a good kid Telemachus. If you want to impress her, just be yourself and she’ll like you.” Sighing at his obvious obliviousness, she gave one last quip before turning towards the window and night. “She already does.”

His eyes widened, as he put the lyre down and his face whipped in the direction of the goddess.

“She does?!” He called, but before he could get an answer Athena transformed into her typical owl form and flew out into the night. Wings spanning and creating a shadow from blocking the moon.

Leaving Telemachus in a temporary darkness. “Wait, don’t go… bye Athena.”

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[mattsobvimyfav]

unknown

Y/N has always played it safe—balancing her job as a pediatric nurse, and her careful lifestyle. But one night out with her friend, Jordan, changes everything. When she meets Matt and Chris—two dangerous, enigmatic brothers—she’s drawn into a world she doesn’t belong in. But the more she resists, the harder they pulls her in.

chapter 1

Boston in the early summer has a certain charm—sunlight reflecting off the Charles River, the distant hum of traffic blending with the laughter of people enjoying the warmth after months of bitter cold. It’s home, familiar and comforting.

At twenty-two, I’ve checked off one of the biggest milestones of my life—graduating nursing school. Now, I’m officially a pediatric nurse at one of the best children’s hospitals in the country, something I’ve worked tirelessly for. My days are filled with tiny hands gripping mine, sleepy smiles, and moments of both heartbreak and hope. It’s exhausting, but I love it. Every shift reminds me why I chose this path—to help, to heal, to be there for the little ones who need it most.

When I’m not at the hospital, I spend my time buried in books, or going out shopping with friends, But if I’m not reading, chances are, I’m with the family I’ve worked for since I was eighteen.

The Moore family hired me as their nanny fresh out of high school, and somehow, four years later, I never left. Their two kids—Owen, now five, and Ella, two—have become like little siblings to me. I’ve been there for scraped knees, school projects, and bedtime stories, and even with my busy schedule, I can’t bring myself to give it up entirely. Their parents understand; they know I care too much to walk away completely.

My life is a carefully balanced routine—nursing shifts, nannying, the occasional days with friends, and nights spent curled up watching my favorite show or reading my favorite book. And yet, despite how full my days are, there’s a small part of me that wonders if I’m missing something.

Thursday night was another long one. I worked the second shift from 7 PM to midnight in the respiratory section of the children's hospital, a place where the air always seemed just a little heavier. The unit was full—kids battling asthma flare-ups, pneumonia, and RSV, their small chests rising and falling with labored breaths.

My first patient of the night was a five-year-old girl named Lily, who had been admitted earlier that day with severe asthma. Her mother hovered anxiously by her bedside, asking a million questions as I checked Lily’s oxygen levels and adjusted her nebulizer. I did my best to reassure her, keeping my tone calm and steady. It wasn’t lost on me how terrifying it must be to watch your child struggle to breathe.

After Lily, I moved on to a toddler with RSV, his tiny frame looking even smaller beneath the tangle of tubes and wires. His parents had stepped out for a quick break, so I sat with him for a few minutes, rubbing small circles on his back as he dozed in and out of restless sleep. Moments like these made the exhaustion worth it—being able to offer even the smallest bit of comfort.

The night continued in a blur of vitals checks, medication rounds, and hushed conversations with worried parents. Around 10:30 PM, I grabbed a quick snack from my bag, savoring the brief moment of stillness before heading back into the harsh reality.

By the time midnight rolled around, my feet ached, and my body begged for sleep. But as I clocked out and stepped into the cool Boston air, I felt something else too—gratitude. For the kids who fought so hard, for the parents who loved so fiercely, and for the privilege of being there to help, even in the smallest of ways.

It was now Friday morning, and I can already feel the excitement bubbling up inside me. The week has felt so long, but today is all about taking a break with my friend, Jordan.

I get up, stretch, and head to my closet, trying to figure out what to wear. After a moment of hesitation, I grab my white cardigan. Underneath, I slip on a black cropped tank top that I know goes with pretty much anything. Then, I pick out my favorite khaki mini skirt. I pair everything with my white converse.

I grab my phone, scroll through a few messages, and decide to head out early. The morning air feels nice, so I make my way to the front steps of my apartment and sit down, legs crossed. It’s quiet outside, the kind of peaceful stillness you only get in the morning. I take a deep breath, enjoying the calm.

