#girl with round face and big eyebrows < is so. design

[northernfireart]

posting some more sketchbook spreads

[lilreidgirl]

Where do I sign?

Summary: You have a tattoo that you`re teased for by others but when it`s just you and Spencer, you realise that it`s all worth it.

Warnings: MDNI(18+), fem!reader, tattoo, smut/sex briefly mentioned, swearing, alcoholic drinks, ownership kink??, English is not my first language

WC: ~1.2k

A/N: Came up with this a few weeks ago but only now wrote it, hope you enjoy!!

You knew, deep down, when you first got the tattoo that it would raise eyebrows. If anyone found out about it, you could already imagine the reactions: weird looks and perhaps a few teasing comments. You were prepared for the judgment. You understood that most people would likely think it was strange and that was okay.

What mattered was that you liked it and that Spencer did as well. After all, you are the one who has it permanently engraved in your body and he’s the one who’ll be staring at said print on your body for the rest of your lives.

As soon as Spencer mentioned the idea, you were obsessed. Not a single feeling of hesitance found itself into your body the day you got the tattoo. Only pure excitement made shivers run down your spine as you walked into the tattoo parlour, which Spencer had deduced was the best one courtesy of tons of hours of research on online reviews, distances and health department tattoo regulation inspections.

_________

The team had organized a little get together at a bar; family, friends and all, so naturally Spencer brought you.

Spencer wore a white button-down shirt, but it wasn’t a pure snow white—more of a faded off-white, as if time had softened the fabric just a little. The shirt was messily tucked into a pair of black slacks. His hair, which was even messier than the cloth he tucked under his belt, lay unruly and untamed in tousled waves on his head, as if he had just rolled out of bed and let them fall where they may. It was the usual look for him, and you couldn’t help but love how effortlessly charming it seemed.

You chose a pair of blue low-rise jeans, the ones Spencer had always said were his favorite. You paired them with a light grey shirt with three little buttons at the top. You deliberately left two of them undone just enough to catch Spencer`s eye without being too revealing.

The bar was cosy but packed with constant laughs and conversation crossing the table you sat at. Unaesthetically pleasing lights shone from the ceiling a few flickering with the same rhythm as the nostalgic party songs that were played from the big speakers spread out all over the room. Rossi announced the first round be on him, no surprise there.

He and Emily had left to get the drinks, disappearing into the crowd for a few moments, only to return a short while later, their hands full of glasses. Rossi’s arms were loaded with tumblers filled with alcoholic beverages, while Emily was gripping a few more in her grasp. The sight of them juggling so many glasses brought a smile to your face as you watched them make their way through the room.

“Oh, you guys need some help?” you called out, already rising from the stool you’d been sitting on, eager to lighten their load. You moved swiftly, offering your hands to take a few glasses from their arms. He smiled, looking grateful for the assistance.

“Thank you, you`re the fucking best,” Emily praised, a soft chuckle leaving you at the sweet thank you involving such unfitting, vulgar language which infected her to let out a small laugh as well.

After you took a few drinks off their hands, the three of you started moving around the room, weaving through the different people and their conversations, delivering the drinks to their designated drinkers. Each time you made your delivery, you shared a brief exchange with the person before turning to pass the next drink along.

 “Okay, last one! Who ordered a bud light?” Your eyes studied the different faces, landing on Derek’s as his voice announced, “Me, pretty girl.��

Rolling your eyes at the nickname, matching to your boyfriend’s, you made your way to the smirking man, placing the bottle in front of him. “Hear ya go.” You smiled sweetly before turning around, looking to walk back to your seat but being stopped by Penelope’s voice.

“What’s that? Is that Spencer’s signature?” She asked, confusion and a giggle present in her tone.

You stopped dead in your tracks, the ones you had barely made your way down, the sneakers you were wearing making a slight squeaking noise against the friction of the sticky bar floor.

The rest of the teams and their companion’s faces turned to you, more specifically your back, even more specifically, the little sliver of skin revealed between the blue and grey materials of your jeans and shirt. The skin clad with a tattoo reading “Spencer Reid” in his finest handwriting.

Slowly, you turned around, an awkward expression on your face before you met your boyfriend’s eyes and widened your own as a bit of a distress beacon.

“Oh- um…” for a guy with an IQ of 187, he probably should have been able to come up with something to say in that moment, but god was it hard in that stuffy room with countless expecting eyes peering at him.

“Didn’t know you guys were… that. Gee…,” Emily chuckled, her black hair gliding over her shoulders as she turned to look at the both of you one after the other.

“What is that-…,“ You tried to speak up but the rest of the words never even made it past the stage of being formed by your brain cells, the ones you were now hoping would explode so you could die before the situation got any more embarrassing. Defeated by your own inability to speak you looked down, gaze falling on the spotty floor of the bar.

“My man,” Derek grinned proudly, giving Spencer an encouraging pump of his prominent eyebrows as he laughed.

Spencer’s eyes met yours, both of your guys’ cheeks burning different shades of rosy and peach out of embarrassment, but the eye contact between the two of you communicated what you both knew.

It was worth it.

It was worth people thinking you were weird, every time Spencer laid his large hand on your lower back in public where his name lay written in the crevices between your skin’s atoms, reminding you what lay there, reminding you who you belonged to.

It was worth the embarrassment, every single time Spencer’s slender fingers, warm and delicate, gently traced the intricate pattern of ink that adorned your skin. Whether you were in the shower, the steam clouding the air around you, or snuggled up together beneath the soft sheets, his touch was always so tender, almost reverent, as if the tattoo held some hidden meaning only he could understand.

It was worth the teasing and the giggling, every time his eyes, barely hazel anymore because of his blown out pupils, stared intently at his signature, his mark, his claim, dug deep into your soft skin and your even softer soul as he fucked into you relentlessly.

It was worth it because it was proof you were his. Forever. The black ink sewn into your body that is immortally yours, always there to convey how no one could ever love you like he could and how you would never even have a trace of the same love for some other person that you feel for Spencer.

[coco-loco-nut]

High Stakes

pairing: lando x reader

summary: Lando can’t help but to fall for his teammates elusive childhood friend

masterlist requests open

————————————

You strut out of the casino eyes locked on your phone as you change your flight back to Australia. The casino threw a few perks at you, and who are you to say no to free stuff. You don’t even notice as you walk into a brick wall, or someone built like a brick wall.

“I’m so sorry,” you quickly stuff your phone into the black Birkin on your arm. The bag is a contrast to the champagne dress that glitters under the city lights.

“No that was my fault,” you look up, the sound of another Australian voice piquing your interest.

“Australian?” You ask, watching the man study your face.

“Y/n? Oscar,” he says, your face lighting up.

“Osco, I didn’t realize you were in Vegas. What are you here for?” Oscar was your best friend when you lived down the street from him. You moved to a different town a few years later, losing touch quickly.

“I’m a race car driver, what are you doing here?” Oscar notes the clothes your wear, the same designer brands he sees WAGs wear in the paddock.

“Oh, you still race? That’s so cool. With, um, Daniel Ricciardo?” you try to pull a name from the back of your mind.

“I actually replaced him, he’s retired now,” Oscar spares the messy details since it’s pretty clear you don’t have a vested interest in motorsport.

“Oh, that’s sad. Hey, it was nice seeing you again,” your goal is to hit the club you frequent in Vegas, and you only have so long before the line gets too long and won’t let you in.

“Right, yeah, enjoy your night,” Oscar watches you walk away, looking like the opposite of the girl he used to play in the dirt with.

“Miss L/n,” the bouncer smiles, taking your tip as you bypass the line. Taking your phone out of the purse, you leave the purse at a bag check, the staff knowing to take care with it and they get a nice reward. You only come here after winning big anyway - and you ALWAYS win big.

You slide onto a stool at the bar, catching the bartender’s eye. He’s the reason you frequent this one in particular. He makes a mean drink and is quite pleasant to look at. He picks up a liquor bottle, winking at you down the bar.

“Welcome back, this one’s on me,” he slides a cocktail to you before going to serve another customer. Maybe tonight you will actually give him your number, but the cat and mouse game you have going is too much fun.

The cocktail is fresh, something you haven’t tried before. It’s like a mix of some of your go to’s. You finish it quickly, craving the pulse of music.

“Going so soon?” the bartender asks as you slide a five to him.

“I need to dance. I’ll be back,” your sly smile makes his eyes follow you as you exit to the main club.

You find the bar once again. The one with the shitty liquor that serves everyone’s main goal. Getting shitfaced. You order two green tea shots, the familiar set of the local dj calling you to the floor.

“Your shot is on me,” a British man, or boy based on his height and struggle to grow facial hair, says as he slides beside you. You raise your eyebrow, passing one of your shots to him. You can sacrifice the buzz you are chasing for an adventure.

“Cheers, but I think you owe me another round now,” your eyes sparkle like the dress you are wearing. The man’s eyes rake your body as you throw the shot back. He quickly follows suit before ordering another round.

“Anything for a beautiful woman like you. I didn’t expect to see an Australian in the States. What’s your name?” he says, filling the time as you wait for the shots.

“I didn’t expect to see a Brit, but here we are,” you smile, unwilling to give your name until he gives his.

You take the next round quick, itching to dance.

“Lando, mate, the team is waiting on you to do the round- Y/n?” a familiar face appears beside you once again. Lando, the boys name is Lando.

“Twice in one night, are you stalking me Piastri?” you tease.

“No, we are here celebrating with the team. This is where you were in a rush to be?” Oscar asks and you nod. Lando looks between the two of you confused. Of course his teammate knows the Australian he just met.

“I always come here when I’m in Vegas. What’s next, Osco? You’ll be in Monaco next week?” you laugh. Oscar realizes how little you really know about racing or him.

“Not next week, no,” Lando answers. For a minute you forgot about him.

“We need to get back to the team. Want to join us?” Oscar asks you, a little disappointed when you shake your head.

“I need to get on the floor and dance. I’m sure I’ll see you soon,” you walk off towards the crowd of moving bodies.

“How the hell do you know her?” Lando watches you leave.

“Old friend, we were best friends for a few years before she moved away,” Oscar explains. Maybe third time will be the charm in getting your number so you can actually stay in touch. Lily has asked about you when looking at old childhood photos.

“She’s hot,” Lando comments, following Oscar back to the team.

“I couldn’t tell you the first thing about her anymore. I looked her up on the way over here and nothing came up. No socials or anything,”

“Odd,” Lando shrugs. An hour later you are back at the bar, and Lando strikes again.

“Do you travel a lot?” Lando asks and you nod.

“Yeah, when I’m not in Australia I travel for work. About a month ago I was in Singapore, around Marina Bay, and before that Macao. London, Paris, and Sydney are other places I frequent,” you tell him, shame letting your eyes roam his body, the top buttons of his shirt undone.

“I travel a lot too,” Lando takes a step closer. one goal in mind.

“I should start visiting new places. You know, I’ve never been to the middle east,” you wave your hand, thinking it would make your statement bigger.

“You should come to Abu Dhabi, Osc and I will get you a paddock pass. You’ll be in Monaco for a couple weeks, right?” Lando asks and you nod.

“Yes, but I was planning on going back to Australia after,” your eyes narrow, unsure at what he’s getting at.

“I’ll be flying to the race from Monaco, why don’t you join Oscar and I on the flight there and fly back to Australia with Oscar?” Lando offers. You turn your attention to your phone, Lando fears he lost you.

“Give me your number, I’ll let you know tomorrow once I am sober,” you hand your phone to him, allowing him to enter his details.

“Everything ok?” Oscar asks, startling Lando as he returns your phone to you.

“Yeah, Lando just invited me to Abu Dhabi,” you turn to Oscar, extending your hand to him. “I’m going back to the casino hotel, let’s stay in touch this time,” you watch Oscar quickly make a contact for himself, sending a text so he has your number as well.

“Do you want me to walk you back?” Oscar asks, concerned.

“Enjoy your party, I’ll be fine,” you let your drunk impulse take over, hugging the shy man before strutting away to get your purse.

“I wish I knew more about her. She’s so different from the girl I grew up with. I’m sure my sisters or mom could tell me,” Oscar says, watching you leave. You don’t even stumble, despite mixing heels and alcohol.

“I think she works for casinos. She mentioned traveling for work and everywhere she goes there are a lot of them,” Lando guesses. Oscar shrugs.

“I’ll ask around,” Oscar replies, turning your words over in his mind.

You thought about moving to Monaco, you love it when you are in the small country,but you can’t seem to permanently leave Australia. Monaco always treats you well, yacht parties mixed with rides around the city in expensive cars, not to mention all the money you win. It really is a tempting move. Maybe one day.

Lando picks you up outside the hotel, his chauffeur takes care of your luggage while you slide into the back. Oscar and Lando were very helpful in planning the last minute trip, despite the racing and team meetings.

“I got you a gift,” Lando hands you an orange bag. You open it and pull out a shirt and hat.

“Thank you so much. Orange isn’t usually my color-“

“Papaya,”

“But I will definitely wear it during the race. Thank you,” your brow furrows at the interruption as you carefully place the clothing back into the bag.

“It’s not orange, it’s papaya. McLaren is very insistent on that. It’s my hat and Oscar’s jersey,” Lando says, watching you tuck the bag beside your feet.

“I see,” an easy conversation falls between you as you approach the airport. The private jet awaits. Oscar is already inside when you arrive.

“Welcome aboard,” Oscar greets you as you settle into a seat. Some more people who you don’t know join the flight.

“Carlos, this is Y/n. She’s Oscar and I’s friend,” Lando says as the man extends his hand to you. You shake it, examining him.

“Nice to meet you,”

“How do you know them?” The Spaniard asks you.

“I grew up with Oscar and ran into him in Vegas. Lando invited me to Abu Dhabi,” you simplify the story.

As soon as you reach cruising height, Lando pulls out a case from a closet.

“Do you like playing cards?” he asks you, setting the black leather case onto a table.

“Occasionally, I love solitaire,” you sit down beside Lando.

“Name of the game is Texas Hold‘Em,” Lando sets it up as the group buys in. You look at your cards and the people around you.

You fold early despite your very good hand, needing to tank yourself.

“Let me take a look at that,” Lando says at the end of the round, checking your cards. “You had a straight, you should’ve stayed. It would’ve won,”

“It would? Silly me, I guess I’ll have to learn as I go,” you bat your eyes. A little lying to get some action never hurt anyone.

“I can teach you,” Lando wraps an arm around your shoulder as Oscar clears his throat.

“That would be unfair, don’t you think?” Oscar says, unsure why he’s feeling protective over you. Maybe it’s because of Lando’s womanizing reputation and you being an old friend.

“It would, we can’t do that,” you agree. You easily win the next three rounds.

“What a comeback, quite impressive,” Carlos says as you collect the money at the center of the table.

“Beginners luck,” you shrug coyly. You purposely lose the next two, going all in on a pair of three’s, an awful hand. It kills you to sandbag, but it would be very suspicious if you were annihilating the group. Then the game comes to a small break for drinks and for Oscar to use the restroom, you quietly flirt with Lando. Carlos declares himself out, choosing to nap instead.

“My offer for lessons still stand,”

“Oh? How would we go about those,” you ask, brushing your leg against his while you gently set your hand on his bicep.

“You, me, and a game a strip poker in my room tonight,” Lando suggests, eyes darkening a little as you lean closer.

“Sounds marvelous.” your devilish smile sets Lando’s mind racing as you turn towards Oscar to talk.

“Why are you pretending to not know how to play?” Oscar arches his brow at you. Slowly but surely, it’s like the two of you never moved away from each other.

“It’s fun. I don’t know how to play that well anyway,” you smile, playing off your lie.

“He’s my teammate, you know,” Oscar’s voice has a tone that warns you not to fuck up.

“I know, Osc. It’s harmless flirting. Besides, I’m not in the right place to start anything serious,” you shrug, knowing Lando’s reputation.

“Does he know that?” both of you glance at Lando who stares like a lost puppy dog.

“I’ll make sure he knows, don’t worry,” you promise as Lando calls both of you back into the game. Fifteen minutes later, Oscar folds.

“It’s just you and me now,” Lando says, both of you with an even amount of earnings.

“Don’t hold back on me,” you bat your eyes innocently as you get your hand. Oscar peeks over your shoulder, watching the cards.

“Don’t you dare fold,” Oscar hisses, you feign confusion and nod.

“Let’s see your cards,” Lando says, laying his down first after your final bets. You checked him, not wanting to discredit your lie.

“Is this good?” you ask as his eyes go wide.

“Holy shit, yeah. You won, four of a kind,” Lando pushes the money towards you.

