#i really need to stop raising the bar with these

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

When You Call Them Clingy| Hyungline Pt3

Hyungline x Gn!Reader

(i was supposed to release this yesterday but things came up im sor sorry its late but here you go!!! idk how i feel about this :/)

Bangchan

The night air was cool as you walked into the dimly lit bar, Felix by your side, his expression a mixture of concern and forced cheer. You had told Chan that you had plans- and wouldn’t lie to him- and that meant actually going through with your impulsive decision to make plans.

So, here you were, out with Felix, pretending that the weight in your chest wasn’t getting heavier with every minute that passed.

Felix had noticed, of course. He always did. “Are you sure you’re up for this?” he asked, voice soft. "Maybe you can-"

You forced a smile, waving him off. “Yeah, of course. I need a distraction.”

But the more you drank, the more you realized it wasn’t a distraction at all. Every sip burned, and every moment you weren’t thinking about Chan consciously was just a moment your subconscious filled with the memory of his face. His voice. The way he had shut you out completely after you made such a careless comment.

Meanwhile, across town, Chan sat in the corner of him an Jeongin’s apartment, drink in hand, gaze distant. Jisung had been invited over as well to have a few drinks and relax, since Chan also felt uneasy with the excuse he had made. Both boys sensed that something was off, but neither of them asked, just quietly sipping their drinks.

Until finally they couldn't take it anymore.

“You good, hyung?” Jisung finally asked, watching Chan down another shot.

Chan huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing his face. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Jeongin raised a brow. “You sure about that?”

Chan didn’t answer. He just stared at the ice in his glass, swirling it absentmindedly. The alcohol was dulling the ache in his chest, but only slightly. He had been pushing himself to stop thinking about you, to accept that you needed space, but it wasn’t working.

Not when his mind kept replaying the way you had looked at him before you left. The way your voice had sounded too quiet when you said goodnight.

The way it had sounded angry when you called him clingy.

Did he really do too much? What if-

Then his phone vibrated.

Felix.

Chan frowned, answering quickly. “Lix?”

“Hyung,” Felix said, exhaling sharply. “I need you to come get Y/N.”

Chan sat up immediately. “Who? You're with Y/N?" 

Was Y/N originally planning to hang out with Lix?...I thought they had just made an excuse-

Felix hesitated, his voice tight. “Y/Ns…not doing great- won't let me help-" Chris struggled to hear over the noise of the bar.  "-keeps pushing me away, saying they don’t want me to be ‘clingy'- out of -mind and refuses to- help them- get home.”

Chan felt the words like a slap to the face. His chest constricted, at the thought of you being drunk out of your mind.

“I’ll be there in ten,” he said, already grabbing his jacket. “Send me the location.” He stood up abruptly and wobbled slightly.

Jisung and Jeongin exchanged a look before quickly standing as well. “We’re coming with you,” Jeongin said firmly. "I'll drive, you drank more than either of us."

(For legal purposes disclaimer: y'all do NOT drink and drive. it's dangerous and can have serious repercussions. always try your best to have a sober friend around as well, in case of emergency)

Jeongin snatched Chris's key's and they all hopped into the car.

You tended to worry him when you were drunk, and he wasn't sure what to expect.

The drive felt agonizingly long. The alcohol still buzzed faintly in Chan’s system, but the moment he heard Felix’s voice and heard that you were in trouble - or causing trouble maybe -he sobered up fast. His heart pounded against his ribs as worry gnawed at his insides.

The second they stepped into the bar, his eyes scanned the room until he found you. And his breath caught in his throat.

You were sitting at a table, arms crossed tightly over your chest, brows furrowed as Felix spoke to you softly as he patted your back. But it was clear you weren’t listening. Your eyes were glassy, and your lips were pursed like you were trying not to cry as you shook your head, then slamming it onto the table like an angry toddler.

Felix noticed them first, exhaling in relief. “Thank God,” he muttered.

Chan wasted no time. He was at your side in an instant, crouching down so he was at eye level. “Y/N.”

Your head snapped toward him, and for a moment, your expression flickered with something so raw, so vulnerable, that it made his chest ache. But then your lips wobbled, and you hiccuped, looking away. “Go away.”

Chan’s jaw tightened. “Not happening, baby. Come on, let’s get you home.”

You shook your head stubbornly. “No.”

"You're being a pain, Y/N-ie. To Felix of all people do you want to upset him?"

Chan glanced at Felix, who gave him a knowing look. Felix wasn’t upset- he understood. It wasn’t that you didn’t want help. You just didn’t want it from anyone who wasn’t Chan.

You still stubbornly shook your head so Chan looked at Jisung who nodded.

Jisung sighed, mocking anger and crossing his arms. “Y/N you're being difficult, we can do it the easy way or the hard way. Or do you want to make us upset and disappointed?”

The moment Jisung spoke, you immediately nodded, causing a chuckle from the boys. "Okay, I'll listen."

The boys had long since known Jisung was your first bias, and that was often used for leverage in situations like these, when you're brain was too fogged to do much other that realize you didn't want to embarrass yourself in front of someone you admired. 

Carefully, Chan reached out, his fingers grazing your wrist. “Y/N,” he murmured, softer now. “Ready now?”

At that, your whole body seemed to deflate. Your lips trembled, and your eyes welled up with tears. “I was mean to you,” you whispered.

Chan exhaled softly, still caressing your wrist. “I know.”

“I didn’t mean it.” You whimpered.

“I know,” he said again, this time even softer.

Your face crumpled. “I’m sorry.”

Chan sighed, his chest tightening unbearably. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

This time, you didn’t fight him. You let him help you up, let him guide you out of the bar, his arm steady around your waist. The moment you were outside, the cool air hit you, and your steps wobbled. Chan adjusted his grip, holding you closer.

“I miss you,” you mumbled into his shoulder. Wiping your snot on him.

Chan swallowed hard. “I’m right here.” He noticed your were wiping your nose on him and he rolled his eyes lovingly. "You need a tissue?"

“You were mad,” you said, your voice tiny.

“I was hurt,” he corrected gently. “But I wasn’t mad.” He helped you get into the back seat of the car. "Sometimes, we just have to learn to handle our emotions a bit better. After some thought, I know we both could have reacted in better ways. I should have told you how I felt, and you should have told me how you felt. I know you were upset and didn't mean it, but it doesn't take away any of the hurt Y/N. I 'cling' to you because I'm deeply in love with you.

Your fingers clutched at his sleeve. “Are you leaving me?” You said looking up at him with wide eyes.

Chan paused buckling you in. His eyes widened as he turned to look at your face fully. “What?”

“You’re not gonna leave me, right?” you whispered, your voice thick with tears. “I feel so bad, Chris. I don’t want you to go.”

Chan exhaled slowly. He wanted to be frustrated with you- wanted to tell you how much you had hurt him, how dismissing his care had stung. But looking at you now, your face scrunched up in guilt, your body trembling slightly from the alcohol and the weight of your emotions…he just couldn’t.

Instead, he finished buckling you in and slid next to you and pulled you into him, his head resting atop your head. “I’m not leaving you,” he murmured. “You’re stuck with me, okay?”

You sniffled against his chest. “Promise?”

His grip tightened. “Promise.”

Jisung and Jeongin exchanged a glance but said nothing. Felix let out a quiet sigh of relief as he climbed in the back with you two.

"You're not clingy." You said quietly on the ride back. "I was upset but you're not clingy."

Chan hmmed in acknowledgement, petting your hair.

You scooted closer to him, burying yourself into him even more.

"Can I be clingy though?" You muttered sleepily, eyes fluttering to a close.

"That's all I want." He murmured quietly, kissing the top of your head.

"I love you." 

"I love you."

As Chan held you close, feeling the tension in your body slowly begin to ease, he knew one thing for certain: no matter what, he wasn’t going anywhere. And so he squeezed you a bit tighter, clung to you.

And as you drifted off into sleep you realized- 

How could you ever think you didn't want this?

——————————————————————————

Minho

The moment you got home, you regretted running away. The sinking feeling in your stomach wouldn’t let up, and your mind kept replaying the scene over and over. The way Minho looked at you- shocked, maybe even a little hurt- made you feel even worse.

You curled up on your bed, hugging your knees to your chest, guilt weighing you down like a stone. He deserved to be heard. You had made a mess of things, and now, if you wanted to fix it, you had to be the one to take the first step.

The next morning, you gathered your courage and went back to his apartment. Your heart pounded as you stood in front of his door, staring at the keypad, remembering how easily you had let yourself in the night before. This time, you knocked.

A moment later, the door opened, revealing a very tired-looking Minho. His hair was disheveled, his eyes slightly puffy as if he hadn’t slept much. When he saw you, his lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across his face before he stepped aside wordlessly to let you in.

You hesitated for a moment but stepped inside, greeted by the familiar scent of his apartment. The cats lounged around lazily, their tails flicking as they acknowledged your presence. The silence between you and Minho stretched, thick with unspoken words.

You turned to face him, gathering every ounce of courage you had. “I’m sorry.”

Minho’s brows furrowed slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line. “For what exactly?”

“For everything.” You exhaled shakily. “For calling you clingy when you were just being sweet, for lashing out at you because I was feeling insecure. And for last night- for not even giving you a chance to explain.”

Minho sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You really hurt me, Y/N.”

“I know.” Your voice cracked. “And I hate that I did. I-” You swallowed. “I saw you with her and I just- jumped to the worst conclusion....”

He studied you for a moment, arms crossed, his gaze softer now but still guarded. "So...that is what you thought." He said quietly.

You blinked and nodded. "I...know you wouldn't though. I was emotional and I...don't..." You swallowed, trying to blink back tears.

