#gp leather jacket

[leathercollectionus]

Marlboro Yamaha Jacket

A specially designed marlboro yamaha jacket, providing the best of what a racer or a rider desires. Max Biaggi wore it to participate in the year 2001 with Marlboro Yamaha. This suit really helps to maintain and improve the motorbike riding experience.

Marlboro Yamaha Jacket

[yuzuchupachups]

I KNEW he would go to party!

[yrsonpurpose]

JENSON BUTTON Australian GP 2023

[dellovestorant]

[shutinlear53]

Death's horse is supposed to be pale green Do you know who's pale green? Hatsune Miku

[nyehhhh-migrating]

MOTOGP 2023 SEASON

SANTIAGO DEL ESTERO, 2023 - Fabio Quartararo & Alex Marquez

📸Juan Mabromata

[pickingupmymercedes]

I'm yours, only yours - Lewis Hamilton (NSFW)

requests: "Something spicy about that GP from Las Vegas and that Versace jacket..." - anon 1; and "they go to party and Lewis is possessive and jealous, because there are guys all over her, so when they go home…. You know what happens hihihi" - anon 2

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: unprotected sexual activities (all sorts), jealous Lewis

Also, wrap it before you tap it

wordcount: +2K

a/n: I combined two requests because they were pretty similar. Also that Versace jacket really lives rent free in our heads doesn't it?!

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT

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His fingers fiddled with the zipper of your dress as you looked at him in the mirror. His eyes gleaming as he took your full outfit, a black stapple Versace minidress, the perfect pair to his custom Vegas GP jacket.

"We look stunning, love" He stated, his voice rich

“You don’t look so bad yourself. I might have to ask Donatella for a jacket like that though, or steal yours” you pondered, catching his eyes before smirking and winking at him.

“Hamilton written in the back and all?” He smirked as he turned you to him

“Maybe” you whispered, lips close to his, leaning your body into his “but only if it comes with the matching accessory”

His own Versace was nothing short of amazing. The black and red leather shimmered, the shoulders structured yet perfectly fitting for Lewis' broad frame. But the real showstopper was the back. Embroidered in bold letters across, impossible to miss, was his name alongside the famous brand.

The moment Lewis walked into the club, a hush fell over the crowd. Heads snapped in his direction, eyes widening at the jacket, at you, at him. Women practically materialized at his side, batting their eyelashes and giggling inanely.

You watched, initially amused, as Lewis politely deflected their advances. You exchanged knowing glances with Miles and Daniel, silently enjoying the show.

"He's a natural at this, isn't he?" Miles remarked, a teasing lilt in his voice.

"Born for this." Daniel chimed in, shaking his head with mock seriousness.

But the amusement soon faded, at least yours, as a familiar face pushed its way through the throng, a woman you recognized from Lewis' pre-you days. Someone you knew had been on his rotations.

She sashayed up to the booth, all smiles and swaying hips, greeting Lewis with an overly familiar hug, lingering a beat too long, and then going around the group, doling out air kisses.

It wasn’t until she reached you that her smile turned tight. "So," she purred, leaning in close enough for only you to hear, "you're the one, huh?" Her voice dripped with a condescending tone as she faked a kiss on your cheek.

She managed to linger for a while, grabbing Lewis' attention with a forced intimacy that made your skin crawl. You could practically feel the temperature around you drop as your smile faltered. Daniel noticing the shift in your demeanor.

"Everything alright, (Y/N)?" he asked kindly as you forced him a smile. "Yeah, of course" you muttered, focusing on Miles’ anecdotes as if the whole exchange wasn’t happening in front of your eyes.

But the damage was done. The playful flirting Lewis had been indulging in suddenly felt disrespectful, a blatant disregard for the boundaries of your relationship.

When the woman finally sashayed away, you gave Lewis the silent treatment, the coldness palpable. He looked at you, a frown creasing his forehead, but you turned away, pretending to be engrossed in conversation with anyone else.

The tension simmered as the night wore on. You excused yourself to the bathroom, needing a moment to escape the suffocating stares.

As you emerged back, you bumped into a tall figure coming out of the men's room. A guy you briefly had a fling with, years ago. "Hey (Y/N)! Fancy seeing you here," he exclaimed, a surprised smile lighting up his face.

You made sure the small talk flowed easily, going back to the VIP booth felt like going back to your own version of a gilded cage. Without thinking, you found yourself laughing at one of his jokes and leaning a bit too much into him to hear his voice with the music.

You could feel a searing gaze cutting through the air and as you turned, you saw Lewis standing by the railing of the second floor, his jaw clenched, a familiar, yet unusual, glint of possessiveness in his eyes.

A mischievous glint sparked in your own eyes. Lewis had been playing with fire all night, and now it was your turn. You knew it was petty, childish even, but you wanted him to feel a sliver of the insecurity you'd felt just moments ago.

"So," Alex said, extending his arm, "care to join me for a drink?"

You hesitated for a beat, stealing yet another glance at Lewis. His jaw was even tighter now, and you could practically see the steam rising from his ears. A tiny smile tugged at your lips.

"Sure," you agreed, taking Alex's lead. "I could use another drink."

But as you walked towards the bar, a hand gripped your arm, spinning you around. Lewis stood before you, his brow furrowed and the poker face he carried, but there was a fire in his eyes that you felt almost proud to have ignited.

"(Y/N)," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "we're leaving."

Before you could protest, he shrugged off his custom Versace, draping it over your shoulders, the fabric enveloping you in his scent. The message was clear - you were his.

He took your hand, his grip surprisingly firm, positioning you in front of him to navigate through the throng of people, his broad shoulders parting the crowd like a wave. You stumbled slightly, caught off guard by his forceful actions, but you allowed him to lead you.

The car lurched out of the club, leaving the neon lights and music behind. Lewis, a volcano on the verge of eruption moments ago, was now a simmering pot. His silence was deafening, punctuated only by the rhythmic hum of the engine and the thumping of his thumb on your thigh.

You stole a glance at him, his jaw still clenched, the custom jacket draped carelessly on your lap. A playful smile tugged at your lips. "Feeling a little possessive, are we?" you teased, unable to resist poking the simmering pot.

“Not here, Y/n” He shot you a dark glance, and said nothing after.

"Seems like someone can't handle a little taste of his own medicine," you continued, your voice laced with amusement. He remained brooding, the only response a barely audible "hmmph."

You sighed dramatically. "Alright, alright," you conceded, holding your hands up in mock surrender. "Maybe the next time a pretty face throws themselves at you, you'll think twice before turning on the charm offensive."

Silence. Lewis stared out the window, his expression unreadable, his grip tightening on your flesh the only sign you were getting on his nerves.

As the lights changed with the background Lewis remained stubbornly monosyllabic, his silence a potent counterpoint to your teasing. It was both frustrating and oddly exhilarating.

Finally, reaching the hotel, Lewis thanked the driver and stalked out with a curt, "Come on" leaving you to get out as he took the jacket and your purse in his hands.

Inside the dimly lit hotel room, the tension between you and Lewis was palpable, thickening the air like a heavy fog. He looked at you with a mix of frustration and desire, his eyes dark with possessiveness.

Without a word, he closed the distance between you, his movements deliberate and confident. His fingers traced the lines of your face as you held his gaze, a silent exchange of emotions passing between you.

“You really thought she was any match for you?” Lewis's voice cut through the charged atmosphere, carrying with it a hint of accusation.

“I know she isn’t. But it’s not about her, it’s about how you led her on,” you replied, your tone tinged with defiance and hurt.

His eyes flickered down to your dress; a fleeting glance filled with desire. “Who’s that guy?” he asked, his voice laced with a quiet intensity.

“Someone I had a thing with, years ago,” you admitted, the memories of the past intertwining with the present moment.

“I hope he knows you’re taken now,” Lewis remarked, a note of possessiveness creeping into his tone.

As the conversation hung in the air like an unspoken promise, he deftly reached behind you, fingers finding the zipper of your dress. With a fluid motion, he unzipped it, the fabric cascading around your feet like a waterfall of silk, leaving you adorned in the delicate black lace set.

His gaze roved over your exposed form, this time shameless, he traced the intricate patterns of lace that barely concealed your curves with his hands. A hunger stirred in his eyes as he reached for the Versace jacket, its luxurious fabric now draped on the bed.

With a deliberate motion, he wrapped it around your shoulders, the embroidery on the leather a stark against the softness of your skin. The sight seemed to soothe something primal within him, a possessive satisfaction settling.

"I want to see my name on you," he murmured, his voice a low, possessive growl.

Before you could respond, he scooped you up effortlessly, carrying you to the table in the living room. He set you down gently, his hands firm on your hips as he spread your legs, positioning you exactly how he wanted.

Lewis knelt between your thighs; his breath hot against your most intimate place. His fingers traced the edge of your lace panties before he hooked them aside, exposing you completely.

He didn't dive in immediately, though. Instead, he hovered close, his breath warm and teasing against your core, his lips leaving kisses close enough to your outer lips but still no where you needed him.

"Who do you belong to?" he asked, his voice a growl. "You," you breathed, already aching for more.

"Say it again," he commanded, his lips brushing your folds with each word, the featherlight contact driving you wild. "To you, Lewis."

Satisfied, he leaned in, his tongue finally making contact. The first touch was almost too much, a jolt of pleasure that made you gasp. He worked you with expert precision, his tongue and lips coaxing every moan and whimper from your mouth.

But he didn't give you everything all at once. He built you up slowly, teasingly, driving you to the edge and pulling back just enough to make you beg for more.

"Please, Lewis," you whimpered, your hands gripping the edge of the table. "I need you"

"That's better," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin before he resumed, this time with more intensity. He lapped at your whole, eventually licking all the way to your swollen clit.

His fingers joining the motions at some point, stroking and curling inside you just like only he knew how. The sensation overwhelming, your body arching towards him instinctively.

He intensified his movements. His possessiveness was tangible, his need to remind you who you belonged to clear in every movement. You could feel the tension building, the knot in your abdomen ready to snap.

"Who's making you feel like this?" he demanded between strokes, his voice a growl against your sensitive flesh.

"You" you gasped; your mind hazy with pleasure. "Only you."

Your first orgasm washed over you, your cries filling the room as you came undone under his relentless attention. His grip tightened, and he continued his assault, determined to drag every last bit of pleasure from you until you were panting.

When he finally stood up his face was a mixture of satisfaction and raw desire. He leaned over you, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss. You could taste yourself on him, the pornographic image making your head spin.

"We can fuck if you want," he murmured against your lips, his voice a husky whisper, "like you fucked that guy once. But I'm the one, the only one, who can make love to you."