“No, I couldn’t. You keep it. I’m well enough off anyway,” you give him the money, not really interested in the winnings of a one hundred euro buy in.

Lando starts to protest, but you move from the table to your seat before he can get a word out. You put on your headphones and pull out a book. Oscar follows Carlos in the pursuit of sleep. Two hours down, six more to go of the flight.

You feel a presence beside you and look up from your book.

“What’s up?” you ask, pulling an earbud out, marking the page of your book and setting it down.

“Everyone’s asleep,” he whispers. You glance around the plane as he inches closer to you. You feel his hand brush against your arm.

“Lando,” your breath hitches, his face close to yours.

“Let me kiss you,” he says, your head tilting up against your better judgment.

“We can’t do this,” you whisper, lips almost brushing his.

“Why not?” you get the sense that he doesn’t care as your head starts to spin and there is a strange pull between you.

“I’m not looking for a relationship,” you state.

“Good, this is just a bit of fun, right?” his hand runs up and down your leg as you fight your body from getting closer.

“Right,”

“So kiss me,” Lando’s voice is breathy as he connects your lips. You pull back as you feel yourself losing control.

“Lando, we can’t, not here,” you shake your head, trying hard not to be pulled in by his puppy dog eyes and curls.

“Ok, what if we talk instead?” he sits back in the chair. You let him ramble, feeling yourself start to drift off. Lando notices you yawn as you try to carry on the conversation.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I’m so tired,” you apologize, shifting in the seat to a more comfortable position.

“It’s okay, planes always put me to sleep too,” Lando doesn’t take your sleepiness to heart.

“Wanna listen to music?” you ask, pulling out your headphones. Lando simply nods, taking an earbud from you.

He feels a light weight on his shoulder a few minutes later. A quick glance tells him that you fell asleep. Lando can’t stop the butterflies in his chest. A beautiful woman is unintentionally using him as a pillow, it’s natural. He will never admit that he has a crush, but he wishes that you didn’t insist it is all for fun. Lando knows that Oscar doesn’t trust him with you, despite your recently rediscovered friendship. He will just have to prove it.

Unfortunately for Lando, you see more of Oscar and less of Lando during the weekend. You also left earlier than planned, citing a family thing that needed you back in Australia.

Oscar talks to you frequently, but you don’t show to a race. Lando asks questions, and even finds your social media, but it’s private and Oscar gives vague answers. It is nearly a year until Lando sees you again in Singapore.

Oscar and Lando are exploring Marina Bay when a casino advertisement catches Lando’s eye.

“Osc, is that-“

“Y/n,” Oscar finishes Lando’s sentence.

“Play where champions play. Poker champion? I thought she didn’t know how to play,” Lando reads the ad and your description. You started playing some public tables and tournaments in the past year, the sponsorship and casino money was alluring. You play private tables most of the time, but a tournament or two never hurts.

“I guess we were wrong,” Oscar stares at it.

“She lied to me,” Lando is shocked, he thought you had some natural talent, but you let him teach you. He feels a little stupid.

“She lied to all of us. It kinda explains why she never told me how she got rich or what her job is,” Oscar frowns, watching as security exits the casino to escort a guest in from the black SUV.

Without thinking, Lando moves towards the entrance. “Y/n!” he calls out to you, watching your head snap over in surprise. Oscar approaches Lando, staying a few steps behind.

“Lando? Osc? What are you doing here?” you ask, the security silently encouraging you to keep walking.

“We have a race-“ Oscar starts, but you cut him off.

“Don’t stand there, follow me in,” you tell them before saying something to the security. Whatever you said, it lets Lando and Oscar get near you.

“You have better security than we do,” Oscar says.

“Well, the casino wants to protect its assets,” you shrug.

“I think you have some explaining to do,” Lando seems off, colder than usual. You glance around.

“Not here, in my suite,” you say, leading the way to one of the best rooms available.

Lando and Oscar gape at the opulence, it’s nicer than their rooms.

“You are here for a race?” You ask as you pour a glass of water.

“Yeah, do you want a pass?” Oscar asks without a second thought.

“Sure, maybe I’ll bet on you to win,” you smile, crossing the room to take a seat.

“Why are you here?” Lando asks, first Vegas an Monaco, now Marina Bay.

“Work. I’m playing a few tables and a tournament for sponsorship purposes,” you lean back in the chair, not sure of how much you should say.

“I thought you didn’t know how to play?” Oscar looks between you and Lando, curious at the standoff and tension between you.

“I lied. I only recently started playing public games,” your eyes narrow a little, gauging the room.

“Why?” Oscar asks, bringing himself into the conversation.

“Why I lied or why I only just started playing publicly?” you don’t get an answer so you choose to answer both. “I lied because I wasn’t comfortable with my career and I didn’t want to be judged,” your arm raises to scratch your neck, an emotional cue that you haven’t been able to stop yourself from doing. “I also didn’t want to embarrass you. I only just started playing publicly for more money and casino sponsorship,” you watch their reactions, crafting your words carefully based on the small cues they give you.

“So what do you do exactly?” Oscar pries.

“I play card games and casinos invite me to play worldwide. It attracts regular people to have high caliber players in house, and the expensive tables are lucrative for me. It’s simple marketing,” Lando looks at you, the wheels turning in his mind.

“So you do work for the casinos?” he asks, wondering if his first guess from when he met you was right at all.

“You could say so, yeah, in a way,” you look between both of them. “Any more questions?”

“How did you start?”

“I just kinda fell into it. Picked up a lot of games quickly and had natural luck and talent,” you answer, you seem so nonchalant about it.

“How rich are you?” Oscar knows he probably shouldn’t ask, but he’s curious anyway.

“I am not answering that,” you laugh, almost affronted that he would ask. “Let’s just say, I could retire right know and live very comfortably for the rest of my life,” you answer. It helps that you’ve made some very good investments over the year to build your net worth. Even if you lost money on an expensive buy in, you’d be well off.

“Holy shit,” Lando whispers, glancing at Oscar who meets Lando’s eye. There’s a subtle shift in the air. The way they look at you now is different. It’s like even though they knew you were rich from how you dressed, they didn’t know how so it was pushes aside. Now it matters to them. This is the reason you don’t tell people. Not because they are likely to ask for money, it’s the judging. Like the way you earn your living makes you a bad person.

“Look, if you guys want to judge, that fine. I made my money legally and that’s what matters to me. Now, if you will excuse me, I am contractually obliged to make an appearance and play a public table,” you stand up, resolute in yourself and the choices you’ve made with your life. If they judge you or want to act like they don’t know you going forward, that’s their prerogative. Lando and Oscar watch as you leave, one security guard remaining by the door to escort them out.

“Should we follow her?” Lando asks, feeling like they’ve fucked up. They didn’t have to say a word, the way they reacted told you enough.

“Yeah,” Oscar stands, a pain in his chest at how quickly you turned cold. “There’s a reason she keeps people at an arms length, I think we are that reason,” Oscar murmurs, the shame setting in.

“Can we watch her play?” Lando asks the guard as he brings them back to the main floor.

“Yeah, check the map over there,” the guard points to a wall, leaving Oscar and Lando to fend for themselves. They stay silent as they walk through the casino, finding the poker tables. A small crowd is near yours spectating.

“Why didn’t she tell us from the start?” Lando asks quietly as they approach.

“I assume she doesn’t want people to ask for money, same reason we don’t always disclose our career,” Oscar shrugs, he knows he’s wrong but doesn’t want to admit it.

You are sitting at a 1,000/2,000 no-limit game of hold'em. Typically you would be at a super high roller table, in a fancy room, schmoozing with execs and other professional players. But this is a business appearance, and all you have to do is win a few hands then you can leave the table.

“Maybe. Maybe she thought that because we were rich, we would understand and wouldn’t judge. We are her friends,” Lando’s voice cracks slightly, they stay silent as they are within earshot of the table.

They lean against a railing, separating the few people near them from you and the table.

Oscar feels bad for the people brave enough to play you. Your eyes are cold and calculating, not one muscle on your face moves as you observe. You slowly build a depth of knowledge about your opponent’s, balancing poker strategy with the emotional game. It’s impressive.

“She’s like a strategist and driver combined,” Oscar murmers, barely loud enough for Lando to hear. Lando simply nods in agreement as you toss a coin into the pot, calling the bet. You are not only doing the strategy that a team would do for Lando and Oscar, but the emotional game that Lando and Oscar do when driving.

“This is so hot,” Lando whispers as you seem to win with ease. Luck seems to naturally fall to you, but it’s just skill. You glance up from the little bubble of the game, noticing Lando and Oscar watching, but you make no indication of it.

“There’s been rumors that she is going to join a professional tour,” someone beside the two drivers says, quiet enough that it doesn’t disturb the game, but loud enough that it catches Lando and Oscar’s eye. So you were serious about being more outward about your career.

Lando and Oscar are gone by the time you leave the game, and you aren’t surprised. You don’t stick around, you just collect your money and retreat to your room. Typically you would indulge in the amenities that the casino has to offer- the bar, restaurants, spas, etc. When you get to your room, there is an envelope near the entrance. You open it and find paddock passes for the weekend. Your hand shakes slightly as you pull them out, a frown settling on your face.

Despite your better judgment, you show up to the first free practice. You don’t wear the gear that the boys got you, opting for a neutral outfit.

“Y/n L/n! I’m Zak Brown, CEO of McLaren Racing,” a man extends his hand out to you. “I’m a huge fan so I was thrilled when your agent reached out to request paddock passes,” your eyes narrow slightly in confusion. You don’t have an agent. He does look like he would follow the poker world though, and your emergence into the public tables has been a hot topic recently.

“Thank you for having me,” you shake his hand. He turns and waves a hand, your eyes follow his motion.

“These two are our drivers, Lando and Oscar,” Zak introduces you but you don’t offer a hand to shake, keeping them folded in front of your chest. Oscar’s heart hurts, a year of rebuilding the friendship washed away.

“We will show her around,” Oscar offers, having some free time.

“Thank you, Oscar,” you ignore Lando, finding it harder to forgive him. You’ve known Oscar for longer, which makes it easier, even if it shouldn’t.

“Right, I’ll see you later,” you don’t dare to look at him, his dejected voice tells you enough.

“I’m really sorry, I was just stunned. It’s not really a career you think about,” Oscar starts, knowing you’ve already had a tour of the McLaren area.

“I take it you are my so-called agent?” you ask, ignoring his apology.

“Guilty. I’m sorry if I overstepped, I just wanted to give you the option of acting like you don’t know us, in case you needed space,” you nod at Oscar’s words, processing them with every step around the paddock.

“I talked to Lily. I’m sorry for storming out on you abruptly. I realize that it was a complete one eighty from how I was moments prior. You weren’t the one judging, and I overreacted a bit,” you take a deep breath, offering an apology of your own, one specific to Oscar.

“You think you overreacted because you were scared of being in that position already. You had a right to remove yourself from the situation, and I’m sorry I had a part in it. You are my friend, and that is more important than anything else,” Oscar bolsters you, and reiterates his apology.

“Thank you, it means a lot to have you as a friend,” you open your arms slightly, inviting your typically stoic friend in for a hug. Oscar carefully wraps his arms around you, not much of a hugger.

“Should we talk about the other elephant-“

“Nope,”

“Gotcha. Want ice cream?” Oscar asks as you stand outside of Ferrari.

“Always,” you tentatively follow him inside.

“I was jokingly adopted by Charles, now I get to come in and get ice cream,” Oscar shrugs, explaining as if it’s no big deal. You are out as quickly as you went in, but you acquired your target.

“Some fans posted photos of Lando and I leaving the casino, we got asked if we had gambling addictions,” Oscar tells you between bites.

“Really?” you choke back a laugh. “What did you tell them?” you ask, curious as to how they played it off.

“We said that wanted to see if it was like the casino in Percy Jackson,” you shake your head, taking another bite of the ice cream.

“Well, that’s one excuse. By the way, are you even allowed to have ice cream right now?” you ask, realizing that he’s probably on a diet.

“No, but it’s worth it. You’d be surprised how often drivers break their diets. It’s not like major, just a little cheating,” Oscar waves it off. By the time you return to McLaren, it’s like nothing happened between you. “I’ll be back in a minute, wait here,” Oscar says, leaving you at a couch while he disappears into another room. Lando takes the opportunity to pounce, sitting in the chair closest to you.

“Y/n? Can we talk?” you feel your heart freeze. You turn your head away from him slightly, staring out the window. “Please?” his voice breaks, and you silently look at him. You don’t say a word, but he takes the bit of attention you’ve given him.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I judged you when you offered your trust. I hurt you in a vulnerable moment, and I know that it’s hard to forgive in moments like that,” Lando shifts closer, but still keeps some distance.

“I expected more from you,” the words sting as you look back towards the window. Lando looks down at his hands for a moment before he looks at you again.

“Yeah. I know. I never wanted to ruin what we have,” your head snaps over to stare at him.

“There is no we. We kissed once, and it didn’t mean anything. I don’t know where you got that idea from,” you practically seethe and Lando is afraid he poked the bear.

“Right,” Lando whispers. He knows his reputation. One he’s wanted to change since meeting you, but you don’t know that. “You’re right, I misspoke,” Lando says even if it kills him to. “I just meant that we had a friendship starting and I was excited to get to know you more,” he covers his butt, telling you what he thinks you want to hear. You don’t expect it to hurt, but it does.

“It takes more than that. It will take time and effort,” you don’t know why you are making him work for it, but the words feel right. Lando’s eyes light up a little, there is a chance. Maybe he can find a way to win you over, but there is one big obstacle in the way. The one standing in front of him. Oscar.

“We have to get ready for our first practice session. Feel free to take food or drinks,” Oscar tells you, silently telling Lando to leave. You give Oscar a nod, letting him know you are okay.

Surprisingly, it’s you who finds Lando next. It does take until after the second free practice, Oscar and Zak kept you busy. You can’t help but feel a little guilty after sitting with your thoughts. He’s in a quiet spot, leaning against a railing. You wouldn’t have known it existed without Oscar unintentionally giving it away. The secluded spot is invisible to the rest of the paddock and cameras, perfect for being alone. It’s odd, seeing him so quiet. You stand beside him, a decent amount of space between you.

You can tell he knows you are there, but neither of you speak. It’s an odd comfort, standing in silence with someone whom you admittedly don’t know that well. Your silent standoff, like a game of chicken, ends when Lando unintentionally steps closer and you take the first metaphorical step.

“One chance. One shot to earn a fragment of my trust back,” you murmur into the darkness, eyes trained on the night sky above. You didn’t think you would care, that you could dismiss him like every other guy who hurt you before. You didn’t expect to feel guilty.

Lando doesn’t hesitate, pulling you into a kiss. It’s different than the one shared on the plane. This is tender, unrushed, nearly a year of yearning being poured into it. His hand finds your neck, fingertips in your hair as you melt into the kiss. The other hand finds itself on your waist. You may not know where you stand with him or your readiness for any semblance of a relationship, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

Lando gently pulls away to breathe, his eyes searching yours as his hands keep you close.

“I’ve spent the last year trying to be better, to strengthen my relationships and working on myself to be worthy of you. You made me want to be better, even if you didn’t want me. I don’t know where you stand as compared to last year, but I want you,” he stresses his last word, driving it into your soul and it hits you. He doesn’t care what you do for a living, if you are rich or poor, or even that Oscar is likely your closest friend. He likes you enough to want to better himself.

“Lando, I-“ the words leave your mouth before you begin to think.

“Shh, don’t say anything unless you mean it,” he stares into your eyes, igniting a fire deep inside. Something shifts with that fire, a stone building your resolve.

“Fuck it,” you whisper, allowing yourself to be pulled back into Lando’s orbit. His soft lips kissing you once more - this time with more passion yet just as soft as before.

“We can take this slow, at whatever pace you need,” Lando promises against your lips. He feels like if he lets you a step further away, you will disappear for another year.

The rest of the weekend passes by with stolen glances, quick kisses in hidden corners, and the thrill of brushing hands. You feel like a school girl, but this time you and Lando agree to keep in touch and already have dates planned.

Keeping it quiet only lasts until the end of the season. You couldn’t hide it from Oscar or keep it a secret, so you were upfront with the truth - things are starting to turn serious.

You are in Monaco when Lando returns from Abu Dhabi. You spent the week setting up your new apartment, choosing a cheaper place. It helps you feel like you aren’t wasting money when traveling.

A knock on your door prompts you to pause your music, rushing towards the door while trying not to hip check one of the boxes in your living room.