Minho sighed and crossed his arms as he leaned against the doorframe to the living room. “You should’ve asked instead of assuming.”

“I should have.” You nodded. “Who...was she?” You asked quietly, feeling your face burn from embarrassment of still being wary.

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “My old neighbor. I asked her to watch the cats.”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

He let out a small sigh, then motioned for you to sit on the couch. You followed hesitantly, your heart still racing.

“I was planning something for us,” he admitted. “A trip. I wanted it to be a surprise, but I needed someone to take care of the cats while we were gone.”

Your breath hitched. “A trip?”

Minho nodded, his expression unreadable, but his jaw twitching. “Yeah. Because I love you, and I wanted to spend time with you. But then you called me clingy and started avoiding me, and I thought…maybe you didn’t want that.”

Guilt surged through you so strongly it made your chest ache. “Minho…”

He met your gaze, something raw in his eyes. “I know that I was the first one to...shut down or...seek space; but you were the one pulling away. I was just trying to hold on. And forget what you said...”

Tears pricked at your eyes. “I didn't mean that Minho. I know nothing can take those words back, but I truly truly didn't mean it.” you whispered.

"I don't..." Minho sighed. "I don't act...this way with others. I don't really like all the mushy stuff but with you...it's different. Its like...I have to do all that stuff because I love you so much that it physically pains me not to show you just how much you mean..."

"Min..."

"So when you said that it made me think maybe you didn't want my love. That maybe...it was a burden to you."

"It's not!" You shout, making Minho jump slightly. "It's not at all. If anything I'm the burden for making things so difficult."

"You'll never be a burden to me Y/N. You just need to tell me when things are getting too hard so I can adjust my love language during those times. So we can avoid things like this, hm?" He lifted your face to look at him, slowly rubbing his thumb over your cheek. You nodded.

"You can be such a pain when your irritated you know, that?" He teased, his eyes narrowing.

"I was scared that I showed you I don’t deserve how much you love me. And that...you...”

Minho sighed before leaning forward, cupping your cheek gently, as he crashed his lips into your to shut you up.

“You can be scared, but don’t shut me out. Let me be scared with you if you are. And for the record you have nothing to be scared for. I'm clingy remember? What makes you think I'll let you go?"

A tear slipped down your cheek, and he wiped it away with his thumb. “I love you, Y/N. Even when you’re being a pain.”

A small, watery laugh left your lips. “I love you too."

He smirked slightly. “So, you ready for the trip?”

You blinked. “You still want to go?”

Minho scoffed. “Of course. I planned everything. It’d be a waste not to.”

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise." He said wiggling his eyebrows. "A very special surprise."

You pouted. "But I wanna know-"

He shushed you again with his lips, pushing you back onto the couch, and Dori's napping spot much to cat's dismay.

His hand entwined with yours, for a split second he played with your ring finger.

"You'll know soon enough, jagiya." He mumbled against your lips, his hand falling from yours to wrap around you waste as he lay on top of you. "But I missed you so let me just be with you in this moment."

He pulled you into his arms, his embrace warm and familiar, as he cuddled into you, and told you about everything that had happened recently; and for the first time in weeks, everything felt right again.

——————————————————————————

Changbin

You barely had time to process before you were rushing outside.

He was turned away from you completely. Your stomach dropped, and your hands instinctively reached out for him. "Changbin, wait!"

But he didn’t even try to continue walk away. Instead, his shoulders shook. His breath came out ragged, and when he turned back to you, his eyes were glossy, brimmed with unshed tears.

Your breath caught in your throat. "Bin...?"

You ran up to him and you started apologizing. 

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to steal your proposal or anything. I just wanted to apologize for snapping and calling you clingy-"

He let out a broken laugh, tears threatening to teeter over the edge, running a hand through his hair before looking at you with an expression so raw, so utterly vulnerable, that it made your chest pound. "You really think I’m upset because of that?"

Your brows furrowed. "Aren’t you? I- I took this from you. I ruined everything. I was so horrible-"

He cut you off with a shake of his head. "No, Y/N. God, no." He took in a shaking breath.

And then the first tear slipped down his cheek. Followed by the next, then the next.

Your heart clenched painfully at the sight, and you stepped closer, unsure if you should reach for him. He was crying. You had made him cry. And the thought of it made your own tears start to well in your eyes.

"Binnie, I-"

"You really don’t get it, do you?" His voice wavered. "I’m not crying because I’m upset. I’m crying because I love you so much that it makes me hurt to think about how you blamed yourself for all of this. That you thought the way to make it up to me was by planning your own proposal."

He let out another unsteady breath, wiping at his face roughly. "I don’t care about the proposal going wrong. I don’t care that you were overwhelmed or that we fought. I don't care enough about any of that to want an apology. I thought I did but being here I don't. I care that you thought for even a second that I would want you to feel this kind of guilt. I care that you thought I wouldn’t love you just as much, even after everything."

The weight of his words crashed into you all at once.

Tears slipped freely down your cheeks now, your throat tightening so much it was hard to breathe. "But I- I hurt you. I said awful things, I-"

"Yes, but seeing this-" He gestured towards your home. "I know you didn't mean it. We all say things when we're upset."

"But I do it so much-" You cried out.

"And I still love you, Y/N," he interrupted softly, stepping forward this time. "I still want to marry you. I still want every version of forever with you, no matter how messy it gets. I didn’t propose tonight because I thought it had to be perfect. I proposed tonight because I was ready. And I still am."

Your lips trembled, a sob catching in your throat as you reached for him, hands shaking when they met his chest. "Bin..."

He exhaled shakily, his hands coming up to cup your face. His thumbs brushed away your tears, his gaze searching yours as if to make sure you understood. "Don’t ever think that a bad night, a bad fight, or a bad moment could ever change the way I feel about you."

Your tears fell harder now, and a broken laugh slipped from your lips. "You’re supposed to be mad at me, and make me grovel and apologize 1000 times; not saying the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard."

He chuckled wetly, pulling you against him, his arms wrapping securely around you. " While I think that would be a sight to see I forgave you the moment everything happened. And I appreciate the apology Y/N-ie, I really do. But I could never stay mad at you. Not when I know how much you love me back."

You buried your face in his chest, clutching onto him like he was your lifeline. "I do. I love you so much, Binnie. And I’m so sorry."

He pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head. "I know. I know, baby. We can move past now."

For a long moment, you just stood there, wrapped up in each other, breathing in the warmth and comfort that only he could provide. And then, in the softest whisper, he murmured against your hair:

"Marry me, Y/N?"

You pulled back slightly, blinking up at him through tear-soaked lashes. "You...You’re still asking? Even after all of this?"

His smile was small but so full of love it nearly took your breath away. "I wanted to hear you say yes."

A watery laugh bubbled out of you, and you nodded, gripping his shirt tightly. "Yes. Yes, of course, I’ll marry you."

He pulled the ring out of his jacket pocket and placed it on your finger, disregarding the box somewhere on the pavement.

And then his lips were on yours, warm and insistent, tasting of salt and relief and love. So much love.

 It was filled with every emotion under the sun, everything you could ever want and need.

And it made you pull him closer, cling to him a little more.

It wasn’t a perfect proposal.

But it was yours

Which made it absolutely perfect in the end.

——————————————————————————

Hyunjin

Hyunjin practically sprinted from your apartment, his heart hammering against his ribs. The cold air bit at his skin, but the chill was nothing compared to the ice creeping up his spine.

Where could you have gone?

He checked the usual spots first. The small park you liked to sit at when you needed air, the café down the street where you drowned your bad moods in sweet drinks, even the bus stop in case you had the ridiculous idea of running away from your problems altogether.

But you weren’t at any of them.

Panic fully bloomed in his chest. He couldn’t lose you—not like this. His mind was already spinning in worst-case scenarios, every single possibility sharpening his anxiety into something unbearable. He pulled out his phone and called again. Straight to voicemail.

“Come on, Y/N, pick up,” he muttered, frustration and worry bleeding into his voice.

Then, a thought struck him.

He quickly searched up convenience stores near your apartment. 

You tended to like to stress snack, and if you had wandered off, there could be a good chance you wandered into a place filled with snacks.

He tried calling again; even though he was sure you wouldn't answer becuase it seems your phone was off. 

But much to his surprise there was an answer.

"Hello?"

Hyunjin didn't recognize the voice, but it sounded like an older gentleman.

"Who is this? Why do you have Y/N's phone?"

"Oh, I see. Their phone died, so I'm charging it."

The man had given Hyunjin the address of the store and he took off in that direction, his long legs eating up the distance, barely noticing the way his breath came out in sharp puffs. And then, as he rounded the last corner, he saw you.

Sitting by the window, a snack in your hand, your eyes lost in thought.

Relief hit him so hard he nearly staggered. His chest rose and fell as he tried to compose himself, to shake off the raw terror that had gripped him just moments before.

You were okay.

But God, he wasn’t.

The door chimed as he stepped inside. You looked up, startled, and your eyes went wide as they met his.

“Hyunjin-”

Before you could finish, he was in front of you, his hands cupping your face, looking at you all around his warmth enveloping you entirely. His brows were drawn together, his eyes dark and searching.

“Do you have any idea how scared I was?” he said, voice tight. “I came back and you were gone. Your phone was off. I thought-” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I thought something happened to you. Why are you even at a store this far from your home?”

Guilt curled deep in your gut. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just- I tried going after you and then my phone died, and I had taken a wrong turn and-”

Hyunjin let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but it was too shaky, too broken. He pulled back just enough to look at you properly, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones.

“You don’t get to disappear on me like that,” he murmured. “Not after what you said. Not after the way you made me feel.”