His words made your eyes snap open, the sincerity in his eyes akin to when he first told you he loved you, years ago. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "Then make love to me, Lewis Hamilton" you whispered back, your voice trembling with anticipation.

He wasted no time, guiding you to the sofa and shedding his clothes with swift moves, never once taking his gaze off of you.

He positioned himself at your entrance as you lied on your back, his fingers adjusting your lingerie to the side, his eyes locked on yours as he pushed inside, slowing dragging his length on your walls, filling you completely. The sensation always sure to get you overwhelmed.

He started slow, but once he picked up speed he moved with a deliberate intensity, each thrust deep and controlled. His hands roamed your body, caressing and gripping, leaving no doubt that you were his.

The pace quickened more, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you neared the edge once again, the signs clear as your focus faded and your nails dug deeper into his biceps. "You feel so good," he encouraged you, his lips brushing your ear. "So perfect. Mine."

"Only yours." you moaned, your nails digging into his back.

He smiled against your skin, satisfied smile, and thrust deeper, his pace becoming almost punishing. But you loved it, loved the way he claimed you so completely.

Your second orgasm was intense, more so than the other, your body shaking with the force of it, legs turning to jelly for a few moments. But Lewis didn't stop.

Suddenly he pulled out and you let out a whimper at the loss. He pulled you to his laps, his eyes dark as he sat on the sofa and positioned you over him.

"I want to see you ride me," he said, his voice rough. "Show me how much you want it."

You straddled him, your hands resting on his chest as you lowered yourself onto him. And even though you were already stretched, riding him was always almost too much. You moved slowly at first, panting at how every inch felt raw but also savoring the way he filled you, the way his hands gripped your hips, soothing your skin.

"That's it," he murmured when you bottomed him, his eyes locked on yours. "You look so beautiful. So perfect."

You picked up your pace, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you rode him. His hands moved to your lace covered breasts, squeezing and caressing as he saw you bouncing on his dick still clad in his jacket. You leaned forward, your lips capturing his in a searing kiss, your tongues dancing together as his thrusts matched your movements.

Lewis's grip tightened to move you up and he flipped you onto your stomach, pulling you up onto your knees. He entered you from behind, his thrusts deep and powerful. You could feel the cool silk of the jacket against your skin, the sensation heightened by the heat of his body.

"That's right," he growled, his thrusts becoming harder, more demanding as he hit your cervix and watched your back with his name on it. "You're mine."

The third orgasm hit you then, the hardest one yet, your mind shutting down with the force of it, your body still going trying to drag the last bits of the ecstasy.

Lewis also didn't stop. He continued to move, his pace relentless, until he reached his own climax, his body shuddering with pleasure, his groans loud in your ear as he leaned forward into your body to fill you up, the aftershocks making him thrust even deeper.

As you lay there, spent, entwined, and a bit sweety in the leather material, Lewis kissed you tenderly, his fingers brushing the hair that clung to your face. "I’m yours, only yours." he whispered, the words a vow and a promise.

"And I’m yours" you replied, your voice soft but resolute.

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora @goldenroutledge @timmychalametsstuff

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Prostitute Adam x Mafia Leader Lucifer. FtM! Adam. @beef-brisket

Adam had a love hate relationship with shaving his legs, on one hand they were nice and smooth kind of like a dolphin but he liked the look of his legs having hair on them. His clients didn't care either way which was nice.

Tonight was a shave night, legs and crotch. He guessed it made his work easier and sometimes they tipped more.

Adam pulled on his thigh high boots, lace panties and skirt for easy access, even with top surgery he still had a bit of cleavage from his weight gain, his stomach soft. He wore a crop top that showed off his belly button ring and a leather jacket so he wouldn't be cold.

He fluffed his hair before walking out to stand on his corner with Angel, he really wished that bitch hadn't of gotten a pimp. They are nothing but abusive pieces of shit that take your money.

Adam walked to his spot and whistled to Angel: Hey bitch!

Angel: About fucking time slut bag, I was starting to think you weren't working tonight.

Adam: And miss out on all the money? Fat fucking chance.

Lucifer was driving, he needed to get away for a little while to clear his head. He needed to do something that has nothing to do with work.

That was until he got turned around and didn't seem to recognize where he was.

Lucifer: Fuck.

He pulled over and started looking at his GPS to see if he could see where the fuck he was. Then there was a knock on his passenger window. He jumped and rolled it down.

Lucifer: Yes?

Adam leaned down making sure to give a good view of his assets and gave the handsome blonde man a sweet smile. He could tell from the car alone the man had money so he could definitely pay.

Adam playfully bit his lip: You looking for a date tonight handsome?~

Lucifer looked at the man leaning down and holy Hell was he gorgeous, with soft brown hair, honey brown nearly golden eyes and that perfect smile tied it all together.

Hello hello beautiful.

[shotmrmiller]

What’s Toxic situationship simon when reader comes home from the pub making out with another man, cuz if he’s not exclusive to reader, why should she be exclusive to him? Right?

Simon just standing in a shadowy corner awaiting for his presence to be known.

you know the fucking deal. he's toxic aka extremely possessive. if he could piss on you to mark his territory he would but can't so naturally he does the next best thing which is ignore every boundary you set.

kissing to a minimum? kisses you like a long lost lover while fucking you like he missed you.

marks? littered with love bites and only where you can't cover them (fuck your concealer it's his now)

he leaves things at your place so you're forced to explain whose they are when you bring a date. a big, worn leather jacket thrown over your only gaming/desk chair. extra toothbrush with the bristles almost completely flattened. pair of work shoes you hadn't even known he'd left behind. (he bought another pair the morning he left your place, walked into academy with socked feet.)

he calls you at the worst time (aka tracks your gps and if you're at any sort of restaurant post 5 pm he's calling)

if youre real adamant on going on this one date, he's sending you with his cum dripping onto the sheer knickers you'd bought just for the occasion and will await your return. let him know if you need a ride. (will wait downstairs for you to pull up to get you out of that pathetic little car. "as small as he is, eh?" the guy can't/wont say shit unless he fancies picking up his own teeth off the sidewalk.)

[lordprettyflackotara]

heard about us || colby brock

You arched your back as your hips grinded down on Colby's, moaning loudly as the brunette fucked up into you from underneath. You were silently thankful to the tint that concealed the two of you as you rode his cock shamelessly. Your limo driver was acting as though nothing was happening, despite your sinful actions clouding up the windows with steam. "My pretty girl," Colby hummed against your skin, placing sloppy open mouth kisses on your neck. You glanced at the GPS on the dashboard, biting your bottom lip as you realized your destination was only a few blocks away. "Colbs... we're only a few blocks away," You panted, groaning as his cock hit your g spot. Colby grinned into your skin, his blue eyes meeting yours.

"Worried they'll catch us? The world knows about us baby," Colby cooed. He grabbed your hips, his slender fingers digging into your scrunched up dress. "Besides even if they hadn't, don't act like the idea of getting caught with me doesn't get you off," He added. You rolled your hips down onto his cock, your eyes struggling to stay open. "Especially like this. Hair tangled, cheeks flushed red, your impending panties fixing to be full of my cum," Colby whispered. You managed to maintain eye contact with him as he thrusted up into you, determined to make you cum before you arrived at your destination. "It screams 'Colby's whore' baby," He purred, your legs becoming weak as he fucked you from below. Your knees were digging into the leather seats, Colby's assertive hands being the only thing keeping you on his lap.

"Go on and be good, cum for me so I can see your pretty face when you cum on my cock," Colby ordered. His thrust continued to abuse your g spot, your hands grabbing onto his leather jacket for support. Your vision went white, the sounds of potential paparazzi bombarding your car going unheard as you came down from your high. Colby chuckled as you both came down, pressing kisses to the side of your head.

"Well if they haven't heard of us, they certainly have now."

[mediocre-shark-tales]

US Texas GP

Masterlist

Walking into the paddock at the Circuit of the Americas for the first time as a driver at my home Grand Prix was nothing short of surreal. The hum of the crowd, the familiar twang of American accents, and the sea of red, white, and blue paraphernalia felt different—this wasn’t just any race. This was my race.

Billboards and posters with my face adorned the venue, some with bold captions like “Homegrown Talent” or “The Lone Star of Formula 1.” I couldn’t help but smile as fans called out my name, waving signs and flags in support. For all the challenges I’d faced this season, this moment made it worth it.

I’d spent weeks planning my outfit for this race, knowing it would be scrutinized and remembered. I wanted something that paid homage to my American roots but also represented me—a mix of boldness, resilience, and a little flair.

The first piece I chose was the hat: a sharp, black Western hat with a silver band that caught the light with every step I took. Centered on the band was a bull head emblem, strong and unmistakably Texan.

Underneath, I kept it simple with a crisp white shirt, its fabric soft and well-worn, tucked neatly into high-waisted dark denim. The belt was a statement piece—a leather strap with an ornate rodeo buckle that glinted as I moved. Draped over my shoulders was a suede jacket with fringe, its design both practical and eye-catching.

The boots were my favorite part. Worn-in leather, scuffed just enough to show their authenticity, they echoed the long road I’d traveled to get here. And the lasso? A playful touch, slung over one shoulder, reminding everyone that I was here to rope in the competition.

The outfit wasn’t just clothing—it was a statement. It said, This is who I am. Take it or leave it.

As I walked through the paddock, I felt the energy shift. Journalists turned their heads, cameras clicked furiously, and fans cheered louder.

“She’s gone full Texan!” someone shouted, eliciting laughter and applause.

Franco was the first to greet me, his grin as wide as ever. “Hermosa, you’re stealing the show already. Lando’s going to be jealous.”

Lando appeared not far behind, dramatically placing a hand over his heart. “You’ve outdone us all. I should’ve worn a cowboy hat.”

“You couldn’t pull it off,” I teased, adjusting the brim of mine.

“True,” he admitted, with a playful shrug.

As part of the home race experience, my media duties were doubled, if not tripled. I made my way to the press conference room, where a mix of local and international journalists eagerly awaited.

The questions were predictable at first:

“What does it mean to race at your home Grand Prix?” “How do you feel about the fan support here in the U.S.?”

I answered them all with the same passion I’d carried all week. “It’s incredible to see the support from my fellow Americans. Racing here is a dream come true, and I want to make everyone proud.”

But then, as always, the conversation shifted.

“Your outfit today—does it symbolize anything about your journey?”

I smiled, tipping the brim of my hat slightly. “It’s a nod to where I come from. I wanted to bring a little piece of home to the paddock, and, well, I think it worked.”

Another journalist asked, “With all the pressure of a home race, how do you plan to stay focused?”

I paused thoughtfully before answering. “Every race has pressure, but this one is special. I’m not just racing for myself—I’m racing for everyone out there who’s ever been told they couldn’t do something. That’s the focus.”

