#had enough fun to not hate the process completely

[hyunsibae]

Killer strategies

�� psychotic and hot, he’s running wild and doing what he wants— sometimes. He’s meeting new people and thinking of fun(fun for him)ways to hangout with them!! :) Will you explore his journey?

୭ TW: This chapter of my story includes suggestions of stalking and holding people hostage. Though it does have blood, gore, and a knife. (Basically a whole killing scene.)

୭ don’t know how many words but I wrote up until I couldn’t anymore

Plain sight:

The hatred towards standing out— I just don’t get it. I don’t get why standing out is so awfully hated, why coming out of your comfort zone to do something is completely unacceptable for some people when it’s the best thing to ever happen to me. Right in the spotlight to be seen, not to mask but to show who I really am in return for uhh— recognition? I wouldn’t know too much, I just feed off of what I see and feel, I see and feel recognition. This includes dying my hair a bright red color, getting both concerned and attracted looks, it never stops. Do I mind? Not at all, it gives me such a boost to do the things I love…

Though, not many know what I love. I’m often seen outside, in random cafes, stores, or at parks just looking around. I’m only ever seen when it’s busy or with just the right amount of people. Some lady down the street from the regular buss stop, pointed it out, not that I didn’t know. It’s just— she called my name out so loudly, I had no choice but to listen.

Flashback

“Hey young man!!”

I turned to look over as people brushed by me, hearing a voice shout, “hey young man with the red hair!!” I knew it was towards me because no one else had been wearing red dye in their hair that’s stained their forehead from the previous night of dying it. I was at the bus stop even though I had a car, I just wanted to stand there. Yeah. With a few shoves past people, I made my way to the constant voice that had turned out to be a short lady with a big bag.

“You wouldn’t mind putting this in my car for me yeah?” The lady smiled, the sweet face made me realize that I couldn’t resist an old lady in need of help. Even if I was so confused as to why she asked me out of all the passing men and women on the sidewalk. I carried the bag while being directed towards her car, opening the trunk as I made sure to shove it down in there just enough to close it.

“Thanks young man, what’s your name?” She slowly moved closer as her hands rummaged through her pouched purse for some money and her eyes adverted to the bag. I didn’t think twice to take the money, soon opening my mouth to speak. “Lee heeseung ma’am.”

She smiled before giving me a light touch on the hands, whispering the words. “When I see you, I’ll asked for you. You’re always out when there’s many people, but I always notice you.” I just nodded as she began to get in her car, adjusting the seat to her height as she drove off. A smile began to creep onto my face, it mirrored her exact smile from earlier. “I wonder what she’d look like screaming in the woods, no, my basement. It’s more convenient when I get to see their faces twist in fear.” The words mumbled from my lips.

Over

No, it’s not that I love waiting for the city to get busy during day so people could have a reason to say they saw me here or there, or that they were with me and saw me leave to go home and only home. Surely I don’t love going out during the night to do what I want, and I mean do what I really want to do. Though I’d first take a walk away from my house, maybe ten minutes away or twenty minutes away. I won’t go to a quiet place but it won’t be busy either, some people should be there to see me and I should see them. I’ll then be approached and get asked for my number, humbly refusing before giving in at last. I’d watch them walk away while telling me to call them, rather a girl or a guy, they always get called. Through processed dates, planned hangouts at my house— or theirs, I don’t care. My plan always goes how I want it, I stay focused and try to keep it professionally done and that may have to mean me putting on a mask to make that person think I’m into them and I’m really not. Even through the mask, I sometimes enjoy their company— not that I needed their company and to be clear, I don’t need anyone. I’m perfectly fine on my own.

I let that out to one person, one specific person would could ever have heard my true words. I told her that living alone wasn’t lonely, having no one to go to wasn’t lonely, not being catered to by parents isn’t lonely. She didn’t believe me when said those words, she pitied me and cried and held my face with tears in her eyes just before giving me one of the tightest hugs I’d ever have. I thought she’d have kissed me or tried to do something stupid like encourage me with words(she did do that after, but my point is that it wasn’t the first thing that she did.), but all she could do was sob and hug me. Deep down I didn’t wanna hug her back but my own body began to betray me and that’s when I knew something was wrong. For the first time in my life, I called out someone’s name without my mask on to hide my true feelings.

Flashback

“Hey… Ji young?

“Hm?” She’s managed to say through sniffles.

“I’m deeply sorry, I really am.” She’s been hugging me for a few minutes with choked sobs, I didn’t know why she cried over such simple words of mine.

She also didn’t know why I was apologizing— until she felt an agonizing pain in her throat, a stab to be exact, right on the side and through her spinal accessory.

She choked out as I removed the knife, blood pouring onto my couch as she fell back, trying to gush it all back in or at least trying to stay alive. Her eyes widened with not a thought in her mind but survival, I loved every bit of her expression, the way she choked, her hurt eyes looking at me before realizing this is who I was all along. The way she fell off of the couch trying to crawl away because the pain was too much to even stand, though it was only in her neck… I couldn’t understand it so I just stabbed her thigh. One quick slice before pushing up and slamming back down into her flesh. More blood poured.

My breathing was heavier than before, a satisfied look is what I’d imagine on my face. Her screams were like complete pleasure to my senses, each vibration of her throat would rumble through me before slowing down. I snapped out of it as soon as she did. Realizing my uncoordinated plan, did I panic?

She wasn’t supposed to die today but I just couldn’t let her live anymore. I couldn’t be around her presence and smell her scent and watch her walk aw-

Over

That’s enough.

People used to tell me that I’m an evil lying bastard and that I should burn in hell for the rest of my life.

But they just didn’t know me enough.

-

-

-

-

[seavoice]

crazy that it took me a year and a half to write the 6000 odd words needed to wrap this uh, was-supposed-to-be-brief, completely outlined fic, but whatever, it's done yay.

[mariasont]

I know youre working on a fic right now but can you sometime make a fic where a new agent comes to work at the bau (the reader) and early seasons Spencer catches her interest, to which he's completely oblivious? Like just a cute little fluffy fic where two genius idiots can realise they like each other throughout their case together.

(also a lot of jokes from Morgan lol)

Reading Between the Lines - S.R

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x reader

warnings: reader just being in love with dr. reid

wc: 1.2k

The two of you were alone in the police station break room, which had become something of unofficial workspace for the team during the case. You'd been sitting there for a while, mostly pretending to read through a file while Spencer, across the table, actually read his — flipping through pages faster than should be humanly possible.

You'd been watching him out of the corner of your eye for the last ten minutes, trying (and failing) to keep your focus on your own. You couldn't help it. He was enthralling to watch. His long fingers moved smoothly over the paper, turning each page with that ridiculous speed-reading technique of his.

And when he tilted his head slightly, his eyes scanning the words so quickly it looked like he was barely reading at all, you were sure you'd never seen anyone more unfairly attractive in your entire life.

And you did mean unfairly in the purest sense. It was undeniably unfair — no, unnatural — for a man to possess such a perfect plethora of qualities, like Spencer Reid did.

You hated how obvious you were being. Every time Spencer glanced up at you, your face grew hot, and you had to fight the urge to duck your head like a nervous schoolgirl. It was absurd. You were a grown adult — a professional in the FBI, for gods' sake. You had no business mooning over someone this hard. But... it was Spencer. How could anyone not?

Eventually, you gave up trying to work and leaned forward on the table, resting your chin on your hand. "How do you do that?"

Spencer glanced up, blinking. "Do what?"

"Read that fast," you said, gesturing toward the file in his hands. "I mean, it's like you're just flipping through the pages for fun, but you're actually... reading them, right? You're not just pretending?"

Spencer tilted his head, his lips twitching into a smile. "No, I'm not pretending. I'm absorbing the information. It's called speed-reading."

You raised an eyebrow. "And you just... taught yourself how to do that?"

He nodded, setting the file down in front of him. "It's not as hard as it looks. Anyone can learn it with enough practice."

"Anyone?"

"Anyone," Spencer said, leaning back into his chair. "It's all about training your brain to recognize patterns in the text and absorb information in chunks rather than word by word. It's just a matter of rewiring how you process what you're reading."

You stared at him for a moment, then a grin spread across your face. "Teach me."

Spencer blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Teach you?"

"Yeah," you said, sitting up straighter. "If anyone can learn it, prove it. Teach me how to speed-read."

For a second, he just stared at you, like he wasn't sure if you were serious. But then his expression morphed into something that looked almost... excited. "Okay. I can teach you."

You tried not to look too pleased as he reached for a book sitting on the nearby counter and slid it across the table toward you. It was some dry academic text about linguistic patterns across extinct languages — typical Spencer reading material — but you figured it didn't really matter what the book was. You weren't here for the content.

"Alright," Spencer said, pulling his chair closer to yours so he could see what you were looking at. He leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours, and every single coherent thought you had ever had evaporated into thin air. You swallowed hard, staring at the page but unable to actually read anything. "The first thing you need to do is stop subvocalizing."

"Sub... what?" you asked, already lost.

"Subvocalizing," he repeated patiently. "It's when you say the words in your head as you're reading them. Most people do it without even realizing it, but it slows you down. If you can train yourself to read without subvocalizing, you'll process the text much faster."

You nodded slowly, though you weren't sure you entirely understood. "Okay. So... how do I stop?"

Spencer smiled. "It takes practice, but one way to start is by using your finger to guide your eyes. Like this."

He reached out and gently took your hand, guiding your index finger to the first line of the text.

Your brain short-circuited for a second. His hand was warm, touch light as he moved your finger along the page. Did he notice the way you tensed up? Did he feel how clammy your palm was? If he did, he didn’t mention it, his focus entirely on the page. Meanwhile, your focus was entirely on him.

"Try to keep your eyes moving with your finger," Spencer said. "Don't focus too much on each individual word — just let your brain take in the whole line."

Every time you inhaled, you caught the faintest hint of soap and coffee — clean, warm, him — and it was becoming impossible to think straight.

"Okay," you said softly, moving your finger along the line as he'd shown you. "Like this?"

"Exactly. Now, try to pick up the pace. Keep your eyes moving."

You tried, but your focus kept slipping — not because of the text, but because of the way Spencer was leaning so close, his shoulder almost brushing yours as he watched you. You could feel his breath, soft and even, against the side of your face, and you were suddenly very aware of the fact that this was probably the closest you'd ever been to him.

"Am I doing it right?"

"Mostly," Spencer said, his hair brushing his forehead as he leaned even closer to point at a section of the text. His long fingers hovered just above yours, and your heart stuttered at the proximity. "But try not to pause at punctuation. Just keep your eyes moving in one fluid motion."

"Okay," you said again, though honestly, you weren't sure how much you were actually absorbing. Your brain was too busy screaming Spencer Reid is touching me. Spencer Reid is this close to me.

For a few more minutes, Spencer guided you through the process, his hand occasionally brushing yours as he helped you adjust your pace. You couldn’t tell if you were actually improving or if you were just doing your best to survive the moment without completely embarrassing yourself.

"You're doing better already," he said. "It just takes time to get used to."

You smiled back at him, cheeks warm. "Thanks. You're a good teacher."

Spencer’s ears turned pink, and he glanced down, his fingers brushing idly at the edge of the book. "I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before. A good teacher, I mean."

You couldn't stop smiling.

"Maybe next time, you can teach me," he said suddenly.

You laughed. "I don’t think there’s anything I could teach you that you don’t already know, Spencer."

"I wouldn’t be so sure about that," Spencer said, his voice quieter now, almost teasing. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and for a second, his eyes met yours, before flicking back to the book.

Correction, you wouldn't be able to stop smiling for the next 3-5 business days.

Morgan was leaning against the hallway wall just outside the break room, holding his phone and scrolling casually, when you finally stepped out of the room.

You didn't see him at first — you were too busy floating on a cloud, practically glowing as you replayed the last few minutes with Spencer over and over in your mind. You were smiling so much your cheeks hurt, and you could still feel Spencer's hands on yours.

"Well, well, well," Morgan voice cut through your daydream, startling you so badly you almost tripped. You snapped your head toward him, your heart jumping to your throat. He was grinning like a cat who'd just caught a mouse. "What's got you all smiley? Pretty boy say something sweet, or are you just thinking about those magic hands of his?"

You felt your face burst into flames. "What? No! It's not —"

Morgan held up a hand, shaking his head as he chuckled. "Save it, girl. I know the look of a lovesick rookie when I see one. Trust me — you've got it bad."

You sputtered, desperately trying to come up with a convincing rebuttal, but Morgan was already walking away. "Better make your move before he speed-reads right past you!"

You groaned, burying your burning face in your hands as Morgan’s laughter faded down the hall. Lovesick rookie? Was it really that obvious?

Yes. Yes, it was.

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[xfgpng]

control …

— [ nsfw ] kissing, dry humping, first kiss + they’re both virgins

— wc :: 1.2k

caleb likes to think he’s in control of everything that happens around him. he’s always been pretty good at controlling his emotions and schooling his expressions and he tries not to overreact.


that’s the problem with her, she throws him off balance in the best and worst ways and it leaves him feeling so unsettled.

the thing about college, it’s supposed to be the best years of your life and he doesn’t know if he agrees or disagrees with that. if he really thinks about it, it’s bullshit but he knows why he feels that way.

he keeps himself composed most days, he has no reason to act out of character but this is something new to him.

caleb wasn’t naive enough to think this would never happen, he just always thought he’d be able to handle it well but he cannot. his hands feel clammy and his hot around his neck. is this even normal? he doesn’t fucking know.

he wants to lie and say he’s completely normal about her having other guy friends but he’s definitely not. his skin crawls whenever they touch her shoulder, grab at her wrists even if it’s completely platonic and innocent.


he especially hates when they lean in to close to talk to her when they’re at a party and the music is too loud. those are the nights caleb avoids alcohol like it personally offended him.

he cannot trust himself to be sober in these situations, he doesn’t want to imagine what he’d do with his evol even if the thought sends a thrill through him. he knows he has a problem, he’s just not going to deal with it.

not in a healthy way at least.

“caleb?”

he snaps out his thoughts, smiling down at where she’s laying on the floor in his dorm room. she’s supposed to be studying but she’s distracted and he shouldn’t enable her but he always does. she’s just too pretty, she has a face you cannot say no to and you’d be insane to disagree.


he’d like someone to disagree, that would be a fun day for him and a very unfortunate one for them.

“i’m listening” he lies. if he had been, he would’ve heard what she asked him and understand why she’s being all shy right now.

“wait.. what?” he sits up, looking at her properly. he definitely has a problem if he’s thinking about her so much and she’s right next to him.

“.. it’s stupid” she frowns

“it’s not” he reassures. he means it sincerely because he is willing to do whatever she wants. he hopes she doesn’t know that.

“i just .. i haven’t had my first kiss yet and i know some people think it’s a big deal and maybe it is but how will i know?” she looks up at him and she looks so upset by this so he tries not to panic.


was she seeing someone? did she like someone and that’s why she was thinking about kissing?

caleb could tell her it’s too early to worry about that and maybe she could just focus on college but that would be selfish of him. so selfish.

“i could teach you” he says and it’s out before his brain can even process any of that shit but it’s too late now because her eyes widen and she sits up so fast.

“what?” she asks because even he can’t believe what he just said.

“i just mean if you’re that curious” he smiles, playing it cool.

“you’d do that for me?” she stands now, moving to sit on his bed right in front of him and he will kill his roommate if the fucker comes back now.

“you know i would” he shrugs like it’s nothing even though his heart his beating so fast.

and that’s the thing about control, he always believed he was in control of everything in his life but the moment their lips touch, he feels his entire world shift and he doesn’t know if he’s breathing but she trusts him.

he has his hands on the side of her face before he can stop himself and she gasps softly into the kiss that he can’t help but lightly bite her bottom lip. she likes that, or so it seems because she doesn’t push him away.

her lips taste like the peach flavoured lipgloss she likes to wear and her skin is soft beneath his fingertips.

“is this okay?” he asks, running his thumb across her lower lip. she’s so beautiful, it hurts.

“yes…” she nods, “… can we do more?”

“more?” he tries not to show how excited that makes him.

“with tongue” she whispers

he doesn’t need to be told twice and her moan makes it hard to focus on anything other than her lips against his and how hard he suddenly is.

he slips his tongue into her mouth and she learns pretty quickly, he hasn’t even kissed anyone either but he’s seen enough videos and he’s always been a pretty fast learner himself and he would be damned if she had this experience with anyone that wasn’t him.

she moves closer, her arms around his neck and he can’t pull her onto his lap. if he’s being honest, he’s been hard since she said yes to the kiss but he would never want to overwhelm her. her first kiss is special because it’s them, he wouldn’t rush this.


that is something he can control.

“does that feel good?” he asks because her comfort is the most important thing to him.

“yes” she sounds less shy now, more like herself and she’s smiling so sweetly he can’t help but lean back in and this time she takes the lead and he likes how she lightly pulls at his hair. he didn’t know he’d be into that but he’s learning a lot about himself since being in college.

she climbs onto his lap on her own and if she feels how hard he is, she doesn’t comment on it which he appreciates. she’s always been considerate and just so perfect he thinks he might combust.

“put your hands .. on my waist” she tells him and he nods, as if he’s in some sort of trance now.

he’s not embarrassed about the grinding or the fact that he cums in his pants 10 minutes later. he’s still a fucking virgin and she doesn’t seem to care because she moans loud enough for him that he knows everyone down the hall heard her and only a small part of him hates that, he knows when he’s alone he’s going to be pissed that they heard how pretty she sounds but right now he wants to keep kissing her.

[junezsq]

cigarettes

steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: you hate the way cigarettes taste and when he finds out he decides that maybe it’s time to quit

established relationship

warnings: alcohol, (underage) drinking, partying, smoking, a few swear words, make out scenes

word count: 3.6k

a/n: someone get me somebody like steve ugh!!!! the way I feel like he'd do anything for the people he loves :')

── ᵎᵎ ✦

by the time you’d filled up the kitchen counter with all the different types of liquor you could find it felt like you had run half a marathon. to be completely honest, you were still in shock about how one household could own this much alcohol in the first place.

the sound of footsteps echoed throughout the hallway towards the kitchen and when you glanced sideways you smiled at your boyfriend walking towards you. “hey,” you pushed yourself off the counter and motioned your hands at the kitchen island, proud of the set up you’d made, “tadaa! what do you think?.”

he chuckled, “you didn’t have to.” he looked over the full counter before looking back at you, taking a few steps closer so he was able to place his hands on your waist, “it looks great, sweets.”

you shrugged, “i wanted to help.” you smiled, moving your hands along his chest and up to his shoulders. your eyes flickered up to his hair, which he had carefully styled in the time you’d been setting up the kitchen. the devil on your shoulder told you it’d be fun to run your hands through it and mess it up a bit. you didn’t want to force him to undergo the entire styling process again though, which would result into him missing the start of the party he was organizing, “it was a lot though, is it all yours?”

steve glanced over at all the bottles you’d picked, “it’s my dad’s.” he looked back at you, raising his hand to carefully tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. you raised your brows, “and he lets you use it? i bet my dad would kill me if i drank even the tiniest bit of his precious liquor.”

“i don’t know.” he moved his hand back to your waist, “he’s never home long enough to check.”

your gaze softened as you softly squeezed his shoulders in comfort. you knew how difficult it had been, and still was, for steve; not having his parents home for majority of his life. “luckily, you now have me to irritate you.” you tried to lighten the mood, successfully, because he let out a soft chuckle and dipped his head to sweetly place his lips on yours.

you let yourself melt into the kiss for a short moment before pulling back, leaning your forehead against his, "on that note," you bit your bottom lip, slightly smirking as you leaned backwards so you could look at him again, "could i stay the night?"

steve smiled at your request, "you know you don't have to ask that, sweets." he softly squeezed your hips, placing a quick peck on your lips. "but if you do, you have to help me clean up."

you giggled, moving to stand on your toes and reconnect your lips with his. you felt him smile through the kiss and you slightly tightened your grip on his shoulders when he pulled you closer against him.

the sound of the doorbell ringing throughout the house interrupted your moment and a laugh escaped your throat at steve throwing his head back in annoyance. you softly patted his chest, "i'll open the door."

steve watched as you walked off around the corner and towards the front door. god the things you did to him. there was never a moment he looked at you and didn't want to smother you with kisses. he was sure he could kiss you all day, everyday, and never get tired of it. he shook his head, a small smirk playing on his lips as he turned to the kitchen island, grabbing two red cups to fill them up with a drink he knew you liked.

the first to enter were some you recognised as steve's friends and a couple of your classmates. you decided to keep the door unlocked so no one had to worry about constantly hearing the obnoxious sound of the doorbell.

while you made your way back to the kitchen you widened your eyes, surprised by the amount of people that had arrived in the span of a few minutes. you muttered a couple sorry’s as you squished yourself through the crowd and a breath of relief left your lips when you’d finally reached the kitchen.

your eyes fell on steve, who was talking to someone you vaguely recognized as someone from your school year. you dusted off your hands on your jeans as you stepped closer to them, “hey.” you breathed out, and at the sound of your voice the two immediately turned their heads to look at you. you glanced down and caught sight of the two cups in steve’s hands. “what’cha got there?”

steve followed your line of sight, “right.” he glanced at the guy next to him, telling him he’d find him later that night to continue whatever conversation they were having, “here you go, gorgeous.” he turned to you and handed you the fullest cup, clearly already having drunk from the other one.

you thanked him as you took the cup from his hand, a small smile playing on your lips, “you didn’t have to cut off your conversation with …?”

he chuckled, leaning back against the counter, “joshua.”

“right,” you nodded before taking a sip of your drink.

“it’s fine, we still have the entire night to finish that.” steve kept his smile playing on his lips as he took your free hand in his, pulling you closer to him, “and i needed to give you your favorite drink.”

you playfully rolled your eyes at his words, “you’re such a cliché, harrington.”

“don’t act like you don’t love it.”

“hmm.” you stilted your head, trying to appear as if you were in thought, “maybe.”

steve smirked at you, softly squeezing your hand as he pulled you even closer against him. he immediately smashed his lips on yours and you returned his smirk through the kiss. you tried your best not to spill the drink you were still holding in one hand as you untangled your other from his, moving it to the back of his neck.

his tongue swept over your bottom lip, as if to ask for permission and so you moved your hand up to slightly tug on his hair in answer. he groaned softly at the gesture and tightened his grip on your waist, slowly starting to loose himself into the kiss. he couldn't get enough of it. of you.

"yo, harrington! stop sucking the life out of your girlfriend!"

a voice called throughout the kitchen and you giggled as you pulled away from steve. your hand was still tangled up in his hair when you glanced to the backdoor in which eddie was leaning against the doorpost. you playfully rolled your eyes and looked back at steve starting to carefully fix his hair.

