#i DID say i had 10 hours to think about this

[leriexoxo]

A Bumpy Ride

PART ONE

“Rough ride, hold on tight, yeah this train never sleeps”

Pairing: Chan x Fem Reader

Tags: smut, exhibition, semi-public sex, fingering, riding, car sex, risky sex, unprotected sex (be smart), breeding, tit play, friends to fbuddies

Word count: 3.9k

Summary: You got invited to go camping with the members of straykids after their promotions, everyone’s excited about the road trip in the mountains but with all the luggages of over 10 people piled up in three cars, there wasnt any room for you- well except on Chans laps, for the entire 2 hour bumpy ride and lets just say, You did NOT dress up with this outcome in mind. The road plus your clothes or lack-thereof puts you both in a sticky situation

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

next

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The sound of laughter echoed from the driveway as the members of Stray Kids bustled around, finishing the last-minute packing for the long-awaited road trip to the campsite. Every inch of the three cars was packed to the brim with luggage, snacks, and camping gear, the trunks barely able to close, and even the backseats cramped with duffel bags and coolers. It was supposed to be a weekend away—a break from their hectic schedules, and maybe the first chance to truly relax in what felt like forever.

But, as the boys loaded into the first two cars, you stood on the edge of the driveway, eyes widening in confusion.

“Wait, where’s my seat?” you asked, glancing around. “There’s no space in the back of either car!”

Jisung poked his head out of the first car. “Uh… yeah, we didn’t quite plan for your bags, and, well, there’s no more room.”

Hyunjin, standing beside him, gave you a sheepish look. “Looks like you’re gonna have to hitch a ride in the trunk.”

“No way,” you groaned. “I’m not sitting in the trunk for two hours.”

Chan was already walking toward you, amusement in his eyes. “Hey, if you want to make it to the campsite, I can carry you. We’ll squeeze you on my lap for the ride.”

You stared at him, blinking in disbelief. “You’re serious?”

“Would you rather be left behind?” Chan smirked, raising an eyebrow, as the other boys chuckled, giving you no choice but to agree.

With a sigh and a roll of your eyes, you shrugged, “Fine, but you owe me big time for this.”

“Deal,” Chan said, already opening the back door of the third car. You slid in after him, your face flushed with embarrassment and excitement at the same time. The moment the door closed, the smell of his cologne surrounded you, his body heat radiating as you awkwardly settled onto his lap, your knees pressing against his thighs.

As the car began to roll out of the driveway, you couldn’t help but wonder how the next two hours would go. With your body pressed against his in such close quarters, you already knew this ride was about to be more intense than you had anticipated.

—

The car jolted again, tires thudding hard against another bump in the dirt road. You barely had time to brace yourself before you were airborne for half a second, and then gravity pulled you right back down—right onto Chan’s lap.

“Fuck—” he muttered under his breath, his arms tightening around your waist like a seatbelt.

“I told you I could sit on the floor,” you huffed, adjusting your grip on the headrest in front of you. Not that it helped. The moment you settled, another jolt sent you sliding again, your thigh catching between his legs.

He let out a strained breath through his nose. “Yeah, and then you’d crack your head open on the cooler.”

You shot him a glare over your shoulder, but all you caught was the flush creeping up his neck, the way his jaw clenched as you shifted again. His hands were splayed wide at your hips now, thumbs dangerously close to the hem of your shorts.

The stack of luggage separating the rest of the car felt like a wall of denial at this point—just you and Chan back here, locked in your own little pressure cooker.

“I didn’t think the road would be this bad,” you muttered, trying to lift yourself up a little, as if giving him space would help.

It didn’t. The next bump had you bouncing straight back down, and this time you felt it—hard. Solid. Pressed right beneath you.

Chan’s breath hitched audibly.

You froze. “Was that—”

“Don’t,” he cut in, voice low, jaw clenched tight. “Don’t move.”

You didn’t move. But your breathing changed—deeper, shallower, uneven.

Neither of you spoke.

Chan’s hands were still on your hips, firm, fingers twitching like they were debating a very stupid decision. His voice came again, low and rough near your ear.

“I’m serious. Don’t move.”

You swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.”

Another bump. Smaller this time, but it still rocked you just enough. Your body shifted instinctively, trying to find balance—and there it was again. Hard and growing.

“Fuck, y/n…” he hissed under his breath. You felt the heat in your face instantly.

“I—Chan, I didn’t—”

He exhaled shakily, pressing his forehead to your shoulder for a second. “I know you didn’t. But you’re not making this easy.”

You let out a nervous laugh. “I didn’t realize sitting on you would be this… distracting.”

He chuckled dryly, but it sounded strained, barely holding back. “Yeah well… your shorts aren’t doing a very good job of hiding anything. And I can feel everything.”

You clenched your thighs instinctively. He felt everything?

“I’m wearing thongs,” you muttered, voice barely a whisper.

His fingers dug into your hips. Just a bit. “Yeah. I noticed.”

The road jolted again, and you bounced once more—this time straight back with your ass grinding down just enough to make him curse through gritted teeth.

You froze, then slowly turned your head, eyes catching his. His gaze was dark, intense, and hungry.

“You keep doing that and I’m gonna fuck around and embarrass myself,” he murmured.

Your heart was pounding now, heat pooling low in your belly. “Maybe I don’t want you to hold back.”

His breath caught.

For a second, the only sound in the car was the rattle of loose camping gear and the hum of tires over uneven ground.

Then his grip on you changed—firmer, more possessive. “Say that again.”

You looked at him over your shoulder. “Maybe I want to fuck around and embarrass yourself?”

That was it.

Chan’s mouth was at your neck a second later, hot breath dragging over your skin. He didn’t kiss you—yet—but his hands were sliding up under the hem of your tank, palms rough and warm as they grazed the bare skin of your waist.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for, baby girl,” he murmured. “You keep grinding like that and I’m not just gonna sit here and behave.”

Another bump. Another grind. This time you didn’t try to stop it.

“We’ve got two hours,” you whispered. “Make them worth it.”

The next time the car rocked, you felt it—all of it. His cock, thick and hard, trapped beneath the thin fabric of his shorts. And with how your own had bunched up so high from all the jostling, your skin was nearly bare against him. Nothing but your thin thong and the soft cotton of his shorts in between.

Your breath hitched. He groaned. Loud.

The bass from the radio swallowed it whole.

“You feel that?” he muttered near your ear, voice dark and ragged. “Feel what you’re doing to me?”

You nodded, unable to speak.

Another dip in the road—thud—and your body rocked again, thighs spread just a little wider by the movement, ass grinding down like it had a mission. You weren’t even trying to tease him now; the road was doing it for you.

But Chan was suffering. His jaw was tight, his knuckles white where he gripped your waist like it was the only thing tethering him to sanity.

“Your shorts…” he rasped. “They’re so—fuck, baby, they’re riding up so high I can see your ass.”

You whimpered, heat spiraling through you.

“I can feel everything,” he growled, pressing his hips up just slightly. That movement alone made your body shudder. “Your thong… you’re so soft, and the way you’re moving on me—”

Another bump. This one dragged you back along his lap before slamming you forward again—your bare ass grinding across the full length of his cock like a sin you couldn’t take back.

Chan groaned. Louder this time, but the music masked it again. The beat thrummed through the car like a countdown to your unraveling.

“I can’t take this,” he hissed. “You keep moving like that and I’m gonna fuckin’—”

“Then do something,” you whispered. “Touch me.”

His fingers trembled on your waist. He dragged them lower, just a little—pads brushing over the waistband of your shorts, thumbs dipping beneath, teasing the edges of your thong.

“You’re not gonna stop me?”

You shook your head. “I don’t want you to stop.”

That was all he needed.

His hand slipped down, just one. Slowly. Carefully. Until his fingertips grazed between your thighs—where the fabric was soaked.

“Shit.” He exhaled, voice cracked. “You’re dripping.”

You clenched around nothing, thighs tightening.

“You want me to keep going?” he asked, voice filthy-soft.

You didn’t trust yourself to answer. You just arched your hips back—grinding into his palm, into the thickness straining beneath you.

His fingers pushed your thong to the side. Bare skin met bare skin. Heat met heat.

“Fuck,” he muttered, biting back a groan as his finger traced the crease where your inner thigh met your heat.

You wanted to say something—but then he did it.

One arm curled tightly around your waist. The other moved fast. In a swift, practiced motion, he lifted your hips just barely—just enough—and shoved one leg of his own shorts up, freeing himself.

You didn’t even have time to react.

He was bare. Thick. Hot. His cock rested heavy and flushed against his stomach for a beat before he guided it—down. Right where you’d just been sitting.

Then he slowly lowered you back onto him.

You gasped.

There was no warning. No barrier. Just the thin strip of your soaked thong and his bare length pressing directly beneath you—so warm, so hard, the tip catching against the curve of your ass, dragging sinfully along your folds with the slightest motion.

“Holy shit,” Chan choked out, one hand clutching your hip, the other gripping the seat beside him. “You feel that?”

You nodded wordlessly, mouth parted, hips frozen.

“Don’t move,” he groaned. “Just—fuck, don’t move.”

But then the car hit another rut.

You dropped onto him with a jolt, your body sliding back and forth over his cock. No fabric. No friction buffer. Just sinful, desperate rubs with every bounce of the wheels.

Chan growled, low and guttural.

“Fucking hell, baby girl, you’re gonna make me lose it.”

Your hands gripped the back of the headrest in front of you, legs trembling as each bump dragged you across him again—tip gliding between your folds, shaft grinding against the soaked thong and swollen skin. It was torture. Hot, slow, overwhelming torture.

“I can feel your slit every time,” he rasped against your neck. “You’re soaked, baby. Your pussy’s just rubbing all over my cock like you want me to slide right in—”

You whimpered. The music thumped around you. No one could hear. No one knew. But you were unraveling—both of you were.

Two hours of this? There was no way you’d survive.

The next bump sent another long, dragging rub down the length of his cock—and this time, you didn’t even pretend it was an accident.

You shifted your hips, tilted just slightly forward, and then rolled them back—slow and deliberate.

Chan let out a strangled, broken sound behind you. “Baby girl… don’t do that.”

You did it again.

His hands flew to your hips like magnets, gripping tight—but he didn’t stop you. He couldn’t. Not when your soaked thong was leaving a hot, sticky trail with every slide along his shaft.

“I thought you said not to move,” you whispered, leaning back into his chest like you hadn’t just destroyed every ounce of his control.

“I did,” he growled, his breath hot against your neck. “And now look what you’ve done.”

You rolled your hips again, slow and sensual—smearing yourself along his cock, soaking him with your arousal. The movement pressed your bare ass tighter against his lower stomach, letting you feel just how wet you were making him.

He hissed, head dropping back against the seat. “You’re so fucking wet, baby. I can feel it all over me.”

You shivered at the sound of his voice—low, desperate.

“I want your hands,” you said quietly.

His eyes snapped open, dark and wild. “Where?”

You guided one hand up beneath your tank top. His palm was rough, fingers wide as they skimmed the soft skin just beneath your chest. You arched into his touch, and he groaned again, fingertips brushing the underside of your breasts.

“No bra?” he rasped, voice cracking.

“Too hot,” you whispered, and then ground against him again, dragging your soaked core along his length.

His other hand slipped down, fingers trailing over the curve of your thigh, then back up under the edge of your bunched-up shorts—cupping your ass. Skin on skin.