As the day wore on, I walked the grid with my team, taking in the sights and sounds of the track. The familiar roar of engines echoed in the background, and the smell of rubber on asphalt filled the air.

Fans leaned over barriers, waving hats and flags. Some called out personal messages—encouragement, gratitude, even a few heartfelt wishes of luck.

One little girl, no older than six, caught my eye. She was wearing a tiny cowboy hat and holding a handmade sign that read, “Girls can race too!”

I walked over, crouching to her level. “You’re absolutely right,” I said, signing the brim of her hat. “And one day, I’ll be watching you out here.”

Her eyes lit up, and her parents thanked me profusely. It was a small moment, but it reminded me why I fought so hard to be here.

By the time I returned to my motorhome, the sun was setting, casting a warm orange glow over the paddock. I took a moment to stand on the balcony, looking out at the track. Tomorrow, the real work would begin—practice sessions, debriefs, and the constant grind of preparation.

But for now, I allowed myself a moment to soak it all in. This was my home race, and I was ready to give it everything I had.

The atmosphere in the garage buzzed with energy as I stepped in, already suited up for FP1. It was my only practice session before heading into a jam-packed sprint weekend schedule. With just one hour to learn the track and figure out how the car would handle here in Texas, there was no room for error. Every lap counted.

The familiar weight of my regular helmet rested in my hands as I made my way to my car. This one wasn’t flashy, but it was comfortable—a trusted companion that had been with me all season. I planned to save the special designs for later, where they’d make the biggest impact.

My team had worked closely with me to craft two helmets that truly represented what this weekend meant to me.

For the sprint race, I wanted something bold—something that screamed America without apology. The design featured an angry eagle, its wings stretched wide as it tore through the imagined sound barrier, painted to resemble the American flag. The sunset hues blended seamlessly with the imagery, creating a helmet that felt larger than life.

On the top sat a reimagined Route 66 sign, reshaped into my race number, 66. It wasn’t just a nod to my roots, but a symbol of the journey I’d taken to get here.

The race helmet, however, held an entirely different meaning. It was a replica of Logan Sargeant’s design. Though I didn’t know Logan personally, I respected his journey and the fact that he, too, had carried the weight of representing America on the grid.

We made only subtle changes: swapping out his name and number for mine, adjusting the sponsors to reflect my team, and making sure the craftsmanship was impeccable. I’d asked for it to remain a complete surprise, something for the fans and paddock alike to discover only once I stepped out onto the track.

Sliding into the cockpit, I felt a familiar surge of adrenaline. The team gave me the all-clear, and I fired up the engine. The Texas heat radiated off the tarmac as I rolled out of the garage, ready to get a feel for the track.

The Circuit of the Americas was a beast of a circuit. Long straights, tricky esses, and elevation changes that could throw off anyone not paying attention. But I loved it. There was something about racing in my home country that made me want to push just a little harder, take the corners a little sharper.

FP1 was productive, though not without its challenges. The car felt decent, but there were a few areas where balance issues cropped up. I spent the session giving constant feedback, running through different setups to prepare for both the sprint and the race.

“Car feels a little light in the rear through Sector 1,” I said over the radio after my third lap. “We’ll need to stabilize it for the race pace.”

By the end of the hour, I felt confident. There were still improvements to be made, but I had a solid foundation to work from.

I returned to the garage as the session wrapped up, my mind already switching gears for the upcoming sprint qualifying. With about an hour to spare, I decided to stretch my legs and shake off the lingering tension. The Texas sun was relentless, but the walk between garages helped me cool off while keeping my muscles loose.

With my racing overalls tied around my waist and a water bottle in hand, I jogged lightly from one end of the paddock to the other, weaving through the crowd of team personnel and fans. Just as I rounded a corner, someone barreled straight into me at full speed.

The collision sent me sprawling onto the pavement. I landed hard on my backside, groaning as I caught my breath. The other person, however, was already profusely apologizing, their accent immediately familiar.

“Sorry, sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going!”

I blinked, looking up into the grinning face of none other than Liam Lawson.

“Liam?” I exclaimed, my surprise quickly morphing into delight.

Liam Lawson—the guy I’d been through hell and back with during my karting days, my confidant, my pseudo-brother—stood there, a sheepish grin plastered across his face. We’d been inseparable as kids, supporting each other through the highs and lows of our careers. Even now, as we both fought tooth and nail for a permanent seat in F1, there was never an ounce of jealousy between us. Just unrelenting pride for one another.

Liam extended a hand to help me up, his laughter bubbling over as I dusted myself off. “Fancy seeing you here,” he teased.

I smirked, immediately falling into our usual rhythm of playful banter. “Look who it is—newly promoted F1 driver Liam Lawson. The same guy who conveniently forgot to tell his best friend about said promotion, so she had to hear about it through the media.”

Liam winced dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. “Ouch. Straight for the heart.”

“You deserve it,” I shot back, crossing my arms but unable to hide the grin spreading across my face. “Seriously, Liam, how could you not tell me?”

He scratched the back of his neck, looking genuinely apologetic. “It all happened so fast. I was going to call, I swear, but then everything blew up, and I didn’t want to jinx it.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stay mad at him for long. This was Liam, after all—the same guy who had stayed up all night helping me perfect a karting setup before a big race and had cheered the loudest when I’d landed my reserve driver role.

“Well, I’m proud of you,” I said, pulling him into a quick hug. “Even if you’re a terrible best friend.”

“Thanks,” he said with a laugh, stepping back. “But I’m not that terrible. I brought something for you.”

He reached into his backpack and pulled out a small container. “Hannah made cookies, and she insisted I bring you some.”

I couldn’t help but grin. His girlfriend, Hannah, was amazing—kind, funny, and incredible in the kitchen. She was the one person I could see Liam settling down with, and I secretly hoped they’d make it official someday.

“You’re forgiven,” I said, grabbing the container and popping the lid open to sneak a cookie. “Barely.”

We spent the next few minutes catching up, trading stories and laughs like no time had passed. Seeing Liam here, in this moment, reminded me just how far we’d both come. The journey hadn’t been easy, but having someone like him in my corner made it all worth it.

As the clock ticked closer to sprint qualifying, I reluctantly said goodbye, knowing I had to refocus.

“Good luck out there,” Liam said, clapping me on the shoulder. “Show them why you’re a part of the future of this sport.”

“You too,” I replied with a wink. “And next time, don’t make me find out through a press release, Lawson.”

He laughed, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “Yes Sir.”

As I jogged back toward my garage, the encounter left me feeling lighter, a renewed sense of determination coursing through me. Having Liam there was a reminder of why I loved this sport and the friendships it had given me along the way. Now, it was time to focus and make the most of my home race weekend.

The moment I strapped back into the car, all the outside noise disappeared. The roar of the crowd, the hum of conversations, even the buzz in the garage faded into the background. It was just me, the machine, and the track ahead. The familiar ritual of adjusting my gloves, checking my visor, and gripping the steering wheel calmed my nerves. I was ready.

The green light for Sprint Qualifying flicked on, and the engines roared to life. The Texas air was dry and crisp, the track shimmering under the afternoon sun. I was hyper-aware of every little detail—the vibrations under my seat, the hum of the car as I weaved through the out-lap, and the occasional crackle of my engineer's voice over the radio.

“Let’s bring it home today, 66. Focus and execute,” my race engineer, Landon, reminded me.

The first run was solid but unspectacular. My times were competitive, but not groundbreaking—hovering around P8. The team made quick adjustments to the car, tweaking the front wing and tire pressures to give me just that little bit more grip. I sat in the cockpit as the mechanics worked around me, closing my eyes and replaying the corners in my head.

Stay calm. Be smooth. Push where it counts.

The second run felt different right from the start. The track was warming up, the grip improving, and the car responding beautifully. As I hurtled down the long back straight, the roar of the home crowd grew louder. Even inside the car, I could feel the energy.

“Purple Sector 1,” Landon’s voice came through, even-toned but with a hint of excitement.

My heart raced, but I forced myself to stay focused. The esses flowed under the car like a rhythm, and I nailed the exit onto the next straight.

“Good exit,” Landon confirmed.

The car was alive under me, every input translating perfectly to the track. I pushed through Sector 2, catching a slight slide out of Turn 12 but recovering without losing much time.

“Green Sector 2. Keep it clean,” Landon instructed.

The final sector was always the trickiest, but I braked late and hard into Turn 15, carrying just enough speed without overshooting the apex. The last few corners blurred together in a haze of precision and adrenaline as I blasted toward the finish line.

As I crossed the line, I held my breath, waiting for Landon’s voice.

“You’re P4!”

For a second, I didn’t believe him. “Repeat that?”

“P4, P4! Excellent job!” Landon’s voice was louder this time, barely containing his excitement.

The realization hit me like a tidal wave. P4. My best qualifying result yet. I was on the second row of the grid, closer to a podium than I’d ever been. And in my home race, no less.

“YES!” I screamed into the radio, pounding my fists on the steering wheel. “YES, YES, YES!”

The emotions bubbled over as I slowed the car and brought it back to the garage. Pride, excitement, disbelief—it all hit me at once. My engineer’s voice was drowned out by the cheers of my team as I rolled into the pit lane. The Aston Martin Team near the entrance of Parc Fermé were alive with energy, mechanics and engineers high-fiving each other, their faces beaming with pride.

As I climbed out of the car, the roar of the American crowd greeted me. I pulled off my helmet, letting the cheers wash over me. My home race, my people, and they were celebrating with me.

Lando appeared out of nowhere, grinning ear to ear. “P4? Are you kidding me? That’s insane!”

I laughed, still trying to catch my breath. “I can’t believe it.”

“You better start believing,” he said, slinging an arm around my shoulder. “Because that was incredible.”

Franco rushed over next, practically tackling me in a hug. “That’s my girl! P4 at home? You’re a legend!”

The overwhelming support from my team, my friends, and the fans brought tears to my eyes. I wiped them away quickly, not wanting to let the moment overwhelm me too much.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice trembling with emotion as I waved to the crowd. “Thank you so much.”

As I basked in the energy of the moment, a familiar voice called out from behind me, cutting through the noise of the garage.

“Well, well, look at you!”

I turned to see Liam Lawson striding toward me, his ever-present grin plastered across his face. Right beside him was his girlfriend, Hannah, looking just as thrilled. Liam wasted no time, wrapping me in a bear hug that nearly lifted me off the ground.

“P4!” he exclaimed, shaking me slightly. “In your home race! That’s huge!”

I laughed, squeezing him back. “I know! I still can’t believe it.”