"you're just saying that because you're still bitchless, munson." steve shot back, removing his hand from your waist only to immediately wrap his other arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. you instinctively wrapped your arm around his middle.

"whatever." eddie scoffed, pointing his thumb over his shoulder, "you comin' outside?"

steve's gaze landed on you, his eyes searching your features for a hint of your thoughts. you smiled at him, "go! i'll try and find robin or nancy."

"are you sure?" steve's eyes were focused on yours and you gave him another reassuring smile, "yeah!" you detached yourself from him and softly pushed him towards the backdoor, "go!"

"alright, alright," steve chuckled, leaning closer to you again to place a quick kiss on your lips, "don't let anyone get close to your drink."

you giggled at his protectiveness, knowing he would stay by your side the entire evening if you asked him to, "i won't, now go! eddie's waiting." his hand found your cheek as he leaned in for another soft kiss. you smiled against his lips while slightly pulling him closer by his collar.

“harrington!”

eddie’s call-out made him draw back with a stupid grin playing on his lips, “see you later, yeah?”

you nodded, letting go off his collar to softly pat his chest, “see ya.” your own smile didn’t recede as you watched him stalk off towards eddie and out the back door. a soft breath escaped your lips before you quickly downed your drink. time to mingle.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:

the chatter and music died down as you stumbled through the hallway, trying to make your way towards the bathroom. at the sound of a door closing you glanced backwards, but the quick movement caused you to loose your balance. before you could fall face first to the ground though, a pair of strong hands found your waist.

“shit, sorry.” you grumbled, automatically grabbing their arm to straighten yourself. when you found the mystery person’s face you immediately widened your eyes in surprise, “steve!”

it was obvious you’d had a drink too many; the strap of your top had fallen of your shoulder and your hair was completely disheveled. steve chuckled at your excitement and let go of your waist to carefully readjust the strap and place some hair strands that were stuck against your lipgloss behind your ears, “what’s up, sweets?”

you shrugged, “nothing much.” steve’s hand found it’s way to your upper arm, causing your insides to warm up at his touch. you slightly raised your brows when you remembered something, “i found robin!”

“you did?” steve let his thumb rub small circles on your skin.

you nodded eagerly, “yeah! only a moment after you went outside, she walked into the kitchen. she made me a drink, actually!” you started rambling, “it was really good! not as good as the one you made me, but maybe, like, a close second!”

“a close second, huh?”

you hummed in response, “and then we talked for a while, i don’t remember about what, though.” you lightly tilted your head in thought, but gave up quickly, “doesn’t matter, because then we went dancing for a bit, and after that she made me another one of those drinks. that one wasn’t as good as the first one she made me, though.”

“that’s too bad.” steve’s eyes went over your features while he listened carefully, “and then … you ended up here?”

“yeah,” you smiled at your boyfriend, “i was on my way to the bathroom, but now that i think about it, i don’t really have to pee.” you shrugged and steve let out a soft chuckle.

you slightly tilted your head, placing your pointer finger against his chest, “what have you been up to, handsome?”

an amused grin was playing on steve’s lips and you swore you could see small sparkles glowing in his eyes as he looked at you, “well, while robin was playing your personal bartender, i was outside with eddie and a few other guys from our year…”

you tried your utmost best to focus on whatever steve was telling you, but for some reason all you could look at, and think of, were his lips. they were just too pretty to not look at. you swallowed, flattening your hand against his chest as your mind started wandering to what his way too perfect lips could do. what they’d done to you already.

“are you listening?”

his voice pulled you out off your trance and your eyes flickered up to his, “huh?”

he raised his brows teasingly, “what are you thinking off?”

you let out a soft breath, “sorry, it’s just … i wanna listen to what you’re saying,” you trailed your hand up to his cheek so you could place your thumb on his bottom lip, your own lips forming a small pout, “but all i can think of is your lips and how badly i want to kiss them.”

“do you now?” steve smirked, your thumb moving along with his bottom lip as he spoke. your eyes intently followed the small movement.

“yeah…” you let out another sigh, “wait! is this what you meant when you told me you wish you could kiss me 24/7?” you blurted out, tearing your gaze away from his lips to look him back in the eye.

all steve did was let out a soft laugh. his hand slowly creeped up your arm and to your hand, removing it from his cheek so he could intertwine them, “i did tell you that, huh?”

“i get it now.” your focus landed back on his lips as you softly bit your own bottom lip. the things you’d do to the male standing in front of you if his house wasn’t full with people right now.

he pulled you closer by your hand and leaned slightly closer. his forehead was almost touching yours and when he spoke in a whisper you felt shivers form along your spine, “you know you can just kiss me anytime you want, sweets.”

“i know.” you whispered, detaching your hand from his and moving it, along with your other, up to the back of his neck. his hands instantly moved to your waist. you smirked lightly as you pulled him closer; your foreheads now touching, “but what if i want you to kiss me?”

steve chuckled before connecting your lips with his and you felt yourself instantly relax. “you’re crazy.” he spoke in between kisses, softly squeezing your hips.

“about you, yeah.” you mumbled against his lips, tangling one of your hands into his hair; wanting him to be as close to you as possible.

you raised yourself to stand on your toes just as his tongue darted past your lips and into your mouth. a soft groan escaped steve's lips as he tightened his grip onto your hips. just when you started to melt into the kiss, you could taste a bit of nicotine on either his tongue or lips.

you pulled back slightly, which steve took as a hint to trail his kisses down towards your jaw and neck. your brows formed a small frown in thought. was it your imagination or did he really taste like cigarettes? wanting to find out you placed your palms on his cheeks so you could tilt his head back up and move back into a kiss. as soon as your lips touched his again, you knew you were right.

you leaned back, "did you smoke?" you asked, your eyes on his and his face still cradled in your hands.

steve blinked in confusion, "I did ... outside with eddie and the others." he let his fingertips slip just underneath your top as he spoke, under the impression you already knew he'd smoked earlier that night, "why?"

you threw your head back and let out a groan, “ugh.” a sigh escaped your lips, letting your hands slip down to his shoulders as you looked him back in the eyes, “ now i don’t want to kiss you anymore.”

steve's brows knitted together, getting more confused by the second, "what? ... why?"

"i hate the taste of cigarettes." your lips formed a pout as you spoke, "kinda makes me want to throw up, actually."

"really?! i didn’t know that."

"yeah..." you nodded, starting to play with the collar of his polo.

steve slipped one of his hands from underneath your top and reached up to tuck a stubborn strand of hair behind your ear, "so if I kiss you again right now, you'll throw up..?"

you giggled softly, "okay, maybe, not literally throw up." your eyes went over his features as you spoke, "i just think it tastes awful."

"right." steve slightly tilted his head in thought.

when you noticed you softly squeezed his shoulders, "I'm not saying you have to quit smoking, or anything! you can do whatever you want." you smiled affectionately, "i just won't kiss you right after you've smoked ... maybe you can eat a mint or brush your teeth?"

"alright." steve quickly nodded, still slightly thrown off by this new information. "yeah, i can do that." he smiled at you, moving his hand back to your waist, "wouldn't want to miss out on kissing you, now would i?"

a giggle escaped your lips as you reached your hand up to softly ruffle his hair, “i’m going to get some water, sober up a bit.” you smiled, brushing some hair away from his eyes, “see you later?”

even though you already knew his answer your smile grew slightly when steve hummed in confirmation. you raised yourself on your toes to place a kiss on his cheek, his hands instinctively squeezing your waist.

you gave him one last smile and steve watched as you walked off. his eyes stayed on the doorway through which you had just disappeared a moment longer before throwing his head back. all sort of thoughts were circulating through his head; he couldn’t stop thinking of the conversation you’d just had.

he ran his hands through his hair before placing them on his hips. how had he not know about this? he though of all the times he’d smoked, coming to the conclusion that none of them had been around you, and that there’d always been quite some time between taking a cigarette and seeing you.

steve sighed and let his hand slip into his pocket, taking out his lighter and a pack of cigarettes; the thought of not being able to kiss you slipped into his mind. he ran his free hand through his hair once more before stalking off towards the kitchen.

he squished himself through the crowd, mumbling a quick sorry when bumping into someone. a voice he vaguely recognized called his name but he ignored it as his thoughts were elsewhere.

when he reached the kitchen he instantly went for one of the counter cabinets and opened it to reveal the trash can. he took one last glance at the cigarettes and lighter in his hand before throwing them away. a small breath of relief escaped his lips; it almost felt as if he should’ve done this way sooner.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:

when steve wasn’t able to find you he decided to take a breath of fresh air and go outside for a bit. while he ran his hand through his hair he closed the back door. he was still wondering if he should tell you he’d decided to quit smoking tonight or if he would wait until after the party; not sure if you had managed to sober up.

“look who we’ve got here.” he glanced up to find eddie already looking at him, a stupid smirk grazing his lips. eddie reached out his hand that held a pack of cigarettes, “want one?”

steve shook his head, “thanks, but i can’t.”

“what?” eddie slightly tilted his head, taking a cigarette for himself before stuffing the package into his pocket, “didn’t you smoke one with me earlier?”

steve watched as eddie casually lit up the cigarette, “yeah, that was my last one.”

“your last one?” eddie knitted his brows, exhaling the smoke, “ever?”

steve shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets. he had never been a big smoker, he’d probably describe himself as an occasional one; parties, etc. however, having eddie point out so specifically he’d taken his last cigarette earlier that night, it made it sound so official. “yeah, man.”

“why’s that?” eddie tapped his cigarette, his eyes focused on the male in front of him.

steve shrugged once more, “promised my girl.”

the moment the words had left steve’s lips, eddie perked up, his eyes widening and a stupendous smirk growing on his own lips, “no way.”

“what?”

eddie exhaled some more smoke and slightly pushed steve’s shoulder, “aw, my little stevie is in love.”

steve slightly rolled his eyes, but stayed silent as he let his eyes wander over his backyard. eddie’s smirk grew even larger at his silence, “dude, you’re not even denying it!”

“okay, shut up.”

eddie opened his mouth to tease steve a bit more, but closed it the second his eyes caught on the back door opening. when he saw who was making their way outside he grinned back at steve, placing his cigarette against his lips, “speak of the devil.”

steve knitted his brows in confusion, turning his head towards the direction eddie was looking. at the sight of you his brows and posture relaxed instantly and when your eyes found his he couldn’t help but smile. you returned his smile and walked closer to the pair, “hey, i was looking for you, actually.”

“were you now?” eddie tapped his cigarette, “i’ve been outside the entire night.” he playfully smiled at you.

you let out an exaggerated gasp, your eyes falling on the curly haired, "no way! dang it, I should've come out here sooner." you giggled softly.

eddie exhaled some smoke once more before peaking away his cigarette, "too bad and too late, cutie, because i'm going inside now." he sent you a smile and glanced at steve, softly patting his arm, "good luck with the whole 'no smoking' thing, buddy."

your eyes snapped to steve, who obviously cringed at eddie's words. the curly haired called out a goodbye; you waved at him but kept your focus on your boyfriend, "what did he mean by that?"

steve bit his bottom lip, his eyes avoiding yours, "yeah, uhm, exactly what he said. i decided to quit."

"what?!" you exclaimed, reaching out your hands to place them on his cheek so you could turn his head and make him look at you, "but i told you, you don't have to do that."

"but i want to." steve's eyes finally found yours.

"why?"

steve instinctively moved his hands to your hips to pull you closer towards him, "because i can't miss out on kissing you."

you couldn't contain your smile as you let your thumbs softly caress his cheeks, "you're crazy, harrington."

"about you, yeah." steve returned your smile when he repeated the words you'd uttered to him earlier that night, "you know i'd do anything for you, sweets."

[lazysoulwriter]

protective love. - pedro pascal.

It was supposed to be a fun night, just a casual hangout with friends from the industry. Drinks flowed, laughter filled the air, and everything was lighthearted. But you? You were a little more than tipsy. Maybe it was the drinks, maybe it was the atmosphere, or maybe it was just the warmth of the night. Whatever it was, you didn’t notice how much attention you were drawing, especially from one person.

Pedro, ever the calm and collected one, had barely touched his drink. He was the responsible one, the designated driver. But even with that extra level of sobriety, he could feel something was off as soon as he stepped into the bar. You were stunning, obviously, but tonight, you were wearing that dress. The one with the daring neckline and slit that reached up to your thigh. And as much as he hated to admit it, he knew all eyes were on you—particularly from one guy, who seemed to have a little too much interest in you.

Pedro wasn’t the jealous type, not normally. He trusted you. He trusted that you'd be able to handle yourself. But tonight, something shifted in him. Maybe it was the combination of the dim lighting, the music, and the way that man’s eyes kept lingering on you. Pedro was aware of the glances, the smirks. It made his chest tighten, and before he knew it, his jaw was clenched.

You, blissfully unaware of the tension building around you, were tipsy enough to be carefree. Your laughter echoed as you chatted with a few of the other guests, until you felt someone step a little too close. Your gaze met the stranger’s, and you, in your hazy state, didn’t quite process the way his smile was a little too wide, his hands a little too eager. He leaned in, his words slurred, and it was obvious he was trying his luck.

“Come on, darling,” he whispered, “I’m sure we could have a much better time alone…”

Before you could register what was happening, the room seemed to freeze. You felt the pit of your stomach twist, but it wasn’t fear—it was more of a sudden, unexpected excitement. Because, just as things were about to escalate, your heart skipped a beat.

“Mi amor!”

There he was. Pedro. Your Pedro. You stumbled toward him, arms outstretched, your voice a little too loud in the space as you nearly collided with his chest. You giggled, burying your face into the soft fabric of his jacket. “Pedrito,” you murmured affectionately, the nickname spilling from your lips like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Pedro couldn’t help but smile, his heart melting at the sight of you—stumbling, but with that warmth in your eyes that only you could carry. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, his eyes flickering up to the guy who had been eyeing you. He didn’t need to say a word. His presence alone was enough to send the message loud and clear. Don’t even try.

You giggled even more, nuzzling your face into his chest. “I missed you,” you whispered, barely coherent but completely in love with the safety of his arms around you.

Pedro’s chuckle rumbled through his chest, and he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I missed you too, mi vida,” he murmured, glancing at the guy who was now awkwardly backing away, sensing the very real threat in Pedro’s gaze.

“Let’s get you home, sí?” Pedro said, his tone soft but commanding. You nodded enthusiastically, oblivious to how tense the situation had just been, and without a second thought, you linked your arm with his, almost tripping over your heels as he steadied you.

As you all headed out of the bar, Pedro couldn’t help but smile to himself, shaking his head. “No one gets to have you but me, cariño,” he whispered under his breath, his hand firmly around yours.

You looked up at him with sleepy eyes, smiling innocently. “I’m yours, Pedrito,” you said, and the way your words wrapped around him made his heart swell. “No one else could ever have me.”

“Good,” he murmured with a grin. “Let’s keep it that way.”

And as he helped you into the car, his hand never left your waist. Because tonight, something had changed. Tonight, Pedro had realized just how much he was willing to fight for you, even if it was just with a look.

But deep down, he knew the one thing that would always stand between you and anyone else wasn’t his jealousy—it was the way you called him “Mi amor” every time, and how that alone made him feel like the luckiest man alive.

[sxcretricciardo]

impossible (l.n) - pt.3

part two here

-

Max leaned against the doorframe of (Y/N)’s hotel room, arms crossed and a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Come on, you can’t say no to a Lando Norris celebration party. He won, you have to be there.”

(Y/N) sighed, flopping onto the bed. “Max, I’m tired. And these Miami clubs are insane. I don’t know if I have the energy for all that.”

Max rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. You’ll regret not going when you hear all the stories tomorrow. Besides, you never go out anymore. Just one night, and I promise I’ll make sure you don’t do anything stupid.”

(Y/N) shot him a look. “Oh, so now you’re my babysitter?”

Max grinned. “Only when you need one.”

(Y/N) hesitated, but the excitement in Max’s expression was infectious. She knew he wouldn’t stop pushing until she agreed. Plus, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to celebrate with everyone.

“Fine,” (Y/N) said, sitting up with a small sigh. “But if I regret this tomorrow, I’m blaming you.”

Max clapped his hands together, victorious. “Deal. Now, get ready—we’re leaving in twenty.”

-

The club was alive with music pulsing through the walls, bodies moving in sync with the heavy bass. Lando’s victory party was everything Max had promised—loud, chaotic, and full of energy. Lando and Magui were at the center of it all, completely wrapped up in each other, while (Y/N) stuck with Max, his girlfriend, and a few of their friends.

The drinks flowed freely, and soon, (Y/N) felt the pleasant warmth of alcohol in her system. She was tipsy, but not completely drunk—just enough to let loose and have fun without losing control.

At some point, she excused herself to go to the bathroom. The club was packed, and it took her a while to maneuver through the crowd. On her way back, she glanced around, searching for her group—only to stop dead in her tracks.

In a dimly lit corner of the club, away from most of the party, Magui was pressed against one of Lando’s friends, their faces dangerously close. Before (Y/N) could even process what was happening, she saw it—the kiss. It wasn’t a mistake, wasn’t a misunderstanding. Magui was kissing someone who definitely wasn’t Lando.

A wave of panic crashed over (Y/N). What the hell was she supposed to do? Her heart pounded in her chest as she turned on her heel, pushing through the crowd until she found Max and his girlfriend.

“Max!” (Y/N) grabbed his arm, breathless. “I—I just saw Magui. She was kissing one of Lando’s friends.”

Max’s expression darkened instantly, but before he could say anything, a voice cut through the noise.

“What did you just say?”

(Y/N) turned to find Lando staring at her, confusion and anger flickering across his face. Before she could answer, Magui appeared beside him, her face the picture of innocence.

(Y/N) opened her mouth to speak, but Magui let out a dramatic scoff. “Are you serious right now?” She turned to Lando, shaking her head. “She’s drunk, Lando. And jealous. She always hated me.”

(Y/N)’s stomach twisted. “That’s not true!”

Lando’s expression hardened, and he stepped closer. “Maybe you should go,” he said, his voice cold. “You’re drunk and making shit up.”

(Y/N) felt the sting of betrayal sink deep, but before she could say anything else, Max was already beside her, his grip firm but gentle on her arm. “Come on,” he muttered. “Let’s get out of here.”

Max led (Y/N) through the throngs of people, his grip never loosening as he guided her past the flashing lights and booming music of the club. The air outside hit (Y/N) like a cold wave as they stepped out into the Miami night, the quiet hum of the city contrasting sharply with the chaos they had just left behind. Max didn’t say anything at first, just kept walking with purpose, pulling (Y/N) along beside him.

They made their way to the car park, the sound of their footsteps echoing on the pavement. Max opened the door of the car for (Y/N), giving her a soft, reassuring smile before sliding into the driver’s seat. He started the engine, the low growl of the car a steady comfort in the otherwise still night.

(Y/N) slumped into the passenger seat, her mind still spinning from what she had witnessed. The image of Magui and Lando’s friend—the kiss, the betrayal—it all played over and over in her mind, making her stomach churn. She stared out the window, watching the blur of neon lights pass by as Max pulled out of the parking lot.

The drive was quiet at first. Neither of them spoke, the weight of the situation hanging heavy between them. Max kept his eyes on the road, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. (Y/N) could feel the tension radiating from him, but he didn’t say anything, clearly giving her space to process. Still, his presence beside her was grounding in a way nothing else could be.

As the city passed by in a blur of lights, (Y/N) let out a shaky breath, trying to calm her racing thoughts. It was hard to ignore the hurt, the confusion, the sense of betrayal that gnawed at her. She hadn’t even known how to process everything, but the silence in the car wasn’t helping. She needed to say something.

“I can’t believe it,” (Y/N) finally muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Max glanced at her briefly, his expression tight but softening when he saw the pain in her eyes. “I know,” he said quietly. “It sucks.”

“I thought… I thought he would believe me. We have been through so much stuff together. We’ve known each other since ever…” The words tasted bitter in (Y/N)’s mouth, and she clenched her fists, trying to fight back the tears threatening to spill. “And he just believed her.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

Max’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t respond immediately. He just kept driving, the car cutting through the city streets. After a few moments, he spoke again, his tone gentle but firm. “Lando’s reaction? That wasn’t you. That’s on him. You told him the truth. He didn’t listen. That’s his problem, not yours.”

(Y/N) didn’t know how to respond to that. The words helped, but the sting of Lando’s coldness still lingered. She had expected more from him, from her friend. The thought of it made her heart ache all over again.

The city skyline slowly gave way to quieter streets as Max guided the car toward the hotel. (Y/N) didn’t even notice the time passing, the only sound now the gentle hum of the car and the occasional swish of tires on wet pavement.

When they pulled into the hotel’s parking garage, Max parked the car in the spot closest to the entrance. He turned off the engine but didn’t move to get out right away. Instead, he took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Max asked quietly, looking over at (Y/N).

(Y/N) thought about it for a moment. She didn’t know if she could put everything into words yet, but she appreciated that Max was giving her the option. Maybe it wasn’t about talking right now—it was just about not being alone.

“I don’t know what to say,” (Y/N) admitted, feeling exhaustion seeping into her bones. “I just feel… lost. I thought I knew where I stood with everything, but now I’m not so sure.”

Max nodded, his face softening with understanding. “Yeah. It’s messy. And I’m sorry you have to go through this. But whatever happens next, you don’t have to figure it out alone. I’m here. Always.”

(Y/N) swallowed hard, the lump in her throat threatening to choke her up. Max’s words, his loyalty—it was more than she could have asked for in that moment. She nodded, finally letting out a shaky breath.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

Max gave her a small, comforting smile. “You don’t have to thank me, (Y/N). That’s what friends are for.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable—it was just two people sitting in the aftermath of something painful, something uncertain. Max reached over, gently squeezing (Y/N)’s shoulder before getting out of the car.

They both walked into the hotel together, the cool air of the lobby greeting them. As they waited for the elevator, (Y/N) felt the weight of the night slowly starting to lift, if only a little. The betrayal still stung, the confusion still clouded her thoughts, but with Max there beside her, it didn’t feel as impossible to face.

When the elevator doors opened, they stepped inside, and Max pressed the button for their floor. As the elevator ascended, (Y/N) couldn’t help but feel that no matter how this played out with Lando and Magui, at least she had someone she could count on—someone who wouldn’t walk away when things got messy.

The elevator chimed softly as it reached their floor, and Max stepped out first, holding the door for her. The quiet of the hallway contrasted sharply with the noise and chaos they’d just left behind at the club. Max led the way to her hotel room, his stride purposeful, but she noticed the tightness in his shoulders—the same tension that had been there since they’d left the club.

She pulled her key card from her bag and slid it into the door, the click of the lock breaking the silence. As the door swung open, Max followed her inside, and she immediately felt the weight of the night press down on her again. The room felt far too still, far too quiet for her mind to settle.