He groaned like a man starving.

“I could come just from this,” he muttered, lips ghosting your shoulder. “Just from the way you’re grinding on me. Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

You kept moving—slow, calculated circles of your hips, soaking his cock in your slick, never letting him push inside. Not yet.

“Touch me more,” you breathed, and his hands obeyed instantly.

One slid up higher under your tank, finally palming your breast, thumb flicking gently over the nipple until you gasped. The other massaged your ass, squeezing and pulling, guiding your grind like he was trying to memorize the way your body felt on top of him.

The road kept jerking you, bump after bump, each one adding to the torture.

He was soaked now—shaft glistening with your arousal, tip slick and nudging against your entrance every now and then, tempting fate.

“You don’t want me to put it in?” he asked, voice hoarse. “Not even a little?”

“I want your fingers first,” you said. “I want you to feel what you’re doing to me.”

Chan swore under his breath. You felt his hand dip lower, slide between your thighs—and then two fingers, warm and strong, brushed over your slit.

You were dripping.

“Holy shit, baby…” His breath caught. “You’re soaking through the seat.”

And then he slid one finger along your folds, slow and reverent. Just barely teasing. Just enough to make you lose your mind.

You moaned softly, head tilting back, and his lips caught your neck. “You gonna let me play with you back here, princess? Gonna let me see how wet you get before I fuck you stupid?”

You didn’t answer. You just kept grinding—slow and sinful—while his fingers slipped beneath your thong and finally, finally, sank inside.

His fingers were deep inside you now—slow, torturous. He worked you with careful precision, like he was studying every little shiver your body gave, every breath you took. Your hips ground down harder, desperate for more, but he just pulled back, not letting you feel the deep, punishing stroke you needed.

You were soaked. So fucking soaked it was obscene. The sounds of your wetness mixed with the sound of the car’s engine humming beneath you, but all you could focus on was him—his fingers buried inside, curling against you just enough to make you ache for more.

“God, baby…” Chan muttered, his voice strained, low and ragged. “You’re so tight, I can barely move inside you. Just a little… fuck, just a little bit more—”

You whined as his thumb brushed your clit, the sensation so damn good that you nearly bucked right off his lap.

“Chan…” you whimpered, voice breathless, “please…”

He didn’t answer. He just moved faster, fingers sinking deeper, thrusting in and out of you in a slow rhythm that matched the uneven speed of the car. Every bump seemed to push you closer to the edge, making you grip his arm tighter, your body trembling as you ground yourself against him again, dragging your soaked thong along his hard cock with every movement.

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby,” he groaned in your ear, his lips brushing your skin as he leaned in, his free hand massaging your breast again, squeezing the soft flesh, rolling your nipple between his fingers. “All this wetness… all this for me? For just my fingers, baby girl?”

Your eyes closed, head tipping back as you lost yourself in the sensation. The way his fingers moved, the way his thumb circled your clit, the way he was slowly unraveling you from the inside out. You couldn’t stop grinding against him, the friction driving you crazy.

“More,” you whispered, needing it. “Please, more.”

But Chan’s pace stayed maddeningly slow, deliberately pulling away just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore. He wasn’t giving you what you wanted—not yet.

“You want more?” he teased, voice thick with desire. “Tell me how bad you want it. Beg for it.”

You moaned, grinding harder against his hand, your hips moving as if they had a mind of their own now. “Chan, please. Please… don’t stop, I need more.”

A satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he added a second finger. The stretch burned, but it was delicious—perfect—and you gasped in response.

“There we go,” he murmured, his fingers working in and out of you in a steady rhythm. “Let me hear those pretty sounds. Let me feel how wet you are for me.”

You couldn’t hold back anymore. You bucked your hips, fucking yourself against his hand, your body pushing harder into him, desperate for that sweet release that was slowly building. You were so close—so close you could taste it.

His fingers moved faster, deeper. His thumb rubbed tight circles around your clit, and that was all it took. The sensation built higher, tighter, until you exploded, hips jerking violently as you came on his fingers, your body trembling with every aftershock.

Chan groaned, voice low and guttural. “Fuck. You’re so fucking beautiful when you come on my fingers.”

But you weren’t done yet.

You stayed there, breathless, shuddering in his arms, your body still writhing from the intensity of the orgasm. You could feel his cock, hard and aching beneath you, and you needed it. You wanted to feel him—more than anything.

But the road kept shaking, throwing you in and out of his lap, teasing you further.

“Please, Chan,” you whimpered, fingers gripping his wrist, pulling his hand away just enough to feel the tip of his cock brushing against your slick folds. “Please… let me ride you. I need you.”

His eyes darkened, breath ragged. “You’re gonna kill me, baby girl, but yeah… yeah, let’s make it happen.”

One hand slid between your thighs. Found the edge of your thong. Tugged it aside.

“Chan—” “I need you.”

And then—he was there.

Hot, thick, and bare, pressing against your entrance. You tried to shift forward but his arm wrapped tight around your waist and dragged you back, slow and steady, until he was buried inside you.

Your mouth fell open in a silent cry. You could feel every inch of him, the stretch delicious, dizzying. He was deep—too deep for a position like this—but you were soaked and desperate and clenching around him like he belonged there.

His breath stuttered behind you. “Jesus—you’re so fucking warm.”

You nodded, dazed, forehead against the window as you tried to keep quiet. The van hit another bump. You rocked forward, then back—impaling yourself even deeper. He groaned through clenched teeth.

“Keep doing that,” he whispered. “Fuck, ride me. Just like that. Slow.”

Your hips obeyed before your brain caught up. Rocking in tiny, aching rolls, grinding down on him with each jolt of the van. Every breath was ragged, every movement a gamble.

And right on the other side of those boxes?

Hyunjin hummed along with the music.

Still completely unaware that you were fucking yourself on his leader.

Slow, careful, desperate.

Chan’s cock was buried inside you, pulsing with every clench of your walls. His hands were locked around your waist, trying to hold you still, failing miserably. Every bump of the road pushed you deeper, every sway of the van had your breath catching.

He was too hot. Too hard. And you were soaking him—your thighs slick, his jeans drenched at the crotch where your arousal was leaking down his length.

“This is so fucked,” you whispered, barely audible over the hum of the tires and the loud music from the radio. “We’re gonna get caught—”

“No one’s watching,” he growled into your ear, voice thick with lust. “They don’t even know. You’re doing so good, baby. Just keep going.”

You whimpered. Baby.

He’d never called you that before this car ride. Never held you like this, whispered filth into your skin with his cock so deep inside you that your toes curled. You were always part of the gang, like one of the boys.

The box next to you shifted again. For a split second, you thought Hyunjin had moved—your heart stopped, but he didn’t stir. Still slumped with headphones in, face turned toward the window.

“Ride me slower,” Chan whispered, lips brushing the back of your neck. “Nice and quiet. Can’t let them hear how wet you are, right?”

You nodded frantically, already lifting your hips with agonizing slowness before dropping back down—just a little. Just enough to make him shudder.

“Oh my God,” he groaned softly, teeth grazing your shoulder. “You feel like fucking heaven.”

You were trembling. Your thighs, your stomach, your voice—it was all unraveling. The tightness in your belly coiled sharper every time he bottomed out inside you, the base of him grinding against your slick folds, your clit catching against the rough fabric of his jeans.

You wanted more.

You wanted everything.

“Touch me,” you whispered. “Please—Chan—”

His hand slid between your thighs so fast it made your breath catch. Two fingers on your clit, slow circles, slick with your own arousal. You bucked in his lap, nearly gasped—but his hand clamped over your mouth just in time.

“Shhh, baby. I know. I know it’s too much.”

His other hand curled tighter around your waist, guiding you now—fucking you onto him with every soft thrust. You were close. So close.

“You gonna cum for me?” he murmured, filthy and sweet. “On my cock like this, while everyone’s right here? You want that?”

You nodded, eyes wide, thighs trembling. You couldn’t speak—not with his hand over your mouth, not with his cock dragging against that spot inside you that made everything go hazy.

“That’s it,” he whispered, desperate now. “Be good and cum for me. Let me feel it—fuck—please.”

Your vision blurred. The tension snapped. You came with a silent scream, clenching so hard around him that his breath hitched and his hips stuttered.

“Fuuuck—” he groaned, voice ragged. “I’m gonna—shit, I can’t hold it—”

He thrusted up once, twice—and then he was spilling inside you. Hot, thick, filling you to the brim while his head dropped against your shoulder and his entire body went taut.

You both froze. Still joined. Still breathing hard. Still soaking.

Silence.

Then—

“…Yo, you guys alive back there?” Jisung called from the front. “You’ve been quiet as hell.”

You panicked, heart in your throat—but Chan didn’t even flinch.

“Yeah,” he called back, perfectly calm. “She fell asleep on me.”

You choked out a laugh against his palm, breathless, still trembling.

“Cutest little angel,” he added, loud enough for everyone to hear, while he was still buried deep inside you and your ruined panties were sticking to your thigh.

You were going straight to hell. But at least Chan was going with you.

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Authors note: so i’m back with more Channir filth 😂 you know the drill guys, engage! Also this comes with a part 2 so lets get atleast 150 notes before i upload the second part!

Thanks for following guys! I cant believe we’re already over 450 in less than two months! 😭❤️ please continue to drop your likes and reblog, for motivation!

[deliciousangelfestival]

Let's Play Pretend - 10 | bodyguard!Bucky

Character: Bucky Barnes x singer! Female reader

Summary: You just wanted to hide here and find peace from the mess that wasn’t caused by you. But then, your hot neighbor bothered you. As if that wasn’t enough, the enemies you hated found you too.

PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , PART 8 , Part 9 , END.

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I published my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

The first thing you saw was light—bright, sterile, and blinding. You winced, your eyes fluttering shut again before they slowly adjusted. The ceiling above was unfamiliar, white with soft shadows moving across it. The smell of antiseptic told you exactly where you were.

You blinked, turning your head slightly. Bucky sat at your side, his posture tense but calm, like a sentinel who hadn’t moved in hours.

“Good morning,” he said softly, voice warm and low, careful not to startle you.

You opened your mouth, but your throat was dry. Still, you managed to whisper, “I’m… I’m safe, right?”

Bucky leaned forward slightly, his gaze locked on yours. “You’re safe.” His voice was firm now, protective. “No one’s going to hurt you—not while I’m here.”

The reassurance was like a wave washing over you—and suddenly, your chest tightened. Your lip trembled as a sob escaped before you could stop it. You covered your mouth, tears spilling uncontrollably down your cheeks.

Bucky was caught off guard. His eyes widened for a second, but then he reached out without hesitation. He gently pulled you into his arms, tucking your head beneath his chin, his hand moving slowly across your back. “Hey, it’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re okay now.”

But you weren’t okay.

Your breaths came faster. The hospital room started spinning. The walls felt too close. Your skin itched with the memory of everything that had happened. Selena. No—Stanley. The betrayal slammed into you all over again, a cold knife through your gut.

“I let him in,” you choked out between sobs. “I trusted him. I gave him a job. I believed in him. And he… he watched me. He followed me. All this time.”

Your vision darkened as the panic took hold—your heart pounded against your ribs, your lungs refusing to work properly. The machines around you began to beep faster. A nurse rushed in, but Bucky held you close, grounding you as you trembled.

“I should’ve seen it,” you cried. “I brought him into our lives. I—Dolly… she trusted him because I did.”