Hannah stepped forward as Liam let go, her expression warm. “We’re so proud of you,” she said, pulling me into a gentler hug. “You’ve worked so hard for this, and it’s amazing to see it paying off.”

“Thank you,” I said, my voice cracking slightly as the emotions started to creep in again.

Liam ruffled my hair playfully. “Not gonna lie, I’m a little jealous. But seriously, this is your moment, and no one deserves it more. You’ve proven all those doubters wrong today.”

“Thanks, Liam,” I said, grinning. “Now you just have to catch up and get P4 for yourself.”

“Oh, I will,” he shot back with a wink. “But don’t think I won’t brag about this for you in the meantime.”

Hannah chuckled, giving me an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “Just soak it all in. You’ve earned it.”

As they stepped back to let me continue celebrating with my team, I watched them go with a full heart. Liam and Hannah had been constants in my life for years, and having their support on a day like this meant the world.

With their words still echoing in my mind, I turned back toward the garage, taking in the scene around me. Mechanics and engineers buzzing with excitement, Lando and Franco trading jokes, the hum of the crowd still faintly audible in the background—it was all so surreal.

For the first time, I felt like I truly belonged here. This wasn’t just about making a mark in F1 anymore—it was about showing the world, my team, and myself what I was capable of.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky and the garage buzzed with post-qualifying excitement, I let myself savor the moment. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but tonight, I was living my dream.

[leathercollectionus]

Suzuki Biker Jacket

Suzuki Biker Jacket with super safety and upgraded comfort features to keep the rider safe and comfortable without compromising dexterity.

Suzuki Biker Jacket

[so-long-soldier-writes]

Heartbeats

liam dunbar x reader

summary: heartbeats quicken every time stiles goes over a bump. scott is determined to find out why.

tags: mutual pining, crushes, nervousness, comfort (no hurt), some fluff, protective!scott

word count: 820

a/n: this is only the third time i'm writing for teen wolf, but the first for liam, so i'm nervous! go easy on me plz 🥹 (he's just so cute, i can't help but write a lil soft piece for him.)

Stiles takes a turn at a whopping forty miles an hour, making the whole Jeep rattle in discomfort. There’s a squeak somewhere, but all the occupants know better than to ask. Scott turns to the pair in the backseat, looking once again for the correlation between the rattling and the racing hearts he keeps picking up. 

“You guys good?” He asks, offering a thumbs up. 

Liam’s lip is slightly turned up with distaste at the question. You scrunch your nose. 

“Define good,” you challenge. 

Stiles is immediately offended. “She’s doing her best, guys. We’re almost there.”

He goes over another bump, causing another increase in heart rate, and earning another look from Scott. 

Both of you look nothing but annoyed, giving him no signs of why it could be happening. There’s a slightly sweet scent in the air, but it’s not sticking out as anything important. For all he knows, there’s a carnival nearby. Scott can’t do anything but stare and wait for another bump. He hopes his betas continue to look out their respective windows and don’t feel his eyes on them. 

“ETA?” He asks Stiles, hoping he can get in at least five more minutes of analysis. 

“Five forty two. About ten more minutes.”

Good.

He takes another wicked turn without warning. Everyone bounces in their seats, and if you weren’t buckled in, you would’ve fallen into Liam’s lap.

“Stiles!”

“Sorry!”

“Warning next time!”

“The GPS barely warns me, I don’t have time to warn you! Wear your seatbelt.”

“I am!”

“Well then hold on better!”

“Ugh!” You send Liam an apologetic look. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” 

Scott watches from the rearview mirror. Liam’s heart jumped at the sudden turn, and rose again slightly at your apology. Yours, on the other hand, is still beating out of your chest since the turn. He cocks his head. 

“Left!” Stiles yells while making the turn. At least he tried this time. 

“Shit,” you mutter, grabbing the handle on the ceiling. Your knee still hits Liam’s, though, making both your hearts sputter. 

Scott turns quickly, realization hitting him. His leather jacket scrapes the seat, causing a disruptive sound that catches both of your attentions. 

“What?”

He only stares, ignoring your question. 

“Another left!”

The cycle repeats. Your knees touch and your hearts race. That’s the correlation. 

Every time you and Liam touch, you both get nervous. 

That explains the smell in the air. 

“What?” You repeat. 

For a while, Scott’s theorized you’d fall for each other. You’re the same age and both full of a charisma that he adores. You mess with each other all the time, but also find comfort in one another. Liam’s taken it upon himself to guide and protect you whenever Scott’s not there. He’s also been helping you control your turns. 

But as cute as it is… he’s not sure how he feels about his betas being together like that. He suddenly feels like a mom getting overprotective of his kids when they start taking an interest in dating. His nose twitches. 

“Right!”

This time, Liam falls into you and stutters out the quickest apology he can muster. Your cheeks heat up as you assure him it’s okay, then you both let your eyes drop to the ground. 

“Tunnel!”

Blackness overtakes you as the Jeep barrels into an unexpected tunnel. Stiles’ driving is already questionable, and suddenly so much more so in the complete darkness.

“Oh god,” you mutter, fear wafting off you. 

Unbeknownst to Scott, Liam takes your hand for reassurance. He holds it tightly and whispers you’ll be okay. Scott can sense the comfort easing your mind, taking over your fear. When out of the tunnel, he checks his rearview to see your hands clasped, and can’t help but smile. Your shoulders are touching, and Liam draws a shape on your palm that makes you giggle. Scott’s seen him do it before, when you need a distraction from turning, but he didn’t expect to see it now. Before he can ask if you’re okay, Stiles hits something in the road and the Jeep shakes again.

“Sorry! Big rock!”

Liam quickly makes another shape, returning the smile to your face. The smell of fear is heavily outweighed by the sugary sweet smell of lovesickness. And while your hearts remain racing, no discomfort weighs on either of you. Scott studies for a moment longer, but relaxes at the absence of any claws. 

“You guys good?”

“We’re fine,” you reply, tone slightly cheery. 

“Okay, just making sure.” He tries to play it off like he hadn’t seen anything, but ironically, it seems the two of you haven’t seen him watching at all. 

“We’re here,” Stiles announces, slamming on the breaks. The car and all its occupants lurch forward, and Scott smiles this time, knowing why the two hearts in the backseat are going so quickly. Some of it is Stiles’ driving, but definitely not all.

“Alright, let’s do this.”

[becausesure]

How "useful" is Adaine's Jacket of Useful Things

Using a few different DND 5e tables and the 10 gp limit of the jacket she can pull

Fine bottle of Wine (10 gp)

Light Leather Armor (10 gp)

Medium Hide Armor (10 gp)

A Shield (10 gp)

All simple weapons (not ranged)

Level 0 spell scroll (Cantrips) (10 gp)

Short Sword (10 gp)

Trident (10 gp)

War pick (5 gp)

Whip (2 gp)

Battle Axe (10 gp)

Flail (10 gp)

Lance (10 gp)

Maul (10 gp)

Pike (5 gp)

For a 45 Gold Piece Gift card not to bad

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Something Wicked | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, implications of verbal parental abuse

Word Count: 4885

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

The two boys were bickering over coordinates Dean had received from an anonymous number. 

“Dude, I ran LexisNexis, local police reports, newspapers, I couldn't find a single red flag. Are you sure you got the coordinates right?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, I double checked. It's Fitchburg, Wisconsin. Dad wouldn't have sent us coordinates if it wasn't important, Sammy.”

“Well, I'm telling you, I looked, and all I could find was a big steamy pile of nothing. If Dad's sending us hunting for something, I don't know what.”

“Well, maybe he's going to meet us there.”

“Yeah. ‘Cause he's been so easy to find up to this point.”

You sighed. You weren’t about to get in the middle of this argument and tuned the rest of it out. Alas, Dean won the argument, as he often did. 

You stopped for some coffee along Fitchburg’s main street. The town itself was small, but it was quaint. A little too Middle America for your taste.

“Well… the waitress thinks the local freemasons are up to something sneaky, but other than that, no one's heard about anything freaky going on,” Dean sighed, handing you and Sam your respective coffee orders.

“Dean, you got the time?” you asked him.

“Ten after four. Why?”

You nodded in front of you at the playground you were looking at. “What's wrong with this picture?”

It was deserted aside from one child climbing on the jungle gym.

“School's out, isn't it?” Dean questioned.

“Yeah. So where is everybody?” Sam added. “This place should be crawling with kids right now.”

You and the Winchesters walked over to a woman on a park bench reading a magazine. Dean approached her, saying, “Sure is quiet out here.”

The woman sighed, “Yeah, it’s a shame.”

“Why's that?”

“You know, kids getting sick, it's a terrible thing.”

“How many?”

“Just five or six but serious, hospital serious. A lot of parents are getting pretty anxious. They think it's catching,” she explained.

All four of you watched the little girl playing by herself, and the wheels in your head began to turn. Why would John send you all the way to Fitchburg over a few sick kids?

The three of you made your way up to the pediatrics ward of the hospital to investigate the sick children. Dean and Sam donned suits, and you wore a pencil skirt and heels. You couldn’t lie to yourself, Dean looked amazing in his suit, but you much preferred his usual leather jacket and biker boots. 

“See something you like?” Dean smirked at you.

Your mouth opened and closed, unsure of what to say. He just snickered in response while your cheeks burned.

A doctor approached you and the boys before Dean could taunt you any further. You introduced yourselves and headed down the corridor with the man. “Well, thanks for seeing us, Dr. Hydecker,” Dean said.

“Well, I'm glad you guys are here. I was just about to call CDC myself. How'd you find out anyways?” the doctor asked.

“Oh, some GP— I forget his name— he called Atlanta, and, uh, he must've beat you to the punch,” Dean lied.

“So you say you got six cases so far?” you asked.

“Yeah, five weeks. At first we thought it was garden variety bacterial pneumonia. Not that newsworthy. But now…”

“What?”

“The kids aren't responding to antibiotics. Their white cell counts keep going down. Their immune systems just aren't doing their job. It's like their bodies are... wearing out.”

“Wait, but are there any signs of leukopenia?” you asked. “Any history in these kids of that?”

Dean looked over at you, confused by what you were saying. You continued to talk to the doctor.

“No, actually,” Hydecker answered. 

“What about neutropenia?”

He shook his head as a nurse handed him a clipboard full of papers.

“Then, whatever this is would have to be attacking the bone marrow as well as the respiratory system… Have you done biopsies?”

“No, we haven’t,” Hydecker answered. “I’ll give that a try.”

“You ever seen anything like this before?” Sam questioned.

“Never this severe,” the doctor said. “And the way it spreads… that's a new one for me.”

“What do you mean?” asked Sam.

“It works its way through families. But only the children, one sibling after another.”

“You mind if we interview a few of the kids?” Dean questioned.