Your stomach twisted. “Hyunjin, I-”

“No, let me talk.” His voice was soft, but firm. “You hurt me, Y/N. You made me feel like I was too much, like the way I love you is suffocating.”

Your lips parted, a lump forming in your throat.

“But that’s just how I am,” he continued, his fingers tightening slightly against your skin. “When I care, I care with everything. I don’t know how to be any other way.” His voice cracked. “And for a second, you made me feel like that wasn’t enough. Or maybe…too much.”

Tears pricked at your eyes. “Hyunjin, I never meant to make you feel like that.”

He searched your face, his own emotions laid bare. “Then why did you say it?”

"I was upset. But after some thought..." You swallowed, forcing yourself to confront the truth. “I think I don't like change. And being cared for this much is new to me. So, I was irritated, and I used it as an excuse to say something I had been thinking. Because I think I'm scared,” you admitted. “Scared that if I let myself lean into it too much, I’d get used to it. That I’d get used to you being there, and then one day maybe you wouldn’t be, so I shouldn't let myself get used to it."

Hyunjin stood there blinking.

“I thought pushing you away would make it hurt less if that ever happened, And after today I realized that I was wrong. And I'm sorry.” you continued, voice shaking. “I'm sorry all I did was hurt you instead of expressing how I felt. Whether about the rough days or anxiety for the future. There are no excuses...”

A heavy silence stretched between you before he finally spoke.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly. “Not unless you tell me to. And even then, I’d probably still find a way to stay and cling to.”

A nervous laugh bubbled up in your throat.

"I mean it, Y/N. More than I've meant anything before." He sighed. "I wanted you to grovel and I was going to be all dramatic and everything but...I guess you just make me way too soft don't you?" He kissed your forehead. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to cling to you. Even if you tell me not too."

You let out a full laugh now. “You’re persistent.”

“And you’re impossible,” he murmured, brushing a tear from your cheek. “But you’re mine. Right?”

You nodded, fresh guilt and love swelling in your chest. “I am. And I know I already said sorry but I really am. I’m so, so sorry, Hyunjin. For what I said, for making you feel like you weren’t enough. You are. You always have been.”

Hyunjin studied you for a moment before his lips quirked up just slightly. “You’re lucky I’m weak for you.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” you promised. “Whatever you want.”

His eyes sparkled mischievously. “Anything?”

You hesitated. “Yes?”

A full grin broke across his face. “Then you owe me unlimited cuddles for a week.”

You let out a relieved laugh, nodding. “Deal.”

And just like that, Hyunjin pulled you into his arms, burying his face into your shoulder, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

Because he didn’t.

——————————————————————————

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha @iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric @panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee @shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin @whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun @ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael @skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads @jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld @kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9 @minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg @leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon @night-storm7 @missmajdastark @axel-skz @rockstarkkami @emilyywhyy

@suckerforv @nyang3racha @ashleylly @darling-imobsessed @changbinismymuscledaddy @artist2181 @minniesverse @monbrigh @20staaa @aeri-skzver @noannah @skysole @chanssmiles @depressedarlling

[moody-alcoholic]

Cross My Heart

Part 15 - Special Delivery

Summary: eventual poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers, mini fic. CW: Death, use of weapons, violence, military inaccuracies. AN: I'm sorry but none of you are ready for the next part...

Previous parts - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

It feels like every time you walk into a room with them it’s more and more awkward. You feel like eyes are digging into you as you walk over to the table in the room and put the laptop down.

“Give me your boots.” Johnny says coming over to you. Before you even question him you’re already taking them off. “I’ll dry them by the radiators.” You nod, Gaz walks up to you as you open the laptop.

“Can you help her set up a keyword search or something?” Price asks.

“What are you looking for?” Gaz asks, pulling the laptop towards him. You look over at Ghost sticking a cloth into some part of a broken down weapon. 

“Here, type in what you want to search for.” He says turning the laptop back to you. 

“What should I search for?” You ask the room. 

“Try Makarov.” Price asks from the doorway. You type it into the search bar, you have no idea what Gaz has done or how he managed to get it working so quickly. In fact the search part seemed to take the longest. You pull a chair over and sit down clicking through each thing. 

“Just some emails, nothing really. They’re talking about the post being shut down.” 

“Try missiles.” Gaz says you nod typing it in if you try Arabic first and nothing comes up so you switch to Russian. There’s only one document, you open it and there's a list and pictures of missiles, at the end there’s a link. You click it and it opens to a video. 

It’s Makarov, he's talking about something, it looks like he’s in some kind of lab or something. He picks up a vial of something. Everyone but Ghost have moved over to the table now.

“What’s he saying?” Gaz asks. 

“He’s talking about a chemical. Those missiles in the garage they’re-” You stop continuing to listen to him. “Chemical bombs, he's using the missile casings to make chemical weapons.” 

“If those are empty shells outside, where are the insides?” Johnny asks.

“Probably with Al Qatala.” You say, the video finishes on a freeze frame of Makarovs face. You look up, Ghost has started putting the weapon back together now. 

“What kind of chemicals?” Price asks. You go back to the document turning it so Johnny can see, he scans over it for a few seconds. 

“That's like white phosphorus.” He says pointing at something. “This is some kind of gas.” 

“Like in Urzikstan?” Gaz asks.

“Like Urzikstan?” You ask.

“He had sarin gas. This is different though.” Johnny says you raise an eyebrow looking up at Price who has his arms crossed with a concerned look on his face. 

“What do we do now?” Gaz asks. 

“We send this to Laswell, let her start looking through it. Tomorrow when we follow them to Makarov we’ll know more.” Price says then moves away from the laptop. 

“I can keep looking.” You say moving the laptop back towards you. 

“Laswell’s programs are faster, besides we need to get some rest. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.” He says. You nod pushing the laptop back to Kyle.

…

Everyone wakes before the sun is up. You slept uncomfortably, not because you had no bed and you were basically sleeping on the hard floor. Because Johnny had the building so hot you woke up in a pool of sweat. At least your clothes are dry though, mostly. 

“Tea?” Johnny asks, passing you a plastic cup. You yawn taking it from him.

“Carry tea into a warzone with you all the time?” You ask.

“Cause, how would we function without it?” You look over at Gaz sitting next to you, you smile at him. 

“No time for a tea break. They could be here any minute.” Price says. You sip the tea anyway; it's sweet and milky not like the kind you’re used to. You get up going over to where all the gear is drying and pick up your vest. It’s still damp but it’s better than being sodden. 

You walk over to the window where Ghost and Price are standing. 

“When do you think they’ll be here?” You ask, tightening the vest. 

“Anytime now.” Ghost says.

“How are we going to follow them without being spotted?” You ask.

“We’ll take the car they left yesterday, if they do see us we’ll hope they think it’s one of them.” Price says. You don’t know if that will work but you trust him. 

“When we get there what's the plan?” You ask. 

“Haven’t got that far yet.” Price smiles and turns to look back into the room. You raise an eyebrow, Johnny comes up next to you throwing his arm over your shoulders. 

“Hey, wanna cozy up with me in the back of the car when we leave?” He says winking at you, you feel heat rushing to your cheeks. 

“You’re driving.” Price says smiling. Johnny’s arm leaves your shoulder as he starts to complain. You chuckle going back over to the window. 

“C’mon, help me pack. You two keep a lookout.” Price says walking past you. You lean up against the window, looking out at the garages. 

“So. What's with the mask?” You ask looking over at Ghost, he turns slightly and crosses his arms looking at you. He doesn’t answer, you frown at him. 

“I think it’s cute.” You tease. He scoffs going to look back out the window. “Are you shy or something? You don’t seem shy.” 

“I don’t like people knowing what I do.” He says. It’s not really a satisfying answer. 

“What, you don’t want people knowing you're military?” You ask. He just lets out a sigh.  

“I get it.” You say looking back out the window. “You want to keep work and home life separate. Do you have someone at home waiting for you?”

“No.” He says quickly. “Not anymore.” 

You don’t press him any further, it feels like you’ve hit a nerve. You’re not waiting much longer, the sun has only just started to break over the horizon when a truck pulls up to the gate. You all make it outside and climb into the car they hid round the back of the building. 

You all wait in silence hearing the garage doors open and close. Johnny doesn’t turn the engine of the car on until you all hear the distant click of the front gates slamming closed. By that point everyone is getting somewhat restless, you’re sat in the back between Ghost and Gaz. Price is in the front with the laptop on his knees. 

“Laswell thinks they might be heading to an old cold war base a few hours from the border of Kastovia.” Price says. “Satellite images have been promising and Russia has no troops in that region.”

“And they would have no reason to lie.” You say raising an eyebrow. You shrug when Price looks back at you. 

“Let’s move, we don’t want to lose them if we’re wrong.” He says gesturing for Johnny to drive. 

…

Price was right, they end up driving into what looks like an old cold war air base. Grass is peaking through the cracked concrete of the runway. The surrounding fence is rusted and collapsed in some places the buildings look rundown and barely functional but you all watch as one of the doors to one of the hangers open and the trucks drive in. 

Price orders Johnny to drive round to a forest about a kilometre away from the place and you all get out. 

“How can we be sure he’s there?” Gaz asks as he closes the boot of the car. 

“He’s there.” Price says confidently. 

“What about the others, The Butcher and Khaled?” You ask as you follow them through the trees. 

“No, they haven’t been spotted. This is a cold war era building though. Chances are there’s an underground tunnel system they’re hiding in.” Price says.

“That explains why we didn’t see many guards.” Ghost replies. 