Max closed the door behind him and leaned against it, his eyes scanning her face as she dropped her bag onto the bed. “Do you want to talk about it now?” he asked, his voice gentle but laced with concern. “Or should we just… sit for a minute?”

She took a deep breath, shaking her head. “I don’t know what to say, Max. I thought—” She faltered, trying to make sense of the mess of emotions swirling inside her. “I thought everything was fine. I trusted her. I trusted Lando.” Her voice wavered at the end, the sting of betrayal creeping back into her chest.

Max pushed off the door and walked over to the small couch by the window. He sat down, patting the spot next to him. “Come sit with me for a second,” he suggested, his tone more like that of a friend offering comfort than a solution.

She hesitated, but the warmth of his presence was hard to resist. She crossed the room and lowered herself onto the couch, her legs folded beneath her as she settled next to him. For a moment, they sat in silence, the soft hum of the city below filtering through the closed window.

“Why didn’t Lando believe me?” she whispered, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. “I mean, he knows me. I’ve never lied to him. I would never make something like that up.”

Max’s expression softened, and he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he met her gaze. “Sometimes people see what they want to see, (Y/N). And sometimes they don’t want to face the truth, even if it’s right in front of them.”

She nodded, but it didn’t make the hurt any easier to bear. “I don’t know what to do now,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost as if she were talking to herself. “Do I tell him again? Do I just walk away?”

Max sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. “You’re not responsible for Lando’s actions, and you can’t force him to see the truth. But you deserve to be heard. If you want to talk to him again, you should. If you need to walk away, you have every right to do that too.”

The simplicity of his words almost felt like a relief. She wasn’t sure what her next move should be, but knowing she had the choice made her feel like she could breathe for a second.

Max leaned back against the armrest and looked out the window, the city lights below casting a soft glow in the room. “You know, you didn’t deserve what happened tonight. Neither of you did.”

She smiled faintly, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I know. But it doesn’t make the feeling go away. It doesn’t change the fact that Magui was kissing another guy… or that Lando didn’t even give me a chance to explain.”

“I get it,” Max said, his voice steady. “And I’m sorry you’re dealing with this right now. But I just want you to remember that none of this is on you. No matter how badly Lando or anyone else reacts, you did the right thing by being honest.”

The honesty of his words hit her in a way that made her chest tighten. She’d always appreciated how Max could cut through the bullshit and speak directly to what mattered. In that moment, she felt his unwavering support like a lifeline, something to hold onto in the storm.

“Thanks, Max,” she said, her voice small but sincere. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t here tonight.”

He gave her a reassuring smile. “You’d survive,” he teased gently. “But it’s a lot easier when you’ve got someone in your corner.”

She chuckled softly at his words, but the laughter felt hollow. Still, she appreciated the effort. Max always knew how to make things feel a little less heavy.

A moment of quiet settled between them, the only sound in the room the distant hum of the city. She let herself lean back, trying to let the tension ease from her shoulders. After a few moments, Max stood up, stretching his arms above his head.

“You need anything? Want me to get you some water or something?” he asked, his tone casual, though she could tell he was still concerned.

She shook her head, though she didn’t feel quite ready to sleep just yet. “I think I just need to be alone for a while. I don’t know… clear my head. You should probably go back to Pietra, she’s probably worried.”

Max nodded, understanding. “I’ll be around, okay? You’re not alone in this.”

As he left her room, he paused at the door and gave her one last glance. “I mean it, (Y/N). You’re not alone.”

With a small, grateful smile, she nodded. “Thanks, Max. Seriously.”

The door clicked softly behind him, and she was left alone in the quiet of the hotel room. But for the first time that night, she didn’t feel completely alone. Max’s words echoed in her mind, a reminder that, no matter how bad things got, she had people who cared about her.

Taking a deep breath, she sank back into the pillows, trying to calm her racing thoughts. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges, but tonight, for just a little while, she could rest. She didn’t know what the future held with Lando or Magui, but she had Max—and that meant more than she could put into words.

For now, that was enough.

-

The following morning, after a restless night of tossing and turning, she woke up with a strange sense of resolve. The pain from last night’s betrayal was still fresh, but a part of her knew she couldn’t just let things fester. She needed to talk to Lando. She needed to defend herself, to make sure he understood that everything she had said about Magui was the truth.

Max had been insistent that she shouldn’t feel guilty for telling him the truth, but deep down, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she needed to fix this, somehow. She owed it to herself and to their friendship. She owed it to Lando.

After a quick shower and a cup of coffee, she grabbed her phone and sent a message to Lando. “Can we talk? I’ll be in your hotel room in 10 minutes.”

It took only a few moments for him to reply. “Okay.”

Her heart was pounding in her chest, and her hands were shaking as she made her way out of her hotel room. Each step felt heavier than the last. But she pushed it aside. She couldn’t keep running from this. She had to face it.

When she arrived at Lando’s hotel room, she took a deep breath before knocking. There was a long silence before she heard his footsteps approaching the door. It swung open, and he stood there, looking slightly disheveled, his eyes narrowing when he saw her.

“What are you doing here?” Lando asked, his voice still tinged with anger from the previous night.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, keeping her tone steady despite the nerves twisting in her stomach. “About last night.”

Lando looked at her for a beat before stepping back, allowing her inside. She entered the room cautiously, her eyes darting around, avoiding his gaze. She could feel the tension crackling between them already.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, (Y/N).” His voice was colder than she remembered, and it made her chest tighten. “You showed up last night and started making accusations, then ran off. I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I’m not in the mood.”

Her heart raced, and her mouth went dry. “I’m not playing games, Lando. I’m telling you the truth. I saw Magui kiss one of your friends. And I was not drunk, I wasn’t making it up. It’s what I saw. And I swear to you, I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

Lando’s face hardened, and he crossed his arms over his chest, a defensive gesture. “I don’t know why you’re suddenly so hell-bent on ruining things for me, but you’re wrong. Magui’s not like that. You don’t know her like I do.”

“Really? So, you think I’m lying about what I saw? You’re honestly going to stand here and act like I didn’t just see what I saw? You’re going to choose to believe her over me?”

Lando flinched at her words, his eyes flashing with something like pain. “You don’t get it, do you?” he snapped, his voice rising. “I know Magui. We’ve been through shit together. She’s not like that, okay? She’s not some cheater. Why would I believe you over her?”

The words hit her harder than she expected. The pain of his dismissal stung more than she cared to admit, but she wouldn’t let him dismiss her like this.

“I don’t know why you’re so willing to believe her, but I can’t keep being your backup option just because you refuse to see the truth.” Her voice shook now, her anger boiling over. “I came to you last night because I thought I was your friend. But you didn’t even give me the chance to explain. You just believed her and shut me out. And now you’re acting like I’m the one who’s wrong? I did everything I could to help you, Lando.”

She was practically yelling now, the frustration and hurt spilling out of her. Lando’s expression twisted into something unreadable, and his jaw clenched as he stepped closer to her, his posture tense.

“I don’t need you coming here and pretending to be some kind of saint, trying to tell me what’s going on in my relationship,” he said harshly. “You think this is easy for me? You think I don’t feel betrayed too?”

She stared at him, disbelief and anger flashing across her face. “I’m not pretending to be a saint. I’m just telling you what I saw, and you’re so caught up in defending her that you can’t see what’s right in front of you.”

Lando’s hands clenched into fists, his face reddening with frustration. “You don’t get it. Out of all people, I never thought you would be able to do something like this. Like you’re the one who knows what’s best for me?”

She could feel the heat between them, the tension sparking in the air. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but her heart was still pounding, adrenaline rushing through her veins.

“No, Lando, that’s not what I’m saying,” she snapped, tears beginning to sting her eyes despite the fury she felt. “But I care about you. I care about your happiness. And if you can’t see the truth when it’s right in front of you, then maybe I shouldn’t care anymore. Maybe I’m better off staying the hell out of it.”

Lando’s eyes widened, the anger in his expression giving way to something more complicated—hurt, confusion, and maybe even a hint of regret. But before he could speak, she turned on her heel, her heart pounding in her chest. She wasn’t going to stick around for more of this. She had already said everything she needed to.

“Don’t come to me when you realize you’ve lost everything because you couldn’t trust your own friends,” she said quietly, her voice breaking.

With that, she stormed out of the room, her footsteps echoing down the hallway as she made her way back to the elevator. She could still feel the weight of his gaze on her back, but she didn’t look back. She didn’t need to.

She had said what she needed to say. If Lando wasn’t going to listen, then that was on him.

-

Max knocked on Lando’s hotel room door a few minutes later, his knuckles rapping sharply against the wood. He could already feel the tension simmering, knowing that things between Lando and (Y/N) had gone off the rails. The argument had escalated quickly, and now it was time for someone to step in and hopefully help cool things down.

Lando opened the door almost immediately, his face taut with frustration, and his eyes dark with the lingering anger from earlier.

Max gave him a small, cautious nod. “Hey, man. Got a minute?”

Lando didn’t say anything at first, just stepped aside and waved him in. Max could tell he wasn’t exactly thrilled to see him, but the frustration on Lando’s face told him that he was at least willing to listen, or at least to vent. Max didn’t waste any time once he was inside the room, closing the door behind him and folding his arms across his chest.

“You two had it out pretty good, huh?” Max said, his tone casual but laced with concern.

Lando sighed heavily and sank down onto the edge of the bed, rubbing his hand over his face. “I don’t know, man. Everything’s messed up. (Y/N) shows up at the party, gets all worked up about Magui, starts accusing her of something… and I don’t know what to think.”

Max leaned against the desk, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Lando, (Y/N) didn’t just show up out of nowhere. She was your friend before anything else, right? She saw something that didn’t sit right with her, and she came to you.”

Lando shook his head. “Yeah, but she doesn’t know Magui the way I do. She’s not in my relationship. I’ve been with Magui for a while now. I trust her. And now (Y/N) comes in, drunk and saying she saw something that didn’t happen? It feels like she’s trying to tear things apart.”

Max let out a breath and pushed off from the desk, stepping toward Lando, his expression softening. “Look, I get it. I know you care about Magui, and you want to protect her. But that doesn’t mean you should completely disregard what (Y/N) saw. She’s not some stranger, Lando. She’s your friend.”

“I’m not saying I’m disregarding her, but she’s making these accusations without knowing anything about what’s really going on,” Lando retorted, frustration creeping into his voice again. “She’s trying to act like she knows better than me, like I don’t know what’s going on with my own relationship.”

Max stayed silent for a moment, allowing Lando to vent, his hands in his pockets. He could tell Lando was struggling with a lot of emotions right now—anger, confusion, maybe even guilt. But Max wasn’t about to let him stay in that place.

“You know, Lando, I think you’re pissed because deep down, you’re afraid that she might be right,” Max said quietly, his eyes meeting Lando’s.

Lando froze, his breath catching slightly. He opened his mouth to protest but then closed it, clearly processing what Max had said.

“I—no,” Lando started, shaking his head, but Max held up a hand to stop him.

“Look, I know you don’t want to believe it,” Max continued. “But (Y/N) isn’t some malicious person. She’s been through enough to know the difference between looking out for someone and just throwing around accusations. She’s your friend, man. She wouldn’t have come to you like that if she didn’t care. She did the right thing by saying something.”

Lando’s eyes dropped to the floor, his jaw clenching as he processed Max’s words. He ran a hand through his messy hair, his face drawn. “It’s just… hard to believe. I want to believe Magui. I do. But (Y/N)… she’s not just making this up.”

Max walked over and sat down on the bed next to Lando, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “I know, Lando. I get it. But you’ve got to stop thinking that just because you want something to be true, that makes it true. If you keep brushing this off, it’s only going to hurt you in the end.”

Lando’s head snapped up, his gaze flickering with emotion—anger, hurt, and maybe even fear. “What am I supposed to do, then? (Y/N) thinks I’m stupid for not seeing it. She blames me for not doing something about it.”

Max’s eyes softened, his voice dropping to a gentler tone. “You don’t have to blame yourself, Lando. But you do have to face the truth. If (Y/N) was right, you’re going to have to make some tough choices. But running away from it isn’t going to help you. It’ll only make things worse.”

Lando exhaled sharply, his frustration giving way to exhaustion. “I’m not sure I’m ready to face that yet.”

Max gave a short, understanding nod. “I know, man. But if you keep shutting people out, you’re going to lose the ones who care about you. I know it’s hard, but you need to talk to (Y/N). You need to listen to her. Whether it’s Magui or whatever, you can’t just dismiss your friends because of your own fears.”

Lando looked down at his hands, his fingers twitching as if he didn’t know what to do with them. He looked like he was struggling to process everything Max had said, torn between his loyalty to Magui and his friendship with (Y/N).

“I just don’t know how to fix this,” Lando muttered. “I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

Max’s voice was firm but compassionate. “You start by being honest with yourself. And then, you talk to (Y/N). You don’t let this fester. You owe her an explanation, and you owe yourself one, too. Because if you don’t figure this out, it’s only going to get worse.”

Lando stared ahead for a long moment, silence thick in the room as he processed everything Max had said. He finally nodded, a weary expression crossing his face. “I’ll talk to her. I don’t know what I’ll say, but I’ll try.”

Max clapped him on the back, standing up as he gave him one last look of support. “You’ve got to do it, Lando. And don’t let pride or guilt stop you from doing what’s right.”

With that, Max gave him a final nod and walked toward the door. Lando sat on the bed, staring into space as the weight of Max’s words settled on him. It wasn’t going to be easy, but Max was right—he needed to face the truth, no matter how difficult it might be.

As Max left the room, he knew the ball was in Lando’s court now. It was up to him to decide whether he was going to fight for the truth or let his fear and pride keep him from seeing it.

-

part four here

•

taglist: @angelluv16 @yara011 @olivia-zaq @formulaal @chloes-book-corner @freyathehuntress @dodo1328 @henna006 @chlmtfilms

[urdepressedslut]

Hello lovely,

I saw your post that your requests are open, so I will give it a try =)

Imagine Bucky and reader are best friends but they have a huge argument and now they don't talk to each other for days. She's feeling really bad, missing him. He is her most important person and now without interacting with him for days, she's feeling lost and lonely and heartbroken. Maybe she has not a super power and is only a normal human, helping the Avengers with IT or something. Due to the argument with her best friend and not talking to Bucky (Bucky ignores her completely) she begins to feel it not only mental but also physically. She can't eat probably and at the end falls deathly sick.... With a fluffy happy ending and a worried and protective Bucky

Please. That would be nice.

Take care honey

oh my goodness— my heart 😭❤️ the angst is gonna hurt, but i’m such a sucker for it. i had so much fun writing this one, thank you for requesting and i hope you like it🥰

Love Hurts

♡ Pairing: Beefy!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: You and Bucky get into a heated argument, things are said and done and now he won’t speak to you. You don’t think you can handle him ignoring your existence.

♡ Warnings: language, mentions of bucky’s trauma, heavy angst, malnourishment, depression, anxiety/panic attacks, minor injuries, hospitalization, suicidal ideation, self hate, literally hurt just writing this

main masterlist

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT | MATURE CONTENT 18+

Your nails bit into your palm, denting the flesh— threatening to pierce the delicate skin. It was all to hold yourself back, distract you from the words that wanted to burst out.

It was becoming a sickening routine, Bucky was reckless and had yet another near death experience on his recent mission. The anxiety and the nerves stopping your body from functioning— the dreaded wait for his jet to arrive back at the compound. You shouldn’t have to be used of receiving the call that he had yet again made a reckless move— but you were starting to discover a pattern.

It did nothing to ease the panic that swirled in your chest every time he left for missions. You’d sob, throwing up everything you had eaten that day— unable to stomach anything with the idea that Bucky was on a mission. You never found your anxiety to be so severe— but when Bucky was even mentioned about going on a mission… it spiked.

That’s where you found yourself in his room, watching him pace the space— avoiding your frustrated stare. You weren’t angry at him per say— you were angry that he didn’t value his life.

“Seriously (Y/n)— you get so worked up over nothing. I’m here and alive— isn’t that enough?” He exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration.

You pressed your nails tighter to your palm, yet the pain couldn’t stop your thundering thoughts.

“You’re here and alive now, until you do some stupid shit like this again and are dead!” You hissed, trying to keep your voice low but you didn’t know how much longer you could control yourself.

He glared at you, squinting his eyes in anger and then rolling his eyes.

“Oh for fucks sake— can you stop fucking babying me? I can handle myself!” He raised his voice, his metal arm whirring.

“I’m not babying you— I’m just scared you’re gonna get yourself killed. Do you care about your life at all?” You asked him aggressively, your voice raising just a tad.

He took a long pause, staring at you with his face void of emotion— only annoyance.

“Not really.” He admitted.

You were taken back, although you had these conversations with him a time or twenty. It was an ongoing process to get him to slowly love himself— his past as The Winter Soldier torturing his soul. He was so convinced he wasn’t deserving of anything, not even a roof over his head. It was a struggle to help him, but you weren’t going to give up on him.

“You realize if anything ever happened to you I—” Your voice broke, needing a breath, “Buck I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”

You thought you saw his eyes flash with guilt, but before you could linger on the look for too long— his face was hardening again.

“That doesn’t sound like my problem.” He mumbled out, making your eyes widen.

You were extremely taken back from those words, your chest aching painfully— him not knowing what effect those words had on you.

“Are you fucking serious?” You asked him, your face morphing into a hurt expression, mixed with anger. “Can you just do your job without trying to kill yourself?”

His face grew red with rage and he was stomping up towards you— his face inches from yours.

“I am doing my job— very well in fact. Unlike you who just fucking sits here doing nothing!” He defended himself, his breath hitting your face in warm pants.

“Doing nothing? Buck— why are you like this?” You puffed your chest, not backing down from his towering form.

But your words seemed to have hit a nerve, as he shrunk back slightly, narrowing his gaze at you.

“Like what?”

You furrowed your brows, slowing your racing heart from the shouting— you weren’t sure you had said anything bad. Did you?

“What?” You squeaked out, nervous now.

“You said, why am I like this… like what?” He pushed, stepping closer to you now, his face still red with anger but you could see the hurt in his eyes.

You swallowed and wondered how to convince him you didn’t mean anything bad by what you said. But you were almost positive it would be an impossible task to get Bucky to listen.

“Buck, I didn’t mean anythin—”

“What— you think I’m not capable of doing my job? You think I’m still the monster hydra made me?” He spat, his chest rising and falling quicker.

“No, no Buck listen—”

That was definitely not what you meant, you could tell he was spiraling and you were still confused as to why. You would never make him think that.

“After 70 fucking years I finally have a job that I like— that I enjoy doing— I fucking help people! I’m finally doing some good and now you’re telling me I’m not capable of doing it?” He boomed, his chest puffing into yours and your stumbled back slightly. “You think I’m only capable of being a monster? Huh? Is that what you fucking think?”

You were growing scared now, the look in his eyes wild with something and you didn’t like how close he was to you— you knew he’d never hurt you but your fear overwhelmed your senses.

“Friday— call Steve and Sam in here now!” You shouted into the room, and Bucky’s eyes squinted painfully— his metal arm whirring again.

Bucky only saw one thing— you didn’t reassure him that he was thinking irrationally. You didn’t correct him that he wasn’t the monster. Instead you called for help, that you were clearly scared— because you thought he was a monster.

He was at a loss for words and just stared at you, almost through you— as his breathing was only getting heavier at the sight of your fearful eyes.

Not even minutes later, Steve and Sam were busting through the door, taking in the scene and separated you and Bucky.

“Hey— what’s going on?” Steve asked in between the two of you. “Buck, what’s wrong man?”

You couldn’t seem to find the words and just stood speechless as well— the fight startling you. This was one of the worst ones, and it was also one that still left you confused. You cursed yourself for not being careful enough with your words— but it was almost impossible to get through to him when he was on the brink of having an episode.

Sam walked closer to you, his facing morphing into concern as he took in your shocked expression.

“(Y/n)? You okay? Did he hurt you?” Sam whispered, keeping his words only between you two.

You slowly shook your head but still didn’t respond verbally.

“Okay, okay that’s good. You wanna go get a drink from downstairs? Why don’t we take a breather okay?” Sam suggested softly, big brother mode kicking in at the sight of your frazzled state.

Without another word, you left the room with Sam— missing the devastated look from Bucky.

Steve waited until the door shut, then his attention was back on Bucky.

“Buck, you gotta talk to me man— what happened?” He asked softly, watching his friend slowly relax, but it wasn’t from being in a relaxing mood— his body and mind were just exhausted from the argument.

“I fucked everything up. That’s what happened.” He mumbled, turning away from Steve to sit on the edge of his bed.

Steve followed behind but stood in front of him, shaking his head— ready to argue.

“You didn’t mess anything up, arguments happen. You guys will work it out. I know how much you mean to each other.” Steve pointed out, watching Bucky’s face unchanging.

“You didn’t see the way she looked at me— she’s scared of me I—” He shuttered, his breath shaky as he remembered your look, “I fucking scared her.”

Steve’s chest ached, the state of his friend breaking his heart. He knew Bucky meant no harm, and he almost for a fact knew that you knew that too. But Bucky for sure didn’t believe that himself.

“I didn’t see what you saw, but I can guarantee you that she’s not afraid of you. This is (Y/n) we are talking about. You are her world Buck.” Steve tried to convince him.

Bucky shook his head, running his flesh hand through his hair.

“I think I just need to stay away from her for awhile.” Bucky came up with instead.

Steve immediately started shaking his head, knowing that was the last thing he needed.

“Bucky I—”

“Please Steve… I just need some space.” Bucky pleaded, his body sagging in exhaustion.

Steve couldn’t find it in himself to argue with him anymore about this. Maybe he did need some time to himself, to cool down and gather his thoughts. Also Steve wasn’t going to force him to anything ever. After the years his pal went through— he would never make him do anything. He had enough things decided for him, and Steve wasn’t about to stoop to hydra’s level.

Meanwhile down in the kitchen, Sam was getting you a glass of water— standing across from your seated form at the island. He slid the cup across, sending a worried glance at you.

“(Y/n)?” Sam snapped his fingers getting your attention.

You were shaken from your state of staring, but even snapped out of the trance— the anxieties still swirled within you.

“Yeah sorry… I’m here.” You whispered, grabbing the glass and taking a tiny sip.

Sam gave you a quizzical expression, watching you start to slip back into a mindless stare— so he spoke up.

“You wanna tell me what happened?” He asked, genuinely curious what had went down.

He knew— hell everyone knew you and Bucky were extremely close. Best of friends, always there for one another— dancing on the line of strictly friends to lovers. Truthfully, Sam found it completely obnoxious and just wanted you two together already.

“I don’t really know… I think I said the wrong thing— I didn’t mean to make him upset.” You confessed, keeping your eyes on the countertop, not risking a glance to Sam.

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up— mistakes happen. I��m sure he’ll forgive you.” Sam told you.