“Surprise!” Lando grins holding takeout bags in his hands.

“You weren’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow!” you throw your arms around him, taking in the moment.

“I got an earlier flight, didn’t feel like partying two nights in a row,” he says into your shoulder before stepping out of the hug and into the apartment. He looks around, setting the bags on your wooden dinner table. “This looks so much nicer than when we tour it,” Lando compliments your hard work. The lighting is soft and inviting, plush rugs adding a coziness that makes him want to snuggle under a blanket on the couch that looks perfect for a nap.

“Thanks, it’s really coming together,” you smile, there are a lot less boxes, most just decoration that need placed. You help Lando with the dinner, settling in on the couch to eat. Lando was right, the couch is incredibly comfortable and soft.

“So I was thinking, my friends do this card game night a couple times a year, and I want you to join me, if you’d like,” Lando proposes between bites, locking eyes with you.

“You want me to meet your friends?” you nearly choke on your food. Sure, Oscar knows that you and Lando are seeing each other, but that’s it.

“Well, I’d really love for you to meet them as my girlfriend,” Lando studies your reaction. The way you instinctively school your face to not give a reaction before your brain reminds you who you are with, then a smile creeps onto your face.

“I would love to meet your friends as your girlfriend, but this isn’t you bringing me with you as an advantage?” you ask just to be sure and because you are still processing that he asked you to be his girlfriend.

“Well, it is a plus, but I just want them to know how awesome you are and rub it in their faces,” Lando sets his food on the coffee table and moves closer to you so your knees are brushing.

“Lan,” your voice is soft, overjoyed at the thought. You set the food aside and lean in to kiss him.

“So, what do you want me to do first?” Lando looks around the room at the boxes, ready to help with whatever you need.

“Lando, you just finished your season. Don’t worry about the apartment,”

“I want to help my girlfriend set up her new home,” he insists.

“Well, in that case, let’s start… in the bedroom,” your sly smile turns to a grin as Lando chases you into the bedroom, his arms wrapping around your waist to pick you up and carry you to bed.

You lay under the sheets together, bodies pressed against each other, the darkness of the room inviting for deep conversation.

“Why weren’t you ready when we first met?” Lando asks the question that he’s wondered since seeing you in Singapore.

“Every guy who I got close to, every friend I made, always did one of two things: try to use me for my money, and or ghost me because they thought I was a criminal,” you admit, allowing yourself to come to terms with it. You answer a question Lando never dares to ask aloud - why Oscar and Lily seem to be your only friends. His heart hurts for you, you don’t deserve that treatment, even if he hurt you in a similar way before.

“There is nothing wrong with your career. You play legally and honestly, no one has a right to judge,” Lando reassures you, you whisper thanks and savor the comforting silence of the room.

Lando rarely leaves your apartment those few days, only going to retrieve the essentials. Now you sit in his friends apartment, liquor flowing as you are deep into the card games.

Lando whispers in your ear, a mixture of flirting and telling you to stop sandbagging yourself. His leather jacket covers your shoulders, he claimed to be too warm with it on while you were a little cold in your t-shirt.

“Read it and weep,” you show your hand, grinning as the boys groan and Lando laughs. He wishes real money was being spent, you already ran a couple of his friends out of the game - including himself.

“Where did you find her? She’s much better than you,” one of the guys teases Lando, who wraps an arm around your chair. Your cheeks flame a little as you nod in agreement.

“It isn’t hard,” you laugh, swatting Lando’s hand away as he lightly pinches your shoulder.

“Didn’t any of you do a background check on my girlfriend? You need to learn from every girl group ever,” Lando shakes his head, placing a soft kiss behind your ear.

“Hm, we do tend to know everything about a guy our friend is seeing,” you hum.

“Detectives, all of them,” one of the guys agrees as another is furiously google searching you.

“Holy shit. You are so much cooler than he is,” another tells you, making your cheeks even more red. Lando captures the moment in his memory, how adorable you are when you blush.

“I make more than him, so he’s my WAG,” you tease as an outlet for the mix of embarrassment and flattery.

“And I’m proud of it,” Lando doesn’t lie, he would rather be your WAG than have any other girl by his side. Another round gets dealt and you hone in on the game.

“You’re so sexy when you play wearing my clothes,” Lando whispers in your ear and it takes every bit of willpower in you to not react. It’s like a game to see how far he can push your limits. “I can’t wait to take you home,” he says before resting his chin on your shoulder, his hand moving down to rest on your hip.

The alcohol in your veins makes it hard for you to control yourself. His jacket weighs heavily on your shoulders, as he continues to whisper his plans for you later that night. Your skin is alight as his fingers trail the bit of exposed skin at your hip.

You fold, having a bad hand and your mind spinning with desire. A fake yawn gives Lando a cue to cut in.

“I am afraid it is past our professional’s bed time,” Lando’s eyes shine playfully as you avoid the smirks on his friends faces, the ones that tell you they know why you are leaving.

“Well, this isn’t a casino, no need to be up this late,” you yawn again, playing along as you stand. Lando gives his goodbyes as you exchange the always awkward ‘nice meeting you’s’.

You hand is warm as your fingers interlock with Lando’s. He leads you down the stairs and out to his car, giggling as you tell him to slow down before he breaks an ankle. Pure bliss is how Lando would describe it. Just the two of you in the empty street, stars twinkling in the night sky, Lando pinning you against his car with your hands around his neck. You would give anything to stay there forever.

[kissitbttr]

“toji, baby? can you do alena’s hair please?” you call out from the kitchen, fixing simple breakfast for your little family,

he nods at you, giving a short kiss on your cheek as a confirmation before heading towards his little girl’s play pen. his eyes brighten when alena is busying herself with her my little pony plushies, adorable messy hair comes into view making him chuckle,

“hey ya sweetheart, having fun?” toji walks around to face his pretty baby, the sound of her dad’s voice causing her to look up. he swears the moment her big round eyes stare at him, he’s ready to kill anyone who dares to try take his daughter away,

with a toothy smile, she babbles away while clapping her chubby hands. feeling excited to see her dad there, seemingly cannot wait to be picked up by him,

“aren’t you the prettiest girl i have ever seen, hm? aside from mama of course. dunno what she sees in me. she’s a ten and i’m not. i’m happy she chose me, though. such a lucky bastard” toji makes sure to whisper the last word to himself because he doesn’t want his daughter to hear him cuss.

his hands go under her armpits before lifting her up, little legs kicking away in excitement making toji chuckles. “time to do my little alena’s hair!”

he brings her to the baby chair near the dining room, where you can see it too. your eyes look over your shoulder and smile at the sight of him setting your baby down,

“got anything to work on today?”

toji shakes his head, rolling the sleeves of his sweater up to the elbows. “nah. took a day off. i’m letting shiu handling it today”

one of your eyebrows quirks up, turning out to plate the cut up fruits and eggs on the table. “oh yeah? what if there’s something really important come up that you need to—“

“i need my girls more” he cuts you off with a soft voice and a grin, his eyes look up to you and see you mirroring his smile but it’s much more prettier to him. “plus, i’m sure they can handle not having their ceo for today. and tomorrow. maybe”

his fingers move to thread lightly under the strands of alena’s hair as she toys with a little action figure toji had gifted her few days prior. it keeps herself busied while he’s doing her hair,

“how about you, baby? got any meetings or anything?”

you shrug, grabbing a few utensils. “just one with the team to discuss the launch of our newest design. should be quick, though. hopefully. i need to speed up the process and everything because it seems that everyone is fuc—freaking slow.”

he chuckles, tying a band around alena’s mini bun. “i’m sure you can handle it, darling. you’re ruthless like that. one of the reasons why i fell on love with you, is it?”

“would you still, if i had to kill them?”

“absolutely” he answers without hesitation making you laugh,

“god, we are bad parents”

“don’t know what you’re talking about. we’re pretty good at what we’re doing” toji smiles at his baby, who suddenly chucks the toy towards the table. “damn, our baby got strength”

“got that from you, i think” you lean towards the table and snatch a cut up strawberry before plucking it into your mouth,

“nope. that’s from you” he corrects, softly patting alena’s hair that are sticking out. “remember when we had an argument and you almost hit me with—“

“we do not talk about that” you shake your head, not wanting to remember,

“was pretty sexy to me” he replies casually. “i was so turned on by that”

both of you share a laugh, causing alena to look up at both of you at the sound of it.

“so—do i get to see my pretty wife’s latest design or—“ toji trails off, planting a kiss on alena’s chubby cheek before grabbing a handful of berries for himself,

you tilt your head to the side, a small smirk tugs upon your lips and toji immediately catches what that look meant for,

“i see trouble” he eyes you for a second, chewing on the juicy fruit. “is it sexy? god, if it was you can’t keep teasing me, baby. i’d die”

“so dramatic, you won’t die”

“i will for you though” and he means it. “is it dresses? leather involved perhaps?”

shaking your head, you reply “lingeries, babe. night gowns, garters, panties. all that”

and toji suddenly stops moving. breathing even. his eyes widening at the mention of lingeries,

“oh fuck. you are killing me.”

“toji! language!”

but alena just laughs at her silly banter between her parents

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Take Me Home Tonight

Summary: You run into a familiar face while working. (Bucky Barnes)

Warnings: noncon/dubcon, fingering, dry humping, flirting.

Note: look, we didn't expect Applebee's to inspire one fic, but now it's done two fics. Shit. We are deranged.

Please enjoy and let me know what you think. Please also reblog because it’s a lot longer than I intended.

You hug the menus to your chest as you approach the booth of four newly sat in your section. As you do, you stutter step, unsure if your eyes are seeing clearly. You know that hair, the subtle wave of brown with strands of silver woven in. You step up and give a smile to the men.

“Good evening,” you place a menu in front of each of them; the burly blonde comedically crowded into the corner beside the man with dark hair and darker eyes, the blonde you vaguely recognise from his acquaintance with the most familiar face at the table, “Mr. Barnes.”

“Oh, hi,” he sits up and sets the drink menu back at the centre of the table, “uh,” he gives you a peculiar look, “I thought you worked down at the Denny’s.”

“Used to. Just got hired here,” you chime, “uh, so, are you all ready to go with your drink orders?”

“You mind?” The blond with the short hair nudges him.

“Yeah, go ahead, I’m still thinking,” he sits back.

“Heineken,” the man orders with a tweak of his eyebrow.

“Seems you don’t carry Hansa so I’ll have a jolly rancher cocktail,” the big blond intones. You almost laugh, thinking of him with the bright blue drink with a gummy worm for garnish.

“Shirley Temple for me,” the other says, “designated driver.”

“Oh, of course,” you note each order in your head, “and you, Mr. Barnes?”

“Mr. Barnes,” the man across from him goads.

“Bucky,” Mr. Barnes corrects you, “uh, I’ll take a Corona.”

“Alright, Heineken, jolly rancher, Shirley Temple, Corona,” you list off, “I’ll be back with your drinks and to take your order.”

“Thanks,” Bucky smiles.

“Yeah, thanks, doll,” the blonde at his shoulder winks. You don’t miss the elbow he receives from his seat partner.

You go to the bar and put in the order. You do a round to check in on your other tables, grabbing a few napkins at request and clearing plates. When the drinks are set out neatly on a tray, you carry them to the booth and dole them out.

“So, are we starting with an appetizer?” You ask.

“We’ll do some nachos,” the man across from Bucky says, “thanks, sweetie.”

“Beef, chicken, or veggie?”

“Chicken,” he answers.

“Hey, I know you,” the blond drapes his arm over the side of the booth, “you’re the neighbour girl.”

“Steve,” Bucky reproaches under his breath.

“What? It was killing me. I just couldn’t place the face.”

Bucky utters your name, almost reluctant to do so, “I’m just out with buddies,” he explains, “buncha old men catching up;” he jabs his thumb towards the man beside him, “Steve, Thor,” he points to the other blonde then to the man across from him, “Sam.”

“Sounds like fun,” you chirp, “well, I’ll go get those nachos. Are we planning on entrees?”

“We’ll just share the chips,” Bucky assures.

Sam leans back and pats his chest, “heartburn.”

You humour him with a smile and nod before spinning away. You flit off and head for the kitchen. It’s strange seeing Mr. Barnes– Bucky outside the neighbourhood. He’s always just been next door. Odder even seeing him without his family. Well, you guess he deserves the break. Every time you see him, he’s on his way somewhere.

🍻

The night wears on. Your shifts always pass quickly as you’re kept afoot by patrons and managers alike. Several times you find yourself visiting Bucky’s table to top up drinks and they grow rowdy as the game comes on the big screen. 

You’re almost amused as you’ve never seen your neighbour like this. He’s always so stern and standoffish. A small wave as he mows the lawn or a ‘morning’ as you pass by him unlocking his car. Even your father claimed he was the most serious man he’d ever met.

“Sweetheart,” Sam smiles at you as clear the empties, “can we get our check? I gotta get them out of here before they break something.”

“Sure thing,” you say as you stack the tray with bottles and glasses, “separate or together?”

“Together. I’ll have to chase them down for the difference,” Sam answers.

As you take the clear Corona bottle from in front of Bucky, he rests his chin in his hand and watches you. Your eyes meet his and your cheeks round even more. He’s definitely drunk.

“Hi,” he babbles.

“Hello, Mr. Barnes,” you return.

“I told you, it’s Bucky,” he grins.

“Bucky,” you repeat, “you want some water?”

He sits up and drags his elbow off the table, “I guess I should…”

“For all of them,” Sam says from your other side, “please.”

“Alright, check and waters.”

You almost click your heels before you sweep off on your mission. It’s almost closing time and the place is sparse. A few stragglers along the bar but no more hectic families of screaming toddlers breaking crayons and tossing napkins.

You go to the till and print out the bill and grab a handheld from the charger. You place both on your cleared tray and fill three glasses of water. You carry them back to your last table and gently set the condensating drinks before each diner. Sam takes the bill as he holds his card between two fingers.

“You go to school?” Steve’s voice startles you before you can summon small talk.

“Uh, yeah, second year,” you answer him.

“I thought so,” he says, “college girls…”

“Shut up, Rogers,” Bucky grumbles, putting his hand up to block out Steve, “ignore him. He’s trashed.”

“Speak for yourself,” Steve swats his hand down and receives a swipe back. 

The men slap at each others’ hands as Thor stands and leans over, his size deterring the men as he shoves their arms apart, “enough. Or I’ll drag you out like stray cats.”

You try not to show your discomfort as Sam hands you back the machine and it loudly prints his receipt. You offer him a copy but he insists you go and enjoy your night. You bid them all the same and set off to clear the last of your tables.

Your coworkers start their own closing tasks and the music turns off as closing time hits. You glance up, everyone’s gone. You go back to the booth and gather up the mostly untouched glasses of water and wipe it down. With your tables done, you turn in your apron and go to get your cut of the tips. Your tally comes up higher than you expect thanks to the table of middle-aged men.

You head out the back door and round to the front of the shining marquee. You’ll uber home since your mom is out of town. As you step up on the little pavement lip in front of the restaurant, a figure stands from their perch on the ground. You don’t recognise Bucky until he says your name.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” You ask as you lower your phone.

“Ah, well, me and Steve…” he rubs his neck and chuckles, “I’m waiting on a cab but none have passed by.” He shrugs, “plus, I figured we’re headed in the same direction…”

“Oh, uh, yeah, I guess,” you say, “I was just ordering an uber. Kinda don’t like taking them alone so late at night anyway.”

“Great,” he slurs, “uh, sorry about tonight. My friends are… a lot.”

“It’s fine, you were having a good time,” you select a ride and black out your phone. “Just make sure you drink lots of water.”

“Hmm,” he hums, “you’re so nice… I’ll be fine, you know? I can take care of myself.”

“I know, I just… I hate hangovers.”

“Oh? Didn’t take you for a drinker?”

“Well, don’t tell mom but once in a while.”

“My lips are sealed,” he surprises you as he reaches to squeeze your shoulder. “And I’ve never broken a promise to a pretty girl.”

You want to laugh. He’s tipsy and it’s kind of cute. The glare of headlights flash over you and he drops his arm away from you. The uber approaches and you check the plate, pointing Bucky in ahead of you. 

He sidles over the seat and yawns as you climb in next to him. The driver confirms your destination as you let yourself relax against the seat. The tension of your shift slowly drifts away.

Bucky slowly slides until he’s leaning against you, “I’ll pay you back for the ride,” he grumbles as he rests his head on your shoulder. 

The tension seeps back into you but you try not to overthink it. He’s just your neighbour, a friendly neighbourhood dad, a bit discombobulated from his night out. He probably doesn’t get many of those.