“Right, besides I don’t think it’s going to be getting in that's the problem.” Price says. You let out a sigh, this feels too easy. It feels like you’re rushing, he’s in that building but like Price said there could be miles of tunnels hidden underneath. He could have a whole army in there just waiting. 

You follow them in silence listening to them talk strategies. The plan seems to be to go in as quietly as possible, cut the alarms, locate Makarov and take him out. Then confirm where the bombs and chemicals are so the US and Russia can come in and clear them up. 

It was a plan, not one you’re particularly happy with but it’s a plan nonetheless. 

“Gaz, Soap. You get in to see if you can find a maintenance room of some kind. Something we can use to tap into their systems.” He hands them the laptop. Gaz takes it then they start making their way down to the building. 

You’re all hidden behind something you think was once a barn but now there's a tree growing out of it and it's collapsed on one side. Ghost has binoculars looking around the place, the sun is out and the sky is clear which is way better than the thunderstorm from last night. 

“Place is quiet. I don’t like it.” Ghost says after a few seconds. 

“Makes our job easier.” Price says. You straighten up when you see the doors of the hanger open again. 

“Eye’s up Ghost.” 

“I see.” He replies. You squint trying to get a better look, you can’t see anything really from this distance, you wonder if Soap and Gaz are having any better look. 

“Shit. That’s Makarov.” Ghost says handing the binoculars over to Price. He brings them up to his eyes. You see a smile on his lips. 

“Got you now fucker.” You hear him whisper under his breath as he takes the binoculars down and hands them over to Ghost. 

“Update Soap and Gaz. I’ll get Laswell in the loop.” He says before turning to walk away. 

“Soap, Gaz. Makarov is heading into the main building.” 

“Copy.” You hear Gaz call back. “How’s our way in looking?”

“You’re clear. Watch yourselves.” 

“Always.” Soap replies. You turn behind you to see Price talking on a phone. You try to look for them but you can’t see them at all. You watch as Makarov makes it into the building with his entourage. 

“We’re in, making our way to the building now.” Gaz says. 

“Copy, watch your step, we have no intel you’re going in blind.”

“Copy, won’t be blind for long though.” Gaz whispers. You’re holding your breath, your palms have gone sweaty. You’re nervous, you want to be with them, helping them. What if they get hurt? They know what they’re doing, they’ve been trained for this. 

“How’re we looking?” Price asks as he comes back standing next to you. 

“We’re in, looking for a maintenance room.” Soap whispers as if on cue. 

“Good. Let us know when you have access then we’ll move.” Price says. It feels like you’re waiting forever, the seconds feel like minutes, you find yourself constantly checking your watch. 

“Nervous?” Price asks. You look over at him and smile. 

“Never.” He smiles back nodding his head.

“We’re in. Looks like Makarov is sitting pretty at the top of the ATC. Can you get a visual Ghost?” You all look up at the tower, you can’t see anything from here. 

“Copy. I see him.” Ghost says after a few seconds.

“We can override the security and lock him in there?” Gaz asks.

“Good, do it. Any signs of tunnels?” Price asks. 

“Nothing, everything seems to be above ground.” Gaz responds, you look over at Price. It feels too easy. 

“How many inside?” 

“A few dozen, 30. Maybe 40.” Soap says.

“Civilians?” 

“Negative.” 

“Stay put, we're coming to you.” Price says tapping Ghost on the shoulder.   

It doesn’t take you long to make it to the part of the wall Soap and Gaz made it though. Ghost and Price are faster than they are. More sure in their movements, they handle their weapons in a way you’ve never seen before, its second nature to them. You all slip through a side door and walk into a dimly lit corridor. 

“Were in.” Price says. You see Soap stick his head round a corner with his weapon drawn before lowering it. You all walk over to him seeing Gaz kneeled down next to the laptop hooked up to what you assume is some kind of server. 

“Gaz, stay here. Guide us, we’ll clear floor by floor. Make sure Makarov doesn't try anything. He’s not getting away this time.” Price says. Gaz nods and the rest of you make it out the room closing the door behind you. 

“Which way Gaz?” Price asks as you all stand there looking to him for direction. 

“Door to the left will take you through to the main entrance, then right through the double doors will take you into the mess.” Gaz says. “You’re looking at about 15-20 people.” You swallow hard. That’s a lot.

“Are you sure we can take that many people at once?” You ask before you can stop yourself. Soap chuckles and you feel embarrassed. 

“We’ve dealt with worse odds. Besides, we have an advantage.” Price says. You frown, shaking your head at him. 

“They don’t know we’re here.” Price says, clicking the safely off his weapon and turning to the left. 

He was right again. Surprising them was a big advantage. Gaz was good at calling out hazards too. You knew where they were before they could even find you. It felt clinical, maybe you’re used to it now, all the killing. It’s not hard when you’ve done it a few times. 

You don’t think about it, you just shoot, shoot them or they will shoot you. You don’t think about if they have a life outside of this. They’re the enemy, they’re making bombs and chemicals to hurt actual innocent people.  

“Mess and kitchen are clear. You’ve got people coming from the west side of the building.” Gaz says. You all get into position before the first few soldiers manage to get shots off. You have to duck under a table slipping on something and fall on your ass. 

You hear Soap chuckle coming over to you and grab your arm pulling you up. 

“Change your mag, I'll cover you.” He says. You nod, pulling the almost empty one out and pressing a new one in. The firing has stopped by the time you’re ready to fire again. You look over at the pile of bodies in the doorway. The room stinks of blood and gunpowder. 

You don’t think that is something you can ever get used to. 

“Looks like you’re clear.” The last few soldiers are with Makarov. I would hurry if I was you. I had to trigger a security lockdown so they couldn’t leave the ATC tower. He’s trying to override it. I don’t know how long you have.” Gaz explains. 

“Copy, we’re moving.” Price says already jogging out the room. When you make it back outside the building you see people coming out of the hangar towards you. 

“Go we’ll hold them off!” Soap shouts grabbing your arm to stop you. You nod at him and watch as Ghost and Price run off towards the ATC tower. You fire off shots with Soap, some are hitting, your adrenaline is pumping and your hands are sweaty. 

He grabs your arm pulling you to cover behind a roadblock. Now it’s your turn to cover him so he can reload. You look over the block and fire off shots trying your best to make them land. You can’t tell if you’re getting better or not. The last one falls as he gets back up. 

“C’mon let's catch up with the others. You watch our six, yeah?” You nod and follow him up the winding stairs of the tower. 

You hear an explosion. You both freeze for a second, your eyes meeting before you’re sprinting up the stairs. It takes the wind out of you sprinting up the steps trying to keep up with Soap. By the time you make it to the top you have to brace your hands on your knees and take in lungfuls of air. 

When you look back up Soap has gone, the doors to the control room are open. You walk in hearing voices. 

“You think you can stop us all Captain?” That has to be Makarov, his thick Russian accent cutting through the air. 

“Maybe not. But we’re going to give it a damn good try.” You hear Price say as a shot is fired. You make it round the control panel just in time to see his body flop to the ground. 

“Gaz, target down. Where’s the control room in this place?” Price asks as he turns, your eyes meet. There’s something different in them now, you quickly look back down at the body. His eyes look dark, focused. This was personal, you swallow hard, your throat feeling suddenly dry. 

“Main building second floor.” Gaz says. You’re already turning to move back down the stairs before them. You feel a shiver up your spine. They got Makarov, they’ve got the weapons, now all they need to do is get the Americans and Russians in here to clear the place out. 

It felt weird, like something had changed between you all. Well something had changed, they’ve completed their mission. You feel a shiver run up your spine remembering the cold look in Price’s eyes. 

It’s not even over yet Jamal and Khaled, they're both still out there, they’re both probably involved in continuing Makarovs work. He was right, they can’t stop them all.

You make it to the control room first Gaz is leaned over a laptop. The room looks out of place almost like they just slammed a concrete box down in the middle of the building, maybe they did. You had to walk through a set of metal sliding doors to get in. 

“Where are the others?” he asks looking over your shoulder, you turn to see no one following you.

“They must have got turned around.” You say. 

“I’ll go get them, stay here.” he says. You nod, swinging the weapon off your shoulder and putting it on one of the tables. You hear them before you see them, they must have not been that far behind. You walk over to the door to meet up with them. It slides shut and you step back for a second then step up again. Nothing changes, you frown looking up at the sensor waking your hand. 

You sigh, maybe it can only be opened from the other side, you can see them walk into the little room you can only describe as an airlock. This building really is as old as the cold war. When they make it to the door it doesn’t budge. 

They look at you confused. 

“I don’t know.” You say reaching over to press the red emergency open button, it doesn’t do anything. Suddenly you hear a hiss and a clank, they all turn watching the door behind them slide closed and lock. 

An alarm rings out. They look at Gaz who looks down at the laptop, you can see him furiously clicking on the keyboard.  

“The whole system’s gone into lockdown.” He says, you see panic on his face. Fuck. Price looks back at you. 

“Did you touch anything?” He asks. 

“No of course not!” You shout back defensively. Suddenly there’s another hissing, this wasn't like the one in their room. This one sounds different. You look up trying to place it. 

“What’s happening?” Price asks. You look round, it’s the vents, a few seconds later a thick smoke starts to seep out of them. It almost immediately makes you gag and cough. You bring your arm hand up to block your nose and mouth. 

You look back at Price, now you can see panic on his face. 

Fuck.

Banners by plum98

[the-offside-rule]

Out of Her Depth - Chapter 3: The Superbowl Party

Out of Her Depth: The Masterlist

Saoirse wasn’t sure how she ended up at a Super Bowl party in Cinccinati when she could’ve been at home in Monaco, enjoying a quiet evening with her sim rig before having to go to London for the car launches, but Daniella had insisted, and when Daniella insisted, it was nearly impossible to say no.