You gasped for air, hands fisting into the hospital blanket. “He followed me into dressing rooms, Bucky. I never fully undressed, but still… he watched. I thought I was being careful.” You looked at him, eyes wide and filled with horror. “I feel sick. Violated. How could I not know?”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. His hand wrapped tighter around yours.

“He’s never getting near you again.” His tone was like steel.

You looked up at him, broken, your voice barely above a whisper. “How can you be sure?”

He looked at you for a moment, then said, “Let’s just say… men like him don’t survive in prison.”

You stared at him, unsure what he meant.

“He’s got the face and body,” Bucky added, almost coldly. “He’ll be popular in there.”

You blinked, stunned. Your eyebrows raised, your mouth slightly parted, but Bucky didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. He didn’t want you to dwell on it. Not someone like Stanley. Not someone who started a cult in your name, who manipulated you, lied to you, and cost the lives of the people you cared about.

Why should you care what happens to him?

Bucky gently pulled the blanket higher around your shoulders. “Focus on healing,” he said quietly. “He doesn’t deserve your thoughts.”

Bucky sat back down beside you, watching you closely.

"You don't have to think about any of that right now," he said gently. "You look thirsty. Do you want something to drink?"

You gave a small nod.

Bucky stood up, walked over to the table, and poured water into a cup with a bendable straw. He returned to your side and held the cup steady as he guided the straw to your lips. You sipped slowly. The cool water was a relief, soothing your dry throat.

Just as you finished, a soft knock echoed from the hospital room door.

Your body tensed instinctively. Eyes wide, your breath caught. You weren't ready for more surprises.

Bucky stood, his expression unreadable as he walked to the door and opened it slightly, peeking through.

"Oh, it’s just you," he said, his tone shifting to something more casual.

"What do you mean ‘just you’? I’m the one overseeing this case," a voice responded with a touch of indignation.

Bucky rolled his eyes playfully and opened the door wider. "Yeah, yeah... Come in."

You watched as Bucky stepped aside to let the visitor in. The two clearly knew each other. There was an ease in their interaction that only came from familiarity.

"His name is Steve," Bucky explained, glancing back at you. "He’s a profiler—and officially part of this case now."

Steve stepped forward awkwardly, clearing his throat. "Sorry to disturb your rest."

"It’s alright," you replied with a soft smile, though your voice was still weak.

Steve blinked rapidly, clearly trying to stay professional—but he looked a bit starstruck. Being in the same room with a famous singer wasn’t something that happened every day.

Bucky nudged his friend’s shoulder with a smirk. "Come on, man. Say what you came here to say."

"Oh—right!" Steve straightened up, clearing his throat again. "I just wanted to inform you that ‘Selena’—or rather, Stanley—will be in jail for a very long time. We have enough evidence linking him to two murders."

Your face fell, the color draining from your cheeks at the word murders. Your fingers gripped the edge of the blanket. The weight of those deaths—the betrayal—sank heavily into your chest.

Steve noticed your change in expression and shifted gears quickly. "Ah—sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Just… wanted to say we got a lot of help from Bucky here."

You glanced at Bucky. "Really?"

"Yes," Steve nodded. "Without him, we wouldn’t have solved the case in time. We might not have even found you."

Bucky gave a small shrug, his arms crossing over his chest as he leaned against the wall. "It was easy, actually. I just noticed one thing about her—him."

You tilted your head. "What did you notice?"

"‘Selena’ never went to the bathroom," Bucky said plainly.

"That's it?" you blinked, confused.

"I followed your routine closely," Bucky explained. "Your schedule was packed—rehearsals, photoshoots, events. Hours on end. Even the most disciplined assistant would need a bathroom break. But ‘Selena’ never did. Not once. That’s not dedication. That’s unnatural."

Now that he mentioned it, your brows furrowed. You searched your memory. He was right. You had never heard Selena excuse herself, not even once. Not even a casual ‘Be right back.’ Not even during 12-hour shoot days.

Even Dolly would excuse herself now and then.

Bucky continued, his tone darker. "And how Dolly and Jack died… there were patterns. Both were seen talking to someone they knew right before they were killed. The crime scenes suggested no forced entry. She had access to their homes."

Steve chimed in. "After some questioning, we discovered Stanley used your fandom as a cover. He targeted fans who worked in Dolly’s and Jack’s apartment buildings. That’s how he got their access codes. Same with Vert’s place."

"But… forensics showed the killer was male," you said slowly, trying to connect it all.

Steve nodded. "Exactly. That’s why we couldn’t completely rule ‘Selena’ out. Despite how she—he—presented, there was no solid alibi. And now, with the evidence we’ve gathered, we’re confident we’ve got enough to keep him behind bars for a long time."

You exhaled deeply, overwhelmed by the storm of information. Your eyes drifted down to your trembling hands. A killer had almost taken over your life—lived in your shadow, earned your trust, and taken the lives of those closest to you.

"There are a lot of charges pending," Steve added, gentler now. "But what matters most is you’re safe. And we’ll make sure it stays that way."

"Thank you," you murmured, managing a small, genuine smile.

Steve's ears turned slightly pink.

"Why are you thanking him?" Bucky scoffed, crossing his arms dramatically. "I’m the one who saved you first."

You rolled your eyes with a soft smile.

Steve shot Bucky a look, smirking. "Oh, shut up. You’re just jealous." He glanced at his watch. "Anyway, time to go." He turned back to you, a bit more sincerely this time. "It’s an honor to meet you. I hope you recover fully and quickly."

You nodded politely, your expression grateful.

Bucky walked over to the door as Steve made his way out. "Get the hell out," Bucky muttered, half-jokingly, giving Steve a little shove.

Steve chuckled as he stepped into the hallway, then leaned back in with a teasing grin. "You like her, don’t you?" he whispered loudly enough for you to hear.

Bucky’s jaw clenched.n"No, I don’t. Shut up."

Steve raised a brow. "It’s obvious, Buck. Even she probably knows."

You tilted your head in curiosity while Bucky pushed him farther out into the hallway. "Go away before I punch you, Rogers."

"Love makes you soft!" Steve called out with a laugh as Bucky slammed the door behind him.

He let out a huff and leaned his forehead against the door for a moment before turning back toward you.

You smirked.n"So… that’s the friend you told me about before?"

He walked back to your bedside and nodded.n"Yup. That’s him. Used to be skinny as paper."

Your eyes widened. "Really? But he’s almost as big as you now!"

You paused, remembering the stories. You’d heard how Steve had been tortured even longer than Bucky. But looking at him now, with his kind eyes and confident posture, he seemed like a walking golden retriever—not a trace of the darkness he'd been through.

"How did he…?" your voice trailed off.

Bucky sat down slowly beside you, resting his elbows on his knees. His expression softened.

"It wasn’t easy for him. Or for me. Sometimes… we still get nightmares. Flashbacks." He went quiet for a beat. "But it's not as bad as it used to be."

You looked down at your hands, voice barely above a whisper. "Do you think I can pull through, like you guys did?"

He looked at you, his eyes filled with something honest—something that had seen pain and still chose to stay.

"I believe you can. But it’s not easy. It takes time. A long time." He leaned back, arms crossed loosely. "There were days I thought I’d go insane. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t breathe." He looked off toward the window. "Until I met Mrs. Walls."

You blinked. "Really?"

He nodded. "Yup. Meeting her… it brought me back to when I was a kid. She reminded me of something real. Something warm." He let out a breath. "At that moment, the darkness around me finally started to lift. Just a little."

You smiled softly, a glimmer of recognition in your expression. "I guess we’re some of those people who see their teachers like parents, huh?"

Bucky nodded, then his brows lifted slightly, remembering something. “Speaking of parents… I heard someone told Vert that we look alike.”

You immediately blushed, caught off guard. “Ehm… You probably didn’t realize it, but yeah. You really do.”

He squinted at you, unconvinced. “Me and him? That’s impossible. From which part?”

You counted with your fingers. “The jawline. The eyes. The way you tilt your head when you're listening to something. And that smirk—always raising your left eyebrow. Oh! And the way you play the guitar. Same fingerstyle. Same posture. Same little wrist flick thing.”

Bucky smirked.

“There it is!” You pointed at him and smirked back. “That exact smirk.”

He chuckled, leaning slightly closer. “Didn’t realize you noticed every little thing about me.”

You flushed deeper and looked away. “I-I don’t. It’s just… pretty noticeable.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow playfully. “Oh? Really?” He leaned in even more, teasing. “Anything else I should know you’ve been secretly observing?”

You grabbed your blanket and threw it over your face. “Shut up. I’m a patient. Stop bothering me.” Your voice was muffled as you hid under the covers.

Bucky laughed softly, trying to hold it in. “Alright, alright. I’ll listen to the patient’s orders.” His voice was still full of amusement as he watched the lump under the blanket.

Then his tone shifted, slightly more serious. “There’s more, though. Vert asked me to take a DNA test.”

You peeked out, blinking. “Huh? Did you take it?”

He shrugged casually. “Yeah, I did. But I don’t expect anything. It'll probably say 0%. I’ve given up on the whole ‘parents’ thing.”

You sat up straighter, watching him. “But… what if you are related to Vert?”

He shook his head. “Impossible.”

You tilted your head, thoughtful. “I don’t know. My gut says otherwise.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes in challenge. “Wanna make a bet?”

Your eyes lit up with intrigue. “What kind of bet?”

He leaned forward, voice low and daring. “If you’re right, and I am related to Vert, you can ask me for anything. No limits.”

You grinned. “And if you’re right?”

His eyes glinted with mischief. “Then you owe me something. My choice.”

You extended your pinky. “Deal.”

He linked his pinky with yours, the air between you suddenly warmer, closer.

Your hands stayed there a second too long. His eyes dropped to your lips. Yours flicked to his. The space between you seemed to shrink with every breath. His hand brushed your wrist, and your heart skipped.

Then—

“My dear! I came as soon as I could!” Mrs. Walls' voice burst into the room.

You both jolted and quickly pulled away, scrambling to sit upright as if nothing happened.

Mrs. Walls, oblivious to the tension she just shattered, rushed toward you and pulled you into a tight hug, her arms warm and comforting.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, stroking your hair like a worried mother. “I was so worried. I told them to call me if anything happened.”

You melted into her embrace, suddenly feeling like a child again, wrapped in safety.

“If you need a place to stay,” she said firmly, pulling back to look into your eyes, “you can stay with me. As long as you want.”

Your chest tightened at her words, a warmth flooding through you. You glanced at Bucky—he was already looking at you, and the way his expression softened said everything.

You turned back to Mrs. Walls, voice gentle. “Thank you, Mrs. Walls. I’ll gladly take your offer.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸

Six months later.

The classroom was alive with laughter and bright chatter. Colorful drawings covered the walls, some of them lopsided stick figures holding guitars and microphones—your influence was clear even in crayon. Sunlight poured through the windows, dancing across the hardwood floor as a dozen kids sang, clapped, and played simple rhythms with tiny instruments.

One of the kids, a little boy with untamable curls and wide brown eyes, tugged on your sleeve. “Miss?” he asked in a shy voice. “I heard from my mom that you’re a famous singer.”

You chuckled, crouching to his level. “I used to be.”

His eyes grew even wider. “Really?”

You nodded, smiling gently. “Yup.”

He beamed. “That’s why you’re so cool!”