“Been a long time since I went home with a girl like you,” he chuckles.

You laugh, a nervous tickle in your throat as his weight bears down on you. You can smell a hint of citrus from his hair. Hopefully he’ll forget this all by the morning.

You’re quiet as the driver continues on. By the time you get to your street, you’re sure Bucky’s fallen asleep. You’re worried about getting him back to his place. As you get close to your house, you point the driver to the house right beside your own. That’ll be easier.

To your surprise, Bucky sits up and lets out a sleepy grumble. You thank the driver as your neighbour grabs onto your hand and tugs you towards his side as he opens the door. You let him and he clings to you as the uber leaves you in the shadow of the Barnes’ abode.

“Let’s go to bed,” he pulls you towards the walkway.

“Bucky,” you utter, “uh, Mr. Barnes?”

Is he that drunk? He must not realise you’re not his wife. You look around. You don’t see her car. That explains his little boys’ night. She’s probably visiting family again so he’s all alone.

“Hey,” you laugh unevenly as he drags you up onto the porch. He’s very strong. “Mr. Barnes, it’s me.”

He stops and sways. He squints at you and feels his pockets, jangling his keys through the fabric. He steadies himself and grins. His eyes hold yours, drowning you in pools of oceanic blue.

“I know,” he says soberly, “it’s you.”

You stare at him in confusion, blinking as he slides his hand into his pocket. You glance over your shoulder at the dark siding of your parents’ house. You face him again as he pulls his keys out but drops them between his shoes. You put your phone in your purse and shift the bag to rest on your hip.

“I should– oop,” you look down, “Mr. Barnes,” you bends to grab the keys, “alright, I’ll just get you inside and head home.” You stand up and hold up his keys, “which one?”

He points to the square gold one and you shove it into the slot. You push the door inward and gesture him ahead of you. He shuffles over the threshold, tripping before barely catching himself on the frame. You follow him in and look around cautiously. You’ve never been inside.

“Let’s get you to the couch, Mr. Barnes,” you grab his arm as he wobbles, “you just need to sleep this off–”

You tug on his arm but he doesn’t budge. Once more, all unsteadiness fades and he’s suddenly immovably still. He turns his head slowly and puts his hand over yours.

“I told you,” he faces you as he guides your hand up his arm, “it’s Bucky.”

“Um, alright, uh–”

He backs you up and you collide with the door, the impact forcing it shut. You gulp and press yourself against the inside as he pens you in, clutching your hand to his shoulder. The beer on his breath mingles with the citrusy scent that cloys from him.

“Mr. Barnes, what–”

“Shhh,” his hand slips from your and he grips your chin, “it’s okay–”

“St–”

He smothers your protest with a kiss. You’re too stunned to do more than flatten yourself against the door. His grip makes your jaw ache as his other hand crawls up your thigh. You squirm and push against his shoulder with a whine.

He doesn’t relent. He pushes his foot between yours, edging them apart as he picks your fly open. You curl your fingers, jabbing your nails into him. He growls but doesn’t stop.

You turn your head, forcing your mouth away from his.

“Mr. Barnes… Bucky, please–”

He hushes you again as his hand falls from chin to throat. He squeezes, crushing out any hope of screaming for help. He nuzzles into the side of your neck, his nose tickling the line of your jaw. You whimper as his hand delves beneath the cotton of your panties.

His fingertips brush along your trimmed vee of hair and he swirls the short curls with a purr. He extends his middle finger, feeling along your folds and dipping between. He flicks his finger back and forth, exploring you until he finds your clit. He rolls his finger, stoking a heat beneath his touch.

You wriggle and trail your hand down his arm, gripping his wrist as you fight him. You’re too weak. You croak through your tight throat as you try to fight the swirling tide building with the friction of his roughened fingertip. This can’t be happening.

He’s drunk. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s not like this.

A million thoughts race with as many sensations. You stand on your toes as your muscles knots and the tension coils in your core. You shouldn’t feel like this. This is wrong. This isn’t real. Your eyes roll back and you hide behind your eyelids.

His finger glides as you slicken against him. He quickens his pace, toying with you as he breathes against your neck, puffing damply as his hand remains firm on you. He keeps you pinned as he goads your body on, fueling a fire you’ve never lit before.

You squeak as you twitch without permission. You succumb to the brewing storm, blown away in the whirlwind as your mind is stifled by your body. You gulp and gasp, your hand slipping down to his chest as your other falls away from his arm.

“You’re so sexy,” he purrs as he lets you go.

You brace yourself against the door, breathless and paralysed as you watch him raise his hand. He presses his fingertips to his mouth and you see the glisten on them. He pushes them inside and sucks them clean with a growl.

“And so sweet, baby,” he steps forward, crowding you again.

The afterglow has you helpless. He feels along your side as his other hand wanders down your leg. He pulls your knee up and brings himself flush to you. He bends his knees as he presses his crotch into yours. You murmur at the hot weight between you. 

He curls his arm around your neck and your head lolls back. He bows to kiss you, devouring you as he slowly rocks his hip. A fiery heat builds between the layers of fabric, the friction of your seam rubs you through the damp cotton of your panties.

He gasps into your mouth as his pace quickens. The door shifts and squeaks with his motion as he pounds you into it, hips pumping as his bulge pokes through his jeans rigidly. Your head droops to the side and his wet lips smear over your cheek. He bites into your ear lobe and snarls.

Another tickle flares and you moan. A small burst that has you just as senseless. Your delight leaks onto your panties, spreading to the edges.

“Mmmmm,” he hums and releases the pinch of his bite, “fuck, baby, you’re gonna make me go�� right in my–” he chokes as his fingertips sink into the bottom of your thigh and he pulls your leg higher, “jeans–”

He shakes and lets out a long rattle, sprinkled with deep groans and soft mewls. He leans into you completely and shudders, stilling at last. He sinks down with you, bringing you to straddle him as his knees meet the floor.

You heave and lift your head, gaping at him as his eyelids droop sleepily. He smiles, the expression crinkling around his eyes. He leans in and kisses you again, nibbling on your lower lip before pulling away.

“I won’t tell your mom about that either, kitten.”

[sugaraanddiesel]

Forgive me father, for I have sinned.

warnings: religious imagery, drugging, substance abuse, swearing?, manipulation, rafe being toxic as fuck.

"Y/N, up now, you've got service." one of the nurses claps as you get up startled, just for you to drop your head back into your hard pillow in frustration and fatigue. Letting out a boyish groan.

After gathering your thoughts for about a minute or two, you look at the traditional clock on the wall and realise you have only 10 minutes to get ready, unwillingly your body shoots out of bed and into the shower. You put on your oddly revealing uniform and leave your room.

Once you're ready, your small fists tap against the daunting, door. "I'm sorry I'm late father." Your saintly voice interrupts, taking your seat next to a girl that you've seen around.

Rafe's eyes briefly skim over your skimpy attire (as if he didn't design it) and land on your eyes. His eyebrows furrow when he sees you're smirking, again but instead of entertaining your unholy behaviour he just dismisses you.

"As I was saying ladies, when my father passed God had told me, that I have the responsibility to get you all to heaven. All you need to do for me is do as I say because as the father I know what's best for you.."

Whilst watching the man yap about God knows what, You've come to the conclusion that you want him.

Just because you were spoiled in California doesn't mean you've changed now that you're in a new state. You'll do anything to make sure you get what you want.

You raise your head to look at him, You watch as he rambles about genesis and how we should value the life that god has given us but all you can think about is him making you stay behind. Giving you what you've wanted since you got there, his dick.

"Father," You interrupt for the second time, Rafe's head raising from the holy book, " How big are you? "

The small group of young ladies all turn their heads to you in shock, gasps and mutters fill the room.

After a good minute of Rafe looking at you in shock, his face eases as he explains, " We are in church Y/N i expect you to keep those type of questions to yourself " Your eyes playfully squint at him and you tease,

" So in other words it's massive! "

Growing tired of the hypocritical glares you tilt your head to the side and challenge the other women; " Come on, everyone is wondering the same thing! You guys are just too pussy to ask! " Your innocent giggles engulf everybody in the room whilst the pastor fixates on you in utter disbelief. Your vulgar language shocking the whole room.

He clears his throat and declares, "Y/N, step outside for me."

Your giggles die down as you get up and leave not before throwing a frisky wink at the older man. Chuckling to yourself even more as the women in there start to question if you're crazy.

He continues with service, explaining that the women need to follow and praise him to get to heaven.

You wait for half an hour in the plain, cold corridor until you hear your plot say; " Same time next Sunday everyone and don't forget do your daily prayers!" You bite your plump pink lips cheekily at all the women who glance at you in disapproval.

Just as he sends away the last person out the door, his smile falters as it falls on you. You roll your lip from your teeth as you look up at the pastor.

Before he lets his thoughts run too wild, he clenches his defined jaw and nods towards the service room, inviting you in.

" Are you going to explain what just happened."

" There's nothing to explain father, I was just asking a genuine question." You defend yourself.

You prop yourself up on one of the tables right in front of him, your round perky tits bouncing as you sit. Your manicured finger slightly lifts up his chin so that his captivated eyes meet yours again.

He turns around and scratches his buzzed head in guilt and embarrassment, realising that he's wrong for looking at his friend's daughter like that. Sighing.

He drops both of his hands either sides of you on the table, and leans down to whisper, " Look I know exactly what you're playing at and it's going to stop right now."

You pull him in closer by his collar, your noses brushing past each other, and say in the most sultry voice; " I want you father, and believe me, whatever I want, I get."

Your teeth are now dragging his bottom lip as you hold his neck, maintaining eye contact with him. His eyes suddenly turn dark as you push him out of the way and cheer, " See you around father! " your dimples showing as you hop out of the service room. Again leaving the older man hard and ashamed.

-------------------------------------------------------

Alone in your room you start to realise how sick Rafe really is, Getting paid to tell young women that struggle with addiction that the only way up is through him.

How can anyone be so oblivious to his scheme? But surely he doesn't just do this for money.

A knock disturbs your thoughts.

" What? " you bellow from the other side of the door.

It's the warden, " Good evening Y/N," she greets, you just stare at her from your bed as she sits on the edge of it after closing your door. " I heard about the 'incedent' earlier," She continues, " I suggest you go and ask for forgiveness from Father Rafe, for your disruptive behaviour."

Even the warden is under his spell, you think to yourself.

" Look, I understand you're not used to this environment but you have to help yourself during this time of your life Y/N, God knows how hard Rafe is trying to get us to heaven, the least we could do is co-operate with him" Her throaty voice starts to piss you off even more, so you simply walk out and go his office room.

You burst in to see one of the patients in his lap,

" I know what you're doing!"

"What are you talking about Y/N, can't you see i'm busy."

"Busy trying to fuck a patient? Are you serious?"

"Watch that mouth of yours little girl, This girl is giving up her life to christ right now."

You stare at the girl whoring herself out in disbelief. Your eyes also catch on to the pills on his desk. Everything starts to add up.

What a sick man.

" You either give you life up to christ too or get out Y/N." He says with a devilish smirk.

But what he didn't realise was that you're just as sick as him.

Before you wanted Rafe, you wanted your pills and would go to any meassures to get that floaty, euphoric feeling you were so dearly familiar with, so you take a bottle of pills from his desk,

" I'll come back at a better time for you Father."

Your sickly smile grows and he watches you turn your back to him as your hips sway out of his door.

You never fail to amaze him.

[myillicitaffair]

One of your girls part two | Carlos Sainz Jr

Summary: after a fateful outcome, Carlos wants to fix what he unintentionally broke.

Warnings: english not being my mother tongue, angst, alcohol consumption, dirty dancing, small description of throwing up, cheating, mentions of sex, messed up dynamics, slight swearing.

Notes: second part of this fic. i also wanted to say i’m currently taking request, to anyone who might be interested xx.

Credits: the gif used belongs to @neymarhamilton ‘s tumblr account, so all credits belong to them. this part, just like the one before, is inspired by the song “one of your girls” by Troye Sivan.

1.8k

SIX MONTHS AGO:

A chilly night welcomes my friend group as we make our way through a prestigious and crowded restaurant situated in the heart of Madrid.

Being born and raised in Spain´s capital city, the girls now walking into the facilities have been by my side my whole life; faith brought us together our first day of school, just three frightened little kids trying to survive elementary.

I like to believe that we complement each other, even if we hadn´t met all those years ago, life would have found a way to connect us.

A girl’s night out is a rare occurrence between us; always being on the shy side, we very much prefer staying in, drowning ourselves in sweet treats while marathoning our comfort romcoms.

The reason why we´re summoned tonight is quite simple… my very first broken heart.

You see, in an attempt to lighten the mood, my friends brought us to an extremely exclusive eatery, one where we clearly didn´t fit in. The difference was quite notorious, surrounded by leggy models and their handsome companions, I quite frankly begin to wonder why I ever agreed.

With a deep breath, I straighten my back and let the hostess remove my coat. “In for a penny, in for a pound” I think with a resigned shrug of the shoulders.

As we´re carried to our spot, I try and take the essence of the place in. I start noticing its eccentric décor, dim lights brightening the burgundy walls, leather booths scattered all over the classy tile floor.

What makes an ordinary dinner such a big success? Its bizarre modality.

Our table is filled with strangers, completely engulfed in their different conversations. The main reason for my friends to take us to this unconventional location was exactly this; the inexorable need to engage in conversations with foreign people.

The first round of dirty martinis arrives as the last costumers take their places next to me, with a lousy cheer I pour the drink down my throat, feeling its pleasant burning down my body, warming me up, making me forget.

“Easy there tiger”- the man sited by my side chuckles, gesturing towards my empty glass.

I take a moment to wander across his features. Thick eyebrows, big brown eyes, plump lips. Definitely attractive, exactly what I need.

A smile creeps up my face, the wires in my brain getting to work.

I notice an elegantly worn designer shirt hugging his chest, his forearms resting against the wooden surface, his attentive stare trying to read my thoughts.

“And you are?”- I condescendingly tease him.

“Carlos”- his hand travels to mine, embracing me with his warm- “Carlos Sainz.”

The subtle body hair covering his fist tickling my naked skin, igniting a fire deep inside me.

And in that moment, I simply knew there was no getting out, not anybody else as long as he kept staring at me like this, eating me raw with his gaze.

That was the first night I ever came back home with him.

————

FOUR MONTHS AGO:

Carlos is away for the weekend, oceans separating us, palpable distance every time he races through my mind.

I try convincing myself It’s the sex I miss, the obvious physical attraction, the invisible force that pulls us towards the other, the feeling of his warm skin being impossibly closer to mine.

Truth being told, I’m sitting immovable on my bed, nervously waiting for a call.

I can’t help but recall his soft locks intertwined with my fingers, his tongue inching towards my neck, how he never fails to make my blood boil with a simple grin.

My phone brings me out of my daydreams, screaming for attention as a call enters it. His name glistening on the screen, filling me with pure bliss and forcing me to hold my giggles.

Acting like a schoolgirl with a crush while being a full-grown adult… how pathetic!

Two rings go by before i pick up, bitting my bottom lip to keep my voice calm as if I wasn’t desperately clinging to it seconds ago.

“Gorgeous, you got a minute to spare?”- he asks, clear amusement in his tone, abusing the charm he knows he has.

“That depends, Carlos, who’s asking?”

I’m gobsmacked at how composed I sound, nowhere near how I actually feel.

My knuckles turn white from grasping my sheets.

“Don’t be like that, princess, I know you miss me”- his smile visible through his speech.

My heart skips a beat, can his words be revealing my true feelings?

“Oh honey, keep lying to yourself if it helps you sleep at night…”

I’m met with his scandalous laugh filling the line, raising my pulse until it’s beating on my ears.

Everything stops, everything keeps going.

I close my eyes in acknowledgement, being forced to admit what i’ve been denying ever since I met him.

Oh, how screwed I am!

———

TWO MONTHS AGO:

The music rumbles at the disco, throbbing on my skin with its intensity.

Being dragged to a hip party, my friends and I are bundled up in the comfort of our own group, dancing between ourselves.

As I rock my body to meet the pulsating rhythm, I embrace Carlos’s presence behind me, tightly grabbing my waggling hips.

He presses himself into me and I rub against his growing erection, purposely torturing him. His kisses start straying while sucking visible red marks into my neck.

His penetrating cologne invades my nostrils, clinging into my bare skin like a golden tattoo.

The mix of the alcohol I insisted on chugging and his hands shaping my whole body becoming intoxicating.