Now she stood in the middle of a crowded penthouse, surrounded by NFL players, influencers, and celebrities, feeling completely out of place. Saoirse adjusted the jacket she wore over her black top and crossed her arms, sticking close to Daniella like a lifeline. She watched the TV screen, but the chaos of American football made no sense to her. The constant stopping and starting, the endless rules, what was the point?

"You look miserable." Daniella teased, sipping her drink. "Am I that obvious?" Saoirse muttered. "Painfully." Daniella laughed, nudging her. "Come on. Loosen up! It’s a party." Saoirse sighed. "I am trying, but I can't. I hate America." Ja'Marr came over, pecking Daniella's cheek. "What'd I miss?" He asked, hangin is arm around Daneilla's shoulders. "I wanna introduce her to some of your teammates. Expand her social circle."

"Sounds good to me. Maybe try-"

"No need." Saoirse shook her head before she could even finish. "I'm all good." Ja’Marr Chase, Daniella’s boyfriend and one of the biggest names in the NFL liked Saoirse. He liked how quick she was with her words. He also knew someone else who was smart with their words, and in the same position as Saoirse at that moment; so very single, and practically impossible to get out of their house. "C’mon, O’Reilly. Plenty of people to talk to. It’s time to socialize for once."

Saoirse narrowed her eyes at him. "I socialize." She quipped. "When’s the last time you left your apartment in Monaco?" He asked. She opened her mouth, then hesitated. She wouldn’t leave the place if she could help it and everyone that knew her knew it. "Exactly." He grinned, taking a swig of his drink. Daniella smirked. “He’s got a point, you know. Just pick anyone and try talk to them."

Saoirse rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her drink. "Fine. If I have to make conversation—where’s the really good-looking one?" Ja’Marr raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Haven't a clue." She said, shrugging. "All I know is he's always on my for you page and hes an American Footballer that plays for your team." A voice behind her cut in smoothly.

"You can just call it football, you know. Since you’re in the States."

Saoirse turned, heart skipping a beat. Joe Burrow stood there, casually leaning against the bar with a beer in hand, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. For the first time that night, Saoirse had no words. Joe tilted his head. "You good?" She blinked, gathering herself. "Might beed to lay off the bacardi but I should be alright." She replied, her stunned face still not changing, apart from a pink blush colouring her cheeks. He chuckled, extending a hand. "Joe."

"Saoirse." She shook it, feeling the warmth of his grip before pulling away quickly. From the corner of her eye, she spotted Daniella grinning like a Cheshire cat, while Ja’Marr watched with amusement.

The game continued, though Saoirse barely followed. By the time the first quarter ended, she looked up at the screen, frowning. "So, does this mean Kendrick Lamar is performing now?" Joe laughed, shaking his head. "Not yet. That’s halftime." Saoirse's eyebrows knotted. "So what's this then?"

Joe smirked. "You really don’t get football, huh?"

"Not American football, no." He shifted closer, nodding toward the screen. "Alright, I got you. I’ll explain." He said, his hand resting on the counter behind Saoirse. Saoirse arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms and looking up at the blonde. "Wish you all the best."

For the next twenty minutes, Joe patiently walked her through the rules. Saoirse compared everything to rugby, making the sport sound far more brutal than Joe intended. But she listened, her haz eyes flickering with curiosity, and for the first time all night, she felt engaged.

Daniella leaned against Ja’Marr, watching the scene unfold with pure satisfaction. "She’s actually talking to him." Ja’Marr smirked. "And he’s actually talking back." It had been a long time since Joe had taken an interest in anyone. But watching him now, laughing with the sharp-tongued Irish driver, Ja’Marr had a feeling that might be about to change.

The game carried on in the background, but Saoirse and Joe were lost in their own conversation, quick-witted and fast-paced, neither of them missing a beat. "Okay, real question-" Saoirse said suddenly, tilting her head at him. "Do you genuinely think that bleached buzzcut was a good idea?" Joe groaned, running a hand through his current, much better-looking haircut. "I knew this was coming."

"Well?" She pressed, smirking. "You know, for someone that doesnt watch football, you know a lot about certain players." He grinned. "Or just you. Now, answer the question." He sighed. "Alright, listen—I had just broken up with my girlfriend around that time, and I needed a change. It was an impulsive decision." Saoirse rolled her eyes. "Ah, the classic post-breakup hair transformation. Should’ve just gotten bangs." Joe laughed. "Yeah, that definitely would’ve gone well for me."

"Like the bleached buzzcut did?"

"Hey, it's my turn." He said, leaning forward, thinking for a moment before deciding to keep the conversation on a similar theme to what it was at. "Would you ever dye your hair a different colour?"

“I already do.”

Joe blinked. "Wait, what?" She grinned. "I’m actually a brunette. But I’ve been getting highlights since I was like fourteen, and over time, it just sort of… stayed. Now it looks natural." Joe pointed at her. "So you also dye your hair. You can’t judge me for dying my hair last year." Saoirse smirked. "I did not judge you for dying it."

"Then what did you judge?" She leaned in slightly, eyes glinting. "The style." Joe let out a laugh, shaking his head. "Ja'Marr is right. You are ruthless." She shrugged. "And yet, you’re still here talking to me." He grinned. "Guess I like a challenge."

The game was nearing its end, but Saoirse barely noticed. She and Joe hadn’t stopped talking since the halftime show ended—except for the few times a touchdown or a big play pulled their attention to the screen. Even then, their conversation picked up right where it left off, flowing as easily as if they’d known each other for years.

Saoirse leaned back against the bar, her empty drink in her hand, a lazy smile on her lips. "I have to admit, I actually enjoyed watching this." Joe smirked, tilting his head at her. "We didn’t exactly watch the game." She chuckled. "True." They exchanged a glance, both knowing that, despite being at a Super Bowl party, the game had become secondary.

Joe took a sip of his beer before asking, "So, how often do you come to the States?" Saoirse shrugged. "Other than races or promotional events? Never." Joe tsked, shaking his head. "Yeah, see, we can’t have that." She arched a brow. "What are you on about?" Instead of answering right away, Joe held out his hand. "Pass me your eyeliner." Saoirse blinked. "My what?"

"Your eyeliner." He nodded toward her winged liner. "You’ve got to have one in that tiny purse of yours."

"In my bag."

"Huh?"

"In Ireland, we call it-"

"Saoirse. Eyeliner if you have it, please."

Still skeptical, she reached into her bag and handed it to him. "If this is some weird American thing, I fear I might get the ick." Joe grinned as he gently took her hand, his touch firm but easy. With careful precision, he uncapped the eyeliner and, in bold, neat numbers, wrote his phone number across the back of her hand. Saoirse glanced at it, then up at him, unimpressed but intrigued. "This is your grand plan?"

"What? They do it in the movies." He said, handing her the eyeliner back. "You could’ve just asked me for my phone." She said. "If you don't text me tomorrow, I can just tell myself the number rubbed off when you were sleeping and you can't. If I put it into your phone, I'd have no excuse. But this-" He tapped her hand. "This is now your excuse to come back to the U.S. sooner and more often." She rolled her eyes, though a small smile played on her lips. "You’re awfully confident." Joe shrugged. "Confidence never hurt anyone."

Saoirse huffed a laugh, shaking her head. "Except maybe in racing." Joe leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to be playful. "Luckily I'm an American football player." Saoirae gasped. "Oh my god you said it." Saoirse met his gaze, holding it for just a second longer than necessary before looking away, a rare warmth creeping onto her face.

Daniella, watching from across the room, nudged Ja’Marr. "Told you." She whispered. Ja’Marr sighed and reached into his pocket, taking out a ten dollar bill. "What's it feel like always being right?"

"Pretty good, babe. Pretty good."

[dailyadventureprompts]

Hi there! I hope your having a wonderful day!

So i had a question, or more acuratly wanted to ask for some advice. Ive more or less recently started dming, mostly in the form of one-shots for my main group. And ive stumbled across the following issue: while i love the lore building and describing and rp-ing i really struggle with combat. I tend to get overwhelmed and forget about effects and skills, and struggle with coming up with 'battle tactics' (which is what our campaign dm suggested) or make it way to easy because i worry about the players being dissappointed by 'loosing'(eventhough they've mentiones they would love harder combat and would even be okay with a tpk if it was earned)

So do you happen to have any suggestions or ideas on how to practice running and organizing combat and/or scalling or ways to not get so overwhelmed?

(Im sorry if this isnt quite what you do, i just didnt really know who else to ask)

This is ABSOLUTELY what I do friend, every part of the dungeon mastering experience is worth talking about because that's how we improve.

If you're having trouble learning your way around combat you're more than justified: it's a whole second game, and strategic skirmish tactics requires a very different skillset compared to the collabrative storytelling rules you're just now getting a handle on.

First, lets talk about what combat in d&d is even FOR: Fights in d&d are really no different than any other challenge, they're a hurdle you as a DM employ to introduce drama to a narrative and engage your players, not all that different from a locked door or an obstinate NPC that needs to be convinced. The difference is that when you call initiative, you are shining a spotlight on the moment to moment decisions your party makes when time is limited and greatly raising the stakes: Seconds matter in combat, quick thinking matters, mistakes matter.