I’m just scrolling through my phone when I hear the sound of an engine approaching. Looking up, I see Jordan’s bright blue Jeep Wrangler coming down the street, turning the corner as it makes its way straight to me.

I smile as she parks, rolling down the window. "Ready for our girl's day?" she calls out, her grin already spreading across her face.

"Always," I reply, jumping to my feet, grabbing my bag, and heading over to the Jeep.

I hop into the passenger seat of Jordan's Jeep. She pulls away from the curb and grins at me, her hands gripping the wheel.

"So, what’s the plan for today?" I ask, turning to face her.

"First stop for breakfast. Then, I need to make a quick pit stop, then go shopping" she says with a mischievous smile.

I raise an eyebrow. "A pit stop? What are we talking about?"

Jordan just shrugs, her grin widening. "You'll see. But first, we need food. I’m starving."

I laugh, the anticipation building as we head to our favorite café in town. It’s a little spot that serves the best avocado toast and strong coffee, perfect for getting our day started. We pull into the parking lot, and I can already smell the rich aroma of fresh coffee drifting out as we walk in.

The café is quiet, the morning rush already over. We grab a table by the window, and Jordan places our usual order—avocado toast with eggs and two iced lattes. I don’t mind—she always knows exactly what I’ll want. As we wait for our food, we chat about the week, and was in the middle of telling her about my patience last night when I noticed a couple of people at a nearby table glancing over at us.

Jordan notices too and raises an eyebrow. "What’s going on? You seem a little tense today."

I shrug, "I don’t know. Just feels like people stare at us sometimes."

She smirks. "Y/N, we clash pretty hardcore. I mean, look at us."

I roll my eyes, though I know she’s right. I can’t deny it—there’s something about the way I carry myself that screams "basic good girl." and she’s the blueprint definition of grunge.

Jordan nudges me, snapping me out of my thoughts. "Relax. They’re just looking. Let them." We both laugh just as our food arrives. 

"Alright," Jordan says as she sips her coffee, "after we eat, I’ve got to make that stop."

After breakfast, we slide back into the Jeep, the warm feeling of a good meal still lingering. 

"Get comfortable," she tells me, glancing over with a half-smile. "It’s gonna be a little bit of a drive."

I nod, still curious about the “pit stop” she mentioned earlier. The roads blur by as we drive through neighborhoods I don’t recognize, the buildings getting more worn down as we leave the busier parts of town. Finally, she pulls up in front of a rundown house on the edge of a quiet street. The place looks like it’s seen better days—paint peeling off the siding, the yard overgrown with weeds. 

Jordan parks the Jeep and sends a quick text, her fingers flying across her phone. I glance at her, feeling a strange unease settle in my chest.

"Who are we meeting here?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

Jordan looks at me for a second, the serious look returning to her eyes. "Just stay calm. It’s no big deal, I swear."

We wait in silence for a moment before the door to the house creaks open. Two guys, who look nearly identical, step out onto the porch. They’re dressed in baggy sweatpants and wife beaters, they glance to their left and right before walking over.

Jordan rolls down her window as one of them heads straight for her side of the Jeep. The other boy makes his way to my window, giving me a once-over before leaning against the door.

"Hey" Jordan says coolly, and I watch as they exchange a few words. I can’t make out everything they’re saying, but I know it’s about weed. I always knew Jordan smoked but she had never brought me to pick up her supply.

The guy by my window with dark hair and a cocky grin—glances at me, sizing me up. "Who’s this pretty little thing?" he asks, his voice smooth and a little playful.

Before I can respond, Jordan cuts in sharply, her voice low but firm. "No, Matthew. She’s off-limits. She doesn’t belong in your world."

I blink, a little taken aback by the way Jordan says it. The guy, Matthew, chuckles darkly, clearly not bothered by her words.

"Relax, Jordan. It’s just a question," he says, leaning closer to my window. 

Jordan gives him a hard look. "No, Matthew. Hands off. She’s not for you."

The other boy who’s been standing by Jordan’s side, smirks. "C’mon, Jord, let us meet the girl," he says, his voice more playful than Matt’s. "What’s the harm?"