You shook your head, gripping the cup tighter.

“God I hope so… I don’t know what I’d do without him.” You whispered pathetically, tears welling in your eyes.

Sam reached out to rub your arm comfortingly, trying to relax you so you didn’t start crying. He hated to see you cry— made his heart hurt.

“It’s been a long day for everyone, why don’t you go head upstairs and get some sleep. I’m sure things will have blown over by tomorrow.” He suggested and you finally met his gaze, smiling weakly and nodding.

Without saying goodbye, you stood up and headed to your room. Taking Sam’s words and playing them on repeat in your head.

Tomorrow is another day, tomorrow would be better.

God had you hoped that was the case— it only was the beginning on the torment.

You had slept in longer than usual, but overall felt refreshed. The first thing that came to mind when fully waking up was Bucky. Immediately you headed downstairs to find him— needing to talk with him— apologize.

Making it down to the kitchen, you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding in at the sight of him sitting at the island— sipping at his coffee. You furrowed your brows, thinking he'd be done with his coffee by now, since you had slept in. Your chest ached with guilt with the possibility that he didn't sleep well.

You took a deep breath before making yourself known, although you were sure be could sense you in the room— considering he was a super soldier.

"Morning Buck." You announced, walking around the island so you could face him.

He kept his gaze down at his coffee, finding the cup more interesting than you.

Okay, that’s fair. You thought, you most probably deserved that reaction.

“You sleep okay?” You asked again, picking at the skin on your nails nervously.

Again— he didn’t even lift his head. In fact, he wasn’t even acknowledging you. You waited several minutes for a response, the silence becoming thick with tension and you couldn’t stand it.

“Bucky?” You tried, and this time he lifted his head.

Your heart twinged in your chest at his bloodshot eyes, clear evidence that he hadn’t gotten good sleep. You hated yourself for causing him the stress, especially knowing he was just starting to actually get hours of sleep. It was huge progress compared to his nights either screaming awake or just staring at the walls. But now you had to go and ruin all that progress. You felt sick to your stomach— disgusted with yourself.

“I’m really sorry about last night… I didn’t like how ugly it got and I’m sorry if I said something to upset you— you know I’d never intentionally hurt you.” You told him, picking more aggressively at your nails, causing to nail beds to bleed.

You swallowed nervously when he didn’t answer right away, instead staring at you with… what was that? Disgust? You didn’t know, but you hated the look altogether.

“Bucky, please say something.” You pleaded.

Bucky lowered his gaze to his coffee again, taking a minute before he stood up and looked your way.

“I just need some space.” He told you quietly.

You were relived to have him finally talk to you, but to hear him suggest space between you two— you could almost feel the knife digging into your chest. You tried to keep a neutral expression but otherwise felt your bottom lip quiver.

Without giving you time to respond, Bucky was walking out of the room— leaving you standing there speechless, lungs begging for air. You didn’t want your mind to go immediately to that thought, but you couldn’t ignore it either— he hated you.

“Hey babe, I need you to help me out in the lab tod—” Tony came busting into the room, but immediately shut up once he saw your broken expression. “Honey, what’s wrong? You alright?”

You nodded your head, lying to him and yourself and started waving him off with the fakest smile.

“Yeah— yeah I’m good. Just need to uh— need to get some things done.” You told him, your eyes darting all around the room, the familiar feeling of panic seeping into your being.

Tony gave you a ‘really?’ look and stepped closer to you.

“(Y/n) I’m not blind— I can see you’re upset. Talk to m—”

“Seriously Tony— I’m fine! Just leave it alone!” You told him a little too aggressively.

His face was taken back and you felt guilty immediately, cursing yourself for hurting everyone.

Why are you such a fucking issue? Your mind screamed at you.

You didn’t waste another second and sped walked out of the room, needing to calm yourself down before you ran into any one else. You were spiraling and you needed to just relax— take a deep breath. Maybe you just needed one more day and things would be back to normal.

Yeah… just one more day.

You had hoped that was the case as well… but as always— things only got worse.

Bucky refused to talk to you or even look at you. He’d given you the cold shoulder for almost two weeks now. He would get up and leave the second you entered the room. He couldn’t stand you it seemed.

You couldn’t keep hiding your hurt. At first, you had done a good job at hiding how you were really feeling. Saving the sobbing and attacks for when you were alone in your room. As the days lingered on, you found yourself weak and drained— you didn’t have enough energy to put up a charade anymore.

The whole team were sending you worried looks, and attempted to talk with you. But the second they’d try— you’d bolt. The subject was too sensitive, too raw. You didn’t want to talk to anyone but Bucky— and he hated you.

You had missed so many meals, forgetting to eat with your mental struggles throughout the days. You had been getting no more than two hours of sleep. You were so stressed, so stuck in your own mind that you couldn’t function. Even when you had managed to remember to eat, your stomach would knot up to the point that you were throwing everything up. You were gaunt, basically a real life zombie. You needed help— but you needed Bucky more.

You were laying in bed staring unknowingly into space, it had been hard to focus with no food or sleep in your system— so you had only managed to lay here. Even that was exhausting, no matter how much you laid around— your mind wouldn’t stop the assault. Your anxiety had never been this bad, you were a prisoner to it.

Knocking at your door had you jumping, your heart racing— and for a moment you forgot where you were.

You’re in the compound… yeah that’s right.

You slowed your breathing and swung your legs sluggishly over the edge of the bed to answer it. You weren’t prepared for the sudden dizzy spell, your vision spotting with black and white specks. You tried to blink it off, but suddenly you were toppling to the ground.

You fell to the floor with a loud thump, luckily landing on your front, your hands somehow catching most of your fall— you could already feel the throbbing in your palms.

You didn’t hear the persistent knocking, or the door open. You didn’t even hear the voice speaking from the doorway. It was when a hand landed on your shoulder that you were gasping, forgetting your surroundings once again.

Your eyes met Steve’s and you swore your heart was about to beat out of your chest.

“(Y/n) are you alright?” He asked you, hovering his hands over you— not sure what you had hurt.

You furrowed your brows, looking him over.

“Steve what are… what are you doing here?” You asked genuinely confused.

You watched Steve’s eyes widen and he swallowed nervously— his expression growing more concerned.

“(Y/n) it’s okay… I’ve got you.” Steve hushed, and he was pulling you into his chest, hugging you protectively.

You were still confused but then you tasted one of your stray tears, and you immediately came to your senses. You were crying in Steve’s arms… but why? You were having gaps of time missing from you, this wasn’t the first time this had happened— you just didn’t seem to care.

“Steve… my head hurts.” You slurred into his chest, sagging against him.

You were grateful that he was here, you desperately needed someone around. You were just hoping that someone would’ve been Bucky.

“Okay, let’s get you to Helen. She’s gonna take care of you, okay?” Steve asked you, and you could only give a weak nod.

He knew there was no way you were walking there, so he hoisted you up into his arms, and cradled your head as he started to the med bay.

You just stared blankly at his chest, not really caring if Steve were to throw you off the roof of the building. You just didn’t care.

Steve had gotten you down to her, and she checked you out. Alerting Steve that you were extremely malnourished, dehydrated— an insomniac. She kept listing off all the things Steve was afraid to hear. The whole time he was sure you didn’t hear a thing, although you were in the room— you were just checked out.

Helen eventually left, and Steve took his opportunity to speak with you. He pulled up a chair next to the hospital bed and grabbed your hand.

“(Y/n), what’s going on? You can talk to me— you can’t keep doing this to yourself. Please… just talk to me.” Steve whispered, pleading with you that you would stop torturing yourself.

“He hates me.” You mumbled.

Steve’s eyes widened and he frowned, knowing what you meant. He knew he let this go on for too long.

“(Y/n) he doesn’t hate you. He just needed time to himself, so he co—”

“I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings, I don’t even know what I said to hurt him but I—” You rushed out, the heart monitor beeping frantically, “I’m a horrible person, I didn’t mean to— I didn’t mean to!”

You wheezed out, clutching your chest as you couldn’t catch your breath. Your cheeks glistened with a steady stream of tears, your wheezing only growing by the second.

“Okay, okay (Y/n)— I need you to slow your breathing. You’re okay, he doesn’t hate you. Just take deep breaths okay— even if you can’t just try. I’m here.” He tried to coach you, but this wasn’t his thing.

Now he was starting to get mad at his friend, Bucky shouldn’t of let this go on for this long.

You followed his chest rising and falling, staring at him as he tried to calm you down. Your breaths were heavy and painful sounding. Steve was about to say something but stopped himself when he saw your eyes look behind him.

He turned and saw Bucky standing in the doorway— his face paled. Truthfully, he looked like he was going to be sick.

“(Y/n)?” He whispered, his heart breaking at your state.

He had ran into Helen in the kitchen and was informed of your condition— he didn’t believe it and had to see for himself. He was shocked to find you like this.

Your tears only edged on from his appearance and you shook your head in shame.

“I’m sorry Bucky! Whatever I did, I’m sorry!” You sobbed and Bucky ran to the bed, kneeling down and taking your hands into his.

“Doll it’s okay, you’re okay. I’m here— I’m here. I’m not gonna leave you… I’m sorry.” He rushed out, shushing your cries, watching you slow your breathing at his words. “There we go, just keep breathing with me. I’m here, you’re okay.”

He kept repeating himself, making sure you knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

Steve knew you were in good hands and slowly snuck out of the room— knowing you two needed to talk.

Bucky tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, letting his fingers trail down your cheek to your jaw. You couldn’t help the way your face leaned into his touch, it felt like it had been forever since the last one.

Your breathing had slowed down, and now you just stared up at him— eyes glossy with more tears. You felt so many emotions. You felt relived, but also angry and hurt. Above all— you needed to know what you did to upset him. The guilt still ate away at your heart, and even just the memory of the argument had your chest aching.

“What did I do?” You whispered, making his eyes shoot up to yours, concern painting his face.

“You didn’t do anything.” He told you, and you furrowed your brows.

You were still anxious— he hadn’t answered your question. Even more so— if you didn’t do anything then why did he ignore you?

“Then why?”

“Why what (Y/n)?” He dared to ask, and you scoffed— ripping your hands out of his.

The anger was approaching.

“Why did you shut me out?” You wondered, and he only let his eyes cast down to the bed— making you angrier. “You ignored me for two weeks! Two fucking weeks you just acted as if I didn’t exist! Do you know how much that fucking hurts?”

You were breathing heavy again, but this time it wasn’t from panic— it was the full force of all your anger bursting out.

He lifted his eyes to you, and you saw how broken he looked. How your state had affected him.

“I could never do that to you Buck— I would never do that to you! You’re my everything! I don’t trust anyone as much as I trust you!” You raised your voice, while he stayed silent. “If I didn’t do anything then why would you— why—”

You broke out into a sob, covering your face with your hands. You felt good getting all the built up anger out— but now you felt extremely guilty. The pitiful face of Bucky staring at you, causing your heart to hurt all over again. It didn’t matter what happened, you always ended up hurting others.

“(Y/n) I’m so sorry I— god I fucked up. I didn’t ever mean to hurt you, please know that. You’re my other half, and no one has ever been there for me like you have.” He spoke through a tight throat, swelling with emotion.

You uncovered your face and just stared at him a little longer, still incredibly hurt from his actions— but you knew you couldn’t stay mad at him. You so badly wanted to forgive and forget— and just wrap him in your arms like you both needed.

“It’s hard to explain what’s wrong with me to someone when I don’t even understand what’s wrong with me— I just know I’m fucked up. I’m broken beyond repair.” His voice broke, his own eyes welling with tears.

You didn’t have it in you to keep up an angry facade, and so you reached out and took his hand in yours. His face almost immediately lit up, his breathing slowing at your touch.

“Try me.” You whispered, watching Bucky take a deep breath before he spoke again.

“The night of our fight…” He started, and you swallowed in having to remember that night. “I had never seen you look at me like that.”

You stayed silent, afraid to open your mouth and have a sob escape. You could feel it bubbling up— the memory playing back through your mind.

“You looked at me like you were scared. You looked at me like I was a monster.” He confessed and it all made sense to you now.

It wasn’t about what you said, it was your reaction that disturbed him to no ends. Even if you couldn’t control your reaction in the moment— you still felt guilty for causing him pain of remembering the hydra days.

“Oh Buck…” You whimpered, trying to pull him close— but he pulled away before he could reach your embrace.

“No— you don’t get to be nice to me after what I did. I promised I would never hurt you and I did— you’re in here because of me! I don’t deserve your forgiveness!” He raised his voice, and you weren’t scared of him— just concerned.

“I wasn’t scared of you Bucky, you just caught me off guard. Things were heated— I’m not afraid of you and I most definitely don’t think you’re a monster.” You tried to convince him.

“I really hope you’re not lying because if you were afraid of me… god I don’t know what I’d do. If you never wanted to see me again— that’s fine. Whatever you want, but I can’t live knowing you’re afraid of me.” He whimpered out.

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

He nodded his head, knowing damn well you’d never lie. That was one thing he loved about you— you were so honest. Keeping it real with him, even if he didn’t wanna hear it. He could count on you for the truth.

“I still don’t deserve your forgiveness.” He argued.

“Well too bad, I’m forgiving you anyway.” You finally told him and he felt his chest expand.

Like he could finally breath.

“Why?” He wondered.

You knew it was the line you two had been dancing on forever— but you knew if there was ever a time to say it. It was now.

“Because I love you.” You admitted quietly.

His eyes widened just slightly, and his breath stuttered. He had always had a feeling what you two had was more than friends, he just never spoke up about it. Of course he loves you too— god he loves you so much. That’s why the thought of you being scared of him was enough to pull him away. He couldn’t bear being around you if you were frightened by him. He couldn’t live with himself. More importantly he now discovered, he really couldn’t live without you.

“I love you so much.” He confessed back as your tears leaked down your cheeks.

You pulled his arm, and he let you pull him to the bed— close enough where you could cup both his cheeks.

“Don’t ever do that to me again, please. I need you Bucky— life is not livable without you.” You cried, kissing his forehead to which he leaned into your lips.

“Never again— I promise.”

This time, he wouldn’t break it.

to be added to a taglist

TAGLIST: @engie115 @kmc1989 @ghostofwinter @silverfire13 @goldylions @potatothots @billy-reads @hanihoney88 @skittle479 @hereticdance @mentalidrainedfangirl @natashassandwich @marvelogic @soul-system @alinasmcu @almosttoopizza @lilbabygirll @sebastiansstanswhore @yujyujj @jasminocano

[likea-silhouette]

pairing: harry styles x fem!reader

rating: mature

word count: 3k

summary: Harry was once the boy you loved and wanted to spend your life with. The funny thing is that addiction is something that is never predicted. What happens when you run into your ex-boyfriend years after your breakup that was due to his vices?

*based on the song Complex by Katie Gregson-MacLeod* Read Part Two

30-year-old me could've never fathomed life would've looked like this.

The 21-year-old pictured it a million times—a future with him and me, maybe children, maybe a flat.

Our love was solidified in my mind as if something like ours would never change or dwindle. How could it? 

But that's what love feels like at that age—until reality sets in, and those dreams and visions of future eternal love begin to fade. Then, the reality of adulthood kicks in.

Harry started going out—a lot. 

It was not unusual for a man at an age that was just beginning to kiss their 20s, but then it changed. It evolved into this dark cloud that hovered over he and I until it intermingled with every feeling I held towards him.

I could tell he had a problem. The drugs, the drinking-all of it had turned into something far from a normal night of fun. Before I knew it, the Harry I once knew and adored more than anything had evaporated into an air drenched in dismay, regret, and questioning. 

Until our early 20s, our shared friends watched me sling Harry’s arm around my shoulder each time we went out together. Their sets of eyes always preached sympathy, yet their tongues must’ve been cut off-or at least that’s what I assumed due to their lack of actual words. 

Each one of those frequently occurring nights where I struggled to move his flimsy legs out of a bar as his larger, drunk stature slurred words that only made sense to him, I could feel myself hating him a little more.

Eventually, I was questioning it all. Why wasn’t I enough? Why wasn’t his music and his family enough? Why did it have to be substances that turned him into a human that I never met nor signed up to be so deeply in love with?

I began to opt-out anytime Harry said we were invited for a night out with others. I could tell his disappointment the first couple of times I declined. Still, eventually, he stopped letting me know of these invitations altogether, with me only finding out about them as I watched him slip on his coat near the front door and tell me not to wait up for him.

At the tip of our shriveling iceberg, I became so numb that it rarely bothered me anymore. Those first nights when this was more of a rare occurrence, I would find myself crying into a pillow as Harry’s passed-out body lay in a corpse-like pose on our couch. Now, I felt nothing. Everything that once annoyed and worried me had turned into just another item on my checklist that I needed to be bothered with at 3 a.m. on a Saturday, Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday…

His drunkenness had not only made Harry a completely different person but also made me a person I didn't recognize. It had me questioning whether I was even happy in our relationship, something I had never felt or imagined would happen to two people who were as deeply in love as we once were.

I wasn’t a total novacained creature; even if that’s what I wished I could be. Eventually, those feelings would bubble up and I would find my pot simmering over its edge. Tears would leak and leak from my eyes as I’d pace both metaphorically and physically while I tried to process how this had become what my life with Harry was. My throat would scratch and rub raw as I cried out into our empty apartment until my eyes were so tired and swollen that the nothingness of sleep was the only thing that sounded appealing and worth succumbing to.

___

One night, Harry managed to make his way back home from the bar on his own. How? I wasn’t sure and truthfully, I didn’t care anymore.

Even if that meant he recklessly got in a car while inebriated beyond belief or if he paid for an overpriced cab he’d never have to worry about the price of thanks to fame, riches, and loss of reality.

I nearly jumped off of the couch in surprise as his heavy hand slammed our front door closed.

Little did I know, that very evening, when I was adorned in a pair of Harry’s boxers and an oversized t-shirt, would be the last night I would spend in this living room that we shared. “How did you get home?” I said with my palm lying flat over my heart. “What are you-my mum?” Harry scoffed with a smirk, a clumsy tongue, and a stench of vodka that clung to the fabric of his clothes.

I rolled my eyes, not even bothering to continue a conversation that would never move anywhere except to a space where Harry made rude comments and insults at me. He always got this way when he was gone beyond belief and choosing silence seemed like the best option from my point of view.

“Oh, now you can’t speak, huh?” Harry spat as he took a swig out of the quarter-gone wine bottle that sat on the coffee table next to the glass I had been nursing all evening. Quickly, I stood to my feet. My chest puffed in and out rapidly as I snatched the bottle out of his hands. Harry looked at me in disbelief. “This is the last thing you need right now Harry!” “Oh come on! You really are acting like my mum now,” he said with a joking tone despite my tense face sending him very real daggers.

“I’m not fucking kidding Harry! You’re already far gone as it is.” Our chests brushed as I attempted to grab the bottle out of his hands. It gave me butterflies.

I hated how touching him in any form still gave me a euphoric feeling despite the less-than-enthused circumstance we were currently in and had been in for the last couple of years. With a smirk, Harry held the bottle of wine above his head, extending it beyond my reach. I groaned, not wanting to play his little game tonight. “You know what-fine.” I raised my hands in front of my chest in surrender, “You get even more shit-faced than you are now and I’ll go to Nadia’s place so I can have some fucking peace”.

I couldn’t lie that it stung watching Harry’s mouth downturn at my words, but I wouldn’t allow it to change my mind again as it had so many times in the past. “Babe, c’mon”, Harry whined as he lowered the bottle to waist height. “Don’t be such a prude just because I like having a good time.” “A good time? You getting trashed and then coming home to drink yourself to sleep before you eventually wake up in the morning, puking up everything in your stomach and having the worst migraine of your life-that’s a good time? Meanwhile, I’m the one who brings you food! I’m the one who cleans up the vomit! I’m the one who has to leave early to get your drunk ass home! I’m not your goddamn mother Harry and that’s how you’re treating me and I’m sick of it.”

Suddenly, Harry’s voice rose and his nostrils began to flare-he morphed into a creature that only appeared when mixed with inebriation and anger. “Fucking sue me for going out and having a drink every once in a while!” Once in a while? As if this wasn’t happening multiple times a week. “But that’s the point! It’s not once and a while H, it’s several times a week that this happens.” Harry shook his head and rolled his eyes as he took another sip out of the open bottle. That rapidly beating heart of mine somehow increased even more as my hands acted before my brain could rationalize. Before I knew it, I was smacking the glass bottle out of Harry’s hand, sending glass and poignant, fruity liquid to the ground and on mine and his clothes.

I watched in horror as Harry took a step back and lifted his hands in front of his chest with wide eyes as he examined the evidence of my aggravation and utter exhaustion. Immediately I felt shame and disbelief towards myself and the person I had become. I didn’t know who I was anymore. I was being pushed to my very brink, all while living constantly on edge and mourning the loss of who my boyfriend once was. Harry was turning me into someone I didn’t recognize anymore. Quickly, my feet darted between pieces of shattered glass, as I ran to the bathroom and let my ass meet the cold tiled floor. My knees hugged into my chest as I rocked back and forth with gasping breaths and eyes freely sobbing. Harry was mumbling something on the other side of the door, but my state of panic and disbelief shielded me from comprehending a word he was saying. Eventually, he went silent. I wasn’t sure how long I sat on that bathroom floor before I heard the light wrap of a fist against the door. I didn’t look at him as his head peaked around the now open door, but I knew his eyes would be soft and sorrowful. This was the hardest part.

He always looked sorry-so deeply sorry, and I didn’t doubt that he was genuine in that feeling. Harry was a good guy before and I knew that person was still inside of him somewhere, except he was buried six feet under and suffocating underneath the dirt and grime.

Harry proceeded to stare at me and I could tell his mind was going through some sort of internal conflict. Maybe he was regretful? Ashamed? Sorry? Hurt? I didn’t know and I was much too numb to even begin to care now. The damage was already done. Eventually, Harry gave up with his silent ‘I’m sorry’ and retreated to the couch where he drunkenly slipped into a state of slumber.

Meanwhile, I packed a large duffle bag with as many of my necessities as I could fit, and I left. —---

The months following my sudden departure were filled with texts, phone calls, and voicemails from Harry. I never answered any of them, but that never stopped him from trying to reach me. “Babe, I’m sorry. Can we talk? x ”

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted you know? I love you.”

“I’ll quit drinking. I promise this time.”

“Please don’t do this. I can’t do this without you in my life.”“You’re so perfect,” Harry sobbed into the phone with drunken speech, “how could I fuck this up so badly. I’m sorry.” When those methods of communication were not satisfying enough for Harry, he resorted to sending me DM’s on social media to confirm I was receiving his calls and texts.

I left him on read each and every time. When Harry finally let himself believe that my silence was something I was looking to make permanent and not just some sort of other excuse, his calls became more spread out and his texts sparse, until nearly six months after our final dispute, he fell silent and not only from me, but from the rest of the world as well.