To use a simple example, recently I ran a road encounter where the party came across a gnomish merchant who's wagon had been attacked by predatory flightless birds. The question wasn't "can the party defeat the birds", I knew they could, the question was " Can the party defeat the birds before they eat this poor gnome who will be a friend/ally to them later"

The reason you're having problem with tactics and being worried about killing your party is that you're thinking about combat as its own isolated thing rather than a dramatic beat as part of a larger story. Most fights in D&D are NOT about attacking the party directly: Instead the baddies have something they want to accomplish (Take, devour, defend, slay) and it's a question of whether the heroes can stop them before they accomplish their mission. Combat only takes 2-4 rounds generally, which is a limited time for your players to put their thumbs on the scale and try to alter the course of events. Tactics are emergent out of goals, so think about what your minions would want to happen and how they would've gone about achieving it before the party comes by to wreckingball through their carefully laid plans.

Another example: An enemy force is attacking a castle the party are guests at, looking to secure hostages in preparation for a coup attempt by a rival noble. While the villains' over all job is to capture pieces, the initial wave of badguys are primarily concerned with slowing the party down to prevent them from interfering with the other attackers around the castle, meaning they'll fight defensively, potshots from cover and barring exits.

When you refocus the badguys' goals away from killing the players and towards things that push the plot in a particular direction (especially one the party would generally like to stop) you’ll have a clearer idea of what the enemies want to be doing, which not only helps you decide how they act, but also pick what enemies go into a fight.

If you're feeling totally overwhelmed another option would be to switch to a game system that focuses less on crunchy combat. It's drastic but everyone has game systems that fit better with their particular DMing style, especially in the early days when you're first developing. I'd highly recommend Forged in the Dark, or Powered by the Apocalypse systems, as they still have the punchy action-forward storytelling of d&d without having to manage much on the mechanics side.

[bitchinbarzal]

Wearing her down | M Barzal

summary: mat just needs to wear you down to date him.

-

Mat has never been good at taking no for an answer.

The first time he asks you out, it’s casual.

“So, dinner tonight?” he says, leaning against the counter in the media room like he owns the place. He’s sweaty from practice, hair damp and curling at the ends. You don’t look up from your laptop.

“Not happening, Barzal.”

He frowns “Why not?”

You sigh, finally giving him a glance. “Because I like my life how it is. And dating you?” You shake your head “That sounds like unnecessary stress.”

Mat clutches his chest like you’ve stabbed him “Stress? I’m a delight.”

You roll your eyes and get back to work, effectively ending the conversation.

Mat, to his credit, doesn’t give up.

The second time he asks you out, he brings coffee. Your usual order, because he’s been paying attention.

“Bribery?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as he sets it on your desk.

“Persuasion,” he corrects. “It’s Friday. You, me, somewhere nice. No hockey talk.”

You pick up the coffee, take a slow sip, and let him stew in silence before finally saying, “Still no.”

He groans. “You’re killing me, Y/N.”

“Then stop asking.”

But he doesn’t.

Over the next few weeks, he tries everything.

• He casually drops hints in interviews, smirking at you behind the camera when he says he’s “working on something big.”

• He enlists Tito to help, which backfires spectacularly when Tito blurts out “She’s way out of your league, bro”

By the time the team holiday party rolls around, he’s still striking out.

You’re standing by the bar when he slides up next to you, looking unfairly good in a suit. “Alright, new tactic” he announces.

You take a sip of your drink. “Oh, this should be good.”

Mat grins. “One date. If you don’t have fun, I’ll never ask again.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And what makes you think I’ll have fun?”

“Because I’m me.” He winks. “And you like me more than you let on.”

You open your mouth, ready to argue, but he’s right. As much as you hate to admit it, you do like him—his charm, his persistence, the way he lights up whenever you’re in the room.

And maybe, just maybe, one date wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

You sigh dramatically. “Fine. One date.”

Mat blinks. “Wait, really?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

His whole face lights up, and for the first time in weeks, he’s speechless.

And maybe that’s why you finally agreed — because for once, you got him to shut up.

[b0tster]

this bnuy just animated 30 seconds of bloodborne kart cutscene footage today. cant wait to show this off to yall. a.

[shikai-the-storyteller]

QSMP Creators: *treat each other with basic human decency and respect and talk out their problems*

Me every single time without fail: THEY'RE AMAZING FOR THIS

[ourceliumnetwork]

my eternal gripe: knowing about the source of the problem(s) SHOULD allow me to stop the problem from happening again. This includes but is not limited to: car trouble, hair care, skin care, mental health, physical disability, injury, and dyslexia.

[fozmeadows]

There's a lot of conversations to be had around the current influx of Americans to Xiaohongshu (RedNote/Little Red Book) ahead of the TikTok ban, many of which are better articulated by more knowledgeable people than me. And for all the fun various parties of both nationalities seem to having with memes and wholesome interactions, it's undoubtedly true that there's also some American entitlement and exoticization going on, which sucks. But a sentiment I've seen repeatedly online is that, if it's taken actually speaking to Chinese people and viewing Chinese content for Americans to understand that they've been propagandized to about China and its people, then that just proves how racist they are, and I want to push back on that, because it strikes me as being a singularly reductive and unhelpful framing of something far more complex.

Firstly: while there's frequently overlap between racism and xenophobia, the distinction between them matters in this instance, because the primary point of American propaganda about China is that Communism Is Fundamentally Evil And Unamerican And Never Ever Works, and thinking a country's government sucks is not the same as thinking the population is racially inferior. The way most Republicans in particular talk about China, you'd think it was functionally indistinguishable from North Korea, which it really isn't. Does this mean there's no critique to be made of either communism in general or the CCP? Absolutely not! But if you've been told your whole life that communist countries are impoverished, corrupt and dangerous because Communism Never Works, and you've only really encountered members of the Chinese diaspora - i.e., people whose families left China, often under traumatic circumstances, because they thought America would be better or safer - rather than Chinese nationals, then no: it's not automatically racist to be surprised that their daily lives and standard of living don't match up with what you'd assumed. Secondly: TikTok's userbase skews young. While there's certainly Americans in their 30s and older investigating Xiaohongshu, it seems very reasonable to assume that the vast majority are in their teens or twenties - young enough that, barring a gateway interest in something like C-dramas, danmei or other Chinese cultural products, and assuming they're not of Chinese descent themselves, there's no reason why they'd know anything about China beyond what they've heard in the news, or from politicians, or from their parents, which is likely not much, and very little firsthand. But even with an interest in China, there's a difference between reading about or watching movies from a place, and engaging firsthand, in real time, with people from that place, not just through text exchanges, but in a visual medium that lets you see what their houses, markets, shopping centers, public transport, schools, businesses, infrastructure and landmarks look like. Does this mean that what's being observed isn't a curated perspective on China as determined both by Xiaohongshu's TOU and the demographic skewing of its userbase? Of course not! But that doesn't mean it isn't still a representative glimpse of a part of China, which is certainly more than most young Americans have ever had before.

Thirdly: I really need people to stop framing propaganda as something that only stupid bigots fall for, as though it's possible to natively resist all the implicit cultural biases you're raised with and exist as a perfect moral being without ever having to actively challenge yourself. To cite the sacred texts:

Like. Would the world be a better place if everyone could just Tell when they're being lied to and act accordingly? Obviously! But that is extremely not how anything actually works, and as much as it clearly discomforts some to witness, the most common way of realizing you've been propagandized to about a particular group of people is to interact with them. Can this be cringe and awkward and embarrassing at times? Yes! Will some people inevitably say something shitty or rude during this process? Also yes! But the reality is that cultural exchange is pretty much always bumpy to some extent; the difficulties are a feature, not a bug, because the process is inherently one of learning and conversation, and as individual people both learn at different rates and have different opinions on that learning, there's really no way to iron all that out such that nobody ever feels weird or annoyed or offput. Even interactions between career diplomats aren't guaranteed smooth sailing, and you're mad that random teenagers interacting through a language barrier in their first flush of enthusiasm for something new aren't doing it perfectly? Come on now.

Fourthly: Back before AO3 was banned in China, there was a period where the site was hit with an influx of Chinese users who, IIRC, were hopping over when one of their own fansites got shut down, which sparked a similar conversation around differences in site etiquette and how to engage respectfully. Which is also one of the many things that makes the current moment so deeply ironic: the US has historically criticized China for exactly the sort of censorship and redaction of free speech that led to AO3 being banned, and yet is now doing the very same thing with TikTok. Which is why what's happening on Xiaohongshu is, IMO, such an incredible cultural moment: because while there are, as mentioned, absolutely relevant things to be said about (say) Chinese censorship, US-centrism, orientalism and so on, what's ultimately happening is that, despite - or in some sense because of - the recent surge in anti-Chinese rhetoric from US politicians, a significant number of Americans who might otherwise never have done so are interacting directly with Chinese citizens in a way that, whatever else can be said of it, is actively undermining government propaganda, and that matters.

What it all most puts me in mind of, in fact, is a quote from French-Iranian novelist and cartoonist Marjane Satrapi, namely:

“The difference between you and your government is much bigger than the difference between you and me. And the difference between me and my government is much bigger than the difference between me and you. And our governments are very much the same.”

And at this particular moment in history, this strikes me as being a singularly powerful realization for Americans in particular to have.

[amiaclone]

You asked I’ll write! Gender neutral reader if you don’t mind

Tw: cursing I guess? Squid game in general should be considered a trigger over all the murdering lmaoo

*In ho sighed for the what? Fifteenth time? He’s been counting it’s what he’s trying to focus on the other thing is well……*

*When he decided to participate in these games again it was to prove Gi hun a point and mess with him a bit so he joined his “team” which well….. they happened to be in*

You were apart of it a strong person filled with determination in debt to a lot of money…..honestly in ho was shocked with how much debt you were in I mean you seemed like someone who’d make it far in live would rule against the poor like he used to be…

But you weren’t you were *trash*

You were lower lower class you were nothing…..

Yet why couldn’t he stop thinking about you?