You laughed, tousling his hair. “Thanks, buddy.”

After being discharged from the hospital, you'd made the decision to quietly retire from the music industry. No more spotlights. No more late nights and endless rehearsals. When you told Mr. Vert, you’d expected a dramatic reaction—maybe anger or disappointment. But instead, he simply nodded and smiled.

“If that’s what brings you peace, I’m proud of you.” he had said. His calm acceptance caught you off guard… but it felt like closure.

You took your first step into your new chapter as a guest music teacher—just to try it out, just to feel it. But after just one week, you knew. This was it. This was your new calling. Helping kids discover rhythm, melody, and the magic of self-expression—it filled a part of you that music stardom never had.

You stepped out of the school building just as the final bell rang, your bag slung over your shoulder and a soft breeze playing with your hair.

Then— Honk!

You looked up to see a sleek, brand-new SUV pulling up to the curb. The window rolled down.

Bucky leaned out, smirking. “Need a ride, ma’am?”

You grinned. He stepped out smoothly, walked around the car, and opened the passenger door with a small bow. “Ladies first.”

You laughed as you climbed in. “Thank you, kind sir.”

You slid into the passenger seat, and Bucky closed the door gently before getting in beside you. The new car smell filled the cabin, and the leather seats still looked untouched.

“Let me guess,” you said, eyeing the dashboard. “Another gift from Mr. Vert?”

Bucky shrugged, smirking. “Apparently, having a son means having an excuse to spend absurd amounts of money.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling.

Flashback Start

The DNA results had been a bombshell—99.9% match.

Neither Bucky nor Mr. Vert had known about each other.

When the results came in, Mr. Vert was stunned into silence. But only for a moment. Quickly, he gathered himself and turned to Bucky with something between regret and wonder in his eyes.

“I… I didn’t know. If I had—” “It’s fine,” Bucky had cut in, though his voice wavered.

All his life, he’d been alone. No family. No roots. Then, just like that, he had a father.

At first, Bucky didn’t know what to do with it. Mr. Vert, on the other hand, threw himself into fatherhood like a man trying to make up for lost time—lavish gifts, long talks, even awkward attempts at dad jokes.

It was heartwarming and hilarious watching them navigate this strange new bond.

You’d overheard Bucky stumbling through his first attempt at, “Thanks… uh… Dad.”

And Mr. Vert, with a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, proudly replying, “You’re welcome, son.”

It was beautiful. Messy. Real.

And as for the bet? You won.

Which meant you could ask Bucky for anything.

Flashback End

The SUV pulled into Mrs. Walls’ driveway. Her cozy home looked exactly the same—wind chimes, potted plants, and that familiar wooden porch.

Bucky turned off the engine and turned to you with a grin.

“After dinner, what do you want to do next… my girlfriend?”

You smiled teasingly. “Go back to your house.”

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “Then what?”

You leaned in slightly, your voice soft. “We eat the leftover dessert Mrs. Walls made… and watch movies from your watchlist this time.”

His smile widened. “Perfect.”

Then he leaned over and kissed you gently on the lips, the kiss tender and sure.

When he pulled back, he reached for your hand. Fingers intertwined, warm and steady.

Together, you walked to Mrs. Walls’ front door.

This was what you’d asked for. Not flowers. Not diamonds. Just him.

Not your bodyguard. But your boyfriend.

And he was more than happy to be both.

-The End-

Thank you so much to everyone who’s been with me from the beginning until the end of this story. 💖💖💖

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[psformybss]

hey loved the last one x

have a request for hidden vows

there is an interview the outerbanks cast did called scene stealerd where they react to fans doing stuff related to the show. I have an idea. what if the whole cast is reacting together and a clip of yn comes up. the producers of the channel asked her to submit a clip. the clip is a complication of her reenacting a couple of rafe scenes like:

the scene where he says, "I think we should kill them all" to ward

season 2 episode 10 scene where John b and rafe are in the red boiler engine room and he says " watch your head man" and the rest of the script

the scene where wheezie gives rafe money cause Ward kicked him out in season one, and she tells him about how ward is taking sarah to the Bahamas and he is like " I know about a billion more things about business them she does........"

lastly the season 2 scene where rafe and ward and talking how he shot her and he's like "I think I shot her. I was trying to shoot John b but she got in the way. i think I shot her but I don't care that i did".

in all of these yn is like impersonating rafe as kinda sassy and it's super funny. the cast cracks up and drew is all laughing and shaking his head

Scene Stealer

series masterlist

warnings: chaos energy, actor impersonation, unexpected talent, too much laughter

an: hiii, im so glad you loved them! this idea was so fun to write, there’s a slight chance i didn’t get all of the dialogue from the scenes right cause i mostly went from memory so if i didn’t pretend that’s the dialogue that’s actually on the show

════════════════

By the time the cast of Outer Banks piled onto the main couch, the room was buzzing.

They’d spent the past hour reacting to fan-made recreations—laughing, cringing, occasionally questioning their own performances when someone on TikTok out-acted them in a wig and a hoodie. Now, all seven of them were crammed together in front of the biggest screen yet, still breathless from too much laughter and too many inside jokes.

Madison, Chase, and Carlacia had melted into one tangled heap on one side of the couch, knees knocking and shoulders bumping as they fought for space. Madelyn and Rudy flanked the other end, the latter already half on the floor. JD had somehow wedged himself between them, sliding slowly toward the edge like gravity had given up. Drew sat slightly off-center, posture suspiciously straight—legs stretched out, forearms braced on his thighs, water bottle dangling loose in one hand.

He didn’t say anything.

Which, of course, made everyone suspicious.

“You’re suspiciously quiet, Starkey,” Madison noted, squinting at him.

Drew just eyed the monitor like it might bite him. “I know that face,” he said, nodding toward the producer behind the camera. “That’s the chaos face.”

The producer didn’t even try to deny it. Just smiled and said, “For this last video, we reached out to someone special. Someone who knows the show… intimately.”

Rudy gasped. “It’s your mom.”

“Worse,” Carlacia grinned. “It’s gotta be Y/N.”

Drew blinked. Once. Slowly. “Oh no.”

Chase pointed at the screen, already gleeful. “Roll it. Roll it now.”

_______

The screen faded in from black.

A familiar kitchen appeared, fridge slightly ajar, dishwasher humming faintly in the background. Y/N stood barefoot in the center, hair tossed into a chaotic bun, backwards cap tugged low, one of Drew’s hoodies nearly swallowing her whole.

She paced slowly across the tile. Calm. Deliberate. Head tilted just so.

And then, in a voice so casual it bordered on cheerful:

“I think we should kill them all.”

She stopped. Blank-faced. Still. Like she was talking about grocery lists instead of murder.

_______

The room detonated.

“NO—NO, WHY IS SHE SO CASUAL?!” Carlacia shrieked.

Rudy kicked the coffee table, rolling backward onto the floor. “SHE’S GOT THE HEAD TILT. That’s the tilt!”

Madelyn was pointing at the screen like it had personally offended her. “She looks exactly like him—why does she look like him?!”

Drew sat back slowly, squinting in disbelief. “That’s… that’s literally what I did.”

“She studied you like a nature documentary,” Madison howled. “You’re done.”

_______

Y/N crouched behind the backyard grill, wielding a rake like a weapon. She charged out of frame full-speed and slammed it into the wooden trellis with a crack that made half the cast jump.

She leaned into camera view, breathless, feral-eyed.

“Watch your head, man.”

_______

JD clutched the armrest like it was a seatbelt. “SHE BROKE THE TRELLIS FOR THE BIT?!”

“She’s gonna invoice you,” Chase wheezed.

Rudy was flat on his back, one hand in the air. “I’m ascending. Goodbye.”

Drew dropped his head into his hands, wheezing through laughter. “She told me she was out watering tomatoes that day.”

“Lies,” Carlacia declared. “She was watering vengeance.”

_______

The next clip was in their living room, Y/N perched at the edge of the couch, fisting crumpled cash, eyes wide. She stood abruptly, raked a hand through her hair, and spun in a tight frustrated circle.

“I know about a billion more things about business than she does!”

She kicked over a throw pillow.

“What is… what is this?!”

She threw her arms toward the ceiling like it had answers.

From off-screen—clearly pulled from the show—a voice cut in:

“We’re the black sheep. Get used to it, Rafe.”

Y/N froze. Turned. Looked betrayed. Then face-planted onto the couch with a dramatic groan, limbs dead-weight.

_______

“She’s got your rage pacing,” Madison whispered, eyes wide. “Like frame-for-frame.”

“She’s better at being Rafe than you,” JD said, pointing straight at Drew.

Drew scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “She didn’t even tell me she was filming this.”

“She didn’t need to,” Carlacia said. “It’s in her blood.”

_______

For the final scene the bathroom lighting was dim, Y/N sat on the edge of the tub, robe slipping off one shoulder, eyeliner smudged just enough to scream emotional turmoil. A bead of water trailed down her temple.

Her voice cracked.

“I hit her.”

Ward’s voice echoed, clipped from the show:

“What?”

Y/N turned to the camera, face blank.

“But I don’t care that I did.”

A beat.

“That’s your sister.”

She shrugged—one-shoulder, unbothered—and reached for something on the counter.

A juice box.

She punctured the straw with deadly precision and took the loudest sip any of them had ever heard.

_______

Madelyn collapsed sideways into Madison’s lap. “NOOOO.”

“THE JUICE BOX?!” Rudy shrieked from the floor.

“WHERE DID SHE EVEN GET THAT?!” Carlacia howled.

“This is Oscar-worthy,” JD yelled. “THE DRAMA. THE DETAILS!”

Drew just stared at the screen—mouth parted, eyebrows raised, laugh caught somewhere in his chest. And then it came.

A real, full-body laugh. The kind that forced him forward, face flushed, eyes shining. He looked stunned. Wrecked. In awe.

“She’s insane,” he said finally, wiping his face. “And I love her so much it’s actually terrifying.”

“She won the whole thing,” Madison grinned. “No one’s topping that.”

“She is Rafe now,” JD declared solemnly.

Drew gave a helpless shrug, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Guess I’m out of a job.”

The screen faded to black.

The cast was still breathless, collapsed into each other, half-sobbing from laughter.

And Drew?

He just shook his head, the grin still stuck on his face like it had no intention of leaving.

“She’s gonna love this,” he muttered, already imagining her face when she watched this footage. Already planning the popcorn. Already bracing for round two.

Because if anyone was about to be dragged into another parody?

Yeah. It was definitely him.

[mopslusher]

SORE LOSER

NSFW

Hamzah was raging. Seething. How could he lose the fight? How? After all the hours of human labour he did to get to this point, torture almost, just to get here and lose. No. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t right and he had to do something about it while the adrenaline was still pumping through him. Or maybe it was pure anger that began to consume him, pure anger that he tried his hardest to cloak as the camera curled around him, capturing every angle of the rage that began to bubble beneath his seemingly calm surface , his tongue poking his cheek as he tried to keep himself in check.

You could see right through his act as you sat pretty in the crowd, watching his eyes darken as they announced the true winner, seeing the disappointment transform into rage right before you, his eyes clouding with a dangerous glint, there were no signs of acceptance of his loss. You could tell all he wanted to do was get out of there as fast as possible the way he began to fidget, he was getting frustrated.