Jordan shakes her head firmly. "No, Chris," she says, her tone leaving no room for argument.

I watch the two boys exchange looks, their attention flicking between Jordan and me. I start to put their names to their faces: Matt with the easy grin, and Chris, who seems like he’s having too much fun with this.

Matt suddenly turns his attention back to Jordan. "You hear about that party tonight?"

Jordan sighs, her expression softening. "I’ll be there," she says.

Before I can ask her anything, the deal wraps up, and Matt gives Jordan a nod, Chris handing her something small. The air seems to shift as everything falls back into place.

"Let’s go," Jordan mutters, her foot hitting the gas as the Jeep speeds off.

As we drive away, my mind is buzzing with questions. I glance at Jordan, who’s still focused on the road, I can’t keep quiet anymore.

"Who were those guys?" I ask, trying to keep my voice casual, though I’m definitely curious. "Matt and Chris."

Jordan lets out a small sigh, and I can tell she’s debating whether or not to tell me more. Finally, she speaks up.

"They’re triplets," she says, her tone a little more serious now. "They have another brother who lives out in LA. The three of them—Matt, Chris, and Nick—are big-time dealers. The kind of guys you don’t mess with unless you really know what you're doing."

My eyes widened a bit, the weight of her words sinking in. I always knew Jordan was in the know, but hearing this side of her world feels a little... overwhelming. "Wait, so they’re like legit drug dealers? And you hang out with them?"

Jordan glances over at me. "Yeah, but don’t get the wrong idea. I know them from way back. They’ve always been around, but we keep it casual. I don’t get too deep into their business. I keep my distance."

I nod slowly, "And their brother in LA, is he in the same line of work?"

"Yeah," Jordan confirms with a slight shrug. "That’s just the way they roll. You’ll get used to it."

I don’t know if “used to it” is something I want to get, but I keep my thoughts to myself. My mind drifts to what happened earlier. The way Matt kept eyeing me.

"So, what about tonight?" I ask, my curiosity getting the best of me. "The party Matt mentioned. Are we going?"

Jordan’s hands tighten on the wheel, and I catch a flicker of hesitation in her eyes. "You’ve never asked to go to a party before," she says, almost as if speaking to herself. "It’s always just been my thing. You’ve never really been interested in it."

I raise an eyebrow. "Well, there’s a first time for everything I guess."

My heart beats a little faster at the thought of stepping into that world, but then I catch a spark of excitement in Jordan’s voice. She’s got that fire in her eyes.

"Okay," I say, biting my lip nervously but also feeling the pull of curiosity. "Let’s go get me a new outfit."

Jordan flashes me a grin, her excitement matching mine. "Perf. Let’s go shopping."

A few minutes later, we pull up to a little boutique in the city. It’s not too far from where we were, but it feels worlds away from the rundown house we just left. I follow Jordan inside, the bells above the door jingling as we walk in. The place is packed with clothes—bright colors, edgy designs.

"Alright, pick something that’s revealing and sexy. You’ll wanna fit in.’" Jordan says with a wink. "You need something bold. You can’t show up in the same vibe as that avocado toast and cardigan look."

I laugh at the little stray she threw my way "Okay, okay. Let’s see what you’ve got in mind."

We spend the next hour in the boutique, Jordan practically dragging me from one rack to another, pushing me to try on things I never would have considered before. She pulls out a black corset top that looks a little daring, with intricate lace detailing and a structure that feels way more bold than anything I’d normally wear.

"You’re going for something sexy tonight," Jordan insists, tossing it at me. "Trust me, this will make an impression."

I hold it up to myself in front of the mirror, considering it. "Are you sure this is my style?" I ask, a bit unsure. The corset is tight, the cleavage daring, and the fabric feels both delicate and bold all at once.

"It’s not," she urges, giving me a knowing look. "That’s the point."

I give in and head to the changing room. When I slip into the corset, I’m surprised by how good it actually feels on—tight in all the right places, highlighting my waist in a way I didn’t expect. I step back into the main area, and Jordan’s eyes widen.

"Okay, okay, you look amazing," she says, nodding approvingly. "Now, let's get you some jeans to go with it."