“They’re not conscious,” the doctor replied.

You were shocked. “None of them?”

“No.”

“Can we, uh, can we talk to the parents?” tried Dean.

“Well, if you think it'll help.”

“Yeah. Who was your most recent admission?”

Hydecker directed you to a man sitting on a chair against the wall in the waiting room. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. He explained to you the oldest girl was first, and then his youngest. He told you that her window had been opened, but there was no one who could’ve done so except for his daughter because her room was on the second floor. 

You and the boys headed out of the pediatrics ward and back toward the car. 

“(Y/N), how’d you know all that stuff?” Sam asked you, referencing your conversation with the doctor.

“I like to read,” you shrugged. Sam smiled at your response and walked a little ahead of you. 

Dean came up next to you. “You were really serious about nursing, huh,” he said softly enough so Sam wouldn’t hear.

“I guess. I really do just like to read, though,” you smiled. “I think I just wanted to stick it to my dad. I always thought I’d be happier not hunting. But, uh, I just don’t think I could ever go back to being ‘normal’.”

“Yeah, I get that,” he responded. 

Sam turned back to you and his brother. “You know, this might not be anything supernatural. It might just be pneumonia.”

“No way,” you shook your head, “pneumonia wouldn’t be lowering white blood cell count. It’d have to be elevated for it to be true pneumonia. Infection and all that.”

Sam hummed. “Okay, so then what’s your theory?”

“Honestly? Not sure.”

“I'll tell you one thing,” said Sam. “That dad we just talked to? I'm betting it'll be a while before he goes home.”

***

“You got anything over there?” Sam asked Dean. The three of you had climbed through the home of the last two kids who had gotten sick looking for clues.

“Nah, nothing,” the older brother answered.

“Yeah, me neither,” you chimed in. You moved over to the window and paused. “Hey guys? I really don’t think it’s pneumonia.”

The boys came over and followed your line of sight to a rotted handprint with long, tendril-like fingers. 

“What the hell leaves a handprint like that?” Sam asked.

Dean seemed to get pulled away into his own mind for a moment before he began to look a little sick. “I know why Dad sent us here. He's faced this thing before. He wants us to finish the job.”

Dean raced down the stairs to the window on the back of the house you’d climbed through. You followed him close behind. You would ask him what had happened to him in the little girl’s bedroom later.

Dean explained to you on the ride to the motel what he thought you were hunting: a shtriga.

“So what the hell is a shtriga?” Sam asked as Dean pulled into a motel parking lot. This motel was a little cuter than the ones you’d visited previously; centered around a white cabin with green shingles. 

“It's kinda like a witch, I think. I don't know much about 'em,” explained Dean.

“Well, I've never heard of it. And it's not in Dad's journal.”

“Dad hunted one in Fort Douglas, Wisconsin, about sixteen, seventeen years ago. You were there. You don't remember?”

Sam shook his head.

“And I guess he caught wind of the things in Fitchburg now and kicked us the coordinates,” Dean went on.

“So wait, this…” Sam paused, waiting for Dean to remind him how to pronounce it.

“Shtriga.”

“Right. You think it's the same one Dad hunted before?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“But if Dad went after it, why is it still breathing air?” Sam’s brows furrowed together.

“ ‘Cause it got away.”

Sam scoffed. “Got away?”

Dean was beginning to get frustrated, and you knew it was a cover-up for whatever was going on inside his head. “Yeah, Sammy, it happens.”

“Not very often.”

“Well, I don't know what to tell ya, maybe Dad didn't have his wheaties that morning,” snarked the older brother.

“What else do you remember?”

“Nothin'. I was a kid, alright?” Dean said defensively. You followed him into the motel lobby only to see a little boy watching TV in one room and a boy around ten or eleven walking out of it.

“A king or two queens?” The boy asked, looking between you and Dean.

“Two queens,” you and Dean answered quickly. “And one king, actually,” you added, stepping aside to reveal Sam behind you.

A woman entered smiling at you both. “Checking in?”

You nodded to her.

“Do me a favor, go get your brother some dinner,” the woman instructed the boy. 

“I'm helping a guest!” he protested, but turned away under his mother’s hard stare. “Two queens. And a king.”

“Will that be cash or credit?” she asked you.

Dean took out his card. “You take MasterCard? Perfect. Here you go.”

You watched him look behind the woman at the boy pouring his younger brother a glass of milk. And there he went again; pulled into what you could only assume was memories of himself and Sam.

The woman before you held out his card to zoned-out Dean, and you took it from her instead. “Uh, thanks.” She handed you the keys, and you nudged Dean to bring him back to reality.

***

Dean explained to you and Sam what shtrigas fed off: children, most commonly. The only thing that could kill them were specially designed wrought-iron rounds while the thing was feeding. They often take the form of something unsuspecting; like an old woman.

“Hang on,” Dean said. “Check this out. I marked down all the addresses of the victims. Now these are the houses that have been hit so far and dead center?”

“The hospital,” you noted.

“Now, when we were there, I saw a patient; an old woman,” Dean continued.

“An old person huh?” questioned Sam. “In a hospital? Phew. Better call the Coast Guard.”

You giggled at Sam.

“Well, listen, smart-asses, she had an inverted cross hanging on her wall.”

You and Sam stopped snickering and looked up at Dean. He raised an eyebrow at you.

And so, you headed to the hospital. Fortunately for her— but unfortunately for your hunt— the old woman with the upside down cross on the wall was just cataract-ridden and crotchety. Upon your return to the motel after thoroughly freaking out the old woman, you pulled Dean to your motel room for a talk before bed.

“What’s up?” he asked, sitting on a chair in your room. 

You sat on the bed across from him. “Where do you keep going?” you asked.

“Huh?”

“Sorry, I just realized how stupid that sounded. You keep, like, disappearing into your own brain,” you responded. “Like in the motel lobby. You zoned out looking at that kid and his brother.”

“Oh, that,” he said quietly. “I, uh, it’s stupid.”

“Dean,” you leaned over your crossed legs and rested your hand on his knee. “I’m asking you. It’s not stupid. I just care.”

“Oh, come on—”

“Dean,” you said. “You made me a pinky promise at that scary asylum. You promised you’d tell me. Please?”

He huffed out a small laugh. “You know how I said my dad hunted this thing before?”

You nodded.

“Well, I’m the reason it got away.”

“How? Didn’t you say it was sixteen, seventeen years ago? You would’ve been ten, dude,” you responded.

“Yeah, but it’s complicated. My dad left us alone in motel rooms all the time. He made me repeat to him what I was and wasn’t supposed to do every time he would go out on a hunt. Sam and I would fight over the last bowl of Lucky Charms from the groceries Dad got us for the week; y'know, stupid kid stuff,” he chuckled. “But it’d been days. I was climbin’ the walls, (Y/N). I had to get some air. I went to an arcade to just… blow off some steam, I guess.

"When I came back, the thing was over Sammy’s bed. I was frozen. My dad came in and shot it a couple times, but it got away. Dad just... grabbed us and booked. Dropped us off at Pastor Jim's about three hours away, but by the time he got back to Fort Douglas, the shtriga had disappeared; it was just gone. It never surfaced until now. Y'know, Dad never spoke about it again, I didn't ask." He looked away from you attempting to swallow his emotions. "But he, ah, he looked at me different, you know? Which was worse. Not that I blame him. He gave me an order, and I didn't listen; I almost got Sammy killed.”

“Dee, you were a kid,” you said softly. He went to cut you off, but you stopped him. “No, let me talk. I know how that feels. My parents left me with Stevie all the time. I would've done the same thing you did. We were kids. We had to take on parental responsibilities. Anybody would be going stir crazy, especially at ten years old like you were.”

“(Y/N)—”

“No,” you told him, grabbing his hand. “You cannot blame yourself. I won’t let you. Would you let me?”

He shook his head.

“Exactly.”

He held your intense stare and rubbed a thumb over your hand. The two of you awkwardly pulled away from each other, and Dean cleared his throat. “Uh, thank you, for, y’know—”

“Yeah, any time,” you said, walking him to the door. 

***

The next morning, you and Sam were teasing Dean about the old woman from the hospital the night before. You were headed to the car to go get some breakfast.

“ ‘I was sleeping with my peepers open’?” Sam laughed heartily, remembering the old woman's strange way of talking.

“I almost smoked that old girl, I swear. It's not funny!” Dean grunted.

“Oh man, you shoulda seen your face,” you giggled.

“Yeah, laugh it up. Now we're back to square one.” He looked over to the ten-year-old blond boy sitting on the bench behind his mother’s office. “Hang on.” He led you over to the child. “Hey, what's wrong?”

“My brother's sick,” he replied.

“The little guy?”

He nodded. “Pneumonia. He's in the hospital. It's my fault.”

“Ah, c'mon, how?” You could tell Dean’s mind was racing just based on his tone.

“I should’ve made sure the window was latched. He wouldn't've got pneumonia if the window was latched,” the boy lamented.

You watched, frowningly thoughtfully, as Dean looked away from the boy. 

“Listen to me. I can promise you that this is not your fault. Okay?” Dean assured him.

“It's my job to look after him,” the boy frowned, tearing up.

His mother hurried out of the motel toward her minivan. “Michael, I want you to turn on the 'no vacancy' sign while I'm gone. I've got Denise covering room service, so don't bother with any of the rooms.”

“I'm going with you,” he protested.

“Not now, Michael.”

“But I gotta see Asher!”

Dean responded before his mother could. “Hey, Michael. Hey. I know how you feel— I'm a big brother, too— but you gotta go easy on your mom right now, ok?”

His mom dropped her handbag in haste, cursing under her breath. You rushed to pick it up for her.

“Listen, you're in no condition to drive. Why don't you let me give you a lift to the hospital,” Dean offered.

“No, I couldn't possibly—” she answered.

“No, it's no trouble. I insist.”

Michael’s mother handed Dean the keys and thanked him before addressing her son. “Be good.”

Dean turned to you before he went over to the car. “We're gonna kill this thing. I want it dead, you hear me?”

You and Sam watched Dean pull out of the motel parking lot, driving much more carefully than he ever did when you and Sam were in the car.

“C’mon,” you said. “You got the keys?”

“Yeah,” he threw them to you. “Where we goin’?”

“Wait, you’re letting me drive?” you asked Sam.

He shrugged. 

You squealed childishly and jumped into the driver’s seat. You couldn’t lie, you loved this car. You loved how the steering wheel felt in your hands and the way the engine rumbled. 

“Seriously, where we going?”