A foreign touch on my shoulder makes me open my eyes, leaving me to face my friend staring at me like i’ve grown a second head.

“You’re coming with me”- she pronounces as she drags me away from Carlos, who snorts in disbelief.

“What? Why?”- I ask as i’m forced to take a seat at the bar.

“Have you gone mad? You two were literally dry humping each other in the middle of the crowd!”- She hisses worriedly, forcing me to drink the water bottle she bought for me.

As she sits next to me, I prepare myself for the lecture she’s about to impart me, letting my eyes wonder across the dance floor.

I catch a glimpse of Carlos standing against a wall, hemmed by complete darkness, sometimes interrupted by one of the dj's lights.

When the spotlight lands on him, I start noticing the delicate hands hugging his broad shoulders, the almost nonexistent distance between him and the blonde caressing his cheeks.

Bile climbs up my throat, threatening to be ejected thanks to the scene before me.

Her lips all over his neck, staining the collar of his white shirt with lipstick.

Realizing i’m not paying an iota of attention to her, my friends follows my gaze stumbling across the sequence.

Effortlessly, she yanks me away from the enclosed space and into the garden.

Without being able to stop myself, I empty the contents of my stomach into the ground, constantly replaying the flashbacks of their sensual dance.

“Everything’s okay now, love”- My friend states while caressing my tangled up hair. Her fingertips come into contact with my cheeks, brushing my tears away.

Sobs are quick to scape my lungs, becoming more and more erratic as I imagine the second by second unfolding inside the disco.

———

PRESENT:

After running away from Carlos’s house, in the middle of a Madrilenian night, I’m fast to hide into the loneliness of my apartment.

I can’t even find comfort in blaming him as I was the one to agree with our “no exclusivity policy”, believing I could make it work.

How stupid of me to think I would be capable of not being trapped into his nets.

Clearly the only solution I can possibly come up with is crying it out, and that’s how I found myself in this situation; puffy eyes, completely ruined mascara, quivering eyes from shedding way too many tears.

Could I have been more stupid? I can’t even resonate one good reason why I would ever accept what he’s willing to offer me while wanting him in his entirety.

My determination is easily devastated as desperate fists bang against my door.

“Please, open up”- A too familiar voice implores from outside the apartment.

“I don’t ever wanna see you again”- I manage to scream through whimpers.

“I beg of you, please let me in! I swear I can explain.”

Standing right on the other side of the door, I feel my hand toying with the doorknob, trying to determinate whether or not to listen to his pleas.

“There’s nothing to explain, Carlos!”- I say, above a whisper, my voice to fragile for anything else.

“There’s been a while since i’ve been with anyone else, alright? Not since all I could think about was you!”

An unbreakable silence fills the hallways of the building, only the sound of his pantings and heavy breathing interrupting the stillness.

Without much hesitation, I open the hinges separating us.

Clearly, I was nowhere near prepared for the view before me; his full brown eyes now shimmering with unshed orbs, accumulated in his tear ducts.

“How about the girl from the voicemail?”- I ask, almost scared to find out this is all a product of my imagination.

“I know what that seemed like, but I promise you it’s not what you think!”- he says, piercing me with his gaze- “That was my ex girlfriend. She has a hard time letting go of me, even though there’s been more than a year since we’ve last been together. I never answer her calls and that’s why she’s getting more and more desesperate.”

Everything around me stops just to listen to his next words, my heart betting so out of control he might even hear it.

“Back at my apartment you told me you were enamored by me, well, there’s no use in trying to deny i’m in love with you”- he whispers, just loud enough for me to hear- “so much it’s physically painful, it’s all I can think about.”

My brain turned into mush as his confession sinks in. I almost want to laugh at how ridiculous the idea seems to me; the man I love, probably the only one i’ll ever love, stating that my feelings are reciprocate.

A sigh leaves my parted lips as a quiet tear runs down my face.

“I know i’ve made my mistakes and believe me when I say i’ll regret them every minute i’m on this earth, but I promise you, that if you give me the chance, i’ll make it up to you until my dying breath”- his voice sounds shaky, as if he couldn’t believe the words coming out of him.

I don’t think I ever reacted as fast as now, jumping into his embrace, wrapping my arms around his neck and my legs around his torso. Little giggles leave both of our mouths at the ridiculous situation.

“I love you”- He murmurs, muffled by the kisses he’s pressing against my checks.

“I love you too”- I answer back, with our bodies still entwined.

[sorbeau]

what are your like essentials/you have to put in accessories or traits for drawing the bad kids?

BOY OH BOY DO I HAVE A LIST FOR YOU PAL

i have so many designs for these guys but there are certain cornerstones that MUST be upheld.

for Adaine, i love giving her huge round glasses, more often than not with some cute glasses chains or dangly accessories with them. im my heart she's also very tall and lanky, perfect awkward teen girl build. i like to keep her facian features very oval shaped, a sharp chin with a rounded jawline and a straight and thin nose.

for Kristen, I like to make her hair curly and cover her in freckles. she was the chosen of helio!!! she's kissed by the sun!!!! she's always looking sunburnt and tan in my heart. I also love making her rather stocky, just a stout girl with a big smile. i like to give her very rounded and robust facial features, chubby cheeks, a big button nose, and very expressive eyes.

for Fabian, his design is the one that changes the most imo. i could put him in one million different hairstyles and one million different outfits. i think his cornerstone design aspect that cements him as Fabian is his eternal smirk and general prettyboy aura. also the eyepatch is a pretty big tell. i like to give him sharp rectangular features, a strong jawline, defined cheekbones, and a straight nose, occasionally dropping in some cheeky dimples.

for Gorgug, i really like to give him a longer haircut, as well as part his bangs to sort of cover one eye. he's very rectangular to me and has a very long but toned build. i like to keep his face very rectanguler but rounded and soft, a square jaw and defined cheekbones, but soft brows and eyes with a large downturned nose.

for Fig, her design is also one that changes a lot, but that in and of itself is a huge part of her character!!! she's spontaneous and rebellious, and I always make sure her design reflects that. her hairstyle hats lots of subtle changes, but i like to stick to alternative microbangs a lot and making her horns curve inwards slightly. a little demon tail is optional for her, but always fun. i like to give her very heart shaped features, with a pointed chin and round defines cheeks, as well as a pointed button nose and expressive but sharp eyes.

for Riz, i really like to lean into the feral/animalistic side of goblins that we see in fh. sharp teeth, big sharp catlike eyes, and large expressive ears. im also a huge fab of giving him digitigrade legs and paws and a fuzzy tail. in my heart he's sharp and scratchy and covered in fuzz. i like to keep his face sharp but round and cute, he's got round cheeks but a sharp jawline, a small downturned nose, and wild expressive eyebrows.

[neuroprincess]

Fuck Me! - Rebecca Welton/Reader

Rebecca Welton/Female Reader

Summary: Rebecca knows she is working too much and for the first time in weeks has a free morning with her daughter, Lowie.

Classification: Light Angst, Domestic Fluff

Warnings: None

Word count: +2700

Unrevised

The blonde looked down at her hands, admiring the work done on the rounded nails painted in an impeccable French line, gleaming against the illumination. And then to the little girl in her front staring expectantly at her, among them a dozen colorful children's nail polishes, some with glitter. She raises an eyebrow analyzing the situation, the day before went to the manicure and hoped to keep it for at least a week. The work schedule consumes all her time, including the few free ones, she barely has time to be with family, much less for self-care as she organizes and prepares the club for the next matches of the soccer season. Rebecca sighs and thinks about what words she should use to refuse to let the child paint her nails. 

"How about I paint yours?" she asks hoping that might divert Marlowe's attention. 

" Alrighty then, I'll choose the colours ." the girl quickly runs to the corner of the playroom, reaching for a colorful decorated box with another dozen nail polishes, some fun stickers too "And I want them all." 

"Lowie..." 

"Mummy..." they stare at each other for a few seconds until the woman sighs in defeat, she loves that her daughter has inherited part of her personality but that could be a problem "I want rainbow colours." 

"That's going to be a lot of work, you're the most demanding customer I've ever had." 

"Don't be silly, Mummy." Marlowe cracks a toothless smile and places both hands on the table, opening the little fingers so they can be painted "I am your only customer." 

"Sometimes your Mama is my customer too." the blonde winks and gets a big smile from the little girl. 

"And I'm always her customer, she paints my nails all the time, sometimes Mama puts stickers and all my friends love it." she nods towards the colorful cards with images of cartoons, flowers and small designs "It's okay if it doesn't look right." 

Rebecca laughs at being reassured about her abilities by a five year old, she can't do wonderful designs or details like her own manicure does, but is sure she must know how to paint in the right spaces. It's something she and Sassy did together as youngsters, having perfect nails...almost all the time. 

"I don't like orange. I want my favorite color." the woman brakes, immediately dropping the bottle in place. She realizes she doesn't know what color it is and a strange feeling makes stomach heavy, maybe guilt "Blue, Mummy. Like your team and Bluey." 

"Oh yes, of course." she looks for the color among the nail polishes, finding it at the bottom of the box, no surprise having glitter, then looks at the tiny hands on the table, it's adorable how chubby they are and the little nails are smudged all around, so knows she overestimated her talent "Stickers?" 

"Please." 

They smile and soon the blonde has all her concentration on not smudging the other nails, making a funny face that unintentionally makes her daughter laugh watching. When finished she smiles happily, proud of herself for not getting it wrong this time. Then picks up the cards, placing them in front of the girl as if they really were at the manicure. All the nails are already painted, this is the final part. 

"I didn't know they existed from Baby Shark." Rebecca comments analyzing the options. 

"It's not sticker, it's tattoo." the surprised and confused expression stamped on her face makes the strawberry blonde laugh again, it's fun for her to see her mom, who knows everything, be lost "Can I do it on you? Please." 

"Mummy has work later, so no, sweetheart." 

"Okay." Marlowe whispers trying to keep a smile, even if she is disappointed. 

Since the Premier League had started a few months ago and AFC Richmond came further than it ever has before, Welton found herself busier than usual, meetings almost every week, there are extensive training sessions and a hundred events she has to attend, many times having to participate in creating them. Sinking more and more into work to the point of hardly seeing the family, leaving too early to say good morning and too late for good night, most of the time finding her wife already asleep, clearly trying to stay awake for her arrival, and her daughter drooling against the pillows. It's a cute and funny image she has when giving Marlowe a goodnight kiss on forehead. And no surprise either because she has been a good sleeper since baby, arms and legs everywhere, good hours of sleep and sometimes even snores. 

"And why are you home today?" she finally asks, when woke up this morning, the only free one in weeks, she thought she was going to spend with her wife, have breakfast and take Lowie to kindergarten together, then something else, instead she was woken up late by the child jumping on the bed and a note from Y/N letting them know she had some appointment. 

"I was sick, I can't go to school until tomorrow. The doctor said it's something with V, but I can't remember what." 

"Virosis?" Rebecca chokes on her own saliva, at breakfast they shared a cup of tea without her having any idea that the girl was sick, which bothers her too, as a mother she is aware that should know about things like that. 

"Yes!" 

"Fuck me!" 

"Yeah! Fuck me!" 

"Marlowe Amelia Welton! Watch your mouth!" she scolds, knowing she would be screwed if Y/N heard that, one of the agreements they made about motherhood is to avoid swearing around her. 

"You said first! It's a good thing, Mummy." the woman widens eyes and sips the glass of water trying to wet dry throat, pure nervousness "That's what you and Mama say when you are in the room and you look happy." and then spits out the whole contents "And the next day I get candy." 

"Oh..." of course, they agreed it would be avoidance around her, but they forgot how loud can be in intimate moments and always counted with the heavy sleep of their daughter sleeping in the next room "It wasn't... but how can that be good now?" she tried to change the subject, it would be too hard to explain. 

"Aren't you happy that I'm sick? That way we can stay home together." Marlowe smiles and blows her nails to dry them faster, a cute little pout "So today I am happy." 

"But you see me at the matches, sweetheart." 

"It's not the same, everyone has you there, sometimes I want to have you all to me, Mummy. When you are home we can watch movies, play and paint, I like when you tell me bedtime stories, sleep by my side and hold me when I am sad. I want you to stay here forever, with me. And with Mama too. Because it's more special." 

The sad and sincere childish words make Rebecca's stomach sink, heart palpitate harder and eyes burn trying to hold back tears, she imagined that Lowie, her little and lovable Lowie, missed her, but hear it from her is something different. It's painful. She realizes how much the little girl appreciates and values the moments they spend together, how much her presence means. 

"And you are sad now?" 

"No, because we are together." Rebecca smiles sadly, trying to hold back the tears and failing, her daughter notices, then faces her worriedly "Mummy, are you sad?" Marlowe doesn't wait for an answer, running out of the chair and around the table to hug her mom, little arms around waist, little face pressed to hip and the blonde's hands caress the little girl's back.  

"It's okay, baby. I'm fine." as she is about to let go the woman holds her against her own body and leaves a kiss in hair, inhaling the sweet smell of shampoo "But I still want your hug. The best hug in the world. I love you, sweetheart."  

"I love you more, Mummy. And I know, Mama says it all the time. I'm all perfect, from the tip of my toe to the last strand of my hair."  

"Cocky, isn't you?!"  

"I don't know what it means."  

"Means you're really perfect." the childish giggle soon takes over as Rebecca takes advantage of the low guard and tickles her armpits, grabbing her on lap to do it on her tummy as well.  

"I... I ... I surrender, Mummy!" she manages to say between giggles, those are the magic words they use every time playing with each other.  

"Oops, your nails got smudged." Rebecca points to the colorful nails, polish all over her fingers, a total mess.  

"It's okay, it was already smudged." is the only response from the little girl who gets off her mother's lap, knowing she would be caught up again, little legs running to the kitchen counter, where she stops remembering something ""Mummy, I have to get ready for the day."  

"You're staying home today."  

"But I like to get ready, come on."   

"Right, sweetheart."  

Marlowe's room, which once was white and in tones of pink, is now totally colorful, the walls are filled with drawings, teddy bears and art materials, she also has a large closet, where besides clothes and shoes a great collection of hair bows is kept. Years ago, when she found out that they were going to have a little girl, Rebecca bought the first bow as if she predicted that their daughter would be in love with the accessory, and almost cried with emotion when she carried her out of the maternity ward wearing it. Then the first tufts of hair appeared, surprising little blonde curls in a reddish hue, and came a hundred bows, hair clips, headbands and ribbons. Now strawberry blonde hair reaches the middle of her back, bangs cut perfectly straight and ends wavy, the woman absolutely loves brushing and styling for events. Like weeks ago at an AFC Richmond home match, she did high pigtails, decorated with blue and red hair ribbons, one color on each side.  

"Thank you, Mummy!" Marlowe appreciates looking at herself in the mirror, loving the multi-colored bow at the end of a braid, so she turns to the accessory box looking for something "For you to look like me." and puts a rainbow clip in her mom's hair, followed by another, unicorn this time "We look beautiful." 

"Yes, we are, sweetheart." the Welton's stare at each other for a second before the woman kisses her daughter's head.  

Rebecca gets up from the floor and grabs her phone from the dresser, without any surprise it's already full of text messages, a missed call, a reminder about the afternoon meeting and a text from her wife.  

"Hi, love! Some unexpected things happened at the meeting, Keeley volunteered to babysit Lowie in the afternoon. Please check her purse when she arrives, last time they almost overdosed on Fini, apparently our daughter inherited your taste for sweet."  

She smiles reading the text, of course the girl has inherited it, she is a small version of her, but almost redhead, bright green eyes, defined lips and nose, not just physically, they share many personality traits and tastes. Marlowe runs across the room and throws herself against her, gripping the long legs tightly and the legs curl together like a baby monkey.  

"Was nice having you with me, Mummy." the blonde faces her in confusion and takes her in lap, noticing the sad expression on the childish face "It's okay to go away."  

"Sweetheart, I don't...'"  

"You're on your phone, whenever you're on your phone you have work to do." Rebecca wastes no time in hugging her, pressing the little body against herself and strokes back, calming the imminent cry "It's okay."  

"Lowie, that was Mama, she's going to be late and..." the child faces her expectantly "We, you and I, are staying together. What do you think about watching that cartoon you like?"  

"Bluey?! And can we have Fini? And there's chocolate pudding in the fridge." Marlowe quickly gets excited, jumping for joy at the idea of them spending more time together.  

"Well, we need to talk about sugar, young lady." Rebecca laughs leaving her on the floor again, giving a gentle pat on the head "But later, now you can grab some treats from the drawer." and winks at her little partner in crime.  