I follow her to the denim section, and after a few minutes, I grab a pair of light-wash, wide-leg jeans. They’re flowy, a little more relaxed than the jeans I usually wear, but they somehow seem like the perfect balance to the corset’s structured look. I hold them up next to the top, and Jordan gives an exaggerated thumbs-up.

"Yes! These are perfect" she says. "This is how you’ll fit in."

I grab them, along with a pair of mini black heels that match the edgy vibe we’re going for. They’re simple but have just enough height to make me feel confident, without being too much.

When I step out of the fitting room in the full outfit, Jordan looks me over, a grin spreading across her face. "Girl, you’re ready. You look hot."

I laugh nervously, standing in front of the mirror. "I don’t even know if I can pull this off... but I kind of love it."

Jordan raises an eyebrow. "You’ve got this. Trust me, I’ll be by your side the whole night."

"Alright," I say, taking a deep breath. "Let’s do this."

After we finish shopping, Jordan insists on stopping by a few other places. We grab lunch, then swing by a beauty store for some makeup essentials.

"Trust me," she says, tossing a tube of mascara into the basket. "We’re going all out tonight."

By the time we’re done, the day has flown by. We’re laughing and chatting about random things, and the excitement I felt earlier is turning into a nervous energy that I can’t quite shake. Every now and then, my mind drifts back to the conversation about Matt and Chris.

When we finally get back to Jordan’s place, she pulls into the driveway with that same determined look she’s had all day. “Alright, babe, it’s time.”

I stare at her, my heart doing a little flip. "Time for what?"

"Time to get ready," she says, hopping out of the Jeep before I can say anything else.

I grab my shopping bags and follow her inside, my pulse picking up pace. Jordan leads me to her room, which is filled with a mix of clothes and half-open drawers. She’s already pulling out a few items, and I can’t help but laugh nervously.

The next few hours feel like a whirlwind. Jordan’s apartment is a crazy mess as we rush to get ready. 

“Okay, sit down,” she orders, motioning to the chair in front of her vanity. I do as I’m told, watching her rummage through a drawer filled with makeup products. “Let’s make sure you look amazing tonight,” she says with a grin.

I glance at my reflection in the mirror, still not quite used to the corset top and the wide-leg jeans. The outfit is bold, daring, but I can’t help feeling like I’m playing dress-up in someone else’s clothes. Still, Jordan seems so confident in it, and I trust her.

She starts with my face, prepping my skin with some kind of serum and moisturizer she swears by. I close my eyes and let her work her magic, her hands light but sure as she applies the base, blending everything seamlessly. My skin already looks smoother, more even than it usually does.

“You’re gonna love the foundation I got for you,” she says, swiping a brush across my cheeks. “It’s got this glow to it—makes your skin look like it’s glowing from within.” She finishes with a dusting of powder, setting everything in place.

I watch as she moves to my eyes. “We’re going for sultry, babe. Just big huge lashes,” she says, applying a thick coat of mascara, making my lashes look long and voluminous.

“Open your eyes,” she says with a smirk as she steps back to admire her work. I glance in the mirror and can’t believe how much my eyes pop just from mascara. 

Jordan then turns her attention to my lips. She picks up a pink lip liner, carefully lining the edges before putting on a pink tinted lip gloss

I smile nervously. I’m not used to this kind of attention. My usual look is… nothing. I’ve never done lip gloss or anything like this before. But tonight, I feel like someone else. 

“Now for your hair,” Jordan says, pulling me from my thoughts. She grabs a curling iron, giving me a teasing grin as she begins to curl my hair in loose waves. The heat feels strange against my hair, but the result is incredible—full, bouncy curls that make my hair look effortlessly voluminous. She finishes with a little hairspray, just enough to hold everything in place without it looking stiff.

By the time she’s done, I’m sitting there, staring at my reflection in awe. The outfit, the makeup, the hair—it’s like I’m looking at a completely different version of myself. The girl in the mirror looks confident, daring, ready to take on whatever comes her way.

Jordan steps back, inspecting me one last time. “You look incredible, Y/N. Trust me, no one’s going to be able to take their eyes off you tonight.”

I swallow, my heart racing. “Are Matt and Chris going to be there?” I ask, almost hesitantly.

“Absolutely,” she says, giving me a wink. “and you're absolutely staying away from them.” She finished with a straight face. 