He had a wife who he fell out of love with before he even met you…..swore he’d never fall in love again after distancing himself with his family and starting the games…..

But you just had to be lucky star didn’t you?

You were “kind” and not in a pushover kind of way just….kind like kind that would not take shit from people but would help others in need….and didn’t hide your opinions from others that deserved it….

It was disgusting but…..In a good way? He wanted you not in a possessive way but in a way type of wanting to care for you and you care for him-

*He shook those thoughts off ugh. Why now? He’s usually so calm and collected…..at first he wouldn’t lie he was hoping you’d die in one of the earlier games but now….he isn’t so sure. Gi hun already has plans to take the guns and fight back he had a plan problem was…..you were apart of the main plan

He probably had to kill you it’s probably a good thing but…now he isn’t so sure he’s gotten along with you great and he has a tiny bit of hope that you even like him back so for you to find out he runs these games….he can’t risk it

You’ll find out anyway but he doesn’t wanna face you to your face he atleast wants to hide behind a mask atleast imagining what you’d say…..

Currently he’s trying to convince himself that these feelings aren’t real……maybe it’s just attraction? Of course you’re really good looking maybe it’s that!

“Uh In ho?”

*He turns around that voice dreaded him more then anything the voice he was ready to hear-*

“Are you okay In ho?”

It was Gi hun

*He unfortunately realised that after breaking out of his rare trance he blinked for a few seconds then nodded*

“What is it?”

*Gi hun shrugged* “Nothing you seemed out of it….” *In ho stared at the ground trying to seem calm but spoke in a bitter tone* “I’m fine…” *He let his eyes wander to you who was talking to he thinks Junhee the pregnant lady? Gi hun noticed and raised an eyebrow* “Maybe Y/n will cheer you up…..Hey y/n!”

*You raised an eyebrow nodding at Junhee before walking away up to the two men.*

“You guys need something?” *In ho sighed he’s been trying to avoid hearing your voice….and you in general.* “In ho seems nervous I thought you’d be better at calming him down…*

*As Gi hun left you leaned your back on the bars of the bed he was sitting on….he couldn’t even look at you.*

“So. What is it?” *You asked he didn’t look at you but he could tell you seemed concerned*

“……” “In ho?” “…….If somebody did something almost unforgivable in any way…..what would you do?” “……What?” *You were confused rightfully you knew he was like this but for the way he got was so….* “Just answer the question…..please.” “Well if we were close I’d….wanna know why. Depending on what they did it’s…..hard to say hey are you saying this cause you’re worried or something i understand i am too but…..don’t focus on the negative so much you know?” *As usual kind…..how could such a good human like you be in these games yet he knew…..He is the front man after all he decided to atleast “ask you” and bond maybe a bit before he has to let you go….*

“Yeah you’re right as logical as ever so why are……you in debt if you don’t mind answering?”

*He felt you rise up you stared squinting your eyes then smiling* “Damn didn’t expect anyone to ask me that….don’t think it’s important.”

*Oh he knows what it is why wouldn’t he a petty part of him felt betrayed some what you weren’t gonna tell him after how close you’ve gotten but he decided to keep his cool.*

“You don’t have to tell you i just asked since we might be leaving this place or if neither of us..make it.” *You groaned* “The pessimism again In ho? Jeez you could…..I’ll tell you though cause you do have a point.”

“Well i used to be pretty rich and well-“ *As you went into your story he already knew it but continued to listen you were rich worked in a high payed business workplace but like most work places favouritism is common. Which unfortunately lead to your downfall.* “Anyways one day I found out i was being underpayed a lot of money so I complained this and that and i got a warning complained again then got fired…..It was hard to find a job i didn’t pay the bills for a lot of things debt grew bigger and bigger then a man asked me to play a game one day and well…..here i am.” *Ah yes In ho nodded at your story he knew it all he was the person who called for you to be in the game….you were a wonderful person honestly what was he thinking you were too good for a game like this is something he of all people would never think he would say.* “Im sorry you don’t deserve to be here after all it’s not your fault you’re in debt…” *You shook your head* “Eh I didn’t have a good of a college degree anyway maybe if I studied more in college I wouldn’t be here but eh atleast i got to meet you?” *In ho sighed and he didn’t want to or realise it but he couldn’t help but let a small smile rise genuinely.* “I suppose it’s…..mutual.”

*You sighed smiling* “I can’t wait for tomorrow we’ll finally *maybe* get out of here right?” *He felt his heart stop for a second oh yeah…..that*

*He awkwardly cleared his throat* “Oh yeah I suppose this game will….end and we’ll probably never see each other again” *You snorted* “We can still talk, we can meet up together and talk and stuff it’s not like we need to forget each other…”

*”That’s right” In ho thought he needed to forget you maybe these feelings would go away….but the the thoughts came he didn’t want to but…..”I killed my brother damn it! I can do this I’ve talked to them for only a few days this is…”*

“In ho??” *He stared up at you instinctively like an animal almost he stopped himself and regained his composure.* “Jeez you seem tense maybe get some rest…” “No im…..just thinking….about all the bad decisions…..humans can make.” *You hmmd* “I suppose so humans can be evil if given the chance with such power.” *In ho nodded* “Have you ever thought of doing something regrettable?” *In ho wasn’t sure why he was asking these…..questions but maybe it was to see the inhuman side of them to make him disgusted in you? Maybe that’ll work.* “Well I’ll admit yeah…..I got bullied and when I found out there father had cancer i wanted to well bring it up tear them down….i think i was about 14.” *You didn’t seem shameful you seemed to regret it but not shamed it only made In ho admire you more as he hated it.* “So why didn’t you do anything?” *You laughed a bit* “I would of if it wasn’t for me asking my mom and telling her like i was about to do the best thing she got mad scolded me and told me a different way a better way to handle bullying……and I’ve used that advice since.”

*He quirked an eyebrow what would it be that he hasn’t heard ignore them stand up for yourself be the the bigger person?*

“Be better than them…..because bullies are the weakest of the weakest in society strategy they don’t want you knowing is you finding out you’re better then them.” *He knows that advice he’s never thought much of it but hearing it from you automatically makes him wanna know more…* “Well then your mom raised such a lovely person….you should be proud.” *You scoffed laughing a bit* “I made a lot of mistakes that i can’t even say thought of some weird stuff im glad i didn’t say or do anyways……yeah. We’re human everyone has made one bad mistake you’ll dwell on for the rest of your life my advice is well…..did you regret it?”

*In ho sighed smiling* “Thanks for the advice I’ll rest for a bit” *You got up smiling and leaving that’s it.* “Y/n you’ll always be in my memory….” *In ho didn’t know what to do with them maybe ask them to join him? No! That would be so idiotic they’d never agree….try to make them understand? Maybe let them go? Why doesn’t he want that…..he then smiled.* “I can’t wait for tomorrow y/n you’re so unpredictable maybe you could stay with me…..”

Anddddd a cliffhanger sorry if this is ooc i was halfasleep writing this 😭

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

I THINK HE KNOWS

drew starkey x fem!reader

(mood board does NOT depict reader’s appearance!)

SUMMARY: daniel craig introduces his daughter to his co-star drew starkey at the after party for the ‘golden globes,’ and they do more than just hit it off.🫣

based on this ask !! i got a little carried away with this one and i could genuinely write a WHOLE fic with drew x daniel craig’s daughter😫 i have so many ideas for this pairing, so lmk if you wanna see more !! i hope you enjoy this @drewstarrrkey <3

WARNINGS: fluff & smut (18+, MDNI!), cursing, alcohol consumption, flirty!reader, cursing, p in v, fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it before ya tap it😣), switch!drew (mostly dom), like one (?) use of ‘good girl,’ body worship, LOTS of foreplay😝. (lmk if i missed anything!!)

WORD COUNT: 5.2k (i got REALLY carried away😭)

THIRD PERSON +

The energy of the Golden Globes after-party was electric. The clinking of glasses, low hum of laughter, and faint music filled the space. Celebrities mingled under the soft glow of chandeliers, conversations buzzing with excitement about the evening's wins.

Drew Starkey sat at the bar nursing a glass of champagne, still slightly stunned from his earlier win. He'd barely had time to process the moment—his first major nomination and now his first big award.

The crowd was overwhelming, but his co-star, Daniel Craig, had insisted he celebrate properly. Drew watched as Daniel cut through the party with his unmistakable presence, shaking hands, embracing friends, and flashing that rare smile that could light up a room. Behind him, someone followed, and Drew's attention lingered just a little too long.

"Starkey!" Daniel's voice carried above the noise. Drew straightened instinctively, placing his glass back down as Daniel approached.

"Hey!" Drew smiled. "Congrats again. Well deserved, man."

"Thank you. Same to you." Daniel clapped him on the shoulder before stepping to the side. "I want you to meet someone."

Stepping forward with a confident stride was a young woman, poised but relaxed in a way that suggested she belonged in a room like this. Daniel turned to her with an almost affectionate roll of his eyes.

"This is my daughter, Y/N."

Y/N smiled and offered her hand to Drew. "Hi. I've heard so much about you."

Drew shook her hand, his mind scrambling for composure. "You too. I mean—I haven't heard about you in that sense, but your dad's mentioned you. Not in a bad way—uh, I mean—" He stopped, exhaling with a self-deprecating laugh. "Sorry, I'm a bit flustered. It's nice to meet you."

Y/N grinned. "Quite the introduction, Drew."

Daniel raised a brow at them both, clearly amused. "Well, I'll leave you two to it. I see a few friends I need to go bother." He glanced at Drew. "Behave yourself."

Drew let out an awkward laugh. "Of course. Always."

Daniel walked away, disappearing into the crowd. Y/N turned back to Drew, tilting her head slightly as she observed him. "He's very fond of you, you know."