—----

Two full years had passed since we split up and I hadn’t heard a single word from Harry since he gave in and granted me the space I silently requested. However, something I wasn’t expecting was that little part of me that felt sad once those calls and messages stopped rolling in. Had he really given up on me after only trying for a few months? I knew it was dumb and selfish to be upset about someone's sudden cutting off of communication when that was the very thing I had done and initiated, yet I felt that silence so cripplingly.

On the night of my 22nd Valentine's Day, I sat on my couch with a joint and a large to-go container of veggie fried rice as I tried to appease my melancholy of the evening, as many others were on this night. Eventually, the drugs kicked in and the TV couldn’t hold my attention long enough, so I found my thumb lazily pressing the letter ‘H’ on the keyboard of my phone as I hovered in the open tab of the browser. I knew I shouldn’t. I had blocked him on anything and everything for a reason, but it had been a few years, and, sue me for being naturally curious…especially on a fateful night such as this.

So pathetic-i’m aware, but somehow I convinced myself that it was okay and that maybe, just maybe, this would somehow bring me comfort or peace. Others were able to look their ex up on social media to get a peak into a life they were no longer a part of, so why couldn’t I google my ex and look for his name in headlines on major press websites? That’s what I told myself as I typed out the rest of his name and hit enter.

Several items popped up, but none were too terribly personal. It seemed that even to the public eye, Harry was nowhere to be found unless it was a promotional photoshoot, tour photos with One Direction, or blurred candids that were taken in secret. There was zero gossip around those stereotypical things you would think a single man would experience; women, getting kicked out of various bars, etc. The only headlines I was consistently seeing were ones questioning Harry’s absence from the public eye. I guess we both had that question in common. However, I at least had images that I could look at.

His face looked slightly more grown up and chiseled. His green eyes that once glimmered still looked nearly the same, minus the deep set purple circles underneath his waterline that were something I couldn’t remember seeing before. His hair was even longer than before and his body had a more athletic build and was filled up with several more tattoos.

He looked good. I wouldn’t deny that. Several minutes-hell, maybe even an hour-went by of examining images of a man who looked like the person you had thought was your soulmate. When you were finally able to pull yourself out of the trance, you threw your phone down on the coffee table in frustration. Your heart was swelling and you hated it. You were smiling as you looked at those images, admiring how handsome Harry still was and that much more as he grew further into adulthood- you hated that even more. You hated that you still adored him. Fucking hated it. —----

Six years later

“Fucking Idiot”, you mumbled as your hand slammed down on the horn button set dead center on your steering wheel. The traffic was horrendous and your patience was naturally always thin, but today made you that much more intolerant of any sort of inconvenience. Your best friend, Nadia, was throwing a surprise birthday party for her husband that would be filled with top-notch cuisines, free booze, and many of his close friends and family members. However, the party wasn’t the cause of your irritability. It’s who you knew could potentially be there that was causing a disturbance within your mind and body. When Nadia met her now husband, you and Harry, who you had just started dating at the time, naturally went out on double dates often, thus, forming a close friendship between the four of you. When you and Harry parted ways, your friendship with Nadia and her partner remained, but Harry was never spoken of. You weren’t sure of the exact reason-maybe it was out of fear of disturbing your peace or maybe they both cut him of-you weren’t sure. Either way, you were grateful that it was an unspoken condition that your friends caught on to naturally. Except for today, you were far from grateful for it; to say it would be helpful to know if your ex-boyfriend would be making an appearance at the same party you would be attending, thus, the both of you having to be in the same room together again after several years, is an understatement.

Sure, you could’ve asked your friend if Harry would be making an appearance today in case you needed to mentally prepare, but you also didn’t want to give off the vibe that you cared about his whereabouts, despite you very very much caring. Especially if it meant you and him being within the same realm again.

Before you could psych yourself into any more made-up horror-filled scenarios of your and Harry’s potential reunion, Nadia’s home came into view as your car rolled into an open parking space.

The area around their home was packed with various cars and people exiting their vehicles with gift bags and envelopes in hand.

As soon as your hand puts the car in park, you are pulling the mirror down and wiping away any concept of imperfection on your face or in your hair. Once finished with your final touches to your appearance, you took a deep breath-in and then out-before grasping the giftbag in your hand and stepping out of the confines of your car and into the crisp air.

Immediately, you are greeted by familiar faces of acquaintances you couldn’t put a face to the name of. Regardless, you smiled politely and spoke the standard conversation starters, such as, “How’ve you been?” or, “I haven’t seen you in ages!”. All paired with a masked smile, of course.

You found yourself scanning your perimeter as you walked to Nadia’s front door and twisted your hand on the unlocked door knob. One last deep, deep breath was sucked in between your teeth and out through your nose as you stepped into the unknown.

To be continued

[immoral-stranger]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐬 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 // 𝐂𝐋𝟏𝟔

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟑. 💋 “I can get a little drunk, I get into all the don’ts but on good days I am charming as fuck.” – Tove Lo, Moments.

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem! reader

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: None except alcohol and drunkenness.

A/N: Sike, you're getting the first letter tonight. It's cute as fuck. Dedicated to all my girlies (gn) who get Tove Lo drunk when aiming for Pitbull drunk.

Charles wasn’t sure why he had agreed to go out tonight. Monaco’s nightlife, as dazzling as it was, had become an overplayed record to him. Especially during the summer with all the tourists. He remembered being freshly turned 18 and discovering it (legally) for the first time. It had been magical. Now it was a done deal, a well-rehearsed story, knowing how it would go from beginning to end. Maybe that was why he actually preferred spending time on his yachts or on some small remote resort on some small remote island during his summer break from the racing calendar. 

Alas, here he was, tipsy from an overly sweet cocktail in a VIP booth at Jimmy’z. His friends were having fun, as were his friends’ friends and whoever else could get close enough to leech on, knowing that Charles was definitely the one paying the tab. It seemed to be the primary talent of those people, sticking close enough to the rich and the famous to get something for free out of it. 

Charles found it braindead. 

He sighed, swaying half-heartedly to the DJ’s relentless house music. Was he even a fan of house music? He didn’t think so. Between the thumping bass, the flashing strobe lights, and the endless game of shouting over the noise just to make small talk, Charles felt tired.

Maybe he was getting old. But he hadn’t even hit thirty yet. Could you have a quarter-life crisis at 27?

It got to the point where he started counting down the minutes until it would be socially acceptable to excuse himself for a “bathroom break.” The moment came, and Charles seized it, weaving his way through the dance floor. He lingered in the queue for the toilets longer than necessary, opting for a stall over a urinal so he could sit in peace. He didn’t even need to pee. He just wanted to be alone. His head was spinning slightly from the alcohol. Not drunk, not even close, but his famously rigorous fitness regimen had turned him into something of a lightweight. Not that he’d admit it.

When he finally emerged from the bathroom, he navigated the narrow corridor leading back to the main area of the club. That was when he felt it—a tug on his arm, insistent and clumsy. Before he could fully process what was happening, he was yanked backward and down onto a bench. Or a sofa. One of those little black pleather-clad, trashy club furnishings. 

For a fleeting moment, he considered all the reasons he hated being famous. Whatever was about to happen—selfies, autograph requests, or an inebriated declaration of undying love for Ferrari—he was sure it would test the limits of his patience.

“Hi!” a voice chirped. “Are you busy? No?”

He blinked. Sitting beside him was a girl—young and lively, a light shining in your eyes as you spoke excitedly. Or maybe just drunkenly. You had that half-glazed look of someone balancing precariously between charming and completely hammered. You spoke English. A tourist most likely. Dressed up nicely. Not like you had another choice. It was Monaco. 

As Charles was too shocked to answer, you continued talking in a heartbeat. 

“Great! Not busy.” You clasped your hands together as though you’d just agreed to the most wonderful thing in the world. “You…” you announced grandly, pointing at him, “are going to help… me.”

“I am?” Charles asked, caught between amusement and disbelief.

“Yes!” you exclaimed, as though this were obvious. You leaned heavily on Charles’ shoulder for support, your words tumbling out in a rush. “Okay, so. Here’s the situation: I lost my bag. Then I lost Emma while looking for my bag. And now—” you gestured dramatically, nearly toppling over even when sitting up—“I am stuck here. No bag, no Emma, and way, waaay too much tequila in my system.”

Charles stifled a laugh. “And you think I can help?”

“Of course!” You nodded vigorously. “If you find my bag and Emma, then this—” you gestured vaguely at yourself,—“this will no longer be a problem.”

“If I find your bag?” he found himself repeating. 

“Mhm, then you can come here to me again,” you slurred your speech a little, nodding again like your head was constantly stuck doing it. “With Emma and the bag and no problems.” 

“You can’t do it yourself?” 

“Exactly!” You pointed at him, impressed, narrowly avoiding touching his dimpled cheek with your long nail. “See, you get it. You’re a lifesaver.”

You seemed to have no idea who he was, and you were definitely drunker than you had first led on. He saw it in the way your body slumped and in your bloodshot eyes. Your hair was messy, your makeup smudged, and your dress a little wrinkled. And you were undeniably funny, totally capturing and taking over the conversation without letting Charles speak. 

He helped you to lean against the sofa, getting himself out from being your human crutch. Still, he couldn’t find a way out of being your lifesaver. 

“All right,” Charles sighed. “What does your bag look like?”

“It’s black, sparkly, and small. Like… impossibly small. A wallet with delusions. But I bought it in Paris—”

“Okay, I got it.” Charles suppressed a smile. “And Emma?”

“Tall. Blonde. Looks like she’s judging everyone but will absolutely cry over a military homecoming.”

“Right. Tall, blonde, and emotionally complex. Got it,” he repeated. “Are you sure I can leave you on your own?” 

Charles stood from the sofa, glancing at you as you leaned your head back against the wall, your eyes fluttering closed.

“I’m fiiiiine. I just need the room to stop spinning.”

For a moment, he hesitated. Enthralled by your giggle and the way you looked sort of fairy-esque with glittery eyeshadow in patches around your eyes. There was something magnetic about you, even in your dishevelled state. He couldn’t lie and say that it wasn’t also slightly concerning—a young woman alone in a drunken state. You were a happy kind of drunk right now, but he had a feeling that might change quickly. 

With a final look at you, he set off into the chaos of the club. Back underneath the strobe lights and the pulsating music. Back between the warm and drunk bodies of others. Somewhere, a girl in a sparkly dress was yelling about her ex to anyone who’d listen, and he thought for a fleeting moment how easily you might have been her—except you weren’t yelling. You’d asked for his help.

He heard his friends yell after him from their place in the VIP area, probably wondering why he’d been gone for so long. But Charles was on a mission—to find a minuscule bag and a blonde woman in a crowd of not that many bags and way too many blonde women. 

The bag was easier to spot than he expected. Its sparkles caught the light as it lay abandoned, right by his feet on the dance floor. That seemed too good to be true. He picked it up, the thing so small it felt absurd in his hands. What could you even fit in here? A debit card? A single lipstick?

Charles didn’t mean to pry, but he opened it to make sure it actually was yours, and much to his surprise, he found a debit card, some spare euros, some sort of makeup product, a tampon, and a driver’s license. Fuck, you were the kind of person who looked gorgeous in official portraits. And he knew your name now. Maybe he should’ve asked for that before he decided to agree on being your knight in shining armour. 

Emma, however, was more elusive. Verging on needle in a haystack territory. He scanned the floor and the booths, getting nowhere. Looking for a girl as equally lost as you were turned out to be harder than he thought. Everyone fit so well into the orchestrated act of nightclub hierarchy that no one looked out of place. 

Admitting defeat, Charles turned to walk back to the corridor outside the toilets, hoping to find you exactly where he left you. Before he could even round the corner, he heard your voice cut through the noise. 

“I know, Emma. I know that I do this all the time and that it scares you to death.” 

Your tone was half-pleading, half-explanatory, like you were trying to win a debate and console her at the same time. The sound of it made him stop in his tracks, curiosity anchoring him to the spot.

As he edged closer, you came into view, seated exactly where he’d left you. Beside you stood Emma, arms folded tightly across her chest in a way that broadcast equal parts frustration and affection. She was, as Charles had guessed, tall, blonde, and distinctly more polished than you at the moment. Similarly dressed but with an air of sharp control. 

Emma was the kind of person you’d send in to fix a mess—not become part of one. Clearly switched into full mom mode, she had already given you a glass of what Charles prayed was water and had tied your hair into a haphazard ponytail, probably anticipating the worst-case scenario of tequila-induced disaster.

Charles lingered just out of sight, gripping your little sparkly bag as if it were a trophy. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but your voice was unmistakable and loud enough to rival the DJ. 

“I get a little drunk and I get into all the don’ts, but on good days? I am charming as fuck, and you love me for it.” 

Your voice, slurred but insistent, filled the hallway. You reached out toward her, your hands wobbling in the air until she sighed and took them. Her annoyance cracked just enough for Charles to catch the tired laugh she let slip. It was the kind of laugh that said, Yes, I love you, but you’re impossible, and I have considered leaving you in a bush once or twice.

Charles smiled to himself, your declaration replaying in his mind. Charming as fuck, indeed. He wasn’t sure if the grin tugging at his lips was due to the absurdity of the situation or the undeniable truth of your words.

He wasn’t invisible, after all, so when you were done with your exclamation to Emma, your gaze easily landed on Charles, standing somewhat pathetically, waiting just a few metres away. The moment your eyes met his, you lit up like you’d just remembered something incredibly important.

“And look!” you exclaimed, pointing toward him. Drunk you had a thing for pointing. “I had this… hot guy here to help me. He’s found my bag! You, sir, are a lifesaver.”

You’d just managed to call him both “hot” and “sir” in the same breath, and Charles wasn’t sure if it was because you didn’t know his name or if you were trying to drive him completely insane.

Emma’s head whipped toward Charles, her face shifting from surprise to a kind of restrained horror as recognition dawned. Her posture stiffened again, her folded arms tightening. While you hadn’t known who Charles was, Emma definitely did. 

“Y-you roped Charles fucking Leclerc into looking for your bag?!” 

“A what now?” you mumbled, looking between the two of them with confusion written across your face.

Charles stepped closer, handing you the bag like a peace offering. “I am… a Charles Leclerc.” 

“It’s a thing?”

“No, it’s my name.” 

You squinted at him, as though trying to decide if this explanation satisfied you. Then, with a dramatic sigh, you let your head fall back against the wall. “You should have led with that,” you pointed out. “I need to sit down. Oh wait—” You gestured weakly at your own position. “Already doing that.”

“Charles Leclerc,” Emma said, gesturing toward him with an incredulous sweep of her hand. “Formula 1 driver? Like… literally one of the best in the world?”

“Ohhh, right. We’re in Monaco,” you mumbled to yourself. 

Emma pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered something about you being impossible. Then she straightened, looking at Charles briefly before her gaze shifted to the dance floor. “I’m going to find the others and tell them it’s time to go. Don’t let her wander off again, please.”

Before Charles could respond, she disappeared into the crowd, her blonde head bobbing toward the pulsating lights. He watched her go, unsure if he’d just been handed a babysitting gig or a challenge. When he turned back, you were studying him, your head tilted slightly.

Charles hesitated, then he sat down beside you again, leaning back against the worn pleather as he looked right back at you. Up close, the club lights caught in your hair, making it shimmer like an accidental halo. He wondered if it was the alcohol in his veins or just the moment, but you looked… luminous.

“So, what now? Bag found, friend located. Mission accomplished,” he asked, almost proudly, as he relaxed further into his seat. 

You drunkenly fumbled through the belongings inside your bag, in disbelief over everything being there. “You really did solve all of my problems… Thank you,” you said softly, a hint of genuine gratitude creeping into your voice.

He smiled, his amusement softening into something warmer. “You’re welcome.”

You studied him for a moment, your gaze slower now, more deliberate. “It makes sense that you’re famous,” you said finally, as if you’d unravelled some profound mystery. “You’ve got a really pretty face.”

Charles chuckled completely unguarded. “I think that’s the tequila talking.”

“Nope,” you said, grinning with certainty. “That’s all me.”

He couldn’t help but be drawn in by your confidence, your complete lack of pretense. On top of the almost sticky pleather sofa, he could see your hand move tentatively, dancing over the fabric, aimless yet perfectly intentional. He wasn’t thinking when he grabbed it, intertwining his fingers with your own, but it felt right—and something innocent that felt this right couldn’t be wrong. 

“I think you were right,” he said, not scared to look you in the eye. “About you being charming as fuck.”

“Good,” you replied, raising your glass of water in a mock toast. “Because I think I’m keeping you here for a while.”

“Still too drunk to walk?” he teased. 

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” you declared, each syllable landing like a punchline. 

He laughed loudly, letting the chaos fade into the background, his hand grounded in yours, feeling more intimate than any drunken kiss had ever done.

Charles wasn’t dreading being in the club on a Saturday night for once, not counting the minutes until he could leave without being called boring. Instead, he found himself thinking about where you might go next—and wondering if he could come along. Even if that was a hotel room after-party or a rented apartment in Nice. You were more interesting than anything else Monaco could offer right now, and filer à l’anglaise would leave the leeches to pay for their own enjoyment. 

Thank you for reading, hope this is a good introduction to what the rest of the love letters will be like! Please comment, like, reblog, bombard me with messages, I feed off that stuff 💌

Taglist: @koko-mei @anamiad00msday @floweringanna @lucyysthings @yelenam5 @firefirevampire @alexxavicry @emails-i-can-send

(if i haven't tagged you it's because your age wasn't visible for me to verify on your blog, i keep that as a precaution even if i'm not always posting smut)

[hyunjilicious]

I just read in the making and I absolutely love the idea so much 😭😭 and I was just wondering, how do you think the other members would react?? Or would he keep it a secret from them too? (I can't wait for the next parts!!!!)

SHUT UP THIS WAS SO FUN TO THINK ABOUT!!!!!! He would definitely not hide it from them!! Especially not from Han and Changbin since he's gonna need their help finishing the songgskdsdkjslk warnings: mentions of sex and public sex, felix being a little freak, and yeah... 18+ pls!!!! The post that inspired this or basically Chan fucking you in the studio so he can add you moaning to his solo, and these are the members reacting to it!!!!

Han and Changbin - they’re the first ones to hear it because Chan can’t get any of the other producers involved and he needs their advice and help. And in order to not make things even more weird, he of course lets them know beforehand what they’re about to listen to and let me tell you, they’re jaws are on the floor!!! Changbin can barely process what he’s hearing, can’t contain his smile - he doesn’t really know if he’s cringing or if he’s just impressed with what Chan managed to come up with, but one thing is for sure, he can’t even try to look into his hyung’s eyes at that point. He just listens, smiles and bops his head along to the track, trying to come up with something to say… he fails. Meanwhile Han?? OBSESSED. He loves it. At first, he’s at a loss for words too, but the pure excitement is visible on his features. He can’t even sit down properly, his chair is turned around and he’s kneeling on it, mouth agape as he processes the track inside his head. He’s 100% impressed but, “We need to work on it a bit more, though. It sounds really good but you can easily tell it’s her”

“Really?”

“You’ve listened to it too much” Han shakes his head and ushers Chan to make space for him at the computer. “You can easily tell it’s Y/n. But I got an idea, here…”

Hyunjin - absolutely adores this. He somehow managed to look right past how filthy the whole thing is and is just utterly impressed with how Chris went from just writing a song about someone to actually adding that person into the song, making everything more real and tangible. Just sees the art behind it and lowkey hates he wasn’t the one who thought of it first. Also completely against the sounds being refined any further, he loves the raw feeling of it. But really, he can’t help how mesmerised he is, he’s completely impressed with Chan’s genius and his producing skills and to him this is nothing less than a work of art.

“You don’t think it’s too much?”

“Too much?” Hyunjin raises an eyebrow, confused. “No, how could it be too much? I think it’s subtle enough to not be the main point of attraction but impactful enough to really bring the song and its message to life. I love it!”

“Really?”

“Yes, really! Good job”

Felix - also loves it, but quite literally in the opposite way that Hyunjin does. What art? What feelings? No, it’s just filthy and he LOVES IT. He’s hella proud of his mate, will definitely high five him. Also can’t fucking contain his enthusiasm, bops his head along to the track, you know, eyebrows furrowed and his lips between his teeth as he listens to it over and over again. 

“Did you fuck her here?” he asks with enthusiasm, pointing at the floor. Then he points to the couch, “Or there?” and then to one of the empty chairs, “There!?”

“Oh my god” Chan laughs, face all red as he doesn’t know whether he should answer the question.

“But you two fucked in this studio, right?”

“You’re crazy!!”

“I’m crazy!?” Felix erupts, slapping Chan’s shoulder and pulling at his arm. “Do you hear yourself, mate? You’re the one who fucked Y/n here!”

“Don’t! Say it like that!”

Felix’s smile disappeared but the mischief was still there in his eyes, “She fucked you? Was she on top?”

“Ok, get out!” Chris, although amused, has had enough, but unfortunately his friend is nowhere near done.

“Ah! I love this-” is the last thing Felix manages to say before he gets pushed out of the studio.

Lee Know - he likes it, yeah, a bit more than he thought he would but has literally no idea how to talk about it. He’s still in shock, keeps looking back and forth between Chris and the screen, as if waiting to hear that it is all a joke. It isn’t. “How did you manage to come up with this??” he’s absolutely astounded. “Y/n knows about it, yeah? I don’t have to kill you or something, right?”

“Of course she knows!!”

“Ok, ok, good” Minho nods and resumes listening. “Cool, cool” he says after a while and but can’t help but burst into laughter in the end. “I can’t believe you’re doing this”

“In a good way or in a bad way?”

“In a ‘you’re insane’ way” he clears, “I knew you were a pervert but this is a lot, even for you”

“I’m not a per-” Chan tries to defend himself but he knows there’s no point in doing that, so he just trails off, shaking his head.

“Yeah, you are” Minho stands to pat his friend’s shoulder before moving to leave the studio. “No problem with that, though. Let me know when it’s finished”

I.n - oh, he finds this so fucking hot but it does shortcircuit his brain a bit. It’s not the recording itself, he’d personally be down to do it himself with their partner, or even go further and film the whole thing but he just fears the song would be interpreted the wrong way. You and Chan haven’t gone public yet, people don’t know you two are in a relationship, let alone the true extent of it; what if they’re gonna get the wrong impression? What if they’re gonna think that’s all Chris wants and cares about, sex. People are mean, he’s worried about that.

“I don’t think that will be the case” Chan sighs, “I wrote a lot of songs and I expressed different sides of me through each and every single one of them. This is just one song”

“Red lights” he dryly says.