I giggle at her firmness. Jordan grabs her own outfit, pulling on a leather jacket and running a hand through her hair as she heads for the door. “Alright, You ready?”

I cheer a little, feeling the rush of nervous excitement flood over me. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Jordan’s Jeep rumbles down a dark road, the streetlights becoming fewer and farther between. The neighborhood looks eerily similar to the one we were in earlier today—rundown houses, cracked sidewalks, I shift in my seat, glancing at Jordan, but she looks completely unfazed, focused on the road ahead.

When we finally pull up in front of a house, my stomach twists. It’s a large, old place with chipping paint and music blasting from inside. There are people lingering on the front porch, passing around drinks and cigarettes, their laughter mixing with the heavy bass of whatever song is playing.

Jordan throws the Jeep in park and turns to me. “Alright, listen,” she says, her voice firm. “Stick with me, have fun, but stay away from Matt and Chris. Got it?”

I roll my eyes, unable to hide my curiosity. “Yeah, yeah, I got it.”

She gives me a knowing look before hopping out of the car. I follow, as we make our way up the front steps and through the open door.

Inside, the air is thick with smoke, the scent of weed and something else I can’t place. The place is packed, people spilling into every room, music vibrating through the floors. Jordan walks in like she owns the place, immediately getting daps and side-hugs from a few guys as we move through the crowd.

“Jordy!” A girl with long, dark braids grins and pulls Jordan into a hug. “I didn’t know if I’d see you tonight.”

Jordan smirks. “Had to make an appearance. Thought I’d bring my girl Y/N with me.” She pulls me forward slightly, and I suddenly feel all eyes on me.

The girl gives me a once-over and smirks. “Cute. You don't really look like you belong here, though.”

Jordan just chuckles. “Last I checked, you're not the one who makes the calls around here, thanks for your opinion though!”

I laugh nervously, as the girl looks me up and down again before scoffing and walking away. Jordan hands me a red solo cup filled with something that smells strong. “Drink up,” she says with a wink. “It’ll help you loosen up.”

I take a sip and wince at the burn, but I don’t complain. The warmth spreads through me almost instantly, and suddenly, the party doesn’t feel as overwhelming. Jordan keeps introducing me to people—some friendly, some giving me lingering looks that make me shift uncomfortably. But with each sip of my drink, I relax a little more.

An hour or so passes in a blur of music, dancing, and conversation. At some point, Jordan disappears into a crowd of people near the stairs, leaving me standing alone in the living room. My cup is empty, and the warmth in my chest is starting to fade, so I decided to get another.

Making my way to the kitchen, I squeeze past groups of people talking and laughing. The kitchen is slightly less crowded, but it’s still buzzing with energy. I grab a bottle of some kind of alcohol, about to pour myself another drink when a deep voice cuts through the noise.

“Didn’t take you for the kind of girl to be here.”

I freeze for a second before turning my head.

Matt.

He’s leaning against the counter, watching me with an amused smirk. His eyes flicker over my outfit, lingering just a little too long on the corset before meeting my gaze again. He’s effortlessly put together—black jeans, a fitted long-sleeve shirt, and that same dangerous charm radiating off him like a magnet.

I clear my throat, trying to keep my cool. “I didn’t take you for the kind of guy who lurks in kitchens.”

Matt chuckles, stepping closer. “I don’t. I was actually looking for a drink, but now I think I found something more interesting.”

I roll my eyes, but my stomach flips. “Smooth.”

He grins. “I try.” His body close enough that I can smell his cologne—something dark and expensive. “So, tell me, Y/N, what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

I lift a brow. “You say that like I don’t belong here.”

“Because you don’t.” His voice is low, almost teasing. “You’re different.”

“Different how?” I ask, genuinely curious.

Matt’s eyes flicker to my lips before back up to my eyes. “Too sweet. Too… innocent.” His lips twitch like he finds it amusing. “It’s refreshing.”

I swallow, suddenly feeling like I need another drink. “Maybe.”

Matt chuckles again, shaking his head. “Oh, trust me, sweetheart, you are.” His voice drops slightly, the edge of danger in his tone making my pulse quicken. “That’s why Jordan warned me to stay away from you.”

I blink. “She did?”