He was determined to win something, anything. He didn’t care what it was. He wasn’t resting his head on his pillow that night with only a loss hung over his head, he didn’t want the loss to linger, to play on his mind like a broken record. He couldn’t live with that. No. He needed to win something and he needed to win it today. That’s what you were here for, his eyes zeroing in on you sitting in the crowd, tuning everything else around him out. You knew that look all too well, his stare was heavy, piercing. Words didn’t even need to be exchanged for you to understand.

It’s why you were patiently waiting in the back of your own car, you had promised to drive Hamzah home after the fight. He had texted you “meet me in the car in 10”, after his essentials had been checked after the fight, and from that alone you began to say your goodbyes to everyone, giving some lame excuse as to why you were leaving so early. You sighed, staring out the tinted window. It wasn’t a sigh of annoyance that he was taking longer than 10 minutes, no. It was a sigh of realisation that your shit was about to get completely wrecked by this man as he approached you, walking with purpose, intent, you swore you could hear his heavy footsteps from inside the car.

Your heart sped up at the sound of him pulling at the handle, a small part of you hoping he would walk back into the venue and take his anger out on someone else, the other part mostly exited to be treated like a ragdoll. Oh well, the door was open now. For the first few seconds all he did was stare down at you in complete silence, his eyes slowly and shamelessly running over your outfit. It was wild how fast your hands became clammy and damp, your cheeks burning up as you shifted under the weight of his gaze. My god he made you so nervous.

You gulped. “So…how are you feeling?” It was all you could think of at the moment, your lips thinning in an awkward smile. He scoffed, kicking at the ground a smirk on his face.

“I didn’t come here to talk about the fight” his voice was rough, deep. He enunciated every single word. You could feel the vibrations of his voice in your pussy. His movements were slow and calculated as he ducked his head to enter the car, forcing you to back up and lay across the backseats his eyes never leaving yours as you leaned up on your elbows.

The car shook when he closed the door behind him before he moved his thick beefy arms to either side of your head as he knelt over you, his eyes clouded with darkness, an incredible juxtaposition from his usual soft gaze whenever he looked at you. But he didn’t want to look at you really. Not tonight anyway. He needed something to pound and destroy, missionary just wasn’t fitting enough. He kneeled up, flipping you over without a word, not even a kiss.

The way he manhandled you only made your panties soak even more, his hands roughly pulling down your leggings and panties in one motion, a wide smirk spreading across his face at the sight of your plump bare ass before him. All you could hear was the hefty rhythm of your own heartbeat ringing through your ears , trying to psyche yourself up before he ruined you before the sound of him unzipping his pants caught your attention. You gulped louder than intended.

“You ready baby?” You could hear the smirk in his voice. “I need to hear you say it” he practically growled, he was already getting impatient, he had you ripe and ready right in front of him and he was horny and angry. And a sore loser who just lost a boxing match. You were an outlet right now and he was about to reach his limit for how much he could bottle inside.

“Yes, yes im ready” you answered. But were you? Were you really? By the looks and sound of it you weren’t. Definitely didn’t seem like it when you practically squealed when he pushed his fat tip into your tight hole, your toes curling from the stinging pain. It didn’t hurt for long, it never did as the rest of his thick dick entered your wet creamy pussy, your eyes rolling into your head.

He didn’t have any mercy tonight. None at all. The way he fucked into you, grunting loudly with one hand firmly wrapped around your neck, the other gripping tightly onto your ass that already had a pink hand mark printed onto it, he was taking it all out on you. And you loved it, you loved getting slutted out like this in your own car, mouth open and strings of shameless moans dropping from it, your eyes squeezed shut as your sensitive cunt got continuously pummelled, juices dripping onto your car seats but neither of you cared for now.

Trust he already had you quivering and twitching beneath him in the first twenty minutes , but he wasn’t done yet. And if he wasn’t done then neither were you, no room for arguments on that the way he gripped your hair, firmly pulling it back as he leaned forward so your lips could meet in a sloppy kiss as his dick twitched inside your warm walls, filling you up with the warm substance for the third time now, you could feel him smile through the kiss. This was his happy place, and you loved making him happy.

Windows foggy, seats sticky and car shaking, your soft ass recoiling off his pelvis with every thrust giving him the round of applause he wanted but didn’t get from the crowd he had just left. You were clapping for him and only for him. This was the win he wanted. This was the only win he needed, to be able to fuck his beautiful girlfriend like this was better than a lot of things, and it definitely meant more to him than winning a boxing match, and he knew that now.

From completely seething to content, he was happy now. After cleaning you up and peppering your sore body with sweet kisses, he somehow manoeuvred your sleeping body into the passenger seat, driving your car home with you completely knocked out, a smug smirk playing on his lips as he glanced over to admire your sleeping form. 1-0 to Hamzah.

[81pastrys]

There’s No Legacy

Part 8 / 10

Summary— When the car isn’t working properly, she can’t control it

Warnings— crash ; wrist injury

A/N— Ollie is sweet in this one 🥺

Series List

Dividers @bernardsbendystraws

Her luck caught up to her the next race. FP1 and 2 went well but for some reason in FP3 the car was sliding.

“Cars sliding, it’s uncontrollable.” She informed the engineer on the radio.

“Understood, try one more lap and then bring it in for us.” The engineer said.

“I don’t think I can.” She said, not that she can’t but the feeling of the car isn’t good. After she says that the car caught a curb wrong and the car goes spinning into a wall. “FUCK!”

“Are you okay?” He asked. “Rosberg!”

“I’m fine.” She sighed. She got out and shook her hands. Nico always told her not to hold the wheel when spinning but in the moment the adrenaline was rushing and she couldn’t let go. Her left wrist felt weird as she got out.

“Ohh that’s Rosberg into the wall.” She heard. Standing by the car and looking at it. She held her helmet in anxiety. The medical car pulls up next to her and they expect her to just get in but she crumbled to the tarmac at the sight of the car in the wall.

“Come on, in the medical car please.” One of them said. They pulled her up by the arm and she looked back at the car as she’s ushered away.

They bring her back to the paddock and she got out and took the helmet off. She struggled as her left hand shoots a sharp pain when she pushed up. Nico helps her with it and then examines her wrist. It’s red and swollen when she looked at him. The adrenaline and shock running through her veins. “Are you okay?” He asked.

“I don’t know.” She responded honestly. “The car..” She looked up at him with sorrow filling her eyes. She knows how expensive the cars are, and she just fucked one into a wall.

“I didn’t ask about the car, I asked about you.” He responded. “Let’s get you to medical, you probably have a concussion at the least.”

He walks her down to the medics and they do an exam. “How’s that feel?” The doctor asked rolling her wrist around. She winced and he stops. “What’s the pain level?”

“6. It isn’t broken is it?” The adrenaline wore off and she’s in a rightish mind. The pain is definitely not a fun experience.

“Sprained, but not broken.” He said. “You should be good to race after the break, ice it and wear a brace though.”

“Okay, thank you.” She looked at Nico as the doctor walked out. “I didn’t think I was that close to the wall.” She broke her posture and sulked.

“When you spin at least twice, you let go.” He laughed. “It’s not worth it after that.” Nico explained. Which he has done before, but she wasn’t thinking right in the moment.

“Are they mad about the car?” She asked. The one that probably won’t be ready for qualifying.

“No, they’re relieved you’re okay.” He responded. “Pato is going to race for you.”

“That’s good, will he be able to qualify or is it too fucked?” She winced at her own language towards Nico.

“Language, and I haven’t seen it.” He admitted. He’s right, he’s been focused on her well being and not the car.

After they left medical, they went to the garage and looked at the car. Pato was there. “Everything alright?” He asked her, concerned.

“Just sprained, can they fix it before quali?” She asked. Nervously fiddling with the hoodie she had put on.

“Maybe right before it starts, hard to tell right now.” He responded. “But we still have 30 in practice then the 2 hours in between.” He followed with to calm her nerves.

“It’ll be close but we can.” A mechanic said.

“Do good out there for me.” She shot a weak smile at Pato, he knows that she tends to be hard on herself.

“I plan on it.” He said giving her a side hug.

When practice ends Lando comes up and hugs her tightly. “Everything good?” He asked frantic. “Did you break anything?” He examined her body looking for wraps or castings.

“Just sprained.” She said emotionless at the injury. Waving the wrist with a brace in the air at him. “You did good.” She said, flashing a short smile toward him and he smiles back, almost as if he can feel the pain.

“It’ll be okay, it happens all the time.” He whispered looking her in the eyes. He goes to media.

After a few minutes she heard arguing by the paddock entrance from the garage. She got up and went to see what’s going on. It’s Ollie trying to get in. “Just let me see her- Ros!” He ran past her manager and hugged her tightly with a hand on the back of her head. He backed up and examined her state.

“Just sprained wrist that’s all.” She said. He can tell she’s drained of emotion and at a devoid. He put his hand on her cheek and gave a look of sympathy. “I’ll be fine.” She smiled weakly again.

“I know you my love,” He started, darting his eyes back and forth between hers. “You need comfort right now.” He whispered. He gave her another hug and they part ways again.

Uh oh… Danny Ric haunted her seat….

@il0vereadingstuff @angelluv16 @kallanfiona @pandabiiissh @itznotsophia @widow-cevans @justaf1girl

[ostensiblynone]

August 3-4, 1996 - Loch Lomond It was the first of six huge outdoor shows which grossed an estimated £10 million. The gigs won the ultimate tabloid accolade: "trouble-free fun". But a man did die: James Hunter, 28, a lorry driver from Hamilton. And Noel Gallagher watched it happen. "I got there for the soundcheck an hour before the rest of the band and sat onstage working out the chords on one of the new songs," he says. "It was weird. The most beautiful morning. Silent, absolutely silent. In front of the stage this bloke was unloading something from an artic and behind him a forklift truck was reversing. It hit him and he went over. Next thing there's an ambulance, he was covered over and that was it. Then the police came and interviewed everyone. An hour before I went on stage, I was sat with safety officers and the sheriff. (Scots accent) 'Take me through it again, sonny, what did you actually see?' It's a sad and horrible thing. What can you say? After that it became, Well, I've just seen a man die and now here I am in front of 40,000 people with sheer joy on their faces... then you come off stage and everyone's going, Great gig, great gig! Yeah, well .. . people never know how it is . . . how it was to sit and watch that .. .  They're the worst situations to get into, where it's nobody's fault, you've got no real explanations and you don't know how you're supposed to feel." Did it make you think about responsibility as distinct from fault? The whole event happened because of Oasis . . . "Well, I went to my production manager after it happened and said, Tell me that everything that could have been done was done about safety. He said, Yes. He convinced me everyone had done their jobs properly." Talking about it, Gallagher clears his throat a lot, strives to keep talking straightforwardly through that difficult sensation of his that, the way his Oasis life has developed, he often doesn't know what he's "supposed to feel" or say.