“Ok,” Chris chuckles. “A couple of songs-”

“Drive”

“That's-”

“Connected”

“Ok, enough!” he cries, waving his arms to get his friend to stop. “That’s enough, you made your point”

But apparently, it all works in Chan’s favor as Jeongin nods and visibly loosens up. “Now that I think about it, hyung, this is really your style. It does fit your vibe”

“What’s that supposed to mean”

“Just don’t ask her to be in the music video as well and it’ll be fine”

Seungmin - he’s… not a fan. It does sound good, he can agree to that, but he’s reluctant to even get too close to that computer. I feel like he wouldn’t be a fan of PDA in general and this… is just over the top. He’s definitely a romantic, and considers that stuff like this needs to stay between the people involved and no one else. Doesn’t judge Chan for it but doesn’t understand how he could possibly be so chill about hundreds of thousands of people hearing you moan like that either. “So you think I shouldn’t go ahead with it?” Chris asks but Seungmin would be very quick to dispel his worry.

“Oh, no! Not at all what I was trying to say. You just express yourself in a different way, I guess. And there’s nothing wrong with that”

“Is it obscene?” Chan cringes.

“It’s not obscene, no. It’s hot. I just don’t know which one of us is the weird one. You because you don’t mind strangers thinking of Y/n that way, or me because I’d probably want to murder each of them in their sleep if they ever dared think about my girlfriend like that”

[msschemmenti]

fun police - 2

eventual emily prentiss x reader / bau x reader

a/n: another fun police installment :)

everyone was in the office today, no one out on cases and this was going to be as good a time as any to introduce their new addition to the rest of the team. after some negotiating emily and y/n had scheduled their first session for tomorrow morning. she planned to say all the right things to get it over with and hopefully keep the young woman’s attention off of her for as long as possible.

“could you all join me at the roundtable?” emily called as she exited her office. y/n had found her way down to her office before everyone started filtering in and emily thought it best to ease them into this new idea.

“do we have a case?” tara asked looking from garcia to emily as they all sat around the table.

“no, we don’t. i just wanted to make you guys aware of a new thing happening.” emily vaguely said crossing her arms with a sigh.

“new thing? what does that mean?” jj asked suspiciously.

“well it seems our team has been flagged for our lack of self-care. i’m assuming they took a look at a variety of things like number of vacation days to working days, our case loads and things like that. and since we’ve been flagged, we’ve got the pleasure of a personal wellness agent who will be working with all of us to establish healthy coping mechanisms to rely on during tough times.”

the room was bathed in silence. shock washing over everyone’s faces and emily rubbed her temples in anticipation. she readied herself for the questions she could feel forming but was interrupted by a knock on the open doorway. she looked up and met y/n eyes.

“i see you’ve queued me up pretty nicely.” y/n smiled tentatively as she eyed the faces in the room.

“everyone, our personal wellness agent y/n y/ln. i’m sure she can explain a bit more about this process.” emily gestured welcoming the younger woman into the room.

“of course! hi everyone, as your lovely unit chief said my name is y/n and i’m here to help. i’ve been hired on to make sure that the most hardworking team in the FBI is taking care of themselves.”

“oh that’s nice.” garcia smiled at the praise.

“flattery will get you far with this group,” rossi mumbled from his seat.

y/n rolled her eyes humorously before continuing, “as i’ve explained to your section chief, i’ve found that for teams like this individual meetings or wellness sessions seem to work best. it’s completely up to you how we spend our time but we’ll be working toward building in self-care where you can.”

“and if we don’t want to participate? not in defiance or anything, i just think i’m pretty well adjusted.” tara asked crossing her arms.

“then i’d unfortunately have to do my least favorite part of this work, report my findings and determine who is and is not fit for the field. and i’d really hate to do that.” y/n smiled sweetly causing the room of agents to groan. “no need to sound so excited. we’ll do whatever you like, you just gotta spend a lil time with me.”

“how soon can we get this over with?” rossi asked.

“we can start as soon as you like, except for tomorrow morning. that slot’s already been claimed.” y/n gestures to emily with a smirk.

“ohhh,” the agents choruses teasingly, causing emily’s cheeks to heat.

“alright alright, now you know. i expect you all to cooperate.” emily dismissed and headed back toward her office.

“i’m just down the hall if anyone feels compelled to come chat.” y/n grinned and waved before heading back down to her office. leaving the group of profilers more than a little irritated.

“well this sucks.” luke grumbled. “mandatory wellness time. is spending time with roxie not enough?”

“afraid not newbie. you all having to do this doesn’t surprise me, i don’t get why i have to do it. i’m probably the most zen person in this whole building. i prioritize me almost 75% of the time now. i’m very well thank you very much.” garcia rambled.

“do you think she’d accept me asking to take a nap in her presence as my wellness session?” tara asked the group.

jj shook her head at the groups adamant distaste for the new setup, “oh come on guys, it can’t be that bad. i mean she got emily to agree. and of all of us— she’s the least likely to take a even a minute for herself.”

“you’re right jj, but im not sure she agreed solely for the health benefits if you know what i mean.” rossi hinted.

“oh yeah, i’ve got a feeling she was thinking with more than just her brain.” tara nodded in rossi’s direction.

“emily being seduced into participation?” garcia gasped, scolding the profilers.

“can you blame her? we all saw our wellness agent right?” jj asked with a knowing shrug. “i’m just saying, we should all suck it up and do our little wellness sessions. it could be fun, who knows.”

“well wants first? i mean second…” garcia asked looking around the table.

“why don’t you go miss ‘im the most zen in this whole building’? should be pretty easy for you.” luke teased.

“i know you’re being annoying but i don’t care. i will go second and ill make a chart to keep track of the schedule.” garcia glared.

“great, im sure y/n would love that.” tara smiled with a shake of her head.

-

her session came a bit sooner than she would’ve liked. but she’d prepared for this mentally. anticipated all the questions y/n might ask and gone through the appropriate answers that would eliminate the need for this to happen again. she’d told y/n to meet her in her office similarly to how she did her first day. starting her morning being interrogated wasn’t ideal but it definitely didn’t hurt that y/n was…attractive. but that wasn’t important and she was trying very very hard to remember that when the younger woman knocked on the door frame of her office.

“ready to get started?” emily quickly, motioning for y/n to step into her office.

“wow, not even a good morning? you’re failing already, section chief prentiss.” y/n tsked as she sauntered over to the couch in the office.

emily gaped at the woman getting comfortable on her couch. “i’m failing already? doesn’t sound like you have high hopes for this at all.”

y/n didn’t even flinch at emily’s accusatory tone, “i’ve read your file. my expectations for your self-care practices are pretty low. now let’s get started, come relax on this nice couch so we can chat.”

“i’m relaxed plenty over here. start your questioning.” emily refused, straightening her back defiantly.

y/n eyed emily, one eyebrow raised in challenge. “if that’s relaxed, what does it mean to you as an individual to relax? define it in your own terms for me. because i’ll be honest— you don’t look relaxed at all.”

emily scoffed indignantly, “i know how to relax,”

“i didn’t say you didn’t, but im just curious. just humor me, what does emily prentiss do to relax?”

“i relax. i nap. a warm shower is always nice. i eat. i read. i do very relaxing things.” emily listened.

“almost everything you just listed is a basic necessity. and im struggling to believe you’re picking up a romance novel instead of a case file.” y/n spoke eyeing the older woman and when emily only grumbled y/n chuckled and continued. “how do cope with stress?”

“perfectly fine-ly.” emily quipped.

“uh huh, let me guess. a bottle of wine stashed in a drawer somewhere. and when you’re really struggling— puff through a pack of cigarettes?” y/n guessed and watched as emily tried to mask her facial reactions. she may not be a profiler but she had lots of experience reading clients for filth when it came to taking care of themselves.

“uh-“ emily started but the red of her cheeks was all y/n needed to know.

“okay, i have another questions. what activities bring you enjoyment?”

emily’s eyes raked over y/n involuntarily, and she found a way she’d be able to take back some control of the situation. “i don’t think that’s appropriate for work.” emily smirked.

“oh ho ho, i see agent prentiss. and how often do you do this task?”

“probably more than you can think of.” emily bluffed and ran her hands through her hair.

y/n’s eyebrow seemed permanently posed under her eyebrow at this point. this woman was going to do anything she could to get out of this. and as stubborn as emily was, she was just as frustratingly beautiful. “ah now agent prentiss, i thought you of all people would know not to judge someone by their looks. trust me, im well acquainted with the task you’re alluding to.”

and just like that— the ball was back in y/n’s court and emily was a blushing mess. also didn’t help that as soon as that image was in her head, that’s all she could really think about.

as y/n watched emily rub her reddened neck nervously, y/n chuckled sweetly and rose from the couch. “you know what, this was a very informative chat. same time next week?”

“next week?” emily squeaked.

“yeah, hun. next week. i’m gonna give you some homework too. next time we meet, i want you to have done at least four things to relax that aren’t basic needs.”

“homework?” emily spluttered in disbelief.

“yeah. if you’re good, there might’ve been a prize waiting for you.” y/n teased before heading out of emily’s office. “four things agent! just four.” y/n called over her shoulders as she headed out of the bullpen.

well that certainly didn’t go as well as emily had planned.

[dilfismz]

Playing Dangerous Part 7

Summary: You and Sangwoo finally address the kiss under the cover of darkness, sharing a rare, tender moment. But just as emotions start to settle, chaos erupts, shattering the fragile peace.

Pairing: Cho Sangwoo X reader…Eventual Hwang In-ho X reader

Warnings: Canon typical violence, graphic description of eye injury…let me know if I missed anything.

A/N: I’m having a lot of fun building the platonic relationship between the reader and Gi-hun

Previous | Next

The dormitory buzzed with tension, the aftermath of Tug of War still hanging over everyone like a storm cloud. Some people huddled in their groups, whispering about the next game. Others sat in stunned silence, still trying to process the fact that they were alive.

You sat on the edge of your cot, absentmindedly running your fingers over the fabric of your pants. Your mind was still reeling from everything—the games, the exhaustion, and most of all, him.

Sangwoo.

You exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over your face. You had completely lost it earlier. You had let your jealousy get the best of you, and now you couldn’t stop thinking about the way it had felt—the way he had felt under your hands, against your lips. The worst part?

He had kissed you back.

And now you had no idea what to do with yourself.

The cot beside you creaked, and you turned to see Gi-hun plopping down next to you, stretching his legs out with a tired sigh. He didn’t say anything at first, just side-eyed you with a small smirk.

“So,” he finally said, drawing the word out in amusement. “You and Sangwoo, huh?”

You tensed immediately. “What?”

Gi-hun chuckled, nudging your shoulder. “Oh, come on. Don’t play dumb. I saw what happened earlier. I think everyone did.”

You groaned, running a hand down your face, “Jesus Christ.”

“I gotta admit, I did suspect something before,” Gi-hun continued, clearly enjoying himself. “Ever since Ali asked if you two were a couple, and Sangwoo nearly tripped over himself to say no? Yeah, that was suspicious as hell.”

You shot him a glare. “It was not suspicious.”

Gi-hun gave you a look. “Yeah? Well, this was pretty damn obvious. You kissed the guy like you were trying to steal the air from his lungs.”

You clenched your jaw. “I was angry.”

“Uh-huh.” Gi-hun raised an eyebrow. “So, you regularly shove your tongue down people’s throats when you’re pissed?”

You groaned again, shaking your head. “I hate you.”

Gi-hun laughed. “Nah, you love me.”

You shoved him lightly, but your amusement faded as her fingers curled into her lap. Your voice dropped slightly. “I really like him,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.

Gi-hun’s smirk softened into something more genuine. “Yeah?”

“…Yeah.”

“But?” he prompted

You hesitated. “…I don’t know… I feel weird about it sometimes.”

Gi-hun tilted his head. “Weird how?”

You exhaled, trying to find the right words, “There’s the age difference, for one. It’s not huge, but enough that it makes me overthink things.”

Gi-hun shrugged. “Sangwoo doesn’t strike me as the type to waste his time on people he doesn’t respect.”

You let out a dry chuckle, “Maybe. But I’m also just bad at this. Letting people in.”

Gi-hun nodded. “In general, or…?”

“In general,” you admitted. “But especially here. Of all places to catch feelings, this has to be the worst.”

Gi-hun hummed in agreement. “Yeah, not exactly the setting for a rom-com.”

“No kidding.”

You both sat in silence for a moment, letting the weight of everything settle.

Then, Gi-hun smirked again. “You know… I don’t think I’ve ever seen Sangwoo smile as much as he does around you.”

You frowned, “He doesn’t smile.”

Gi-hun chuckled, “Alright, his version of smiling, then. It’s subtle, but it’s there. And it’s only when he’s with you.”

You stayed quiet, but your fingers twitched against the fabric of your pants.

Gi-hun leaned back on his hands. “And you wanna know what else?”

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“In all the years I’ve known Sangwoo, I’ve never seen him go out of his way to talk to a woman before. Let alone risk himself to save one.” Gi-hun gave you a meaningful look. “But he did for you.”

Your breath hitched slightly. You hadn’t thought about it like that before.

Gi-hun watched her for a moment before smirking. “And you think you’re the only one struggling with feelings.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but before you could, a familiar presence caught your attention.

Sangwoo.

He was sitting a few cots away, but his gaze was locked on them, his jaw tight. The dim lighting didn’t hide the way his fingers curled slightly into his lap, like he was forcing himself to stay put.

You swallowed.

Gi-hun followed your gaze, and when he turned back to you, his smirk widened. “Well, someone’s jealous.”

You elbowed him, “Shut up.”

But you couldn’t deny the way your stomach twisted at the sight.

And you couldn’t ignore the way Sangwoo looked away the second your eyes met, like he hadn’t been staring at you the entire time.

⋆ ──── ❍ Δ □ ──── ⋆

The dormitory felt heavier than usual, thick with tension, paranoia, and the ever-present scent of fear. They all knew what was coming tonight. The massacre before lights out had been a preview, and now, as the surviving players whispered among themselves, everyone was preparing for the inevitable bloodshed.

You, Sangwoo, Gi-hun, Ali, and Il-nam worked together to set up what little defenses you could around the bunks. You stacked blankets, trays, and whatever other scraps you could find to act as barriers—though in reality, you all knew it wouldn’t do much if someone truly wanted to attack.

Il-nam sat cross-legged on his cot, watching you work with an amused little smile, “You young ones are so serious,” he chuckled. “Do you really think a few blankets will stop desperate people from trying to kill you?”

Adjusting one of the makeshift barriers, you glance at him, “It’s not about stopping them. It’s about buying time.”

Sangwoo nodded in agreement, eyes scanning the room carefully, “Exactly. If we stay together and stay alert, we make it through the night.”

Gi-hun sighed, rubbing his face, “It’s only going to get worse from here, isn’t it?”

No one answered.

The silence was confirmation enough.

Eventually, you decided on a watch rotation. You and Sangwoo would take the first shift, while Ali and Gi-hun would follow after. Il-nam, despite his insistence that he didn’t need rest, was left to sleep.

As the others laid down, trying to snatch what little sleep they could, you and Sangwoo took position near the edge of the small perimeter.

You sat close, backs partially pressed against the metal bedframe, knees nearly touching. The room was eerily quiet aside from the occasional shuffle of movement, the distant murmurs of hushed voices. Somewhere across the dorm, the sound of a knife unsheathing sent a chill down your spine.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. Then, Sangwoo cleared his throat. “So…”

You glanced at him, “So?”

He hesitated, glancing at you before looking away, “…About earlier.”

Your face warmed instantly. You knew exactly what he meant. Exhaling through your nose, you played it off, “What about it?”

Sangwoo shifted, rubbing the back of his neck, “Are we just… not going to talk about it?”

You smirked slightly, but the heat in your chest betrayed you,“I figured you wouldn’t want to talk about it.”

.“Why would you think that?”

You shrugged, crossing your arms, “I did slam you against a wall. Not exactly the most romantic moment.”

Sangwoo huffed a small laugh, “You don’t say.”

Your smirk widened, but then you sobered. You sighed, rubbing your hands together as if trying to warm them, “Look… I wasn’t thinking. I just—” You paused, chewing on your lip, “…I guess I got jealous.”

Sangwoo’s gaze snapped to you, “Jealous?”

You exhaled sharply, tilting your head back against the frame, “Yeah. It was stupid, I know, but…” you shook your head, “Seeing her all over you, acting like she had some kind of claim? It pissed me off.”

Sangwoo stared for a long moment. Then, his voice softened, “It wasn’t stupid.”

You blinked, glancing at him, “What?”

He hesitated before repeating, firmer this time, “It wasn’t stupid.” His fingers tapped against his knee, his voice quieter now. “Because if the roles were reversed, I think I’d feel the same.”

Your breath caught. For a moment, all you could do was stare at him. Then, slowly, his fingers brushed against yours. It was a hesitant touch at first, as if testing the waters, but when you didn’t pull away, his hand settled over yours, warm and grounding.

You swallowed, “Sangwoo…”

He exhaled softly, his thumb grazing your knuckles, “I know this isn’t exactly the best place to… start something.”

You let out a small, breathy laugh, “No, it really isn’t.”

“But…” He turned slightly, angling his body toward yours. His hand curled more firmly around yours, grip warm and steady, “If we get out of here… I want to take you out.”

Your heart stuttered, “You want to?”

His eyes met yours, dark and unreadable, yet somehow incredibly clear in that moment, “Yeah.”

You should say no. You should be focusing on survival, on making it through the next game, on not developing feelings in the middle of life-or-death stakes. But when you looked at him—really looked at him—you saw the same exhaustion, the same fear, the same desperate need for something good to hold onto. So instead of pushing him away, you squeezed his hand, “Then I’ll hold you to that.”

Sangwoo let out a breath, something in his expression softening. And despite everything—the danger, the uncertainty—you found comfort in the warmth of his palm against yours.

He studied you for a moment longer before his free hand lifted, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was gentle, deliberate. You barely breathed.

“You really are something else,” he murmured.

You raised a brow, “That a good thing?”

His lips quirked, the closest thing to a real smile you’d ever seen from him, “Yeah. It is.”

Warmth spread through your chest. After a beat, you nudged him playfully, “If we get out of here, you owe me a real date.”

Sangwoo huffed, squeezing your hand, “Deal.”

For a while, you sat there, hands still intertwined, leaning into the quiet comfort of each other’s presence. Despite the looming danger, despite the bloodshed sure to come, you felt a small, fragile sense of peace. And for now, that was enough.

But then it came.

The first scream shattered the fragile silence, and then the room erupted into hell. People lunged at each other, fists flying, broken bottles swinging. The metallic scent of blood quickly filled the air as players fought tooth and nail for survival. The ones who weren’t strong enough to fight cowered in the corners, but even they wouldn’t be spared for long.

You kept your back to the wall, eyes darting over the chaos, searching. You had trained for this. You had fought in worse situations. But here? Trapped in a death game with people who had nothing left to lose? It was an entirely different kind of battlefield.

A bottle shattered near your feet. You barely had time to react before a figure came lunging at you. Mi-nyeo.

Of course.

The woman grinned, a wicked gleam in her eyes as she twirled a jagged piece of glass between her fingers, “You think you’re special, don’t you?” she sneered, “Think you can waltz in here, take what you want—”

“Not the time,” you snapped, already preparing to strike.

Mi-nyeo lunged. You sidestepped, twisting out of the way, but then another player was on you—some guy you barely recognized, just as desperate, just as crazed.

You gritted your teeth. Two against one, great. You threw a sharp elbow into Mi-nyeo’s ribs, but the other player swung his glass shard at your face.

She jerked back— Too late.

A blinding pain exploded down the right side of your face as the jagged glass tore into your flesh. Your scream ripped through the air. You staggered, vision going white with agony.

Instinctively, your hand flew to your face—warm, thick blood poured between your fingers.

You could barely see.

Your right eye was as good as gone. The realization hit you like a freight train. The wound was deep, the pain unbearable. Blood gushed down your face, soaking into your clothes, dripping onto the cold floor.

You gasped for breath, but Mi-nyeo wasn’t done. The woman reared back, ready to strike again— Rage overtook the pain. You roared, lashing out with brutal force. You drove your knee into Mi-nyeo’s stomach, sending her sprawling.

The second player barely had time to react before you grabbed his wrist, twisted sharply— Snap. He howled, the glass falling from his useless hand. You struck again, this time sending him crashing to the floor, unmoving.

Mi-nyeo groaned, trying to crawl away, but you grabbed her hair and slammed her face into the ground. She didn’t move.

You stumbled, chest heaving. Your vision swam, the world around you tilting dangerously. The blood loss was hitting you fast. You blinked. Everything on your right side was nothing but darkness. Permanently partially blind.

The thought barely had time to settle before you heard your name. Footsteps pounded toward you. Then hands—warm, strong hands—grasped your shoulders.

“Sangwoo—” you gasped, dazed, blinking up at him.

His face was ashen, eyes wide with something bordering on panic, “Shit,” he breathed. “Damn it, you—your eye—”

You gave a weak, lopsided grin, “Yeah. Not great.”

His hands trembled as he yanked off his jacket, pressing it firmly against your wound to slow the bleeding. You hissed at the contact, entire body jerking.

“Hold still,” he muttered, voice tight, but gentle.

You focused on him, on the warmth of his hands, the way his jaw clenched as he worked. His eyes kept darting over your face, his expression growing darker and darker, “…This is bad,” he said, more to himself than you.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” you quipped, though your voice was weaker now.

His grip tightened, “Stop joking.”

You exhaled sharply, glancing away—but of course, you could only see half the room now. The realization left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Sangwoo swallowed hard. His fingers lingered against your cheek, as if trying to ground himself in the fact that you were still here. Still alive. But not whole anymore. A muscle in his jaw twitched,“…You’re gonna have a scar.”

You let out a weak laugh,“Guess I’m going for the rugged look.”

He didn’t laugh.

His lips pressed into a tight line. He was still applying pressure to the wound, still trying to stop the bleeding, but there was a different kind of tension in his face. A quiet, helpless frustration.

“You’re really worked up over this”, you quip, studying his expression.

He huffs out a sigh, “Of course I am”.

“Cmon it’s not that bad, I’ll live”.

“Ya…you will”, he admits, a small smile resting on his face.

You didn’t quite know if the smile was one of reassurance or happiness. Nevertheless, you thought it suited him, “You should smile more, it’s cute”.

Sangwoo blushes a deep crimson, all while still applying pressure on your wound. He rolls his eyes and then takes your hands, pulling you to stand, “You can have my cot tonight, it’s a much safer location…I’ll watch over you”.

Taglist: @indifitel6661

For visuals this is how I image readers right eye looking :)

[tinydefector]

Who's portal is this? 2

DC X DP X SPIDER-MAN

[Decided I was working on and editing this instead of dealing with my emotions over finding out what happened to my mum and over the fact I legally still can't talk to any of my friends over it]

Word count: 5.7k

Warnings: swearing, mention of wounds, mention of death.