“The library,” you answered. “Town records, national records, internet, anything and everything. Dean wants this thing dead, and I intend to get it done tonight. And I gotta tell you, dude, something’s really bothering me about this whole thing. I mean, I never even formally went to nursing school, but I knew it couldn’t be pneumonia immediately. Why would pediatric doctors be unable to figure that out?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, but I get you. Something isn’t right.”

***

You and Sam poured through as many books you possibly could as quickly as you could. Sam was at his computer, scrolling with a furrowed brow when his phone rang. “ Hey. How's the kid?... We’re at the library. We've been trying to find out as much as we can about this shtriga… Well, bad news. I started with Fort Douglas around the time you said Dad was there?... Same deal.

"Before that, there was, uh, Ogdenville, before that, North Haverbrook, and Brockway. Every 15 to 20 years, it hits a new town. Dean, this thing is just getting started in Fitzburgh. In all these other places, it goes on for months. Dozens of kids before the shtriga finally moves on. The kids just languish in comas, and then they die… Ah, I don't know. The earliest mention I could find is this  place called ‘Black River Falls’ back in the 1890s. Talk about a horror show.”

Your brain began to make connections between all of those events. “Wait, Sam, put Dean on speaker.” 

He did so.

“Okay, you’re gonna have to stay with me on this one. This could just be me spitballin’, but—”

“Just say it, (Y/N),” Dean said through the phone.

“I’ve been thinking, why wouldn’t Hydecker immediately rule out pneumonia? If he’s such a spectacular and caring doctor, why wouldn’t he know that pneumonia ups your white blood cell count; not depletes it? And the chance of all six kids having a pre-existing condition that lowers your WBC is incredibly low. I mean, why else wouldn’t he biopsy the kids?”

“Okay, WebMD, what does that have to do with anything?” Dean asked.

“I told you to stay with me.” You began typing in your computer searching for articles on the earliest case Sam had found in Black River Falls. “The point is, I think Hydecker’s our guy. Think about it— the center of the kidnappings is the hospital. And any pediatric doctor would be familiar with what pneumonia actually does to a kid’s body.” You smiled sourly at a photo you pulled up of doctors surrounding a child’s bed in 1893. You turned the computer around to Sam. “Boom.”

“(Y/N), that is huge.” He leaned over and lightly punched your shoulder. “Good going.”

“Thanks!” you grinned. “Dean, meet us back at the motel. Don’t deck the guy in the face, please. Not yet, anyway.”

“No promises,” he grumbled.

“Dean—”

“Fine.” He hung up the phone.

“Alright, we gotta get back before Dean explodes,” you told Sam. “Can I drive again?”

“Sure, why not. Just don’t tell my brother.” He tossed you the keys and you giggled.

***

“We should have thought of this before. A doctor's a perfect disguise. You're trusted, you can control the whole thing,” Sam said. 

You and the brothers were back in the motel room. 

Dean threw off his jacket and paced agitatedly. “That son of a bitch.”

“I'm proud of you for not drawing on him right there,” you said.

“Yeah, well, first of all, I'm not going to open fire in a freakin' pediatrics ward.”

Sam nodded. “Good call.”

“Second, wouldn't have done any good, because the bastard's bullet proof unless he's chowing down on something. And third, I wasn't packing, which is probably a really good thing, ‘cause I probably would've just burned a clip in him on principle alone.”

Despite the situation, you found Dean aggressively grumbling about guns very attractive.

“You're getting wise in your old age, Dean,” Sam quipped.

“Damn right. 'Cause now I know how we're going to get it,” replied Dean.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Shtriga works through siblings, right?”

You knew what he was getting at. “No, Dean, I don’t like that.”

“What?” Sam asked, clearly not picking up where you and Dean were at.

“(Y/N)—”

“No, dude, we gotta get Michael out of here. I’m not letting you use him as bait.”

“Dean, what?! That’s out of the question!” Sam protested.

“It's not out of the question, Sam, it's the only way. If this thing disappears it could be years before we get another chance.”

“Michael's a kid. And I'm not going to dangle him in front of that thing like a worm on a hook,” Sam scoffed. 

“Dad did not send me here to walk away.” Dean turned away from you and Sam and gripped the edges of the dresser.

“Send you here? He didn't send you here; he sent us here,” Sam replied.

“This isn't about you, Sam. I'm the one who screwed up, all right. It's my fault. There's no telling how many kids have gotten hurt because of me.”

“What are you saying, Dean? How is it your fault?” Sam paused, taking a moment to calm down. “Dean. You've been hiding something from the get-go. Since when does Dad bail on a hunt? Since when does he let something get away? Now talk to me, man. Tell me what's going on.”

Dean proceeded to explain what he had to you last night. Sam gave him the same lecture about how it wasn’t his fault, but Dean began to protest again. “Don't. Don't. Dad knew this was unfinished business for me. He sent me here to finish it.”

You were surprised at the tough facade he gave his brother in contrast to the way he was vulnerable with you.

“But using Michael— I don't know Dean. I mean, how 'bout one of us hides under the covers, you know, we'll be the bait,” Sam tried.

“No, it won't work. It's gotta get close enough to feed— it'll see us. Believe me, I don't like it, but it's gotta be the kid.”

***

Michael was completely against the idea and even threatened to call the cops on you. You and the boys returned to their motel room dejectedly.

“Well, that went crappy. Now what?” Dean groaned.

“What did you expect? You can't ask an adult to do something like that, much less a kid,” the younger brother sighed.

There was a knock at the door, and you opened it to reveal Michael.

“Hey,” you said, surprised.

“If you kill it, will Asher get better?”

“Honestly? We don't know,” Dean told him.

“You said you were a big brother,” Michael started, “You'd take care of your little brother? You'd do anything for him?”

“Yeah, I would,” Dean replied quietly. Your heart swelled at how much Dean and Sam cared for each other.

The young boy nodded. “Me, too. I'll help.”

Dean had hooked up a security camera to the boy’s room, and you and he watched the monitor closely. You were beginning to feel cross-eyed from how tired you were. It was around three in the morning, and your body protested against your will to stay awake.

“You sure these iron rounds are gonna work?” Sam asked his brother.

“Consecrated iron rounds, and yeah, it's what Dad used last time.”

“Hey, Dean? I’m sorry,” the younger brother said softly. “You know, I've really given you a lot of crap, for always following Dad's orders. But I know why you do it.”

“Oh, god, kill me now,” Dean groaned.

You giggled to yourself, eyes returning to the screen. “Dean, look.”

There was a bit of movement off to the right of the screen outside of the window. You and the boys picked up your guns, holding them tightly and waiting for the right moment. 

“Now?” you asked.

“Not yet.”

The shtriga moved closer and leaned over the bed. You could see Michael tense under the covers and draw them closer to himself. The creature leaned over the bed, pushing the covers down. 

“Now?!”

“Now.”

You and the boys burst through the door and began to shoot the creature after Michael rolled away. It flew off Michael’s bed and fell to the side you couldn’t see.

“Mike, you alright?” Dean asked the kid.

“Yeah,” came his muffled reply from under the bed.

“Just sit tight.” Dean approached the shtriga, his gun at the ready. There was no movement for just a moment, before the shtriga shot up and grabbed Dean by his throat, throwing him across the room.

“Dean!” you cried, trying to run to him. The shtriga threw you to the side against Michael’s bed. Your back protested as you tried to roll and grab your gun that had fallen out of your hand in the chaos. You noticed the shtriga leaning over the top of the younger Winchester. Sam’s body went limp and began to go gray as the shtriga began to suck out his life force.

“Hey!” Dean gruffly spat. The shtriga turned to the older brother just to get shot straight between the eyes.

“Nice!” you said. You rushed to Sam’s side and smoothed a hand over his messy hair while he tried to catch his breath. “Are you okay?”

He nodded. “Thanks.”

“You okay, little brother?” Dean called from behind you. You thought it was adorable how much he cared.

You and Sam stood and you tried to help hold the tall man up on his unsteady legs. You guided him over to the shtriga, and Dean shot it three times at point-blank range. The shtriga’s body fell in on itself, disintegrating.

You looked up at Dean, whose face was still set in hard lines.

“It's okay, Michael, you can come on out,” Dean told the boy peeking out from under his bed. He rose to stand beside you, smiling tentatively. Dean put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. You looked on, feeling your heart swell at what you knew was a full-circle moment for Dean. You knew these moments were few and far-between in a profession like yours, and you had learned to savor them in your memory.

***

You and the brothers returned to your rooms to pack now that the monster was dead. As usual, you were finished packing before the boys were and leaned against the Impala waiting for them.

You watched Michael’s mom’s car pull up in the motel parking lot. At that moment, the boys came out to join you.

“Hey, Joanna. How's Asher doing?” Dean asked the mother of the two boys.

“Have you seen Michael?” she asked him.

“Mom! Mom!” the child in question ran up and hugged him. “How's Ash?”

“Got some good news. Your brother's gonna be fine,” she smiled down at the boy.

“Really?” Michael grinned.

“Yeah. Really. No one can explain it; it's a miracle. They're going to keep him overnight for observation, and then, he's coming home.”

You smiled as Sam asked, “How are all the other kids doing?”

“Good. Real good. A bunch of them should be checking out in a few days. Dr. Travis says the ward's going to be like a ghost town,” she explained.

“Dr. Travis? What about Dr. Hydecker?” you asked.

“Oh, he wasn't in today. Must have been sick or something.”

You shot a knowing look to the boys.

“So, did anything happen while I was gone?” Joanna asked her son.

The boy looked to Dean before responding, “Nah, same old stuff.”

“Okay.” Joanna smoothed a hand over Michael’s blonde hair. “You can go see Ash.”

A wide grin spread across the boy’s face. “Now?!”

She nodded at her son, who ran into the car. “I, ah, I'd better get going before he hotwires the car and drives himself,” she told you and the boys. The three of you watched as Joanna’s car pulled out of the parking lot. Sam and Dean turned to you and placed their bags in the trunk next to yours. 

“It's too bad,” said Sam.

“Oh, they’ll be fine,” you assured him.

“That's not what I meant,” he shook his head. “I meant Michael. He'll always know there are things out there in the dark— he'll never be the same, you know?” He paused. “Sometimes I wish that....”

“What?” Dean questioned.

“I wish I could have that kinda innocence.”

Dean walked to the driver’s side door. He leaned on the roof of the car and said, “If it means anything, sometimes I wish you could too.”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @stephshaww @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @here-for-the-extravaganza @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @rei0812 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @more-espresso-less-depresso-og @mysticmyth @favoritefandoms27 @star-yawnznn

hi hi! quite a few tags were broken :( please let me know if i've misspelled your tag! make sure you have notifs for my blog on so you don't miss an update!

[prettypinkporkchop]

Purple Skittles

Summary: Embry is a fuckboy. He imprints on you.