—The Oasis Diaries: 18 Months inside the biggest band in the world | Q Magazine September 1997

[orimuraa]

• I think I wanna marry you - SJY ↳ ┊: marry you - bruno mars

꒰ 𝔖𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 ꒱┆what's goes on in jake’s head when he’s down on one knee ⨾

۶ৎ soon to be fiancé!jake x fem!reader┆fluff, crack┆petnames, kissing, jake is crazy nervous┆headcanons┆wc 423

⤷ 𝐲𝐞𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: ahhh i’m feeding the jake fans 🤭 thank you to the anon who requested this! i hope it’s to your liking >.<

꒰ঌ ℬℴℴ𝓀𝓈𝒽ℯ𝓁𝒻 ໒꒱

i’m going to be very honest when i say that i don’t think jake is a man with many plans…

he likes to go with the flow all the time and make up the decisions as he goes

but this? no no no!

he couldn’t just get down on one knee and say what came to mind!! he had to make this perfect for you !!

so he spent months rehearsing his lines and what he would say to you

to the point where his members were going insane hearing “will you marry me?” or “i love you and i always will!” and many more cliche sayings

he thought he had it all under control but the moment he saw you in your adorable white dress, he knew he was done for

his brain short-circuited and he thought he lost the velvety box in his pocket for a good 6 minutes

when it finally came down to the moment, he started to realize the whole situation, causing him to feel like he was about to pee his pants

the moment your turned away to look out at the view, he knew it was his chance

he slowly knelt down on one knee, pulling the ring box out of his pocket and clutching it tightly in his left hand

but as soon as his knee hit the floor, he forgot everything he had planned to say, causing him to just say whatever words came to mind

“princess? it’s been so long since i first fell in love with you and i don’t know anything at the moment because i’m so nervous, but i do know that i want to spend the rest of my life with you. you bring me so much happiness that i want to be able to experience every hour of my life. so, will you, y/l/n y/n, marry me?”

oh he nailed it

perfect

10/10

he totally did not just forget his whole script

but seeing you tearing up had his heart beating way too fast

the soft nod of your head as tears streamed down your cheeks, the way you embraced him in the tightest hug ever

he leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours, forgetting about literally everything

for a second, he thought he was in a dream because how in the world did he manage to grow the balls and actually not fumble at making you his wife fiance??

whatever

he will wait forever and ever just so the two of you can have your matching rings

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ 𝐉𝐢𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @vmpivory, @yuvany, @seozii, @pinknjm, @greentulip, @jomisu, @nxzz-skz, @ancnymcnzjy, @hyukabean, @annybah, @ijustwannareadstuff20, @chaeneu, @17ericas, @firstclassjaylee, @riribelle, @right-person-wrong-time, @cheruphic, @woniefication, @melodiessvy, @soona-huh, @kiwicup

[mullermilkshake]

People would assume

Part 9 <- Part 10 -> Part 11

The auction house.

The auction goes ahead as planned.

Satoru Gojo x Fem!reader TW - Flirting, established relationship, mentions of death and suicide.

<- Masterlist

“You look beautiful.” That was always the first thing Satoru would say whenever you slipped into a dress.

This dress was one of your favourites, velvet and absolutely gorgeous floor length. It gathered around you well and was strongly the best choice for the most important event of the season. 

You turned in a circle, arm up holding your little purse and perfectly perfect diamond dangle earrings. Satoru was on the phone, but his eyes remained on you the entire time, watching and taking you in, you could have even swore you saw him gulp a little. 

Well, that did wonders for your confidence.

“Huh?... Oh y-yeah, sorry I think there was a connection issue. Hold on a second.” He held up a finger and disappeared into the office for just a moment. 

The charity auction. A wonderful place you fell in love with since the first time you had stepped foot inside that hall. The most wondrous room there was the art displays. A considerable amount of Satoru’s art was being auctioned off and you just knew it was going to be spectacular. 

You couldn’t help but admit that a part of you was incredibly guilty for being there tonight, smiling and taking in champagne all the while Detective Ino was sitting in on Yaga’s funeral. It was so overcast and dreary that evening too, hardly the weather for walking home after leaving a place full of grief.

You were in two minds as to whether to add him to the auctions guest list, to take his mind off things after the funeral, you had considered it yet came to the conclusion that it wasn’t appropriate.

“Are you ready? The cars outside.” Satoru had left the confines of his office.

He was dealing with the news of Yaga’s death better than you anticipated, almost accepting it immediately. You didn’t stay to listen to most of what they discussed, but he relayed it to you upon his return. 

Nanami’s release however, Satoru did not take it well. The two of you spoke about it, and then he sat in his office for almost an hour in silence. You recognised the sadness in his eyes, total betrayal concocted with that anger he had pent up inside him over the last three years.

“Yeah, I am.” Your heels clacked along the hardwood floor, solid and satisfying.

“Still not any closer to being taller than me, maybe I should get you some higher heels?” A laughable joke, and Satoru knew it. Any higher than you were comfortable with and he would wind up attending the ball with a newborn deer. 

If you had it your way, you would have stuck to your old faithfuls everytime. Despite being scuffed from long term use, they were as comfortable as anything. Still, you were stuck with matching heels to fit your dress and would no doubt kill your feet later.

That’s what the champagne was for. 

You threw sarcasm back at him as you left through the front door, his hand nestled securely around your waist. “If I was as tall as you, I wouldn’t need you to reach high places for me. Being with you would kind of be a moot point.”

He faked his offence. “So that’s why you said yes to that date all that time ago huh? Just so you could use me as your personal reacher guy? All this time, how did I not see it?”

“Because you’re blindly in love with me?”

Satoru paused briefly, you knew what the answer was, but his hesitation meant something more comedic. “Nah nothin’ like that, I keep you around because you are exceptional at your job.”

It was kind of wholehearted, but it was that double meaning that threw you off as the door to the car was opened. “Are you getting in Honey, or are you just gonna gawp at me? Because I wouldn’t mind that.”

It wasn’t his response as such, but the fact that there were plenty of jobs he praised you for that were not inherently professional nor were they on your payroll. Plenty of jobs last night to be exact, hot, deliciously steamy and well rounded within your extensive skill set.

‘You’re such a good girl.’ And Satoru Gojo praised you very well last night.

“I’ll be doing the former.” You slid in, nestled yourself on the leather seating and leant over to the other open door where he stood. “You can do the same unless you want to be late?”

Satroru Gojo was always late, until you were managing his time, telling him to arrive earlier than necessary worked in your favour. And he was none the wiser. 

“By the way.” He said, resting his hand over your exposed knee by the slit of the dress. “After we’re done with this auction and it’s all settled for the season, let’s go somewhere.”

“Somewhere?”

“Yeah, like away away, name the place and I’ll take you.”

You hated when he got like this. It wasn’t that you were ungrateful or spoiled, but the fact that his money rested on you to make a decision was something you had never gotten used to. And you doubted you ever would grow accustomed to having him spend money on you that you hadn’t specifically earned yourself.

Of course you wanted to go away from the city and spend that time together and with no one else but… “Satoru-”

“Don’t start this again, I do this because I want to, so just let me, will you?” Satoru scooped up your hand and clutched it lovingly in his own.”I love you. Please don’t ever think differently.”

You knew he did, there was nothing in your mind that ever doubted him after the first time he’d ever said those three words. 

And… you never did take that vacation to Malaysia.

“Alright. I’ll think about it.” That satisfied him, gave him a massive grin you could almost hear. 

The Auction house was an old historic home in the mountains, stunningly beautiful and just as picturesque as the art that sat upon its walls. Whenever snow laced the ground, it could have come out of an ancient fairy tale that stood the test of time passed down in generations. Yet when it rained and thundered which seemed all the more dramatic in the mountains, it was definitely mirrored from a horror story, set with architectural darkness and grief.

You fell in love with it the moment you saw it, covered in the invasive ivy crawling up through the foundations. 

“Are we early? There aren’t many people here.”

“We’re on time.” That satisfied him too, with a quick nod and click of his seatbelt. 

The door was opened for you, one of Satoru’s men who were always eerily quiet when they were around you, both of the usual men you saw never saying a word and looking very similar to one another. You had always wondered if the two of them were twins. Satoru trusted them implicitly, they kept him safe and by extension you, so you never mentioned anything.

You still said your thank you’s and trotted off to the bottom of the wide-based stone steps to wait for Satoru. It wasn’t long until your name was called so sweetly that it would have melted steel.

It was Suguru Geto. “You are looking stunning tonight as always my Dear.” 

He took your hand up to shake it and pulled it close, pressing his lips ever so slightly over your knuckles. This was typical Mr Geto and it stunned you how he was still single with how smooth he was.

He was only younger than Satoru by a year, but had a head on his shoulder much older than his own, matured and well versed in total chivalry and understanding of how to make a woman swoon in his arms. It made you chuckle at how the other women you saw regularly at these events would gawp at him yet he seemed totally oblivious.

“It’s lovely to see you Suguru. You’re looking very well; that colour suits you, you should wear it more often.” A darkened navy blue colour brought out his eyes in a way it shouldn’t have. 

The women inside would not be able to stop their heart palpitations once they saw. 

“Are you flirting with me? Let’s get out of here before Satoru realises.” Mr Geto was also an enormous flirtatious and satiric man.

“You’re already tryin’ to steal my girl Suguru?”

Mr Geto scoffed and held his hand out to shake. “Me? No, of course not. We were only making entertaining conversation, nothing harmful about that.”

“Let’s talk later, we still have that trip to discuss. I’m going in with my girl before she changes her mind and leaves me forever.”

It was your turn to play up to the crowd and entertain the man who made Satoru the most money. “I would never do that, love. I would never dream of it.”

Well, that made Mr Geto beam in the face of his friend and Satoru could only uphold the bothered personal so much until he broke character. “Later man, enjoy the auction, don’t get too drunk this time.”

“If you think that was drunk then you haven’t seen anything yet.” 

The turnout for the auction was by far the largest you had ever seen, and they had Satoru to thank for it. Artwork littered the walls by a new record of inventory and uptake from pieces around the world that were almost famous celebrities to grace the room. One piece you always admired sat up the end, boxed in on all sides by the most ornate and delicate silver brushed frame you had ever seen. The carvings alone must have taken a lifetime to get perfect and you doubted there was ever another carpenter in this universe that could ever capture the life and soul this piece had. 

“I wish it could stay, but it’s already been processed.” Satoru must have noticed you staring.

As long as it went to someone who would appreciate its beauty, that was enough for you. “It’s so beautiful. I wish there was more information about it.” 

The information card was practically empty, a blank card sitting out of place right in front of it on the miniature podium. Other art pieces in the room had essays of stories and who it had been passed down to in the decades and centuries since the paint was added on that special canvas. 

But this one was the enigma.

“There was one story I had heard, but the curator didn’t allow it because it couldn’t be confirmed.” He spoke absentmindedly, though his eyes were on you.

“What was it?”

“The guy who transported it over last year told one of the maintenance staff that it was haunted… Said that the man who painted it was only thinking about his love who died too soon. He was so in love with her, like, obsessively in love with her and it drove her to take her life because she was in love with another who had died too.” 

“That’s so tragic.”

“Well... That's not the darkest part. The guy said that it was this painter that actually murdered her lover so he could have her all to himself. So the story goes at least, and apparently that guy said that he heard cries of the painter late at night in his truck when he drove it down here.”

“That was dark… shame not all artwork has a pretty and romantic story. It just shows how dark life is.” You looked away, kind of grateful the piece was leaving the storage room and glanced around at the other artworks on the walls. “Is there any pieces with a happy ending-”

Your eyes moved around, scanning the works originally, but they changed pace and watched the people. Mr Geto was surrounded by women cooing over him, flushed cheeks and naughty glances at his behind that made you chuckle. And again, he was so oblivious it was actually painful. The more you looked, the more you noticed, studying the walls and none looking at you but one. The air left the room and made your head spin from how unaware you were and no one seemed to notice.

A blonde man.