“Oh yeah.” He smirks. “Made it very clear. Told me you're too good for me.” He leans in slightly, his voice just above a whisper. “And maybe she’s right.”

I should probably listen to Jordan. Every instinct in me says Matt is the kind of guy I should stay away from. But the way he’s looking at me, the way his presence pulls me in like gravity—I don’t move.

Before I can even think of a response to Matt, another voice interrupts.

“Finally,” the voice drawls. “We get to meet you without Jordan shutting it down.”

I turn my head to see Chris sauntering toward us, looking just as sharp as Matt but with a slightly more mischievous smirk. His eyes flick between me and his brother before settling on me.

“How about you come sit with us? Let us get to know you,” Chris suggests, motioning toward a worn-out couch in the corner of the room.

Before I can answer, Matt’s hand is already at my waist, guiding me toward the couch. My heart pounds as we move through the crowd, Chris leading the way, Matt’s presence heavy beside me.

As soon as we reach the couch, I start to sit down, but Matt subtly steers me to the middle, settling me between him and Chris. The warmth of their bodies on either side of me is immediate, a stark contrast to the slight chill in the air. Matt drapes his arm lazily over the back of the couch, fingertips just barely grazing my shoulder, while Chris stretches out comfortably, his knee nearly touching mine.

Chris grins. “Let’s play a little game. Twenty questions.”

Matt chuckles, his voice low. “You up for it, sweetheart?”

I glance between the two brothers, fully aware of how much trouble I might be walking into. But something about Matt’s quiet intensity and Chris’ playful attitude makes it impossible to pull away.

“Fine,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. “I’m game.”

Chris smirks. “Alright, I’ll start. First question—where are you from?”

“Just outside the city,” I reply, relaxing just a little.

Matt hums. “Explains why you seem so… untouched.”

I roll my eyes, but my cheeks burn. “Next question.”

Chris leans forward, resting his arm on his knee. “Biggest fear?”

I hesitate. “Losing all of my teeth.”

Matt’s fingers tighten slightly against the couch cushion behind me. “Interesting.”

Chris raises a brow. “What’s your guilty pleasure?”

I bite my lip, thinking. “Old romance novels.”

Chris groans. “Lame.”

Matt, however, smirks. “Nah, that tracks. You seem like the type who loves the idea of some brooding, dangerous guy sweeping you off your feet.”

I don’t respond. The look in his eyes tells me he already knows the answer.

Chris continues. “What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?”

I hesitate before admitting, “Probably this. Sitting between two guys I barely know at a party I wasn’t even supposed to be at.”

Matt’s arm shifts, his fingers brushing against my shoulder. His voice is laced with amusement as he murmurs, “Damn, sweetheart. That’s your craziest thing? We’ll have to change that.”

Chris smirks. “Alright, let’s up this. Next question—what’s your biggest turn-on?”

My breath catches in my throat. My instinct is to play it safe, but the heat from Matt’s gaze and the mischief in Chris’ expression make me feel bold.

“Confidence,” I say, tilting my head slightly. “But not arrogance.”

Chris raises an eyebrow. “So you like guys who know what they want?”

“Yeah,” I admit. “But not the ones who feel like they need to prove something.”

Matt hums, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against the fabric of the couch beside me. “Good answer.”

Chris leans in slightly, his grin widening. “What’s your biggest fantasy?”

I keep eye contact with him, watching as his expression darkens slightly with intrigue. My cheeks warm.

“That’s a little personal, don’t you think?” I tease, trying to deflect.

Chris laughs. “That’s the point, babe. You’re the one who agreed to play.”

I bite my lip, contemplating. The heat in the room, the tension in Matt’s touch, the look in Chris’ eyes—it makes me want to say something I normally wouldn’t.

I take a slow sip from my drink, gathering my courage before answering, “I guess I like the idea of someone being completely in control of my body.”

Matt’s fingers tighten slightly behind me, his breath hitching just a little.

Chris whistles. “Damn. You might be more fun than I thought.”

Matt finally speaks, his voice low and edged with something I can’t quite place. “Careful what you admit around us, sweetheart.”

I arch a brow, feigning innocence. “Why’s that?”

Matt smirks, his arm brushing against my back as he leans in, his lips barely grazing my ear.

“Because we don’t play fair.”

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