Marlowe nods positively and runs down the hallways disappearing from the woman's field of vision, soon she hears the sound of the drawer. In one phone call and a few text messages all the rest of the day's appointments are cleared, giving her a totally free schedule. She also tells Keeley that she doesn't need to come. The phone is put on silent mode and kept in the pocket of her pants. Nothing will get in the way.  

"Lowie, what do you think about painting Mummy's nails? Any color you want. And I want a tattoo too."  

It's almost 6pm when the sound of keys in the door wakes Rebecca from a nap, she settles down on the couch carefully, not wanting to wake her daughter lying on her lap. The two of them simply fell asleep after about 15 episodes, all chocolate pudding and a few packs of Fini. She tries to pull herself up and out of Marlowe's embrace, failing miserably at that mission as the girl cuddles even tighter into her, snoring lightly against her chest. In less than a minute Y/N appears in the living room, carrying a dozen different bags and a sweet smile on lips as she finds the cute scene. 

"Hi, my love!" she whispers excitedly and crouches down to leave a soft kiss on her wife's lips, then on the child's forehead "I thought you had a super important meeting today."  

"It's been rescheduled, as has the rest of my schedule." Rebecca smiles and pulls the youngest to herself, making her sit on the corner of the couch with them, bags on the floor "And what were you doing?"  

"I had parents meeting for a sporting event at school, in the afternoon, well, I went shopping." she laughs shyly as confesses her activities "Lowie had a growth spurt, so I had to buy new clothes and uniform, she barely fits into pajamas."  

"What did you expect having the baby of a 5 foot 11 woman?! When I was her age the same thing happened. And I noticed there was something different." and indeed she did, a little of her tummy showing when putting on a blouse and the pants bars reached the ankle, plus now Marlowe is at her waist height "I see you went to the hairdresser and manicure too."  

"Damn, I thought you wouldn't notice."  

"You deserve that time to yourself, you are living like a full-time solo mom. I'm sorry I'm not here for you." the blonde says with guilt in her voice and strokes her wife's hair, pulling her into a gentle kiss "And you look fucking gorgeous and sexy." she whispers low as possible, especially after learning that her daughter's sleep doesn't stop her from having good hearing.  

"That's okay, my love. But I confess I can't wait for Premier League to finish soon. Looks like you had some time to yourself too, with Lowie. Pretty nails, Welton." really pretty, painted in various colors, some with fun stickers. Strong arms are covered with temporary tattoos of various cartoons, the girl has convinced her to do more and more with puppy dog eyes. Her usually perfect hair is a mess with those same clips and a few more. Not even her face escaped, colored eyeshadow and blurry pink lipstick befitting childish abilities "We have a girly girl in our home."  

"A persuasive girly, she's so talkative. And a mini me." Rebecca says proudly and the girl seems to sense that they are talking about her, at the same time wakes up "Hello, sleepyhead."  

"Mummy.... Mama!" she practically screams and throws herself into Y/N's arms, not realizing she kneed the taller one, who just hisses in pain and holds up a curse "Oh! Fuck me! Your hair looks beautiful, you're cocky, just like me." Marlowe says excitedly into the hug, squeezing her as hard as she can.  

"What?" she looks at her wife with wide eyes, not believing what had just heard.  

"Oops..."  

"We'll talk about it later, Mrs. Welton."  

And Rebecca knows she's fucked. 

taglist: @dvrkhcld

Join my taglist here ^^ now there is addition of Rebecca

[raspberryjars]

Can you do a Designer! Miles and Model! Hobie?

little snippet so far!! (u can except more to be posted either this weekend or next week x)

Lights flashed from all corners of the room as he put one foot in front of the other, steadily making his way down the catwalk. He could feel the loose, chainmail-esk vest bush against his skin as he moved his arms slightly, leaving a pattern of goosebumps in their wake. The large clunky boots he’d been handed were cool as well, big and powerful, maybe something he'd wear in his day-to-day, if they weren’t ridiculously expensive.

Whoever the designer was for this collection though, they were definitely cool. Lots of street wear, baggy jeans, large jackets, trainers and that, but also more punk elements to things, for example his chainmail vest. And he’d seen a girl ahead of him with liberty spikes. One of the other guys too, he’d had loads of patches all over his pants. He liked to imagine the designer as someone chill, maybe tall, definitely a similar music taste to himself. Maybe they’d be pretty similar over all. Seemed like it by the look of the garments and styling.

He turned on his heel and strode back up towards the entrance/exit for models. Not turning off his walk until he was definitely out of sight of any crowds.

As soon as he knew he was safe from any guests, he stopped where he stood and slouched his shoulders, taking a deep breath in through the nose as he slowly made his way to where the others should be sitting around. It was probably his favourite part, the moments right after the runway. When everyone was pretty tired, but still riding that high. It was always fun to hear about what mishaps had taken place too.

So when Hobie pushed through the plastic swinging door and saw his sort of co-workers sitting around on different chairs and tables he didn’t think much of it. He just scanned the room for a spare seat before sitting himself down next to Gayatri. He quickly scanned her outfit, tall knee length boots, a short chequered skirt, a tight black, sort of mesh-y top and a big puffer jacket. Lots of chains, charms and belts had been slung round her neck or tied round her waist, looking messily organised. Her hair had been slicked back and her eyes had been outlined in kohl, making her eyes look a lot more imposing than usual.

“Sick look.” He smiled. He meant it too, he did really like a lot of the designs.

“Thanks Hobie, I could say the same to you.” She smiled slightly, eyes skimming what he was wearing.

“Well, I can’t take credit.” He laughed, casting his eyes around the room. Two more models had come in, one of which was staring quite obviously in their direction.

“Hey, look, you’ve got an admirer.” Hobie whispered, a slight laugh in his voice.

“Oh calm down, like you don’t?” Gayatri smirked back, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head in the direction of the door.

Hobie turned his head to see someone standing in the doorway, someone with an oversized collared red shirt, and some baggy black fatigues. He was looking around with a certain look on his face, one Hobie couldn’t place. And no offence to the guy, but he didn’t exactly look like a model, he just looked slightly plain compared to the room full of accessorised models in chunky platforms. Plus the guy was absolutely not tall enough for a runway, again, no offence.

But he did look cool, he had some silver studs and a thin silver ring in his nose, plus his choice of smart business wear looked pretty casual which he had to respect. And he looked like he loved the collection. It was just confusing thinking about why he was actually back here. He didn’t have a pass around his neck or anything, and he definitely wasn’t tech, too dressed up.

Maybe a friend of someone’s? Who knew honestly, not him, and to be honest, he wasn’t too bothered. The guy looked happy enough. And Hobie had never minded a few stares, what was one more pair of eyes? Beautiful, big, brown eyes, but still. Not anything too unusual.

The last few models slipped in through the doors and suddenly the guy from the doorway wasn’t standing there, and just as Hobie was scanning the room for him, he was making his way down the hallway.

[chubby-kiyo]

Okay. Time to do Goodbye Despair edition of appearance headcanons

Teruteru Hanamura - (He/Him Hyper pan sexual) I don’t actually hate his design, he looks like the plump chef decorations everyone had in their kitchen in the 90s. He has thick hair and uses a ridiculous amount of pomade and hairspray to style it. (How he doesn’t catch on fire doing flambé is beyond me)

Ultimate Imposter - (They/Them intersex pansexual) They have to hide all of their natural features as part of their talent, but I feel like they probably have a somewhat feminine build. Due to their weight, they can pass more easily as any gender without being questioned (and maybe with some shape wear to help seal the deal) and this is pretty gender affirming for them.

Mahiru Koizumi - (She/They, Lesbian) She is midsized with a small tummy pooch and kind of pear shaped. Her freckles extend to her shoulders and back, and she has somewhat crooked teeth, but in kind of an endearing way. Has a small nose ring.

Peko Pekoyama - (She/Her, grey asexual) Slim and muscular with very little curvature, not that she needs a big pair of jugs to slow her down. She has really long thin fingers, and 9 times out of ten they are ice cold. She also has several scars from weapons training.

Ibuki Mioda - (They/She, pansexual) Built like a board. Just no hips or chest to spare, but they prefer a more androgynous style anyway, as is popular in the scene. Always has raccoon eyes, and will rub or picked at her face, smearing them in the process. Septum and tongue piercings and stretched lobes. Also has light acne scars.

Hiyoko Saonji - (She/Her, Lesbian) Looks like she’s 12. Her hair is very reactive to humidity and she is prone to turning into a poodle if it gets wet. Has a sizable front tooth gap, which only serves to make her look more childish.

Mikan Tsumiki - (She/Her, bisexual-female pref) She is plus sized and has wider hips, which she bumps into stuff with all the time. She has a round face and a button nose, which are always rosy pink, because of how often she is crying. Just chronically puffy eyes.

Gundam Tanaka - (They/Them, pansexual) They are kind of average/slim and don’t have much in the way of muscle. There’s just not as much under those robes as you might expect. Wears corpse paint and other trad goth makeup often but hates going out without at least using a light/white foundation. Black lipstick is a must for special occasions, and they always carry at least one lint roller to maintain their perfect black clothes with the hammies. Has a septum piercing and stretched lobes.

Nekomaru Nidai-(He/Him, Bisexual, female pref) Obviously built like a Greek god. Is very particular about his manscaping, and you bet your ass his fades are always on point. His hands are so fucking huge and blocky that it’s almost comical to see him holding someone else’s hand. His chest is hairy, and he has eyebrow and nipple piercings.

Nagito Komaeda - (He/They, gay) The man is dying of cancer. He is deathly pale and skinny. If he wasn’t a wacko, any sane person would be concerned for him. His hair is dry and coarse, in an over processed bleach kind of way. Has dark circles and yellowing teeth. Somehow though, he still manages to have a smooth, soft baby face and unnaturally clear skin. Is lacking in the eyebrow department, but has white double lashes on Satoru Gojo’s level.

Chiaki Nanami - (She/Her, pan) She is chubby. Like not just on the cusp of plus size, but a few sizes deep. Has stretch marks on her hips, chest, and stomach. Pale skin and puffy eyes from poor sleeping habits. American girl doll teeth and frizzy hair from falling asleep on random surfaces.

Kazuichi Souda (He/They, bisexual female pref) Has a bit of pudge from eating processed junk all the time, but doesn’t seem to mind. He had braces as a kid, so his teeth are perfectly straight and really the only tight laced thing about the guy. Has shaved sides and hates washing his hair, so he uses the beanie to cover up the greasy bits and his little black roots when they grow out. Breaks out easily, and has some acne scars. Pierced nostrils, tongue, and stretched ears.

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu - (He/Him FtM, ace spec?) Kind of scrawny and will just never be tall. Freckles on his shoulders and back. Has a tiny amount of peach fuzz over his top lip and is really hoping it will start to fill in. Blonde eyebrows that are barely visible to begin with, that he still insists on shaving slits into. Pierced ears.

Sonia Nevermind - (She/Her, pansexual) Petite all around. Dainty little hands and the softest skin. Very fine hair, and like Fuyuhiko, she is a bit lacking in eyebrow definition, but she has to fill them in. Has a small upturned nose and definitely does the princess peach lip thing.

Akane Owari - (She/Her, pansexual) Muscular and thick all over. As much as she definitely has abs, having them visibly defined is generally speaking, not healthy for most women, so they’re under a smooth soft tummy. She has a wider button nose and full lips that she would love to put gloss on if it didn’t interfere with her snacking. Has somewhat crooked teeth and her hair is consistently tangled.

Hajime Hinata - (He/Him, pansexual) Buff arms. All around pretty stocky but not fat. Stubby thick hands. Tans easily and has the worst farmers’ tan from his stupid polo shirt. Gets freckles across his nose when he’s in the sun a lot. He has bushy eyebrows that could use some attention and thick lips.

[ceruleanmusings]

Big Time Audition - Masons

while going through these ep rewrites i couldn't figure out how i wanted to include "big time audition" since the masons don't meet the guys until a few episodes later and this finally hit me! and it also has finally spurred me to re-write the fic depicting them first meeting the guys because, well, frankly I can do it so much better now and make sure each girl's personality stands out a bit more. but, in the meantime, you can see what they were like before the guys changed their lives. (again this is less a rewrite and more a long scene addition but, hey, semantics.)

@witchofinterest @raging-violets @partiallypearl @myloveforhergoeson

------

The ping of an email sliding into her inbox set Jazz scrambling off her bed. Finally! Setting aside the half-assembled skateboard deck, trucks, and screws she'd been tinkering with, she landed on the hardwood floor with a heavy thud and grabbed her laptop off her desk. The slam of her fingers on the spacebar cut off the quick lick of a guitar solo slicing through the air. High-stepping over Mel's assorted Nikes scattered on the ground, she approached the pocket door in the nearby wall of her room. Extending her foot, she planted it on the door and slid it open.

It smacked against the interior wall with a heavy thud, revealing Sammi perched on the side of her bed, body curled over her legs where she applied nail-polish to her big toe while bending her head to hold her cell phone in place.

"Jazz!" she shrieked, unfurling from her position. Irritation weighed down her brows as she gazed down at the black line dragging across her toenails. "Do you see what you did! Now i have to start all over!"

"No one's gonna be lookin' at your toes, Sam," Jazz said with a roll of her eyes. "And if they're really getting that close, they have bigger problems."

"You're gonna have big problems! It's taken me two hours to get this design right!" Huffing, Sammi reached over to yank sheets of tissues out a nearby box. "God! if i can't fix this you owe me a new outfit."

"How?"

Sammi uttered a world-weary sigh and spoke slowly. "This design goes with a specific outfit. I can't wear the outfit without the polish and i can't wear the polish without the outfit. It doesn't make sense."

"You don't make sense," Jazz grumbled, resting her laptop on her hip. "Who cares if your toes and your eyebrows match?"

"Just because you dress like Tony Hawk threw up on you doesn't mean everyone wants to walk around looking like a grease stain. Some of us take pride in how we look." Sammi patted her large cloud of curly hair to emphasize her point.

"Yeah, yeah, hope when you swallow that pride you don't choke on it. Blue's not your color—literally." Jazz laughed and danced out of the way of Sammi throwing her large, fluffy pillow at her. "Quit with the dramatics! Look, Aunt Kelly sent us another round of audition videos! From Minnesota this time! —I know." Sammi held the same confused expression on her face Jazz was sure she'd made only a few seconds prior.

Why Aunt Kelly and Uncle Gustavo's last star search stop was in Minnesota of all places, she didn't know. Especially in the middle of winter. Uncle Gustavo didn't do well with the cold. Or people. Or cold people. So this was Hell and Hell freezing over for him at the exact same time. He was not going to be in a good mood.

"Hurry up! I want to see if these people are terrible too."

"Relax, no one can be as bad as Opera Guy," Sammi said with a scoff. "For one, he chose a terrible song for his range. Two, I could have done it better. And three, his shirt was untucked, his tie was too short, and he thought square toed shoes fit this century. He should have called me for help. He would've looked at least half-way presentable, which is the best he could have pulled off."

"Isn't most criticism supposed to come with a compliment somewhere."

"Sure," Sammi said with a shrug. "He'd never be able to afford me."

"Don't break your arm congratulating yourself," Jazz said. "Just hurry up!" Her feet slapped against the ground as she ran out of their connecting rooms, Sammi's phone conversation fading behind her as she jumped down the stairs, slamming to a stop on both landings. Navigating around the corner, she burst through the kitchen and went straight for the connected living room.

A stack of neatly folded blankets sat on the nearby ottoman, the creases so sharp it could cut glass. Just the way their dad liked it. A tray filled with a half empty glass of orange juice, toast two bites away from being finished, a mug with a dredge of dark coffee remaining, scattered silverware, and a balled up napkin balanced on a haphazard scattering of cycling and running magazines on the nearby coffee table.

And Mickey moved about straightening it all: adjusting the dented pillow left on the recliner, tucking the transfer board between the chair and end table, moving the lone navy blue slipper—left foot—to sit just beneath the coffee table, pulled the extended foot rest back in, and rolled up the long cord of the nearby vacuum around her arm.

"Hey." Jazz waved her arm, her voice and movement breaking Mickey out of her productive haze. She paused in the cord rolling, eyebrows lifting in a silent question. Or at least Jazz guessed from her head being pointed in her direction; her long locs hid most of her face. "We got more audition videos from Aunt Kelly. The last stop in Minnesota." Mickey's eyes slowly moved from the tray to the blankets to the recliner and back to the tray. "I'll get Mel so you can finish up," Jazz continued, "But Mick, seriously, Dad's not gonna care if it's not all spic and span by the time they get back."