Warnings: language, sexual, drinking

Since Embry has never imprinted, poor guy had to have sex with SOMEONE. He became a local at the bar. He had a few girls that he'd get dirty with. Since he started doing this and playing with feelings, he became grossed out by the thought of love. But one thing about Embry is he's depressed.

Embry sits outside of Sandra's house. She's a random that he's had like three times. She's inside asleep in her bed and naked. Embry takes a swig of the whiskey bottle and stares out into the dark. "Fuck.." He groans and lowers his head.

His phone rings and he grabs it from beside him.

"What, Seth?" He hisses.

"You need to get your ass out here, brother. We've been waiting for you." Seth sighs.

"I'm coming. Just tell Jake and Sam to wait just a moment." He says and hangs up.

He had totally forgotten it was his night to patrol. He hates this life. He hates who he has become.

----

You back up a few steps and try to take a picture of the beach but your back hits someone.

"Ow!" You both say at the same time.

You turn and see a young woman with scars on her face. She smiles and squints at you.

"I'm sorry! I didn't see you there." She says, rubbing the back of her head.

"No, I'm sorry. I just wanted to take pictures for my friends back home." You lifted your phone and smile at her.

"I figured you're new. You're an unfamiliar face." She raises her eyebrows.

"Yeah. I got a job here, and I live out in Forks." You reply.

"I'm Emily Uley." She places her hand on her chest.

"I'm y/n y/l/n. Once again, sorry I ran into you." You say awkwardly.

A man behind her runs up to you two. "Em!" He looks at you. He's shirtless and has a tribal tattoo on his shoulder. He smiles and nods at you. "I'm Sam.''

"Y/n." You smile at him. You put your phone in your back pocket and sigh. "Well, I better get going. It was nice meeting you guys." You say.

You see Sam whisper something to Emily. She smiles and then holds her phone out to you.

"Can I have your number? I'd love to show you around. Plus, a new place requires local friends." She giggles.

You take it from her hands and get a sense of comfort. Comfort knowing that you have someone near you that you know.

----

Emily places the plates down in front of all of the wolves. They are conversing about their days and talking about how boring it is now because of the silent peace after Renesmee.

"Sam, what'd you?" Jared asks.

Sam sucks in a breath. "Well, I went to the beach with Emily. She ran into this woman. She seems sweet. I got a feeling about her." He starts eating.

"A bad feeling?" Quil asks.

"Mm. No." Sam shakes his head and swallows his food. "No, it just felt as if she'll be back.." He chuckles. "I don't know. Ignore me." He starts eating.

----

Emily invited you over to have tea and hang out with a few girls. You're nervous about meeting them but you know it'll be good for you.

You pull up your leather jacket and zip it up halfway. You grab your purse and your keys and head outside. You make sure to lock the door behind you and get into your car.

You follow the GPS and end up at this secluded and adorable house. The door is open but you can't see inside. You park next to a red truck and make your way to the door.

You see four women sitting at a table drinking tea and eating sweets. They're talking and don't notice you at first. You lightly knock on the doorframe.

Emily shoots her head up and smiles. "Y/n! Come! Sit down."

"Yes ma'am!" You reply and sit next to a pale girl. You've never seen anyone so pale before! Like it's ghostly pale.

"Y/n, meet Kim, Rachel, and Renesmee." She points at them and they give small waves.

"It's nice to meet you all." You smile.

"Here, I'll make you a glass." Rachel stands up.

Kim reaches over and pushes the plate of treats closer to you. "Eat up, dear. Emily is constantly cooking and baking. Don't be food shy." She smiles and takes a bite out of a brownie.

The conversations are just about you and all of them. Their stories and life. It's just a get to know you type deal. But after a couple of hours of that, you guys start on other topics. It's stuff you are interested in. You felt at home. Your anxiety has drifted away completely. It's like this is more of a home than your hometown.

"Oop, they're here. Sorry, y/n. I forgot to tell you. It's a bunch of boys, and they're rowdy. Don't worry, harmless and sweet." Emily looks at you with concern.

Your stomach turns with nervousness. Awkward. "Uhm, yes ma'am." You reply.

Renesmee looks at you and touches your wrist. "Hey, don't worry. Everyone here is nothing but love. You fit right in." She softly nudges your shoulder. Then she looks up and stares off into space as if she's seeing something. It doesn't last long, but you notice it and see Emily look at her.

"Who do we have here?!" You hear a random guy ask.

You look up and see too many guys and one woman. All buff and tan with tribal tattoos. You're fascinated by the native traditions.

"This is y/n. I didn't know she'd be here today. But it's good to have you." Familiar Sam smiles at you before walking to Emily.

Kim, Rachel, and Renesmee sit at their seats, but guys walk over to them and kiss their heads and such. You lower your head in awkwardness.

"Don't mind the love birds." Your head shoots up to see a curly haired guy talk to you. "They're just ridiculous." He chuckles.

You smile and nod your head.

"I'm Quil." He points to himself.

"Leah." The woman smiles at you and shakes your hand.

"Embry." You make eye contact with the most beautiful man you've ever seen. Your heart jumps and flips.

"Collin." A young boy coughs and points to himself. Embry looks at him and then to the ground.

"Brady." The youngest one said.

"Seth." This adorable guy with dimples smiles and shakes your hand.

"Well, I'm y/n." You smile.

"Yeah.. we heard." Embry says. He doesn't sound too excited.

"Embry-" Renesmee says, but he storms out.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be a bother." You stutter and stand up grabbing your stuff.

"No! It's not you, no! Come back any time. Embry is just going through stuff." Emily says and stands up to hug you.

----

Embry takes a shot of vodka and looks out in the crowd for one of the three go-to's. They aren't here tonight. Well, in celebration of imprinting, he figures to avoid loving you. He decides to try someone new.

He notices a girl dancing provocatively and stares at her. She puts the tip of her finger in between her teeth and gives a smile.

Ew. Embry doesn't like her. He doesn't like any of them. He just wants to hurt himself. This is his way of doing so.

He stands up from the chair and makes his way over to her. She reeks of alcohol and weed. He grabs onto her waist and pulls her into him.

"Wanna dip?" He whispers in her ear.

"Ayo! Get the fuck away from my girlfriend!" A man yells behind Embry.

Embry swiftly turns, and the man punches him. Damn, it doesn't really hurt, but the dude got some strength on him.

"I didn't know, man." Embry says.

The guy swings again, but Embry dodges.

"Hey! You two! Out now before I call the cops!" The bartender yells.

----

"Thank you." You tip the waitress and then go outside into the parking lot. You fumble for your keys and unlock the car.

You hear someone walking across the road and you quickly get in your car and lock it. Uh uh, it's dark out. You don't play.

You pull out and start to drive. You see who it was, and he's oddly familiar. Oh! Is it Embry? You slow down next to him and roll down your window.

"Hey, need a ride?"

Embry looks at you and stops in his tracks. "No, thank you, though." He starts to walk again.

You slowly move the car keeping up with him. "It's too cold! Come on, get in." You order.

He sighs and then gets in your car. You look over at him and notice some dried blood on his lip. There's no more blood and no wound.

"What happened?" You ask and start driving.

"Bar fight." He keeps his eyes forward.

"Mm, I see." You reply. "Lead the way, sir." You smile.

He scoffs. "To my house?" He asks.

"Yeah. Where else?" You raise an eyebrow.

"Yours." He looks at you.

You feel his eyes on you, but you refuse to look at him. You gulp and grip the steering wheel a bit. "Maybe a date first?" You awkwardly chuckle, trying to lighten the mood.

He bursts into laughter. "You're cute, but I don't date." He leans in closer to you.

"Okay. Got you. So, lead me to your house please?" You ask.

He nods his head. "Go straight until we get to the next stop sign."

It's silent after that. You're nervous, and even though this guy is hotter than hell fire, he's intimidating you. But you understand that he's hurting. It's obvious. Very obvious. You were there before.

"Thanks a lot for driving me home. I apologize for how I was when we first met. I hope you choose to still come around." He says.

"It's no problem, love." You smile.

"I'll give you gas money." He digs through his pocket.

You quickly grab onto his exposed wrist. You're shocked by the warmth and at the feeling in your stomach. "No, sir." You let his wrist go.

He stops moving and then sighs. "Take a right."

----

Embry's feet are bare on the ground. He looks over both packs and listens to his alphas orders.

"New duty. Embry, you are patrolling the east side tomorrow. There's a blood sucker hanging around there. They refused to join the Cullens."

Embry nods and places his hands on his hips.

"That's if Leah and Seth doesn't catch him." Jacob adds.

"It's definitely an army." Leah says.

"How do you know?" Paul asks.

"Charlie has been on a case for a month now. Two brothers went missing while hiking." She replies.

"That changes a lot of things." Jacob says, and him and Sam look at each other.

"Well, finally, some action." Embry shrugs.

"This could get bad, Embry." Jared spits.

Embry growls. "Jared." Embry warns.

"Stop." Sam orders. "Embry, talk to your imprint and get your shit together."

Embry looks at his feet and grumbles. He does not want love. He doesn't know love.

"Well, Emily did invite her to the bonfire tonight." Leah pokes Embrys head.

Embry grabs her finger. "That's fine. But this is about business. What's the plan for these leeches?"

----

You pull into the driveway that you were at once a few days ago. You're nervous as shit but you look forward to hanging out with the girls again. You get out of your car that's parked next to multiple old trucks. You walk over to the loud group of people around a bright fire.

"Hey." You sit beside Emily on a chair.

"Y/n!'' She gets up and hugs you. "Oh, I'm glad you came. Do you want some food?" She let's you go.

"Thanks, Emily! I'll grab some when I get hungry." You smile at her.

You look up and see Embry sitting on a log. He's staring at you. You smile at him. His smile is small, but he acknowledges you.

You look away quickly and try to find someone to talk to. You catch Kim waving you over. You jump up and walk over to her and Jared. "Hey!" You sit next to Kim.

"Hey!" Kim responds. "How are you doing?" She asks.

"I'm well! I got off work before coming here. It was an easy shift." You smile. "What about you?"

"Lord, I'm good. Just been dealing with this dumb ass all day." She giggles and pokes Jared.

"Hey!" He laughs. Then he looks over at Embry.

You look over at him too and see him looking at you still.

"You should go talk to him!" Jared says.

"Why?" You ask.

"He's literally rizzing you up." Jared laughs.

"Oh, uh.. Jared, I think.." Kim points at Embry.

You turn back over there and see a random girl sitting beside him. He wraps his arm around her and whispers in her ear. She starts giggling.

"He's occupied." You smile at Jared and Kim.

"He's gonna piss me off." Jared sighs.

"She's not supposed to be here." Kim whispers.