“Hey, are you alright, Honey?” It was just like that day in the police station.

“I-I…” You couldn’t bring the words out to express it.

“What is it? Hey, hey- look at me.” He held your cheek softly in his hand which made you look away. “What's wrong?”

“I thought I…” You didn’t need to say a word, Satoru’s head shot up and looked around himself. He pulled you close to him calm and controlled and rummaged through his pocket. 

He was cursing to himself though you couldn’t hear what he was saying, but it was his phone that he pulled out and furiously tapped on the screen to put it to his ear. “Search the premises and do another round, call me as soon as it’s clear.”

“Do you want to go home? We don’t have to stay here.” 

What if it was a mistake and this was all blown out of proportion because you thought someone looked like Kento Nanami glaring at you from across the art hall? There was no use making a scene, too many people to witness and it wasn’t like anyone could get to you that you didn’t want to, right? And Satoru was awfully clam so there must not have been too much to worry about. 

However, he was incredibly talented in pretending nothing affected him after the initial shock. So you should have been panicking? No, it wasn’t wise to panic with all these influential people around, it could ruin Satoru’s reputation. Panic, don’t panic.

Panic, don’t panic.

Panic. Don’t panic?

“I’ll be okay, just stay with me, yeah?” You weren’t sure if he would buy your utter alarm disguised as nothing short of a small shock. But if he did, he didn’t comment.

“Alright, let's get the auction over with, show our faces and get the hell out of here. I don’t know about you, but I kinda fancy a movie night in, what do you think?”

It was an attempt to calm you and it did not work at first, but the longer he held you and fiddled with the hair by your shoulders, you began to convince yourself that there was nothing to worry about. 

Nothing to worry about.

Yeah, there was nothing to worry about, at least you knew that Nanami was out now, so of course you would see him everywhere, not just in your dreams. 

Yeah. Nothing to worry about.

If you'd like to be tagged, please let me know! 😊

Taglist - @starrynights23x,@yatiimariiee,@jumpinjaxx,@keepghostly,@reicyberia,

Likes, comments and reblogs are so appreciated! ❤️

DISCLAIMER - I do not own any of the characters. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[futuremrsreid]

Love Like Ghosts - Chapter One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Hotchner!Reader

Warnings: Angst, flirty talk, Spencer isn’t an asshole he’s just deeply traumatized

A/N: Bear in mind, English isn’t my first language. This one is short, I guess it’s more of a prologue. Read this post for backstory on the reader

"I'm back in DC. Will you meet me for coffee tomorrow? At 3 p.m., the usual place? I heard you guys are on official time-out for a few weeks."

I waited 5 hours and 30 minutes, but no reply came. Good thing I didn't care about sounding desperate.

"Please, Spencer. I just want to talk."

"I'll be there."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My fingers nervously fiddled with the menu laid out before me. The clock at the small café showed me the same time my phone already did. 2:55 pm. 5 minutes before we said we would meet, but for Spencer, that meant he was late. And since the last at least dozen times we had met here, he was always 10 minutes early.

I figured he didn't necessarily want to see me, but I never thought he would stand me up.

Maybe he had changed. I haven't seen him in so long, and from the snippets I had managed to get out of my dad, 3 months in prison did a number on him. My stomach churned at the thought.

Yet before my brain could spiral more, the small bell above the entrance rang, and Spencer Reid entered. His eyes scanned the few tables until he finally saw me.

I awkwardly waved at him, immediately chastising myself under my breath.

I felt like I couldn't breathe for the seconds it took for him to walk over. And when he finally sat down, my breath was still caught in my lungs.

His hair was longer and messy, his face pale and unshaven. Beautiful, like always, but in a devastatingly sad way.

"Hi", I said, voice cracking uncharacteristically. He noticed immediately.

"Hey", his reply was soft, despite his intense gaze on me.

"Thank you for coming. I won't hold you long. I get that you maybe don't really want to talk to me, but my dad told me what happened, and I just-", I stopped, not knowing how to put it without sounding desperate. "He said you were fine, but I wanted to see for myself."

"And?" his one-word reply came. I wasn’t sure how to handle this, to handle him. But I was never afraid to be honest with him, and I wouldn't start now.

"Well, either you have been lying to everybody, or you have been lying to yourself and everybody. You're clearly not fine." I could see that he didn't appreciate my answer, but we both knew I was right. He leaned back in his seat.

"Why wouldn't I want to talk to you?"

"What?"

"You said you'd get that I maybe wouldn't want to talk to you. Why would you think that?"

"Well, I-", I paused, unsure about what to say.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

7 months ago

"Thank you for driving me home. I'm still embarrassed that you had to pick me up there. As I've told you at least 10 times now, I usually don't go there."

"What? You usually don't spend your free time in dirty sticky bars? Who would've thought...", he was barely able to hide his grin, but when I jokingly hit his shoulder in fake offense, he chuckled.

"No, and you know....Usually, I try to be the dirtiest and stickiest thing in a bar, which would be unachievable in a place like that." I joked and flashed him a mischievous grin, taking note of the redness spreading on his face.

"I hope you know that that's an extremely odd goal to have."

My reply came in a giggle and the rattling of my keys as I pushed them into the lock of my apartment door.

"Wanna come in? I can make you a cup of tea. I add ginger to it. It's actually famous in my family." He had never been in my apartment before. It was a line we hadn't crossed, and I wasn't sure he even wanted to. But when I opened the door and turned back around to him, there was a kind of longing in his eyes. Confirmation came in the form of a nod, his body following mine inside.

It really shouldn't have felt as forbidden as it did. I wasn’t a child. We weren't doing anything illegal. Yet my skin prickled when I felt the heat of his body behind mine.

"This is exactly how I imagined your apartment. I like it, it fits you."

"You imagined how I live...Interesting fact, Dr. Reid." I walked towards my small kitchen to make the tea I had promised him. "You imagined what my bedroom looks like as well?"  I heard him trip behind me.

"Did uh- Did you know someone's bedroom often reflects their personality because it’s in our nature to influence our environs to our choice and preferences. Over time, your bedroom reveals your personality and it develops a persona of its own. It's extremely improbable that any two bedrooms will look the same. So a tidy room can suggest a person is organized, detail-oriented, and perhaps even a bit of a perfectionist. Conversely, a messy room could indicate a more relaxed, less structured personality, or perhaps even a sign of underlying issues like disorganization or difficulty letting go of possessions."

"I bet you're just dying to see my bedroom to prove that theory."  I flashed a grin at him over my shoulder, my hands busy preparing our tea.

"I mean, the more data is input into a statistic, the more accurate it becomes." I breathed a laugh and put a mug with steaming tea in front of him.

"Bold." When I looked up, I was surprised to see that he's holding my gaze. "Also sounds like the beginning of a very nerdy adult movie." Cheeks warmed and eyes shy away, and after a moment, mine did too. I busied myself with sips of my tea.

“You usually use humor and sarcasm to deflect. Something you want to talk about?”

“No, not really. I mean, getting left alone in a dirty bar because my friend decided to leave with some guy wasn’t necessarily nice, but…other than that, I’m fine. And while I normally use my humor to deflect, I also often use it just to unnerve you.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s fun. And it causes you to blush. And I just-” pause. I wasn’t sure if I should say it. But his eyes were expectantly following my every move, and so I set down my mug and took a step closer to him. “I guess I just like to cause a reaction in you.”

“But why?” His mug joined mine on the counter. We were suddenly so close that he would only have to raise his hand to touch me.

“Because…sometimes it feels like you try so hard not to have one. A reaction to me, I mean. Sometimes it feels like you distance yourself until you’re a thousand miles away, and the only way to reach you is to get you vulnerable enough so that my mind can touch yours. Even if it’s just for a moment.”

“Y/N I-” He sighed and looked away again. I could see it in his eyes, the distance.

“There! That is exactly what I mean. Why do you do that?” No answer came, so I grew frustrated. “Tell me why you won’t let me near.”

“Because I can’t!” His words were too loud for the tiny space we had created. “I just- I can’t.”

“But why?” My voice cracked on the words. It was quiet for another moment before I asked what I had been too afraid to ask this whole time. “Is it because I’m your boss’s daughter? Or is it because you think I’m too young for you?”

“That’s not-”

“Or is it because you’re too afraid to let someone in? Because if it is, I can understand that. Do you think this is easy for me? It’s not. But I-” He turned away suddenly.

“I should never have come inside. This isn’t good for either of us.” He turned away to leave, but I gripped his sweater with just enough force to stop him and turn towards me again. His eyes met mine and every word vanished from my mind. My defences were gone, and even if they weren’t, he wouldn’t listen to them anyway. So I did the only thing I could think of.

I rose up on my toes to kiss him, and his hands found the sides of my head like he had been waiting for it. Months of build-up came crashing down on us fast, but I felt alive. His lips were soft against mine, fingers buried in my hair.

We kissed until there was no air left in our lungs, and after that his lips moved to my jaw as the small of my back hit the kitchen counter.

A small moan escaped me from the impact, and everything shattered. 

I felt the cold air before I registered him moving away. He was halfway across my apartment when I came to my senses and went after him.

“Spencer, wait-”

“I told you I can’t do this, Y/N. We can’t do this!” I opened my mouth but he took the words right out of my mouth. “Don’t ask me why. We just can’t.”

“But-” Weak pleas on deaf ears.

“No. I am not repeating myself. I don’t think we should keep meeting. It will get both of us hurt.”

“Spencer!” But he was already out the door.

The next days were spent with more desperate pleas sent via text.

“Call me back, please.”

“I just want to talk.”

“Spencer, please just call me back.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“You kissed me back like you wanted to.”

“Can we just talk about this, please?”

“Are you going to ignore me forever?”

“You know, I could just turn up at your work, right? I’m a Hotchner after all.”

“I shouldn’t have said that. I hope you know I would never do that.”

“But what about the next dinner party at Rossi’s? Are you gonna pretend I don’t exist?”

“Did that kiss truly mean nothing to you?”

The last message stung, sitting on read for days. But after three weeks, I managed to accept that it was over. Spencer Reid did not want me in his life. And as much as it hurt, I had to find a way to live with it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You weren’t eager to talk to me before everything went to shit, so I figured it wouldn’t be any different now.” I finally said. My hands started fiddling with the menu again, our coffees cold and long forgotten. I could feel his eyes on me.

“The last time I saw you, you had a head injury and were terrified out of your mind. Of course, I wanted to see you. I wanted to make sure you’re alright too. I just- I didn’t know how to reach you and if you had your phone.” His confession made me look up to see his eyes already on me. I held his gaze for a moment, for about 3 heartbeats, before I forced a smile on my face.

“And?” I repeated his earlier question, trying to make it sound funny. From the look on his face, I hadn’t managed.

“Well, you seem physically fine. You’re nervous, but that's because of this situation. And the rest… I was never good at reading you, never knew what was going on in your head. I guess you get that from Hotch.” His hands reached out to take the menu from me, probably to keep me from accidentally ripping it. His fingers grazed my wrist unintentionally. I felt like I was going to burst into tears. “Will you tell me how you are?”

“Oh, I am fine. Like you promised all those months ago…Nothing happened to us, or me.”

“I hate to admit that I had no part in that.”

“You had other things to worry about.” I wasn’t sure if I could say it out loud. In prison for 3 months.