Masterlist

PREV

______________

The tension in the warehouse was thick enough to cut with a knife. Constantine still looked like he was trying to process his entire life’s choices, Peter was glaring at anyone who moved too close to Danny, and Batman stood silently, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the summoning circle.

"Alright," Danny finally said, breaking the silence. His voice still carried that layered, eternal echo, but his tone was casual. "Can I come out without you guys freaking out? Because, like, I could’ve escaped this thing five minutes ago. But I’ve been too baffled by this whole ‘Pariah Dark booty call’ situation to bother. And I'm pretty sure he's bleeding out” Danny states while pointing at Peter 

Batman’s gravelly voice cut through the bickering. “If you could’ve escaped, why didn’t you?”

Danny gave him an incredulous look. “Uh, I just said why. I was baffled, Stunned this feels like the Electric boogaloo part two ” He gestured vaguely to the summoning circle. "Also, this thing you guys slapped together? It’s not exactly Ghost King-proof. I mean, it’s good, don’t get me wrong—it would’ve probably stung like hell to break through it earlier, but it wouldn’t have actually held me. It’s like trying to hold a bear with spiderwebs. Annoying, sure, but not impossible. No offence Spiders"

Peter makes a noise of offence followed by Constantine groan, muttering something under his breath about how he hated kids.

Danny rolled his eyes. "Look, I’ll make it easy for you. I promise not to destroy anything, melt anyone’s face off, or turn Gotham into a ghost dimension. Just let me out, and we can all chill. Deal?”

Batman stared at him, his expression unreadable as always. After a long, tense pause, he gave a single, almost imperceptible nod.

Danny grinned. "Cool. Thanks, creepy Gothman." With a casual step, Danny walked out of the summoning circle like it wasn’t even there. The sigils flared for a brief moment, sparking angrily, but Danny seemed unbothered. His aura dimmed as he left the circle, and in a flash of green light, his older, regal form disappeared.

In his place stood a very unimpressive 16-year-old kid in a black T-shirt, jacket and jeans, his hair now messy and black, his eyes bright blue with a green shimmer to them. He shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels as he looked around the room with the kind of awkward energy only a teenager could pull off.

"Ta-da!" Danny said, grinning. The silence that followed was deafening. Constantine’s cigarette nearly fell out of his mouth. Batman’s stance shifted slightly, just enough for anyone who knew him to see that he was recalculating everything he thought he knew about the situation. 

Peter, on the other hand, looked completely unbothered. "Yeah," he said nonchalantly, “Fun, right?" His jaw clenched as he tries to move, his shoulder aches like no tomorrow and at this point all he wanted to do was sleep off his injuries from before this mess.

Constantine blinked, pointing at Danny like he was trying to make sense of a bad joke. "Wait. Wait, wait, wait. You’re the Ghost King? You’re a bloody child?!"

Danny frowned, crossing his arms. "Okay, rude. I’m sixteen, thank you very much. And technically, I’m only half-ghost."

Batman’s voice cut through the chaos like a knife. "Explain."

Danny shrugged, his casual demeanor making it clear that this wasn’t the first time he’d had to explain his situation. "Alright, fine. So, hi, my name’s Danny." He raised a hand in an awkward little wave, like he was introducing himself in a high school classroom. "When I was 14, my parents—who are kinda nuts, built this weird ghost portal thingy in our basement. I decided it’d be a great idea to mess around with it, and, well…" He gestured to himself. " tada! Half-ghost."

"Anyway, long story short, I spent the past two year fighting ghosts, saving my town, blah blah blah. Then, a while back, I accidentally dethroned Pariah Dark. don’t ask, it’s a whole thing and now I’m the Ghost King. Which, honestly, is way more responsibility than I signed up for."

Constantine rubbed his temples, looking like he was on the verge of a breakdown. "So, let me get this straight. You’re a 16-year-old half-ghost who somehow became the ruler of the Infinite Realms because you… what? Got lucky?"

Danny grinned. "Pretty much!"

Constantine groaned, looking at Batman. “You’re hearing this, right? It’s not just me?”

Batman’s expression didn’t change. "I’m hearing it."

Danny clapped his hands together, clearly trying to move things along. "Alright, now that we’re all on the same page, can we focus on the important stuff? Like the whole ‘us being stuck in your horror city thing? Because I’d really like to get out of here before Mr. Soul Whore over there starts trying to sell pieces of himself again."

Constantine bristled.

The bright, sterile light of the Batcave flickered faintly across its rocky walls, illuminating the room in a pale glow as Alfred worked with calm precision on Peter’s injuries. The young man sat on the edge of a medical table, his spider suit pulled down around his waist. His face was a mess—black eye swollen shut, cheeks scraped and bruised with pieces of concrete and glass shards in bedded, and lips still lined with dried blood. His body wasn’t much better. 

His torn suit had shown a litany of injuries before it had been pulled down: fractured ribs that had already started showing the deep purple, green and yellow bruising up hid torso, the nasty red handprint of a chokehold bruising his throat, burn marks left by an explosion, and countless cuts and lacerations. The most pressing concern, however, was the bullet wound in his dislocated shoulder.

“Ow, ow, ow!” he hissed, pulling his arm away instinctively before Alfred gave him a stern look.“Hold still, please,” Alfred said firmly. “I can’t help you if you’re squirming.” as Alfred pulled the bullet free with a pair of forceps, the sound of metal hitting the small surgical tray echoing through the cave.

 He exhaled sharply as the butler pressed a clean cloth to the wound to staunch the bleeding. “It’s better out than in, young man,” Alfred said softly, his voice calm but tinged with concern. “Though I must say, you’ve been through quite the ordeal.”

Danny leaned against the edge, his expression softening slightly as he took in Peter’s battered state.

“You look like crap,” Danny said bluntly.

“Thanks,” Peter deadpanned. “You’re a real ray of sunshine, you know that?”

Danny grinned faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You gonna be okay?”

Peter shrugged, wincing slightly at the movement. “I’ve had worse.”

Danny gives a small nod before ghosting away over to where Constantine stood impatiently waiting for Danny.

Alfred’s lips pressed into a thin line, his expression betraying his worry. His hands moved with expert care as he cleaned the wound. “This is far more than just another day, young man. You’re concussed, your ribs are clearly fractured or broken, and you’re covered in burns, bruises, and lacerations. Frankly, it’s a miracle you’re still conscious.”

The butler begins readying a needle and thread so that he can stitch The bullet hole closed. “Forgive me this will hurt, I don't currently have local anaesthetic on hand. Do hold still, young man,” Alfred apologies as he begins the stitching process. 

Peter winced but didn’t argue. “It's fine, it wouldn't help anyway, and you don't have to stitch it, it will seal itself in two days, I have an enhanced healing factor” Peter explains but it doesn't stop Alfred.  

“And give your injuries the chance to get infected, not a chance”  He knew Alfred was right, despite having enhancements it didn't stop Peter from getting sick, and he knew if he got an infection it would be hell having to cut it out again. It makes him shiver remembering the last time he had to cut out infected flesh. 

His Spider-sense was still buzzing faintly at the edges of his mind, a constant reminder of just how close he’d been to death tonight. 

“I’m almost finished.”

“Feels better not having the bullet grinding against my shoulder every time I swung,” Peter muttered through gritted teeth. His voice was thick with exhaustion, and his words slurred slightly from the concussion. “But, uh, yeah… still hurts like hell.”

Alfred gave a small, dry chuckle as he worked. “I imagine it does. Though I must say, I’ve seen soldiers in better condition than you after a battlefield skirmish.” His tone betrayed a trace of worry, his sharp eyes scanning the young man for further injuries. 

Peter didn’t respond, too focused on managing the pain and the throbbing in his head. He winced again as Alfred moved to examine his ribs. The bruising spread across his chest in ugly shades of purple and yellow, and every breath came with a faint wheeze.

“This is unacceptable,” Alfred muttered under his breath, though his words were clearly directed at someone else. His sharp gaze flickered briefly to where Bruce stood a few feet away, stoic and silent as always. “This boy is barely standing, and yet you brought him here in this state? I thought better of you. This young man is barely standing, and yet you saw fit to fight him as if he were one of your rogues.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his arms crossed as he watched from the shadows. He knew better than to argue with Alfred when the butler was angry, and right now, Alfred was rather angry.

Peter tensed slightly, his good hand clutching the edge of the table as his gaze flickered toward Batman. He still hadn’t forgiven him for the fight and, frankly, he wasn’t sure he ever would. Batman had outmaneuvered him, taken him down like he was nothing more than a common thug, and Peter’s pride still stung almost as much as his injuries. 

 he knew that if he hadn't been through dealing with all the villains that had ended up in his world, then being thrown about by the portal he had jumped into, swung halfway across a city with a bullet in his shoulder he had dislocated, and then getting slammed into a wall by Batman before spun up in his own web. He winced when the older man took a cautious step closer. He knew if he was in a better state he would have whooped the goth furries ass. 

Peter, despite his condition, couldn’t resist shooting Bruce a glare. He tensed visibly when Batman stepped closer, his entire body going rigid like a cornered animal. “Don’t,” Peter snapped, his voice sharp despite the hoarseness in his throat. “Stay the hell away from me, we’re not friends.”

Batman stopped in his tracks, his expression unreadable beneath the cowl. “I didn’t have a choice,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “You were a threat.”

“A threat?” Peter scoffed, glaring at him with his one good eye. “I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, man! I was trying to protect Danny. He's been the only thing I've had since I got thrown into this hell hole, so forgive me for not asking questions when you trapped him”

Batman didn’t respond, his silence only fueling Peter’s frustration. Alfred, however, gave a pointed look at his employer before turning back to Peter, his voice softening once again. 

Peter’s shoulders slumped slightly, though he was still visibly tense. He muttered something under his breath, his gaze dropping to the floor as Alfred resumed his work, carefully stitching the bullet wound closed.

---

Danny and Constantine’s argument had been steadily escalating, their voices growing louder with every passing second. The two of them were standing by one of the Batcave’s many monitors, their gestures wild and exaggerated as they bickered.

“Would you shut up for five seconds?!” Danny snapped, his glowing green eyes narrowing as he threw his hands in the air. He was back in his human form, looking every bit like the irritated teenager he was, but his aura still flickered faintly with ectoplasmic energy. “Look, Cults do crap, that's kinda their gimmick, there's not much I can do about it, I'm still learning how to keep my Core from spinning out of control! There's only so much I can do, you should be grateful you got me and not Pariah!”

Constantine scowled, jabbing a finger in Danny’s direction. “mate! You’re the one prancing around as the bloody Ghost King, drawing attention from every creep and cultist this side of the multiverse. You think I wanted to deal with you? Hell no!”

“Oh, so it’s my fault for being a baby ghost. you’re apparently the guy everyone in the Infinite Realms calls ‘Soul Whore’ why don't you go sell another piece of yourself ” Danny shot back, crossing his arms. 

“You little—” Constantine cut himself off, taking a deep drag from his cigarette as he muttered a string of curses under his breath. “Listen here, kid. I don’t care what kind of fancy crown you’ve got floating over your head or how many ghostly kingdoms you rule. You’re still just a snot-nosed brat playing dress-up—”

Danny’s aura flared, and he took a menacing step forward. “You wanna say that again, John? Because I don’t think I heard you the first time.”

“Boys,” Alfred called out sharply from the medical table without even looking up from Peter’s wounds. His tone was clipped, the kind of calm authority that immediately demanded obedience. “If you’re quite done arguing like a pair of schoolchildren, I’d suggest you find a way to help this young man and yourself get home.”

Danny and Constantine both froze, exchanging sheepish glances before muttering simultaneous, reluctant, “Sorry.”

Peter snarls again when Batman takes another step into the small medical area Alfred had set up to treat Peter, the young man bares a tiny set of fangs at him. 

Bruce paused, his unreadable gaze meeting Peter’s. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen someone react to him with hostility, but there was something different about the way Peter looked at him. It wasn’t just anger, it was defiance.

“Calm down, mate,” came Constantine’s voice from the background. The magician was leaning against the Batcomputer, a cigarette dangling from his lips despite the faint protests from the Batcave’s air filtration system. “You’re alive, aren’t you? That’s got to count for something.”

“Shut up,” Peter snapped, not even looking at Constantine. “I don’t want to hear it from you, either.”

Constantine raised an eyebrow, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Touchy, aren’t we? Must be the concussion talking.”

“Can you guys take your argument somewhere else?” Peter grumbled, his voice dripping with irritation. “I don’t need a commentary track while I’m getting patched up.”

Alfred turned his attention back to Peter, his face softening slightly as he began picking the glass fragments from Peter's face. “You should be in a hospital,” Alfred said quietly, his tone more gentle now. “You’re in no condition to be running around rooftops, let alone fighting.”

Peter gave a weak chuckle, though it quickly turned into a wince as his ribs protested. “Yeah, well, hospitals aren’t exactly Spider-Man-friendly. Besides…” He shot another glare at Batman. “I wouldn’t be here at all if someone had left us alone.”

“This young man was clearly in a life-threatening battle. Concussion, fractured ribs, glass embedded in his skin, burns, a bullet in a dislocated shoulder and God knows what else. And yet here he sits, instead of in a hospital bed where he belongs.” Alfred sighed heavily, his gaze flicking to Bruce. “I trust you’ll handle this properly, sir. Because if you don’t, I’ll be having words with you later.”

Bruce gave a small nod, his attention still on Peter. 

“I don’t do hospitals,” Peter repeats, his voice hoarse as he glances at Alfred. “They’d ask too many questions. I’ll heal. I just… need time.”

Peter groaned, closing his eyes as he leaned back against the table. This was shaping up to be one of the worst nights of his life.

Alfred sighed, clearly unhappy but unwilling to press further. Instead, he focused on carefully removing a shard of glass lodged in Peter’s arm. Peter hissed again, his body flinching reflexively.

“You’re lucky,” Alfred said with a softer edge. “The bullet in your shoulder didn’t hit anything vital. Though how you managed to swing around with it still lodged in there is beyond me.”

Peter gave a weak, humorless smile. “Yeah, well… adrenaline’s a hell of a drug.” he tenses again as Batman walks past the table trying to take a Proper look at Peter's injuries.  

 

Alfred glanced between them, his brow furrowing. “I assure you, he only wishes to help.”

Peter’s laugh was bitter, almost feral. “Yeah, sure. I've already been shot at by a SWAT team, and been beat to shit. So go nuts, it's not going to keep my Spider-Sense from blaring like a tornado siren. Your a threat to me Even if your trying to help, ”

Bruce’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent.

It wasn’t just the fight that had Peter on edge, it was the way Batman moved, the way he loomed over him like a shadow, the way his presence filled the room with an authority that made Peter’s stomach churn. It reminded him too much of Osborn. The cold, calculating gaze. The unrelenting drive. The willingness to go too far to get what he wanted. 

It made Peter’s skin crawl.

Alfred, sensing the tension, shot Bruce a pointed glare before speaking again. “ I understand your hesitation, but I assure you, he is not your enemy.”

Peter scoffed. “Yeah? Tell him to stop staring at me like I’m some kind of science experiment, and maybe I’ll believe it.”

Before Alfred could respond, a loud crash echoed from the far side of the cave, followed by raised voices.

“I’m telling you,” Danny’s voice rang out, “you don’t need to keep babysitting me! I’m not gonna blow up Gotham or whatever you think I’m gonna do!”

“Oh, forgive me if I don’t take your word for it, Your Majesty,” Constantine shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re a bloody half-ghost kid with the power to wipe out entire dimensions. Forgive me if I’m a little cautious!”

“I’m not gonna wipe out dimensions!” 

“Once is enough, mate.”

The argument continued, growing louder and more heated as Danny and Constantine bickered like a parent and child who had been stuck in the same car for too long. 

Peter turned his head slightly, watching the chaos unfold with a mix of curiosity and exhaustion. “What’s their deal?” he asked, wincing as Alfred cleaned another wound on his arm.

Alfred sighed, clearly unimpressed with Danny and Constantine’s antics. “ Mr. Fenton and Mr. Constantine appear to have different approaches to… resolving conflict.”

“Yeah,” Peter muttered. “I can see that.”

Bruce, who had remained silent up until now, finally spoke. “ Constantine is trying to prevent a larger catastrophe.”

“By yelling at him?” Peter quipped.

“Look, I get it, okay? I’m scary or whatever. But I’m not Pariah Dark, and I’m not gonna start some ghost apocalypse, plus I'd rather not hurt my Human friends. What I actually want right now is a burger!”

Constantine raised an eyebrow. “Mate, you’re a walking bloody nuke.”

"Ignore them, it is for the best, I'd like you to take these, you're not allergic to Oxycodone?" Alfred asked gently, handing Peter a cup of water and what looked like a handful of painkillers. Peter doesn't answer, just throws them into his mouth along with taking a massive mouthful of water to wash them down. 

"If it’s alright with you, I’d like to know how you ended up in this dreadful state." Alfred paused, glancing up at Peter's battered face. "You don’t have to say anything if you’re not comfortable, but it might help you calm down and rest."

Peter hesitated, his shoulders tensing slightly as Alfred reached for another piece of glass embedded in his arm. He hissed through his teeth, his fingers gripping the edge of the table tightly. "It’s… complicated," he said softly, his voice hoarse and raw. The handprint on his throat made every word feel like gravel scraping against his vocal cords.

Alfred gave him a small, reassuring smile. "I’ve found that most things are, Mr. Parker. But I’ve also found that talking about them can make things a little less so."

Peter looked at Alfred for a moment, his guarded expression softening slightly. There was something about the older man’s calm demeanor, his steady hands, and his genuine concern that made Peter feel… safe, even here, in the middle of a cave owned by a man who had beaten him in a fight.

Peter exhaled slowly, his fingers loosening their grip on the table. "Alright," he said quietly. "I guess it’s better than sitting here in awkward silence."

Alfred gave a small nod, continuing to work. "Take your time, lad."

Peter swallowed hard, his throat aching. "I was trying to fix something I messed up. My life it was a mess. Everyone I cared about, everyone who knew I was Spider-Man, they were in danger because of me. Because of something I did."

Alfred’s hands stilled for a moment, his sharp gaze flicking up to Peter. "Go on," he encouraged gently.

Peter took a shaky breath. "There was this… spell. A way to make everyone forget who I was—forget that I was Spider-Man. It was supposed to fix everything. But something went wrong, and it broke the multiverse open. Villains from other worlds. Worlds that weren’t mine, started showing up. People who knew Spider-Man, but not my Spider-Man. I fought them, tried to send them back, but…" He trailed off, his voice cracking slightly. "It didn’t matter. They kept coming."

Alfred’s expression softened, but he said nothing, letting Peter continue at his own pace.

Peter’s fists clenched. "The worst part was… I thought I could save them. I thought I could fix them, make them better, so they wouldn’t go back to their worlds and die fighting Spider-Man. And maybe I did. Maybe it worked for some of them. But…" He swallowed hard. "It cost me everything. My aunt—she—"

His voice broke, and he looked down at his lap, his hands trembling. "She died. Because of me. Because I wasn’t fast enough, strong enough, smart enough to stop it."

Alfred’s hand rested gently on Peter’s uninjured shoulder, "I’m terribly sorry for your loss," he said softly, his voice filled with genuine sympathy.

Peter nodded stiffly, not trusting himself to speak. He took a shaky breath, forcing himself to continue. "After that, I didn’t have a choice. I had to go through with the spell. I made everyone forget me. My best friend. The love of my life. Everyone. It was the only way to fix it."

Alfred’s hand lingered on Peter’s shoulder for a moment before he returned to tending to his wounds. "And that’s when you ended up here?" he asked gently.

Peter nodded. "Yeah. I thought it was a portal to take me somewhere safe, one of the wizards I was working with tried to get me away before they forgot. One minute I was in New York city, trying to figure out where I'd go, and the next thing I knew, I’m falling through some portal and landing in Gotham. And then Danny caught me" He shot a look towards Danny. 

Alfred finished cleaning and stitching the last of Peter’s wounds before stepping back, wiping his hands on a clean cloth. "There. That should hold for now. But you’ll need rest, young man. Proper rest, not whatever adrenaline-fueled nonsense I imagine you’re used to." Alfred hands Peter a set of clothes. “Forgive me the closest to your size of clothes is Red Robin, he will most likely be here later” Alfred explains to Peter. 

Peter gives a small nod before slowly moving, pulling the cover across so he could get dressed in something more comfortable. He still tenses and watches Batman like a hawk after he had dressed, not wanting the older man too close to him while he was in the state he was.  

Batman reminded Peter of two people: Norman Osborn’s manic intensity lived in Batman’s ability to dissect everything with cold precision, in the way he always seemed to be two steps ahead. That same suffocating control, that same aura of dominance it put Peter on edge, made his heart race and his fingers itch to fight or flee. 

But then there was Tony. The way Bruce carried himself, the unrelenting drive to fix every problem, the subtle weight of grief behind his every word and action, it was so much like Tony Stark that Peter’s heart clenched every time he looked at him. It stung, deep and raw, like an old wound being torn open.

And that combination, Osborn’s menace and Tony’s absence, was too much for Peter to handle.

Batman took a slow step toward him, his cape brushing the floor like a shadow reaching out. Peter stiffened instantly, his body going rigid, his breaths coming faster. His good hand gripped the edge of the table so tightly that his knuckles turned white. 

"Peter," Bruce said, his voice low and steady. "I need to ask you a few questions. I need to know—"

"Don’t," Peter hissed sharply, his voice raw and filled with tension. He flinched back, his eyes wide and wild. His Spider-Sense wasn’t buzzing, but his instincts were screaming at him to move, to escape, to run. 

Batman stopped, his expression unreadable behind the cowl, but Peter could feel the weight of his gaze. It bore down on him like a physical force, and Peter couldn’t stop the way his body shook under it. 

Peter’s voice rose slightly, his tone cracking. "Don’t come any closer."

Bruce frowned, his jaw tightening. 

"I said don’t!" Peter snapped, his voice trembling. His entire body was trembling now, his chest heaving with shallow, uneven breaths. He looked like a cornered animal, his eyes darting between Batman and the exit, like he was calculating how quickly he could escape if he needed to.

Bruce raised his hands slightly, a gesture of calm, but the movement only made Peter shrink back further. His mind flashed with images of Green Goblin’s twisted grin, of Tony’s lifeless eyes, of his own failures piling up like bricks on his back.

The tension reached its breaking point when Peter let out a sharp hiss of pain, clutching his ribs as his body twisted instinctively away from Bruce. The sudden sound drew Danny’s attention like a shot.

In a blur of green and black, Danny darted to Peter’s side, standing between him and Batman like a shield. His eyes glowed faintly, his aura flaring just enough to be intimidating without being outright threatening. He was back in his human form, but the protective energy radiating off him was unmistakable.