"Was she not invited?" You ask.

"No." Kim says and watches her.

"Embry Call. What the hell?" Jacob grabs his shirt and pulls him from the log. "You can't invite outsiders!" Jacob yells.

Outsiders? Aren't you one?

"I didn't! She just showed up!" Embry yells back.

"Go home." Jacob points at her.

You look back at Kim and Jared. "Awkward.." You sing.

"Yeah, tell me about it. That girl follows Embry around. I believe he didn't invite her. He's not that stupid." Jared says.

"I'm an outsider." You say.

"Not any more." Kim softly takes your hand.

You smile and see the girl leave Embry runs inside the house.

"I bet he feels awkward. He shouldn't have slept with her. She's crazy." Kim sucks in a breath.

"Are they together?! He told me he doesn't date." You are shocked.

"Nope. Just a fuck buddy. He's got like three?" Kim turns to Jared for confirmation.

"Yup. Boy doesn't think he's capable of love." Jared adds.

This breaks your heart. You know he's hurting, and it's deep. You see him come back outside with a drink and start apologizing to everyone. You try to listen in but his words are quiet.

"Sorry, guys. I didn't mean.... I didn't invite her...."

----

"We must be prepared for what could happen. It's not peaceful all of the time. Get ready. I have a feeling." Billy says.

You look around confused. Why is he speaking as if it's real and right now? Renesmee who's beside you grabs a hold of your hand.

"Alright, children. Go play." Billy ends the story time.

You face Renesmee. "What did he mean by all of that?!" You panic.

"Don't worry, y/n. Don't worry." She takes hold of your face. "Shh."

Your breathing slows down.

"It's just stories, right?"

She clicks her tongue. "I would love to say that. You need to talk to Embry." She says.

"No, I need to go home." You jump up and head to car.

"Hey! Y/n. No, wait up!" You hear Embry behind you.

You stop moving and face the beauty of a man. His eyes are touching yours in a soul way. He has a way of getting you to listen.

"I don't want you to be afraid." He says.

"I am. And why am I here? Outsiders aren't allowed. I now know why. I just moved here. W-what does it got to do with me?" You ask quickly.

He grabs your shoulders and rubs his thumbs up and down. "Hey. You're always protected." He whispers.

"Protected by wolves from vampires?!"

He sighs and looks down. "Renesmee is a half vampire half human." He looks back up. "The Cullens. They're on our side." He adds.

"Jesus, this is crazy." You laugh in a panic.

"You need to know this because you are in this now. I am sorry for dragging you in this. I wish I never even imprinted." He let's you go and shakes his head.

You remembered what imprinting was, and you gasped. "Really Embry?! Me?! I am paired with a fuck boy. Great." You put your hand on your forehead.

"Protector, friend, brother.." He whispers.

"Yeah, as if that's what I'd want after being sucked into you since I met you." You say sarcastically and then cover your mouth.

"Don't get attached like that." He backs away before running back to the crowd.

You breathe rapidly and struggle to open your door and get in the car.

----

"Don't be scared." Jake says to you as you grip Renesmees hand.

Even their house is weird. All glass? Be more private than that!

"Oh, hello!" A woman walks out with her arms open. She embraces you.

You are caught off guard but notice her cold body. You hug her back hoping you don't get ate up.

You hear chuckling behind her, making you look up. "No, we don't kill humans." He says.

The woman pulls away from you. "I'm Esme. The mother of this house." She smirks.

"Edward. Renesmee's father." The guy on the porch says.

"Dad." Jacob jokes.

Edward sighs. "Don't press my buttons, wolfie."

"Come inside!" Esme pulls you in.

You recognize the smell of food cooking. "It smells good!" You smile.

"Thanks! Renesmee and Jake eat here. We don't. But we must for a new guest!"

She leads you into the kitchen where you see the other vampires.

---

Embry ignores Sandra's texts about that night at the bonfire. He's pissed at her and himself. He looks up from his phone and takes a shot.

He smells one of his girls sitting next to him. Emma.

"We getting it tonight, Embry?" She laughs.

Embry looks at her and wants to puke. After he met you, looking at another woman is revolting. It angers him. He wants to push through it. "I haven't seen you in a while." He smiles.

"AH, yeah. My phone broke. I had to work extra hours to get a new one. I've got a new number, too." She explains.

"Nice." Embry replies, not really caring.

A few drinks later, they're both making out in Emma's house. He notices a used condom on the floor. He stops kissing her and looks down at it.

"Fuck me, Embry. Don't worry about it." She grabs his face and kisses him again.

No, he doesn't care. But he's not getting aroused by her like usual. He feels disgusting. She reaches her hand down and gropes him. She pulls away and looks at him confused.

"You're not..?"

Embry sighs and then pushes past her and out of her house. He runs until he reaches the main road of Forks. He can't stop thinking about you. He doesn't know where you live, nor does he have your number.

He kicks a big ass rock on the road across to the other side. "Shit." He hisses.

"What you so mad about?" He hears Leah behind him.

He scoffs. "As if you care."

"Hey, I'm an asshole but you're my brother. If this is about y/n,"

"Don't. Just, please tell me you know where she is." He looks at Leah with sad eyes.

"Last I heard she's with Jacob and Nessie at the Cullen's." She replies.

---

You lay your head on Renesmee's shoulder while you're riding in Jacob's truck. He's dropping you off at your house. You had an amazing time and absolutely love the family. They're weird but super kind. Edward do be annoying with his mind shit though. Jasper... eek.. why he staring like that?

"Alright. Here. What?" He parks the truck.

You look up and see Embry sitting on your porch swing. He awkwardly waves.

"He wants to speak to you alone." Renesmee says.

"Thank you guys for tonight. It was super fun." You say to them.

You exchange goodbyes, and you sit next to Embry on the swing. "Are you okay?" You ask.

"No." He says.

"What happened?"

"You." He smiles.

You look down at your thighs and stay silent.

"Before you came, I wanted an imprint so bad. I never got one. I've never even had a girl genuinely like me. I didn't believe in love. I thought imprinting was just.. a forced bond." He stops.

"Embry.." You sigh.

"I got mad. And the longer I lived as a shifter surrounded by people in love and teenage boys, I began to get bored. I was mad and bored." He continues.

"I'm sorry you were hurting." You look up at him.

"Something happened tonight. But I'm scared to let you in." He looks back at you, his eyebrows furrowed.

"I'm scared, too." You reply. Then you look down and start chuckling. "I can only take one girl down at a time. I'm gonna break my hands being with you."

You both start laughing.

"How about we start slow?" He asks. "If you even want to. Which it's up to you."

You bite your lip in concentration. It doesn't take long for you to respond. "I'm already here, and you're hot, so I guess so." You giggle.

----

Embry throws some skittles in his mouth and looks at you in shock.

"So that's why you moved here?"

You laugh and nod your head. "Yup. Life is.. crazy.'' You reach over and grab a couple skittles.

"Do you like the purple ones?" You ask Embry.

"I'm a wolf. I eat just about anything." He chuckles.

"Yup. Perfect match. We share whatever, and I eat what you're willing to give, and you eat what I don't like." You put them in your mouth.

Embry starts laughing. "Three days in hanging out with me, and you're already wanting a relationship." He smirks.

"Can you blame me?" You pull the blanket on your couch onto your shoulders.

"If I grab a yellow skittle, we should wait. If it's purple, you're mine now." He digs his hand into the big bag of skittles.

Your heart starts pounding. You want it to be purple. Be purple.

He pulls it out and opens his hand.

Purple.

You both look up at each other.

---

You get home from work and kick off your shoes. You sigh deeply and plop onto the couch. You start dozing off when your front door opens. You know it's Embry.

"Baby, up. Want to go to dinner?" He shakes your leg.

"Mhm." You slowly sit up.

"We can wait if you're tired." He says.

"No, I want to go." You persist.

He thinks for a moment and then grabs your hand. He pulls you up.

"Woah, where we going?" You laugh.

"To take a nap." He goes into your bedroom.

It doesn't sound too bad to you. "Let me get comfortable." You say. You stand up and take off your shirt.

Embry coughs and looks down at the ground.

"Is this okay?" You ask.

"Yeah, I'm just.. surprised and I want to be respectful." He blushes.

"I'm yours, aren't I?" You take off your bra and throw on a bigger shirt. "You can look."

He looks up at you. "Yeah, you're mine." He bites his lip.

You take off your pants and then crawl into bed. He sighs to contain himself, and he gets in your blankets. You turn around and he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into him.

"Closer." He says.

You lay there for a few minutes before turning around and looking at Embry. You want to kiss him. You touch his chin and run your thumb along his lip.

"You're gonna kill me." He groans and grabs the back of your head and kisses you.

His lips are soft and warm you taste him and his tongue. You're wrapped up in Embry only. You forget about everything else. (Something like this)

He pulls away and lays on his back, breathing out a shaky breath. You look over his face.

"I've never felt..." He begins.

"I get it. Me too." You lean down and start kissing his neck.

He leans his head back, and you crawl on top of him. Now he's hard, and you feel it. You bite softly, and he moans. His hands go lower and and he's about to grab your ass but he grips your waist and pulls you back. "Hey, if you keep going, I'm gonna fuck you. Are we napping and then going out or fucking?" He looks up at you.

You blush and climb off of him. Just wait. Just wait. You should wait? Right?

After the nap, you get ready to go eat at a restaurant Embry takes you to. You two are seated, eating, and having a good time.

"So, Quil absolutely fucked up my shoulder. Not my proudest wolf moment."

You two laugh.

"Embry?"

You both look up and see a girl. You don't know her. He quickly wipes his mouth with a napkin.

"I've been trying to get a hold of you for a week now." She says.

"Uh. And? I'm busy. I actually have someone now." He says looking up at her.

"That sucks!" She says and then looks at you. "Just saying he loves it when a woman can spell words with her hips on him." She smirks.

You start to get angry. Jealousy rises in you. You smile and move your tongue along the inside of your bottom lip. You stand up and swing.

----

You sit there while Carlisle wraps up your hand. Inside the room is Embry, Emily, and Kim.

"Regret sleeping around don't ya?" Kim laughs at Embry.

"I do, but damn wasn't my girl bad ass." Embry smiles.

"No more punching." Carlisle smiles at you.

"You got it doc. Could you do the punching for me? Ya know, with your crazy strength." You giggle.

He starts chuckling. "I would if I could."

----

You two are laid up on the couch and listen to music while talking. Your wrapped up hand is throbbing, but you're able to ignore it because Embry is distracting you.

You take a handful of skittles out of the bag. You have way too many purple ones. "Babe." You say.

He knows and cups his hands out for you to drop the purple ones in his palms.