“Funny you say that, when in reality prison gave me too much time to worry about all of the things I couldn’t control. Like my mother getting sicker every day, and the fact that Scratch was still running around free, and I had no idea if you were okay.” My throat felt like it was getting tighter. I didn't expect him to worry so much.

“Penelope told me that your mother was better now. Is that not true?” 

“No, it is. She's better now. But things were getting worse for a while, which was mainly my fault.” Self-deprecation and shame laced his words. “It's a long story, and also the story of how I got framed for murder in the first place. I don't feel like telling it.”

“That's okay. You don't have to tell me anything.” My words were almost a whisper. “Are you talking to someone at least?” He paused and leaned back in his seat slightly, guarded.

“Yes. My reinstatement requires mandatory therapy, if that's what you mean.” 

“And how about a non-mandatory therapist? Because you and I both know you want to be reinstated and would keep things from them to achieve that.” I regretted my words the second they had left my mouth.

“Prentiss isn't worried, so neither should you.” Cold, harsh words, meant to throw me off, I'm sure.

“I'm not doubting your ability in the field, Spencer. I'm worried about you.”

“You don't think we are past that point?” I could see that he didn't really mean it, but he had said it nonetheless. And I knew he did it to hurt me. I swallowed down the tears that stung in my eyes.

“You just told me you worried about me while you were in prison. So why would you say that.” The hurt was visible in my voice.

“That's different.” His whole body tensed, arms crossing in front of him.

“How?” 

“It just is.”

“That's not a real answer and you know it!” The sadness disappeared and was replaced by hot, burning anger. “ ‘It just is’, ‘I can't’, ‘Don't ask me why, we just can’t’.” I said, mocking his voice. Bile rose in my throat, but I pushed it down. “I am not a stupid child, Spencer. You don't get to treat me like one! You might think that you don't owe me these explanations, but you do!”

“I don't owe you anything, Y/N.” He said it with such certainty and resentment that I couldn't stop the tears from flooding. The other people in the cafe were looking our way when an involuntary sob left me. “Y/N, I-” 

But the room suddenly felt too small, and the air too thick. I knew I had to leave now to keep at least some of my dignity. So I quickly grabbed my bag and scrambled out of the seat. 

He called my name again, but I didn't want to hear anything else from him.

[aspen-writing]

Telemachus poisoned AU!

AU where Telemachus hadn’t left on a diplomatic mission and to kill Tele, they poisoned him so he was weaker so they could kill him easier (and if they didn’t, the poison would)

TW: poison, inaccurate medicine and tests for the time,

Odysseus had just arrived home. it was about 3 hours after he’d spoken to his wife, and she accepted him, saying she’d always love him. The palace was being cleaned, and nearly finished. He’d gotten some food, and he had been starving. And he’d cleaned, and finally in new clothes instead of those that he’d been wearing forever.

He was sitting at a table. His son sitting across from him, he looked a bit pale. But he wouldn’t know whether that was his normal complexion or not, he hadn’t seen him properly until only a while ago. And Telemachus said he felt fine.

Penelope walked in. And when she saw Telemachus she seemed to get worried. “Telemachus, darling. Are you okay?” Telemachus’ eyes shot up to his mother. “Yes I’m fine, mother.” He said, And rested his head in his left hand. Penelope still looked worried, but didn’t press.

she sat down as well next to Odysseus. They sat in a slightly awkward silence. Before Telemachus bolted up wincing. “Are you okay?” Penelope asked worriedly. He nodded. “Yeah.. just a headache.” He muttered, and leaned back a bit in his seat. “If you’re sure…” Penelope said quietly.

Telemachus stood up and left the room. Odysseus looked at Penelope. “He isn’t always like that, is he?” Penelope shook her head. “No. I’m worried about him, he looks ill…” she sighed. “Maybe he just needs to eat…”

the day went on, later that evening Odysseus and Penelope were sitting by the fireplace, talking. And then Telemachus came in looking worse then he had before. Clutching his stomach slightly. He sat down on a chair by them, and Penelope looked much more worried now. “You’re not okay, darling. You look awful.” She said.

“I feel awful…” he muttered. Holding his head in his hand. Suddenly he passed out. Luckily he was sitting down, but now both of them were much more worried. Both of them quickly stood up. “Telemachus?” Of course he didn’t answer. Odysseus went next to the seat he was in. And felt his forehead. He didn’t have a fever. What could be wrong?

“Penny what do we do?!” He asked alertly. She didn’t know. “We should take him to the doctor, in town.” She said. Odysseus picked up Telemachus with ease, and they left the palace.

they made it down to town (yes they walked 😔) and went straight to the doctor of the town. It wasn’t very busy, but even if it was, they were the king and queen, they would have gotten help first. The doctor led them into the room and had them lay Telemachus down. He checked his temperature, did tests, but couldn’t tell why he suddenly passed out. But at least he still had a pulse.

the doctor ended up telling them he doesn’t know how to help, and they should take him to a bigger doctor in another kingdom. Somewhere like Athens, since they would surely have better doctors. So they got onto one of their ships, with Telemachus. Despite Odysseus being worried about ships after his 10 year journey on the sea, he would do it for his son. They got to Athens in the early morning. This time they had brought a horse with, so when they got to land they set off on the horse.

they made their way to a really good doctor later in the morning, and went in. Odysseus carrying Telemachus still, with Penelope besides him. It was early so not too busy. They went to the front desk. “Please help, our son passed out yesterday, and we don’t know what’s wrong!” Penelope said. The man there nodded and led them into a room. Ody placed him on the bench. The doctor examined him, “has he eaten anything off?” The doctor asked. He had a croaky old voice. “I don’t think so…” Penelope said. The doctor nodded. “I’ll do some tests… you can wait here.” He said. So Odysseus and Penelope sat down. The doctor started doing tests, drawing blood, and after about an hour he came to the two of them. “He seems to have been poisoned.” The doctor said. “What?! But who could have poisoned him?” Penelope asked. “I’m not sure, but I gave him some medicine so he should be fine now.” Penelope sighed with relief. “Good. Thank you so much!” Odysseus was also relieved, but didn’t say much.

they went home, and Telemachus was fine. <3

I don’t know how to end this. This is like my first proper fic lol 😭

[dandelionflowery]

I don't really do my homework lol, so when I get home I have some time; and sleep is overrated anyways /hj (i mean if I got 5 hours of sleep last night i'm impressed lol)

When I do do homework, usually i do some time management where I pop on tumblr as a little break

Actually rn I'm technically attempting to do homework, I have to "find a question for the 'big oral' (yes it's called that) at the end of the year" actually 2 questions but 1 would already be nice and i either need one on biology (or geology but no way lol) and one on art, or 2 that mix both biology and art

And the thing is, you prepare two of these things just so they can make sure you worked, but you'll only present one, and honestly for most normal students, yeah, this is worth 10% of the final grade, but for me it's something like 10/160 instead of 10/100

If you want me to rant way more about this stupid fucking thing, I am more than capable lol

Anyways

i lived an hour away by bus and i was not about to stay when i had no lessons and i also had no friends to do ts with --> oh yeah that's not at all encouraging to do extracurriculars

Honestly I wouldn't actually mind doing stuff, but I don't really have the time to lol

Philosophy is absolutely up to personal opinion, but they also grade your ability to talk fancy, and the thing is I'm (most likely) autistic so I just write plain and simple things without really bullshitting my way through SEVEN FUCKING PAGES (I tend to do like 3 max) and they aren't happy

My teacher is absolutely terrible cause throughout the year my best grade was 14/20 (don't ask why our grades [in france, not just in philosophy] are out of 20, I have no idea lol), usually I got more 5/20 lol. And if I got 5/20 but with a bunch of comments saying, "oh, maybe do this", or "you could mention this", I'd be like 'ok so i have an idea of how to improve now ty'

but no, we got a test back today and I got 5/20 and he wrote: "Insufficient" at the top of my test, he quoted the methodology at me, he circled a reference I put without adding any comments, and he signed the paper like he did all the others. Useful dude.

[I mentioned harry potter because LITERALLY ALL THE PEOPLE with better teachers I TALKED TO said that drawing on personal knowledge and/or pop culture is a good way to go (one of my friends who has a different teacher literally got recommended a book on philosophy through a harry potter lens BY HER TEACHER), however my incompetent teacher apparently hates that]

in a modicum of fairness to him, I haven't listened to most of the classes since like september, but that's because in September I listened, took notes, and understood nothing; and I chose to write smut in class instead, or do homework, or sew stuff because at least that's more useful.

(we often have strike days where our absences are justified, so you can get away with not going to class [they do tell your parents though]; and one strike day, I was planning on going home anyways cause my back hurt, and a friend and I went to a café down the street instead of going to philosophy, and we got a lot more work done than if we'd gone to the philosophy class.)

(he teaches as if we were students in higher education who all chose to do philosophy and already know a bunch of things, and all he has to do is encourage us to think of some things and to offer some more authors; I believe at the beginning of the year he was like "oh yeah so you should do about an hour or two of reading [philosophical books] per week" and there is no way I'm reading in french [despite having lived here my whole life, I generally abhor reading in french lol] about topics I don't understand in the slightest, written in overcomplicated language by dudes who died centuries ago every week)

(he forgets most of us encountered philosophy with him)

very quick drawing lol

okay very important question did you take history or geography in school?

nope😓😓 French, art, and food tech

[dallasstarsdyke]

something i was thinking about on stand yesterday.. danganronpa shsl lifeguard who tries to save a dying person they find, bonus points if they dont come clean about it at first because they think they actually killed that person with their efforts

[littlelightfish]

As I said I would, I drew my oc with yours my beloved @clawdouobit

My pretty girl likes to infodump your pretty girl about the smallest things. She's like a reel, talks a lot but most of it is meaningless.

Close ups and more info because I can't shut up ehtier under the cut <3

20 years old and engaged to a half-foot. They're waiting to gain some more money to get married and leave the dungeon. Note: they're best friends but idk if what they have going on is truly romantic love or just a very good friendship.

Quite skilled at upper levels, but wouldn't go to lesser levels. She isn't skilled enough to make her party survive there.

Her race is a mix between gnome and half-foot. Idk if that's possible but I don't think it's not.

If I had to guess, she's 13/14 on half-foot standars. It's unclear whether she's an adult or not, but she's preety mature most of the time. Most.

Flushed cheeks always. Also very pale.

She's 109 cms tall, a lot more than avarage on haflings, but lot less than avarage on gnomes. Since she hangs out mostly with haflings, she's a giant woman. This gives her some problems with traps so her BMI is 18 due to diet.

Fwens with Shahad. Who knows why tho. We gotta figure that out ;}

[dangaer]

i have officially completed virch.e's common route and am once again admitting yeah ... i get it.

[mornynge]

Nate/Sai/Adam + song lyrics

Cowboy Gangster Politician - Goldie Boutilier | Body Heat - Goldie Boutilier | Josephine - SOFIA ISELLA | Hurts To Hold On - Stevie Bill | Fainted Love - Conan Gray | Killing Me - Conan Gray | Masquerade/Why so silent - The Phantom of the Opera | TWC book 3 & demo for book 4

[fingertipsmp3]

Maybe I did this to myself but it does irk me when people see me knitting and they ask who it’s for and I say it’s for me and the immediate reaction is “you should sell it” yeah… let me spend at least a week’s worth of my free time making an item I like, want, and would wear just to sell it on etsy, making at most a £2 profit on materials and not being compensated for my time whatsoever 👍🏻