"Hey, back off," Danny said, his voice sharp and firm but not angry. He placed a steady hand on Peter’s shoulder, grounding him. "Give him some space, okay?"

Peter flinched again, his good hand gripping Danny’s wrist as if to anchor himself. His breaths were still shallow, his eyes flicking between Bruce and Danny. "I’m fine," he muttered, but his voice was shaky and unconvincing. "I’m fine, just—just stay over there."

Alfred, who had been watching the exchange with a mixture of concern and anger, finally stepped in, his tone clipped. "perhaps it would be best to give the young man some time to recover before bombarding him with questions. He’s clearly been through enough."

Bruce hesitated, his gaze lingering on Peter for a moment longer before he gave a curt nod and stepped back. He turned toward the Batcomputer, his cape sweeping behind him as he moved. Constantine muttered something under his breath about "bloody drama" and returned to fiddling with a spell book, but Danny ignored him, his focus entirely on Peter.

"You good?" Danny asked quietly, his glowing eyes dimming slightly as his aura softened.

Peter exhaled shakily, leaning back against the table. "Yeah," he said, though his voice was still weak. "I just… he reminds me of someone. Two people, actually. And it’s—" He broke off, shaking his head. "It’s stupid. Forget it."

Danny tilted his head, his expression calm but curious. "Not stupid," he said simply. "But you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to."

Peter gave a small, grateful nod, his grip on Danny’s wrist loosening. "Thanks."

Danny smiled faintly, stepping back but staying close enough to be reassuring. "No problem. Just let me know if you need me to, like, phase you out of here or something."

Peter huffed a weak laugh. "I’ll keep that in mind."

The Batcave was a strange mix of eerie quiet and low mechanical hums as computers whirred and analyzed data in the background. the two teenagers currently sitting on one of the metal tables.  

Danny and Peter were engrossed in their food, wolfing it down like they hadn’t seen a meal in weeks. Neither of them seemed to care about the pressure in the room or the watchful eyes of Batman, who stood at the far end of the cave, his expression unreadable as always. Constantine was somewhere off to the side, muttering curses under his breath and chain-smoking like it was his last day on Earth.  

For Danny, this was just another weird day in a long line of weird days. For Peter, however, it felt like his entire world had collapsed in on itself.  

He sat there, shoveling fries into his mouth with the speed of someone too exhausted to bother with manners, his usually sharp mind dulled by the overwhelming weight of everything that had happened. His Spider-Sense had been buzzing like a never-ending alarm the moment he’d arrived in Gotham. It hadn’t let up. not for a second, and it was starting to fray his nerves.  

Peter was cranky, tired, and emotionally wrecked.  

It wasn’t just Gotham. It was everything.  

The other Peters. Aunt May’s death. Strange’s spell. The portal that had dumped him here. It all felt like one gut punch after another, and now, on top of everything, he’d been bested, humiliated, really by Gotham’s caped crusader.  

Batman.  

Peter glared at the man from across the room, his jaw tightening as he bit into his burger. It wasn’t just that Batman had captured him—it was *how* easily it had happened. Less than 24 hours in this city, and the so-called “Dark Knight” had already gotten the better of him.  

Peter was *Spider-Man.* He’d gone toe-to-toe with aliens, super soldiers, and literal gods. Sure, Captain America had gotten the drop on him once, but that was different. That was Cap. This was a guy in a bat costume.  

And yet, here he was.  

The weight of it all made his chest ache, a cold, hollow feeling settling deep inside him. It reminded him of when he’d been dusted in Tony’s arms, helpless and scared and completely out of control. He hated it.  

Danny, sitting next to him, didn’t seem to notice or if he did, he was too busy enjoying the food to care. He shoved the last bite of his burger into his mouth, licking his fingers clean before leaning back on his hands.  

"Man," Danny said, finally breaking the silence, " the food’s not bad."  

Peter turned back to Danny, his frustration still evident. "How are you so calm about all this? Aren’t you even a little freaked out?"  

Danny shrugged again. "Eh, not really. I mean, have been in strange situations”  Danny had moved on from his burger and was now lazily sipping a soda, his feet kicked up on the table as if they were just two kids hanging out in a diner.  

But Peter? Peter was done. He was exhausted—no, more than that. He was emotionally wrecked. Everything had gone wrong. Aunt May was gone. The other Peters had disappeared back into their own worlds. Doctor Strange’s spell hadn’t fixed anything, and now Peter was stranded in this grim, alien city that radiated danger. His Spider-Sense hadn’t stopped buzzing since he got here, and it was driving him to the brink of insanity.  

It felt like every nerve in his body was on fire, like there was a constant whisper in the back of his mind telling him something bad was coming. When Batman stepped closer, Peter glared at him, his lips curling back in a warning hiss like a feral animal. He didn’t care how ridiculous it made him look. He just wanted the man to stay away. 

“Don’t,” Peter snapped, his voice low and dangerous. His body was coiled tight, ready to spring. “Just don’t.”  

Danny raised an eyebrow “Alright. Sheesh. Someone needs a nap.”  

Peter didn’t respond. His hands clenched into fists, his breathing shallow and uneven. He hated this. He hated feeling cornered, trapped, and helpless. He hated that he couldn’t even turn to Karen for comfort.  

His suit’s AI had been offline since he’d arrived in Gotham, and every time he reached up to tap his earpiece, hoping to hear her calm, familiar voice, he was met with silence. It was a small thing, but it made the ache in his chest worse. Karen had always been there for him. Always.  

And now she wasn’t.  

Peter stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. He needed to get away. He needed space, somewhere to breathe, somewhere to escape the weight pressing down on him.  

His eyes darted upward to the high, cavernous ceiling of the Batcave. Without a word, he shot a web and launched himself up, his movements quick and fluid.  

Peter didn’t care what they thought. He swung up to one of the higher ledges, far above the main area of the cave, and began weaving his webs. His hands moved automatically, the repetitive action calming his racing thoughts as he constructed a makeshift hammock.  

It wasn’t much, but it was something familiar. Something safe.  

When he was done, he collapsed into the hammock, the tension in his body finally easing as he stared up at the jagged ceiling above. For the first time in hours, his Spider-Sense dimmed to a faint buzz.  

Peter curled up on his side, his arms wrapped around himself as he closed his eyes. He didn’t cry. He was too tired for that but the ache in his chest didn’t go away.  

He missed Karen. He missed May. He missed home.  

[f1crecs]

Fic Rec List - Carlos/Oscar

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the carlos/oscar ship (affectionately known as carcar) has taken off in recent weeks. we wanted to share some of our favourite fics with you!

new to the fun? you can find a carcar primer here, written by @blueballsracing 🧡❤

enjoy!

nsfw: reckless attention by @janinaduszejko | E | 4.2k Carlos and Oscar have a casual hookup arrangement. Both have very different ideas about how significant it is. I really like unreliable POV in fic like this. Oscar thinks he's having casual, convenient hookups with Carlos, and is determined not to examine his feelings too closely. Carlos, meanwhile, is having a crisis over it, experiencing wants and urges he has no clue how to even begin handling. Being into a guy is confusing enough, but apparently to be submissive as well? No wonder he can't do it sober.

A quick-fire flash of something mawkish blitzes up Oscar’s spine and he sets his jaw against it. He keeps Carlos’s head in place and sets a new rhythm, fucking up in quick, even strokes. Carlos groans and Oscar can feel it around the head of his cock, the taut vibration of it, the hot clench of Carlos’s throat. Oscar’s skin feels like it’s got a current running through it, prickling sharp. His brain feels fuzzy, thoughts unable to get purchase and linger.

nsfw: the better half of a good time by @antimonyandthyme | E | 4.4k Canon divergence, future fic, sex work. Oscar, a few years into his Formula 1 career now, is locked in a bitter WDC fight with Lando. Their relationship has completely soured. He cruises the streets one night and finds a sex worker. The man, a few years older than Oscar, is vaguely familiar. Fics which explore how tenuous and elusive motorsports careers can be, how a few small changes of circumstance can result in a career failing to launch at all, are fascinating to me, and this one is no exception. The author paints a picture of a world just ever so slightly skewed from our own, one where a few unlucky moments resulted in a very different life path for Carlos.

'He’s not angry, not really. His thoughts can’t help but stray to Lando. Those last few times were mean. And being mean takes effort, more effort than Oscar sees fit to expend. Then the last few times had dried up to nothing, and Oscar had taken to searching for other ways he could keep winning outside the track, because nothing on track actually felt like winning anymore.'

nsfw: Open mouth, on my knees (for you)  by @lovelylotusf1 | E | 4.9k Oscar has a bad gag reflex and asks Carlos to help him train it away so he’d be good for Lando. What ensues is desire and power dynamics and taking what you need from the other person. I really enjoyed how the author depicted Oscar’s internal thought process and the journey of hatred to desire. The way Lando’s existence was used as almost a pawn was also written really well!

nsfw: hatred cradles you by @foggieststars | E | 6.8k Carlos comes to Oscar’s hotel room in search of Lando. What ensues is bickering, rising tension, and passionate hate sex. I love the palpable tension woven throughout this fic, Oscar and Carlos’ characterisations are so fun and fit so well together. The dialogue and the bickering is fun and fast paced and makes you want to read more! Amazing work by this author as always.

when both our cars collide by @oscarpiastriwdc | M | 8.4k Carlos finds himself stuck in a time loop, experiencing the same qualifying crash with Oscar over and over. I love time loop fic. There is something about being given the chance to fix something or change something, being able to examine a situation over and over in granular detail, that works especially well in F1 RPF where milliseconds can make a difference. As per the best Groundhog Day fics, it's not so much about what Carlos does as how he feels, and he finds himself drawing ever closer to Oscar as the loops stack. Oh, and there's a really cute dog.

'“Is that your dog?” Caligula wiggles, instinctually sensing the conversation has shifted to her. “Yes.” “I never pictured you with a tiny dog.” Carlos snorts. “What, you thought I would have a big, mean dog?” “More like a cat who scratches your eyes out.” “She’ll do that, too.” “What’s her name?” “Caligula.” Oscar makes a strange noise, a cross between a laugh and a sneeze. “Caligula? That’s an… odd name. Can I?” Oscar extends a hand, questioning. Carlos nods, and Oscar lets Caligula sniff his fingers. She catches a taste of something appetizing and nibbles at his fingers. “Sorry–” “No, she’s sweet.” The ‘unlike you’ remains unspoken'

nsfw: moth to a flame by @blueballsracing | E | 15.5k Enemies to lovers carcar with some hate sex and plot (aka Carlos moves to Red Bull next season). This was really fun to write and I loved going into Carlos' mind and writing their dynamics!

'For a split second, his thoughts fill up with wonders about the future, but he’s stuck in the past. Blue, yellow, orange, and red line his vision–and suddenly, a montage of memories obstruct his vision. He’s 20 when he drives at the Australian Grand Prix for the first time he debuts with Toro Rosso. He’s 20 when he’s next to 17-year-old Max playing word tennis in a car. He’s 21 when he crashes in qualifying at COTA, but makes up 10 positions on the first lap and finishes in the points. He’s 21 when he out-qualifies Max for a whole season, 10-9. It’s the little wins that matter–for, life is not a sprint, but a marathon. He’s 22 when Toro Rosso is a mess in the 2017 season, but he comes out on top as the superior driver of the 4 that “half” season. He leaves to save face, to get away from the screaming toxicity that is Jos Verstappen. He’s 23 when he drives for Renault for the first time and scores points. He’s 24 when he’s replaced by another Red Bull reject driver, Daniel, when he leaves Renault for McLaren. Except–he thinks otherwise. Red Bull didn’t reject both him and Daniel. Quite the opposite. The ages muddle together, but the story stays the same. He crashes and scores points and–he leaves and leaves and leaves. He gets his first podium and thanks the Brazilian audience, he leaves, he replaces a world champion, he gets his first and second and third win, is called slurs and hate names every single time for it, he leaves, he leaves, he leaves.'

nsfw: Grill the Grid by @mercurial-vroom | E | 23.2k (wip) Oscar, a very socially anxious engineering student, agrees to join Lando's pub quiz team. His rival on the team turns out to be Carlos. This fic is light and funny while at the same time examining what it can be like to be socially awkward and anxious. Seeing Oscar settle into the group dynamic is great, and the interplay among all the characters creates some great sparks.

Then, Carlos picked up the glass and took a long pull, his eyes still not leaving Oscar’s as he did so. “Well done,” he said with a small smile. Oscar noticed after he set the drink down that his plush lips were damp and shiny from the foamy beer. “I guess I am off my game tonight. Good show, Oscar.” And although he knew he should still be basking pettily in his moment of small-but-gratifying triumph… all of the sudden, Oscar found that all he could focus on was the fact that this was the first time he’d heard Carlos actually use his name. He was deeply unnerved to realize just how much he’d liked the sound of it.

nsfw: he just turned in like i didn't exist by @drivestraight | E | 36.5k Carlos and Oscar develop a soul bond. Neither of them are thrilled about this. This fic is wonderful. The soulbond complicates their already prickly relationship, until they start to develop an understanding and find empathy for one another. Oscar keeps getting little zings of stress from Carlos which we know are about his contract. Oscar, meanwhile, is starting to work a few things out about his sexuality and finds Carlos to be a surprisingly kind and patient presence in his mind.

'Oscar swallows. You heard me? he asks, uselessly. That first day, Oscar had assumed that everything Carlos heard, he responded to. Carlos hadn’t—hadn’t responded to any of those thoughts. Oscar hadn’t known. I heard everything. It is not very pleasant to have someone tell you how unwanted you are all the time. How you would prefer it to be literally anyone else. Bringing the incident up was the only way to get you to stop thinking about how horrible it was to have me as a soulmate. You do not think as quietly as you think. Oscar’s throat feels tight, a sinking and horrible feeling settling into his gut. Carlos hadn’t—at least not in English—hadn’t thought a single thing about how horrible their bond was. Oscar’s been the asshole this whole time, hasn’t he? I didn’t mean it like that, he tries. It feels like a lie even to himself. Carlos doesn’t respond. I’m sorry, Oscar tries again, playing with the ring on his index finger. Carlos is silent for the rest of the weekend. Oscar finds out later, from Lando, that it was Carlos’ birthday.'

[oddlydescriptive]

A smutty, slutty sample of my MV1 fic coming February! Hoping to incrementally release the 50k+ fic in its entirety between Valentines Day and the start of the season.

18+ Minors, DNI

Max’s grip on your hips was firm, his hands sliding over the curve of your waist as he kept his rhythm steady, deliberate, each thrust making you push back harder against him. He couldn’t stop watching the way you moved, the way your body arched for him so perfectly. It was mesmerizing. You were mesmerizing.

“Look at you, schatje,” he murmured, his voice rough with praise. “So fucking good for me. So perfect.”

The sounds you made in response- breathy moans and soft gasps- only fueled him further, sending his ego through the roof. You were so fun, so responsive, and he wanted nothing more than to keep pulling those sounds from you, to keep you exactly where you were-completely his.

But then he noticed it.

His eyes wandered lower, taking in the full picture for the first time in this position. The dip of your back. The swell of your ass. And, just above where he was buried inside you, the small, tight ring of muscle he’d never had the chance to notice before.

Your butthole.

It was… cute.

Max blinked, his focus momentarily slipping as the thought lodged itself firmly in his brain. He’d always loved anal- it was normal for him, almost second nature. Something he’d enjoyed before and something he’d always figured he’d explore with you when the time was right. And seeing this now, so perfect and untouched, he couldn’t help himself.

His thumb slid lower, brushing lightly over the sensitive skin. He used the slick between your thighs to lubricate it, his movements slow and deliberate as he tested the waters.

You made a noise at the contact, a soft, surprised moan that sent a thrill straight through him. You pushed back slightly, your hips tilting as if inviting him to continue, and Max grinned, wicked and satisfied. She likes it.

Encouraged, he pressed a little further, his thumb breaching the tight ring just enough to feel your body clench around him.

“God, you’re amazing,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a reverent whisper. “So fucking perfect for me.”

The sensations were overwhelming, new and unlike anything you’d felt before. Whatever Max was doing- it felt incredible. You couldn’t think, couldn’t process anything but the pleasure coursing through you. But then, as the haze started to lift, a single thought cut through the noise.

What is he doing?

Your breath hitched as realization hit you like a freight train.

What is he doing? Oh my God, WHAT IS HE DOING?

Before Max even realized what was happening, you bolted. One second, you were pressing back against him, and the next, you were off him entirely, turning around and clutching the covers to your chest. Your wide eyes locked onto his, your face flushed and your breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice high-pitched and more rattled than angry.

Max froze, his hands still hovering in the air as he stared at you, wide-eyed and unsure. “I-uh-” He cleared his throat, his brain scrambling to catch up. “I thought you liked it?”

Your cheeks flushed deeper as you looked away, your grip on the covers tightening. “I didn’t even know what you were doing!” you finally said, your voice pitching higher. “What was that?”

Max let out a nervous chuckle, his lips twitching as he tried to read your expression. “It was just my thumb,” he said carefully, his tone soft and apologetic. “I wasn’t trying to freak you out-I just… you seemed like you were into it.”

You stared at him for a beat longer, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you processed his words. “I didn’t hate it,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just… wasn’t expecting it.”

Max nodded slowly, his expression softening as he relaxed his posture. “That’s okay,” he said gently. “I didn’t mean to push anything. I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

You bit your lip, glancing away again as you muttered, “It’s fine. Let’s just… go back.”

Max blinked, surprised, but he didn’t argue. He repositioned himself behind you, his hands carefully avoiding the area he’d been exploring just moments ago, though his eyes lingered. It was too cute, too tempting, and he couldn’t help but admire the way it moved with each shift of your body.

Max couldn’t stop watching you. The way your back arched, the way your body met his every thrust with a push that felt like a challenge and an invitation all at once- it was addictive. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you, savoring every gasp and moan that spilled from your lips.

“You’re unbelievable, schatje,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, full of praise. “So fucking perfect for me. Look at the way you move. God, I can’t get enough of you.”

But you weren’t listening. Not really. His words reached you, sure, but they weren’t enough to drown out the growing frustration simmering beneath your skin. Your mind kept drifting- back to earlier, back to the way his thumb had brushed over a place no one had ever touched before. The sensation had been so unexpected, so sharp and electric, that it had thrown you off completely.

Even as you buried your face into the pillow and focused on the rhythm of his movements, there was a subtle craving simmering just beneath the surface. The tease of his touch- that one, stupid, mindless press- had sparked something in you. And now, every nerve in your body seemed to be begging for more.

The thought frustrated you. You didn’t want to want it. But the longer you held out, the more ridiculous it felt.

And now? Now it was all you could think about.

You clenched your teeth, annoyed at yourself, at your own body for craving something you hadn’t even known you wanted. It was embarrassing- infuriating, even. The way your body seemed to hum with the memory, the way every nerve ending felt like it was screaming for him to do it again.

You groaned into the pillow, half from pleasure, half from sheer frustration.

“You okay, schatje?” Max asked, his hands steadying on your hips, his voice warm with concern.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, though your voice was muffled by the pillow and lacked any real conviction.

Max didn’t buy it. You could feel the hesitation in his movements, the way he slowed just enough to make you want to scream. You hated that he was holding back, hated the tension building in your chest as your craving grew stronger, more insistent.

“Fucking hell,” you muttered under your breath, your voice tinged with exasperation.

Max’s brow furrowed as he leaned down slightly, his tone turning softer. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you snapped, though it came out weaker than you intended. “Just… keep going.”

He did, but you could feel his restraint- the way his hands stayed firmly on your hips, avoiding the spot you couldn’t stop thinking about. It was driving you insane.

Finally, with a growl of frustration, you reached back and grabbed his hand, guiding it to where his thumb had been before. You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything, couldn’t explain what you wanted out loud, but the movement was enough.

Max stilled, his breath catching as realization dawned. “Oh?” he said, his tone shifting into something darker, something teasing. “Does somebody maybe like this?”

Your face burned, and you buried it deeper into the pillow, mortified. “Shut up,” you muttered, your voice barely audible.

Max chuckled softly, his fingers brushing over the sensitive skin. “Oh, you definitely do,” he said, his voice full of wicked amusement. “You were so mad about it before, and now you’re asking for it? God, schatje, you’re amazing.”

“Max,” you hissed, your tone sharp but shaky.

“What?” he replied innocently, though his grin was audible in his voice. “I’m just giving you what you want.”

And then he pressed in again, his thumb breaching the tight ring slowly, carefully, and the sensation made your toes curl against the sheets. A gasp tore from your lips, sharp and desperate, and Max groaned softly as he felt your body react to him.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his free hand sliding up your back as his thumb moved in tandem with his hips. “Good girl. So perfect for me.”

His words sent shivers down your spine, the combination of his praise and his touch pulling sounds from you that you didn’t recognize- raw, breathless, and full of need. Every movement, every stroke, pushed you higher, made the craving that had annoyed you so much earlier feel worth it.

“Does it feel good, schatje?” he asked, his voice rough but teasing as his grip on you tightened. “You don’t have to tell me. I can feel it. So tight, so perfect- God, you’re amazing.”

Your body trembled beneath him, every nerve ending alight as his thumb pressed deeper, his movements deliberate and maddeningly precise. The sensations were overwhelming, sharp and electric, and you couldn’t stop the way your body clenched around him—both where he was buried inside you and where his thumb was hooked.

Max let out a low, guttural groan, his rhythm faltering as his grip on you tightened. “Fuck, schatje,” he breathed, his voice strained. “Good girl. Good fucking girl.”

You couldn’t respond. Couldn’t do anything but feel as the pleasure overwhelmed you, sharp and all-encompassing. Max’s voice was relentless in your ear, full of praise and teasing warmth, grounding you even as you felt yourself unravel beneath him.

Max’s breathing was ragged as he stilled, his hand tightening on your hip as he pressed forward one last time, spilling into you with a low, guttural groan. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, the heat of his breath washing over your skin as he tried to catch it. The quiet hum of satisfaction hung heavy in the air, the both of you trembling and breathless in the aftershocks.

For a few moments, the room was silent except for the sound of your combined breathing. His hands stayed firm, grounding you, keeping you close as his lips brushed lightly against the back of your neck and slowly worked his thumb out. The weight of his body against yours felt solid, steady, and safe- a stark contrast to the whirlwind of sensations that had just passed.

“You okay?” he murmured after a beat, his voice hoarse but gentle. His lips pressed a lazy kiss to your shoulder, the tenderness making your chest ache in the best way.

You hummed softly, nodding against the pillow. “Mhm.”

Max shifted, leaning back slightly so he could look at you. His grin was slow, sly, and absolutely infuriating. “Not so mad about it now, huh?”

You groaned, burying your face into the pillow to hide the flush creeping up your neck. “Don’t.”