Her mouth twisted to the side and she was quiet as she placed the wrapped cord around the back of the vacuum. Stepping on the petal that unlocked it, she turned to maneuver it out of the room, stopping only to say, "It matters to me" before passing.

Jazz stepped aside. Mickey preferred to keep everything in the right place to make his life easier. Jazz very much preferred that their dad was still around to have a life.

She made a beeline for the garage, a wall of sound knocking into her once she popped the seal on the door leading off the kitchen. Their dad had made it soundproof the day Mel got her first drum-set for Christmas on year. He re-enforced it every couple of years, for their' mom's sake since she worked most nights he said.

Mel's arms were almost a blur with how fast she hit the drums and symbols in succession. Her shoulders rose and dropped and her body moved along to a groove Jazz couldn't hear, half from the steady drumbeats and half from the large headphones Mel wore over her ears. With a grin, Jazz tiptoed forward until she stood behind Mel, able to see the lines of bright purple weaving into her long, dark braids. It was a recent changeover from her usual cornrows. It made playing goalie in soccer easier without having to fuss about her hair. As captain of the team, she didn't let anything get in her way. Literally.

"Yo!" Jazz snickered when Mel jumped at Jazz's shout after yanking a headphone off her ear. The drumbeat finished off-time due to Mel's flailing. Yanking the other headphone off, Jazz jerked her head backward when Mel whipped around with one drumstick pointed right at her nose. "Easy Jack Sparrow, you'll put an eye out."

"You're mixing up your movies," Mel pointed out, curling in the drumstick to spin it around her fingers. Her chest heaved and Jazz didn't need to check her pulse to know it was high. She swore Mel used drumming as an excuse for exercise as well to keep her skills up. As she liked to point out, you can't have an out-of-shape drummer and Mel needed to work twice as hard to get even some semblance of recognition for her contributions to their school's jam band or percussion section.

"Speaking of movies, we have a new installment of America's Funniest Audition Fails!" Jazz wiggled her laptop around as if displaying a prize on a game show. "Come on!" She started bouncing on her toes. "I want to know if they all sing with those accents."

Mel hummed. "That's assuming they're all able to keep time." That was a sticking point for her from the auditions in Salt Lake City, Philadelphia, and Houston. Most of the auditions, really. That even the well-prepared singers couldn't seem to stay on time with the music they chose. They either rushed or dragged, or worse, changed the arrangement to something so flashy it didn't showcase their voice but rather pointed out the sharp strains, the flat hits, or displayed their flaws rather than their strengths. She went on a rant about each location's auditions for days. (Though that could also be leftover disappointment at not being allowed to audition in D.C., even though they weren't accepting drummers.)

"Well, here's the good part! You can take all the videos of the bad ones, explain why they're so bad, and throw in some of your drum reels and send that to Uncle Gustavo!" Jazz said with a sparkle in her eye, a finger pointed upwards in the air. "All Mom and Dad said was it wasn't a good idea to audition. They never said you couldn't show them your reels by accidentally sending them a link in an email you never meant to send."

Chuckling, Mel grabbed a gray towel with faded Gatorade logos on them and wiped sweat off her brow. "Remind me to hire you as my lawyer."

"Why? They can't get mad at you for that."

"No, but they'll be impressed with how much you can twist their words to fit your needs before they ground you for a month."

Shifting her finger from vertical to horizontal, Jazz wiggled her finger between herself and Mel. "You mean ground us."

Mel laughed and shook her head; her braids swayed as she swung one leg over her stool. "No, I mean you. I'm an innocent bystander."

"Annnd that's exactly where you'll stay if you don't take this chance," Jazz said. Mel's smile immediately dropped to a frown and she scratched at her hairline. "It's an opportunity of a lifetime. You want it bad, so you keep saying, but you're going to let something as small as an email stand in your way? What's that phrase?" She tapped her chin. "Ask for forgiveness rather than permission?"

"Will that still hold up when I shove this down your throat?" Mel asked, waving her drumstick at her.

Jazz grinned, pushing it away. "You know I'm right!"

"No, you're annoying."

"Same thing!"

Laughing, Jazz ran out of the garage, making it to the living room in time for Mel to jump onto her back and the two to slam down to the couch. Jazz managed to move her computer out of the way in time, twisting herself to take the blow of the soft landing. Sammi and Mickey trailed in a few moments later, squeezing themselves onto the couch in their usual order: Sammi on one end, then Mel, Jazz, and Mickey on the other end. Stretching her legs onto the coffee table, crossing the angle with the thin metallic red band over the other, Jazz balanced her laptop on her lap and pressed play on the video.

They laughed, cringed, groaned, and booed through the clipped together reel of auditions. Some people were flat, some were sharp, some didn't even sing, instead choosing to do an interpretive dance about acid rain and a mime act. Unsurprisingly, Gustavo whisked them off the stage fast yelling about how a mime can't have seriously tried to audition for a singing competition. (Plus, he found mimes creepy.)

One girl stood out, someone named Jenny Tinkler, simply because her audition started with her taking in a deep breath and then the shot cut to a firefighter using a fire extinguisher on curtain, some tiles hanging from the ceiling, the recording tilted, a few holes in the wall of the stage, and Jenny running around with security guards chasing after her all the while screaming "But I'm gonna be the next Gwen Stefani!" Kelly could be see in the background, wiping leftover extinguisher

"Whoa," they girls uttered in unison.

"She should come with a warning label," Mel said.

"So should her outfit," Sammi said. "Bows that big only belong on big presents."

"The dog was cute though," Jazz said. They all voiced their agreement as she fast forwarded through the next clips. It was a blur of color, of scuffles, of someone jumping off the stage, of—

"Wait! Go back!" Mel jabbed at a button on the keyboard, sending the reel backward.

"Hey!"

"Just—look!"

She hit another button and the video started playing again. A boy walked on stage wearing audition number 810, wearing a gray sweater and brown pants. He introduced himself as Logan and, instead of singing, started beatboxing.

"Not bad," Mel said after an approving hum.

Gustavo didn't agree by yelling Logan off the stage like everyone else. Mickey made a noise of sympathy at the zoom-in on Logan's shellshocked expression and robotic walk out of the room.

811 was next, a boy in a blue hoodie named Carlos who swung the microphone around until he farted into it, causing Jazz and Mel to crack up and Sammi to utter a sound of disgust.

James was 812, a tall boy with a confident stride and his chin held high. He took his time before he started, looking at his feet, taking a breath, and positioning the swoop in his hair.

"People say I'm the life of the party... 'cause I tell a joke or two..."

"Wow." Sitting next to her, Jazz caught Mickey's soft uttering of awe. And, out the corner of her eye, she watched Mickey sit up straighter and lean closer to the screen.

"Sam?" Jazz appealed.

Sammi nodded once. "He's good," she stated, running a ring along a chain around her neck. And she'd know, she was born with near perfect pitch. Which she loved to remind them about any chance she got. Which Jazz understood, despite how annoying it could get. Any way for them to be different.

"So Minnesota does have some talent," Mel remarked.

Not that Uncle Gustavo agreed with them. Before their very eyes, he started shouting about how the James guy had no talent (Mickry gasped at that) and how he was wasting his time. Then all hell broke loose when some blond guy sporting some impressive eyebrows came into the shot, yelling about Uncle Gustavo not having any talent and then singing about how he was a "giant turd" which started a brawl with security guards.

"Whoa! And I thought people from Minnesota were supposed to be nice!" Jazz said between her laughter which started up again when an older black woman started beating up the security guards with her cane.

"Uncle Gustavo kind of deserved it," Mel said. Sammi nodded in agreement.

"Let's see it again!" Jazz went backward on the clip only to jerk out of the way when Mickey's arm extended past her face, her cell phone in hand. "What the-?" her cry was cut short at the snort she emitted when spotting the deep disapproving frown on Mickey's face. "Oh, this'll be good."

With a sigh and half smile, Mel took thr phone out of Mickey's hand and held it up to her ear. Jazz leaned closer to listen, the buzz on the other end trilling three times until it was picked up.

"Hey Mel," Aunt Kelly greeted her warmly. "Hey girls. What's up?"

"Mickey's mad at you," Mel singsonged.

"How? What did I do?"

"We saw the auditions. Mickey's mad you didn't pick-"

"The hot guy," Jazz cut in.

"The hot guy," Mel repeated, "812."

"That was Gustavo, not me. You know I don't have much of a say."

"Then how do you call yourself a talent scout?"

They didn't need to see her face to know she rolled her eyes. "Look, Gustavo's looking for a certain thing and he didn't have it. So Mickey can be mad at him."

"She is. You should see her face."

"Send it to me. I'll show him."

Snickering, Mel took out her phone to snap a pic of Mickey's still present frown, now with her arms crossed, and quickly sent it over. "For what it's worth, if he went this far and still didn't find someone, that guy may be his best shot."

"Try telling him that."

"We will! We can spam him!"

"Jazz."

"I said spam him. We won't do anything else. This time. We got grounded hard for signing him up for that toupee of the month thing."

"You. You got grounded," Sammi, Mel, and Mickey said in unison.

"Anyway, he seems to have his mind set. I'll try talking to him. He might not want him after being escourted out by security."

"Or, maybe that's the fire he's looking for!" Jazz said. "Just think about it! He'd have a built-in bad boy type!"

"We'll see. I talk to you girls later. I think he's about to yell at the bellhop. I love you. And stay out of trouble."

"We always do," they chorused before saying goodbye and hanging up.

Jazz drummed her fingers on her laptop, a slow smile pushing onto her face.

"Oh no," Sammi groaned at the sight of it.

Mel sighed. "You gonna order something?"

Jazz nodded.

"You gonna send it to Uncle Gustavo?"

Jazz nodded again.

"Are you gonna send a mime to glare at him?"

"Nah," Jazz said, shaking her head. "I could send Mickey to do that for free." She laughed, leaning out of the way of Mickey's attempts to hit her with a pillow.

"Well whatever it is, I'm not going down for it this time," Mel declared. "...Let's go to the library and use their computers. At least that way the IP can't get directly traced back to us."

"Good idea!"

All at once, the girls lept off the couch and raced each other for the front door.

[sneakydraws]

ohhh you oughta' show me Face and/or Motion for the Teen Girls brother..

*cracks knuckles* all of them, huh? a tall order but i'm up for it! "makeup" is a separate category but i think it's relevant for face descriptions so i'll pepper it in

face: Describe your OC's face. What's their smile like? Are their orbs cerulean? What would someone notice first when looking at them?

ballerina girl - i imagine her with a wide, flat-ish face. probably low cheekbones? slightly freckled. the only makeup she wears is the "neutral" kind, concealer and foundation and blush and whatnot. maybe a gentle lipgloss. she has big beautiful dark eyes, but they're downturned a bit giving her a slightly gloomy expresion - maybe offputting in day to day life, but giving her a sublimely romantic air when performing... she doesn't smile much in public but her smile is very gentle, almost shy.

cigarette girl - she has an unhealthy, grayish complexion from not really taking care of herself, fairly pimply as well. very thin eyebrows, thin lips and face. lip fuzz. long, pointy (maybe a bit hooked?) nose. her eyes are always half-closed and she has a general air of apathy about her. i don't know that i've ever drawn her smiling lmao... the has that sloppy, day-old kind of makeup, heavy eyeshadow and dark lipstick, no foundation or anything.

witch girl - her hair is all over her eyes haha, don't know how feasible that would be irl but i think it's a fun design choice in cartoons. she's almost always smiling, to the point where it's a little unsettling. slightly bigger lower lip. double chin. one mole by her lips and another below her eye, just barely visible from under the fringe. very pale with a pinkish blush. her style is very cutesy and as far as makeup goes i could see her adding pink blush and stuff like stickers, drawn on shapes, glitter...

jock girl - very expressive, especially with her body posture/movement but also with her hands and face. puts on a slightly blase air but is passionate and easily annoyed. round face, accentuated by the short bangs. slight case of babyface, big black eyes with short lashes... you know what, she's not korean but the main girl character from squid game came to mind as someone with a similar face? though maybe it's less about the actual features and more about the vibe. anyway, she's usually got a furrowed brow, even when laughing! she's got a big, loud, slightly cackling laugh. maybe slightly crooked teeth... and not infrequently a bruise or bandaid somewhere on there.

ok motion should be a bit easier! i really like this one, i often think about how characters move

motion: How does your OC move? How does their clothing help or hinder their range of motion? Are they flexible, coordinated, clumsy?

class prez girl - VERY controlled. elegant and fluid - this is probably why her parents sent her to ballet classes in the first place, or how she convinced them to let her try. she had a sudden growth spurt in maybe her early teens and that left her with a lingering feeling of awkwardness about her height, but the ballet training was enough to get her out of her slouching habit anf give her perfect posture.

girlrot girl - slow, pleghmatic movement. if she sits down in a chair, she doesn't do anything to ease the fall and just slumps into it with all her momentum. slouches a lot, and if she's in one spot for a while she has a tendency to get lower and lower until she's sprawled on the ground.

bunny girl - very still a lot of the time! doesn't fidget much. when she does move it's with a slight bounce to her step. tends to keep her limbs close to her body, but not really in an awkward way

sk8r girl - rarely sits still. even if she's sitting in one spot for a while, she'll switch positions often. jerky and energetic movements and exaggerated poses

whew this was so fun!! i like having to write about these things instead of drawing them, it forces you to think through it and find very specific descriptors haha!

[white-boy-bracket]

“I know it’s not technically the ‘next round’.”

“Feels like it,” Said Showie, hood up, her arms crossed. She didn’t sound upset, though. 

“But I brought ✨this✨” He held up a science flask of green-ish liquid that was bubbling on its own, and fogging like it had dry ice.

Showie looked over at it, a trail of blue dried on one side of her face. That girl needed setting spray. 

“Wh-” She paused, “Why is it bubbling and smoking? What did you do to that?”

“Don’t even worry about it. It's swamp sauce.”

She cracked a smile, then turned her attention back to the matches below. The Pee Pee lane now just had two competitors, neither of which Xigbar knew. 

“I’d say the match was no longer fair, but…”

“It was already rigged to begin with?” He walked over to her- he saw her nose wrinkle at the smell of the Swamp Sauce.

“No, for real, what is in that?” She peered at it apprehensively, like the narrator was hiding in it or something.

"Hey, I warned you it was bad." He snickered. "If you can't handle it, just admit it. I'll only judge you a little."

She made a face at him, before grabbing it out of his hand with a clink and taking a drink big enough to make most people forget their entire day.

She held it at a length, as if considering it, “Well, it’s not bad, I thought there’d be more flavor.”

"Ho-holy shit." Xigbar burst out laughing. "You have some balls, Showie! Anyone ever tell you that's hot?" He looked like he would've winked, if not for the eyepatch.

She raised an eyebrow at him, looking somewhere between offended and amused, “I run about 50 degrees below normal body temperature, actually,” She said, taking another sip?

"Alright, alright, give it back-" He made a grab for the flask. "Can't let you have all the fun by yourself."

She gave him a little joking frown, and held it up like she was attempting to play keepaway. He was a good half-foot taller than her, though, so he just grabbed it, “Nice try,” He said, taking a drink.

“You nice try,” She said, like that was a sentence that made sense.

"Woof. I'm pretty sure I've gotten burned worse from coffee." 

“You coffee,” She said, but like she was aware it was ridiculous now.

“Me coffee?”

“Yeah,” She said, and grabbed the flask back while he was trying to figure out what that meant. She quickly scampered to the other side of the couch and, before Xigbar could get over there, downed most of what was left in the flask. But not all.

“Ok-a-ay, that’s enough,” He said, grabbing it back, “You’ll be on your ass in the next three minutes, tops. If you're getting fucked up, I am NOT going to be the designated driver. Let one of the Kinsmen do that.” He tossed one of his arms over the back of the couch and glugged down the rest of it. 

She sat down next to him (closer than normal), and giggled, “The kins don’t like you.”

“No?”

“No,” She giggled. 

"Wouldn't be the first." He grinned, as if that was a flex. "Gotta ask, though- Why not?"

She reached for a hot wing (still on the table from before the Interruption 23 hours ago) and missed. She got it on her second try, though, and said, “You’re………too…tall. And old.”

“As if! I'm gorgeous, doll." 

“Doll,” She giggled (lot of giggling today), “I’m a doll.”

"What, you like that?" He glanced at her. "I can use it more often."

She started laughing harder, and snorted, her head bonking into Xigbar’s chest. It hurt. 

“Showie, what are you made of?” He wheezed.

“I warned you I’m built different,” She laughed.

"There's a difference between being built different and having a head like a cannonball-"

She giggled, “Cannonball.”

“Now why is that funny? I get the other thing-”

She laughed- apparently hard enough that a kin got concerned, because click, the door opened.

Xigbar moved without really thinking- before the kin had gotten his head in the door, he had covered the upper half of Showie’s face (hood now down) with his hand. 

“What?” Showie asked, placing a hand over Xigbar’s, confused.

The kin asked, “Everything alright, [OMITTED]?” He didn’t look happy. He looked like he hated Xigbar, actually, now that he thought of it. 

“Oh, yes, everything’s fine,” She said, like she was putting on some kind of voice- it wasn’t her normal one, to be sure. 

The kin squinted at them, and then said, “Alright, take care.” 

“Sure thing,” said Showie, then giggled like it was funny.

The kin closed the door with a click. 

Showie grabbed Xigbar’s hand with both of hers, and pulled it off of her face, make-up smudged, but beaming. 

“You protected me,” She smiled.

"It was nothing." He almost looked bashful? It was weird. Cute, somehow, but weird.

“Okay,” She giggled, turning her attention back to the match. “Okay.” She snorted. 

The match soon ended (it was funny to see that founding father get absolutely demolished on the spikes)- and then Showie stood up, a bit unsteady on her heels. 

Xigbar rolled his eyes, “Okay, let's get you back,” he grabbed her arm, pulled her hood back over her face (this was met with a giggle) and helped her down the stairs and back to their apartment.He opened the door for her (sometime between the skybox and the apartment she’d started leaning on him (for stability) and his arm had migrated to her waist (for stability)) and she took about 2 steps into the room before rolling her ankle and falling directly on- no, through the bed the kinsmen had brought in for Xigbar, instantly breaking it in half.

[fearless-stormclaw]

To celebrate me starting the last chapter of the main part of the first book of my Owl House HP AU here are some sketches of some of the kiddos!

I might put colored versions of these drawings into the final draft.

(Fair warning, I do not claim to be an artist. Headshots are about the extent of my abilities.)

First up, our protaganist, 11-year-old Luz Noceda! She wears her hair in pigtails most of the time. The image on the right is a possible design of her with her hair down. (or a possible Vee, whose design I haven't fully pinned down yet) And I realized I forgot her scar whoops She's also supposed to have a scar across her left eyebrow which I forgot to draw but please imagine it's there.

Next up, 11-year old Amity Blight! Her little ponytail was an absolute pain to figure out how to draw. I think I managed it passably though. Her hair is dyed green, like it was in season 1 of the show.

12-year old Willow Park! Poor girl, she is haunted. Sorry, eyes are still a weakness. She's a year older than the others but still in the same grade because her birthday is after the first day of school. For Willow, this adds to her feeling of being behind everyone else.

9-year old Gus Porter! I should mention that the witches in this AU have normal round human ears, just like the wizards in the Harry Potter books. I imagine little Gus to have quite large ears that he will grow into some later. Again I apologize for the eyes.

11-year old Boscha Malphiday! I'm really pleased with how she turned out, although I struggled with her third eye and I'm still not 100% satisfied with how it turned out. Her surname in this AU is a play off of Malfoy--Malfoy comes from the French for "bad faith" (mal foi); Malphiday comes from "mal fidei", Latin for "bad faith".

13-year-old Hunter! He only appears as a cameo in the main storyline of Book 1, but he has a big part in one of the bonus epilogue chapters (which I haven't really written yet). In this timeline, he has only recently officially received his Golden Guard title. He hasn't gotten his cheek scar, ear notch, or eye bags yet (they will all come in due time) but he does have his tooth gap. He got that from getting his face punched in during training. I drew his Golden Guard uniform with only the one pauldron on his left shoulder as in the show, but I'm thinking of giving him a second one on his right shoulder like in the storyboards.

Meet 15-year-old Oliva Che'! She's one of my OCs. She's basically the Oliver Wood character--the captain of the Owl House grudgby team. She is a very spirited and gung-ho type and very enthusiastic about grudgby. She is in the construction track, although she is not a huge fan of the coven system. She's kind of a fun big sister to the younger Owl House students. She is of Yucateca Maya descent. She has brown or gold eyes. Her hair is naturally black but she dyes it a different color every year and usually keeps it in braids. This year it's pink. Unfortunately Paint did a weird thing when I cropped this picture and made her blurry I am so angry Her Palisman (not pictured) is a black spiny-tailed iguana named Toloc.

Meet 16-year-old Saka Katu! She is another OC. She is a cat demon girl and Oliva's girlfriend and also plays on the Owl House grudgby team (mostly because Oliva insists). She is in Potions track and believes deeply in the Coven system. She's a little uptight, some might call her bossy, and big into following the rules. She's kinda of a strict big sister type to the younger Owl House students. She keeps Oliva from being too reckless while Oliva keeps her from being too stiff. Saka is Malagasy for cat and Katu is Basque for cat so her name is literally "cat cat". She may or may not have a Palisman; if she does, it's some sort of fish.

Last but not least, 11-year-old William Myrtus Warthorne! His design is based off of Ser William from the audio tests/pilot. He is described as a handsome boy--broad-shouldered, with blond hair and blue eyes and a hooked nose which I swear I fixed but somehow it's still wrong ORZ. He is in Goat House and is friends with Boscha, but he doesn't participate in bullying (he doesn't do anything to stop it, though, he's just sort of there). He has a friendly, laidback personality and can get along with just about anyone. It's not discussed in this book (it's more of a plot point in book 2), but his family, the Warthornes, are a cadet branch of the Clawthornes which is why he has Clawthorne and Wittebane features.

[cupidbedsy]

୨୧ hate ; hughes brothers

➪ summary: y/n is on the verge of not going to a game because she's scared of the hate she's going to get so she keeps it to herself. but when they're all in their apartment, he brothers can't help but ask what's wrong

➪ warnings: hate comments, crying, hughes brothers crying session (literally)

➪ word count: 2.3k

➪ cupid's notes: hughes bros!! i'm gonna be so honest, i do not know what the ending of this fic is but i remember getting asks from anons saying they liked it the first time around so i figured what the hell I'll post it. and now we're here

© cupidbedsy ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

Y/n sat in her bed, covers pulled up to her chin as she stared out the window. She had a teddy bear tucked into her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around it. Her TV played a video with a fireplace on it, creating a warm atmosphere in her room. 

She felt sad, a new wave of depression rolling in. She had spent today on socials, getting caught up with the latest and interacting with her friends. She occasionally got hate, most of it from her brothers' fans who just desperately wanted to have her life. It bothered her to a certain extent, she knew she had no control over who her brothers were and what they had become, what they did for a living. 

Today the hate was worse and she didn’t know why. She hadn’t done anything differently than in the past, simply just living her life as usual. She didn’t know if the comments themselves were worse and there were more of them or if it was her mind playing tricks on her and making them a big focal point. 

She didn’t want to get up, her bed and blankets brought her enough comfort which is all she needed right now. She could hear Luke and Jack arguing from the kitchen and she rolled her eyes, there was never a time when their home was silent. She snuggled herself deeper into the bed, not even sure if it was physically possible. 

She knew she should go tonight, she hadn’t seen Quinn in a long time, not having gone to the previous ‘hughesbowl’ as they called it. She wasn’t a big hockey person, despite her family’s name. She never understood the appeal of it, you watch a bunch of men or women, race back and forth on ice chasing a tiny round piece of rubber while hitting others. 

That being said, she didn’t know why her brothers playing each other was so special. Matthew and Brady had played each other plenty of times, so they just added a third brother and it was the biggest thing on the planet. She got the appeal of it but not so much as the big deal, she was proud of them sure and it would make for a good game but past that?

She heard footsteps coming towards her room and she quickly ducked her head under her comforter to be ignored by whoever was coming to the door, “Y/n/n?”

She was silent, steadying her breath, “I know you’re awake.”

Still nothing and at this point, Luke was just about ready to give up until Jack charged in, “Get up!”

She wasn’t in the mood to see everyone rave about her brothers, she didn’t need to go out into the world and see more hate spread about her. What would it be this time? Oh, she’s not supporting Quinn, that’s kind of a bitch move. Oh, she favors Jack and Luke too much. She’s wearing Quinn’s jersey, that must be her favorite brother. Do you think she’s using them to get with any of their teammates? She couldn’t do anything right anymore. 

“Y/n if you’re not up in the next five seconds I’m bringing a pot in.”

“Do you even own a pot?”

“No… but you’re talking now.” Jack cocked an eyebrow, an all too familiar smug look making its way onto the boy’s face.

Y/n turned around to face her bedroom door and muttered, ‘Congratu-fucking-lations.”

“Someone’s got an attitude.” Jack whistled, eyebrows raising again.

“Bro, come on.” Luke hit his older brother on the chest before walking over to the girl, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s a load of bullshit.”

“It’s nothing, Luke.” She raised her left arm to wipe the growing tears in her eyes. Luke eyed them carefully, placing a hand on her arm, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Good luck tonight.”

At this, Jack furrowed his eyebrows, “Why are you saying that like you’re not going to go?”

“Because I’m not.”

“What do you mean you’re not? You were excited to see Quinn.”

“I dunno.” Her eyes looked everywhere her brothers weren’t.

“Are you not feeling well?”

She merely shrugged before turning over again, the boys exchanging looks, “All right well if you change your mind, let me know and I’ll come back and get you.”

“Okay.” The brothers left, heading to the Rock leaving their sister alone with her thoughts.

It was twenty minutes later that she felt she wanted to go, she should support her brothers no matter what. She got ready, throwing a Canucks shirt on and her Devil's beanie covering her hair to hide the uncleanliness of it.

She texted Jack and asked for him to come back for her, to which he responded instantly with a yes. She sat on her bed, swinging her legs back and forth as she waited for her brother to come and get her. 

ﾟ+*:୨୧:*﹤

To y/n the game was uneventful, just another one of the hockey games she could add to her total. The six of them had decided they would go out for dinner and being away from Quinn for such a long time she decided to ride with him to the restaurant and back.

When they got back to Jack, Luke, and y/n’s home, the girl immediately returned to her room, not so much as saying a word to anyone. The five remaining Hughes’ exchanged confused glances, “Has she been like this for a while?”

No one responded to Quinn’s question at first until Jack thought back to earlier, “She was acting a little weird before the game but I just thought she was tired.”

They all seemed as if that was a good enough assumption and sat in the living room watching a movie. Meanwhile Luke had been oddly silent, he knew there was something wrong with her from the moment he walked into the room this afternoon.

He excused himself from the family, walked down the hall to her room, and knocked on the door, “Go away!”

Luke entered the room and just as before, knelt in front of her so their eyes were meeting, “I know there’s something up with you.”

“No there’s not.”

“Come on, spill it.”

It was silent before y/n looked at her brother with glistening eyes, “Why are people so mean, Lukey?”

That was all it took for her to start crying, Luke wasting no time jumping onto the bed, wrapping his little sister up in a hug. The sudden affection caused her to let the tears flow over and bury her head into his chest. All Luke could do was hug her tightly, staring at the wall as his heart shattered. There was nothing but the sound of her sobs he could listen to, it was like the world had gone dead silent to amplify her cries. 

He closed his eyes, trying not to let the tears form or fall from them. He heard her sniffle, signaling that she was calming down a bit. There was a knock on the door and she quickly whipped her head up, “I don’t want to see anyone. Please.”

The boy looked conflicted before coming up with an idea, “If it’s Mom and Dad how about I tell them to go away but if it’s Jack and Quinn you have to let them in okay?”

She nodded, knowing that she wasn’t going to get very far with this. Luke called out, waiting for the person on the other side of her door to respond. When the voice called back and they both instantly recognized it was Quinn’s she sighed before squeaking out a ‘come in.’ Quinn entered the bedroom, his younger brother following behind him with his hands crossed across his chest. Quinn took notice of the girl’s face, followed by Jack as they sat at the end of the bed, "What's going on?”

Y/n sat up pulling her knees into her chest, wrapping her arms around them. She looked hesitantly between her brothers, not wanting to say what it was that was happening to her. She was old enough that she didn’t need to be treated like a baby who could break at any moment. 

Quinn’s older brother persona was comforting out of all three of them. If she had to rank them, let’s just say Jack would be at the bottom of her list while Luke was tied, or maybe just slightly under Quinn. She only looked at him before looking back down. Luke placed a comforting hand on the girl’s shoulder, “We want to help you, y/n/n.”

Words were hard for the youngest Hughes, not knowing how to explain how she felt or what was happening. They never came easily to her, they never pieced together to form a complete sentence sometimes, and they never made sense when she was upset. She reached out for her phone that sat on the nightstand and Luke leaned over to grab it for her, placing it in her hands.

She pulled up screenshots of the comments so took, a constant reminder of why she wasn’t good enough for the Hughes’. She held the phone out, ready for any one of them to take it. Quinn was the first to take the phone, eyes scanning over the screen and swiping through the pictures. His facial expressions were very noticeable, his eyes widening at the language used, his mouth frowning at the comments, the tears in his eyes as he thought about his little sister going through this. 

He passed it to Jack when he was done, rubbing his eyes rid of the tears. They all waited in silence as Jack and Luke read the messages, tension filling the air. The three brothers exchanged looks, silently conversing without y/n noticing. In the silence, y/n started to grow anxious. What if they started to realize that what they were saying was true? What if they started to believe them?

Luke turned off the phone and placed it back on her nightstand, looking at his older brothers in a way that asked who was going to say the first words. They could all see the gears turning inside their sister’s head, nervous about what she was thinking. Quinn reached an arm out and placed it around her, pulling her into his side, “You know none of that is true, none of it.”

She just shook her head, not believing a word he said. Jack tried next, attempting to break through to her, “It’s going to be hard to hear at first, y/n/n, but nothing they say is true. They just-” Jack sighed, not really knowing where to go from there.

“They just hate me, it’s simple. They hate me which makes me hate myself.” She put her head down so it was resting on her arms. 

The brothers hadn’t felt this sad about something in a while, they gazed at her with tears in their eyes. They never would have thought that she of all people would be getting hate, she’s not even a public figure. They felt horrible about themselves even though it wasn’t their fault, she was experiencing this just because they were related to her. 

Quinn removed his arm from around her shoulders moving to sit in front of her. He moved her arms so she had to lift her head to look at him, “What?”

“Don’t say that. You have no reason to hate yourself, y/n.”

“Don’t cry.” She could hear the tears in his voice despite the fact that she wasn’t directly looking at him.

“Can’t help it. Our little sister is sitting in front of us, crying because she thinks she’s not good enough.” Luke spoke for the first time in a while. His voice cracked at some point throughout the sentence, bringing him to tears.

She reached out to hold his hand as a form of comfort which he gladly accepted. She looked at the three, noticing Jack’s oddly quiet persona. She tilted her head in confusion and looked him in the eye. When he made eye contact with her, he broke down himself. His tears left his siblings in shock, not expecting him to do that.

“What’s wrong, Jack?”

“I don’t want her to go through what I went through.”

Quinn moved from his spot to wrap his younger brother in a hug, “She won’t and you know why?”

He shook his head, burying his head into his shoulder, “Because she has us. Because she has you.”

The four Hughes siblings were left a crying mess after that night. Each of them fully broke down at one point or another, some more than others. Quinn had broken down in silence when all four went to bed in the same room at the thought of his younger siblings being this sad, being attacked by people who were nobodies. Jack’s breakdown affected everyone, he had known what his sister was going through. After his rookie season, he thought it would never let up.

Luke broke down mostly because everyone else was, he didn’t like seeing everyone sad. He started laughing halfway through crying because he didn’t actually know why he was crying. This was near the end of the night, everyone had practically run out of tears by then and laughed with him as soon as he started to. 

Y/n only broke down at one other point during the night, it was right before they went to bed. She had gone on her phone and the first thing she saw was a comment from someone on her latest post. She had begged her brothers to make it stop even though she knew they couldn’t do anything about it. However, she was determined not to let it bother her anymore so she made her brothers promise her they would help her with it.

And they did, they would protect her from anything even if it was their so-called fans. 

꒰ HUGHES BROTHERS TAGLIST ꒱

@toasttt11 @chiblackhawks @prettyjoseph @nicole01-23 @shawnshoney @auriesphantom @dancerbailey3 @quinnylouhughesx43 @petite-potato4 @thehuggybearslover @absolutelyhugh3s @kei943 @dyslecticdutchman

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