"Is he?" Drew replied, trying to play it cool. "He's great. Working with him was... surreal, honestly."

"I'd imagine. I've seen the movie, of course. You were phenomenal." Her tone was warm, genuine, and Drew found himself smiling at her praise.

"Thank you. That means a lot."

She leaned against the bar, signaling to the bartender for a drink. "You look surprised."

"I guess I just... still don't know how to take compliments," Drew admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's all been a bit overwhelming."

"You shouldn't be so modest. Your performance was stunning. And you've got the trophy to prove it." She shot him a teasing smile. "Don't let it go to your head, though."

Drew laughed, finally feeling himself relax. "I'll try my best. And you—your dad said you're an actress as well? And a model?"

"Here and there. I've done some niche indie films—ones that play in small theatres no one ever goes to." Her voice was light, self-deprecating but playful.

"Niche or not, that's impressive." Drew met her gaze. "What kind of roles?"

Y/N paused as the bartender slid a glass of wine her way. "I guess you could say I play a lot of brooding, lost souls. The ones who always seem to sit by windows and stare out dramatically."

"Ah, very serious. Lots of silent contemplation?"

"Exactly." Y/N laughed softly. "But enough about me. Tell me about Queer. It must've been... intense to film."

"It was." Drew nodded, leaning his elbow on the bar as he turned toward her. "Luca Gaudagnino has this way of making you feel completely vulnerable. It was a challenge, but I trusted him. There's this scene—I'm sure you remember it—where my character completely unravels."

"How could I forget?" Y/N said softly, her eyes locked on his. "You were so raw in that moment. It was almost uncomfortable to watch because it felt so real."

Drew blinked, feeling his ears heat. "That's what Luca wanted. He kept pushing me to 'stop acting,' as he put it. He'd say, 'Feel it. Don't pretend to feel it.' I'd never worked like that before."

"Well, it paid off. Watching you was like watching someone break open right in front of me. Vulnerable, stripped back..." She paused, taking a sip of her wine. "And now here you are, Golden Globe in hand."

Drew looked away, smiling sheepishly. "I'm still processing it."

"You deserve it," Y/N replied firmly. "And no one here is going to let you forget it."

Drew looked at her again, unable to ignore the spark in her gaze. She was bold—not just in what she said, but how she carried herself. It was disarming. "You've got a way with words."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Y/N smiled mischievously. "So tell me, Drew Starkey... how's the fame treating you?"

He groaned playfully, shaking his head. "You're going to make me sound insufferable."

"On the contrary, I think you're handling yourself rather well."

"You say that now," Drew teased. "Talk to me in six months when I've gone completely Hollywood."

"Mm, I don't think that's in your nature." Y/N tilted her head thoughtfully. "You seem far too grounded for that."

"You don't know me yet," Drew countered.

"Well, I'm a very good judge of character. Comes with the territory of being Daniel Craig's daughter—lots of egos to sift through."

Drew raised his brows, amused. "Is that right?"

"Absolutely. I'm rarely wrong." She gave him a sly look. "And my read on you so far is: humble, charming, and maybe a little too hard on yourself."

Drew chuckled, caught off guard. "You're bold."

"Life's too short not to be."

Drew shook his head with a small smile. "And what's your read on yourself?"

Y/N leaned in slightly, her voice dropping just enough to feel conspiratorial. "That would spoil the fun, wouldn't it?"

Drew swallowed, the teasing lilt in her voice setting him slightly off balance. There was a beat of silence between them, the kind that crackled with unspoken tension. He cleared his throat, reaching for his champagne. "You're a mystery, Y/N."

"And you're still a little flustered," she teased, her grin widening. "Do I make you nervous, Drew?"

"Maybe." Drew gave her a crooked smile, holding her gaze. "But I think you like that."

Y/N laughed, the sound light and rich. "I do. I'm not afraid to admit it."

Drew shook his head in disbelief. "You're something else."

"So I've been told." She took another sip of wine, her expression softening just a touch. "But really—what's next for you? After all this?"

Drew shrugged, glancing around the room as if the answer might be hidden somewhere among the guests. "I don't know. This feels like such a huge moment, you know? I almost don't want to think about what's next. I just want to enjoy this."

"As you should." Y/N nodded approvingly. "Don't let anyone rush you."

"I won't." Drew paused, meeting her eyes again. "But... I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little scared of what comes after. What if I can't live up to it?"

"You will," Y/N said softly, her tone sincere. "You've got the talent, Drew. The rest will follow."

Drew studied her for a moment, his chest feeling strangely warm. "You're very good at this."

"At what?"

"Making people feel seen."

Y/N smiled, her expression unreadable. "Maybe you just needed someone to see you tonight."

Drew felt his heart skip, the weight of her words settling between them. Before he could respond, Y/N placed her empty glass on the bar.

"Come on," she said, standing. "You're far too interesting to spend the whole night glued to this bar stool."

"Where are we going?" Drew asked, standing to follow her.

Y/N looked over her shoulder with a mischievous smile. "You'll just have to follow me."

And he did. Without hesitation. A “Yes, ma’am,” slipping from his lips.

Drew followed Y/N as she led him away from the bar, weaving effortlessly through the crowd. She moved with a sort of practiced ease, as if she'd spent her whole life in rooms like this—grand, glittering, and full of famous faces. Drew, still buzzing from the champagne and the residual adrenaline of the evening, was mesmerized.

"I'm dying of curiosity here, where exactly are we going?" Drew asked, his voice tinged with amusement as they turned down a quieter hallway leading away from the main party.

"Somewhere a little less chaotic," Y/N replied, glancing back at him. "Unless you'd rather keep bumping elbows with half of Hollywood."

"No complaints here," Drew said, matching her steps. "I think I've shaken enough hands tonight to last me the rest of the year."

Y/N pushed open a door at the end of the hall, revealing a small terrace overlooking the city. The night air was cool, crisp against their skin as they stepped outside. The noise of the party dulled behind them, replaced by the distant hum of Los Angeles and the quiet rustling of trees in the breeze.

"Better?" Y/N asked, turning to face him.

Drew exhaled, his shoulders relaxing as he looked out over the skyline. "Much better. Thanks."

Y/N leaned against the railing, watching him with an unreadable expression. "You looked like you needed an escape."

"I guess I did." Drew joined her, leaning beside her, their arms nearly brushing. "It's a lot, you know? I'm grateful—don't get me wrong—but... I don't think I'm cut out for the whole schmoozing thing."

"Most people aren't. They just pretend they are." Y/N's lips curled into a small smile. "Besides, you've already done the hard part tonight. The rest is noise."

Drew glanced at her, the city lights reflecting in her eyes. "You're good at this—reading people."

She shrugged lightly, her tone playful but laced with truth. "It's my party trick."

"Anything else I should know about you?" Drew teased. "Other hidden talents?"

"Plenty," she replied with a grin and a cheeky wink. "But I'm not about to give them all away at once. That would ruin the mystery."

Drew shook his head with a laugh, tucking his hands into his pockets. "You're impossible."

"I get that a lot," she said, unfazed. "But you haven't run off yet, have you?"

"No," Drew admitted, his smile softening. "I haven't."

Y/N's gaze lingered on him for a moment before she looked back out at the city. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Did you ever think you'd end up here?" She gestured vaguely to the world around them. "Holding a Golden Globe, being the name on everyone's lips?"

Drew was quiet for a beat, choosing his words carefully. "I don't think it ever felt real enough to imagine. I wanted it, of course—I worked for it—but this? This feels like someone else's life."

"And yet, here you are."

"Here I am," he echoed, looking at her. "What about you? You've grown up in all of this. Does it ever lose its shine?"

Y/N's expression faltered, just for a moment, as if the question touched on something deeper. "Sometimes," she admitted. "It's easy to feel like you're just a part of the machinery—another face in a sea of them. But then you meet someone who reminds you why you love it, why it's worth it."

Drew tilted his head slightly, his curiosity piqued. "Is that why you act? Because you love it?"

"Because I can't not do it," Y/N said simply. "Even when it's thankless, even when no one's watching... I need it."

Drew understood that. It resonated deep within him—the need to create, to express, to push boundaries for reasons that weren't always tangible.

"I get that," he murmured. "The best moments are the ones no one else sees. The ones you do for yourself."

Y/N turned to face him fully, her eyes sharp and intent. "Exactly. And that's what makes what you did in Queer so powerful. It didn't feel performative. It felt real, like you gave a part of yourself away for it."

Drew swallowed, her words hitting him harder than he expected. "I'm honoured. That's... the best compliment I've ever gotten."

"It's true," she said softly. "And for what it's worth, I think you're just getting started."

Drew looked at her, something shifting between them in the quiet. He felt seen—more than that, he felt understood. Y/N Craig, with her razor-sharp wit and unwavering confidence, had peeled back his layers in a way no one else had managed all night.

"You really don't hold back, do you?" Drew said, his voice low.

Y/N smirked, stepping closer. "Why should I? Life's too short for subtlety."

Drew's breath hitched as the space between them narrowed. She was close enough now that he could catch the faintest trace of her perfume—something heady and elegant that suited her perfectly.

"You're dangerous," Drew said, his voice a little unsteady.

Y/N arched a brow, clearly amused. "Am I?"

"Yeah." Drew's lips curved into a small smile. "The kind of person who makes you forget to play it safe."

Y/N tilted her head, her eyes locking with his. "And do you always play it safe, Drew Starkey?"

Drew hesitated for just a second before answering. "Not tonight."

Y/N's smile widened, a knowing glint in her eyes. She reached up, her fingers brushing the lapel of his suit jacket. "Good."

The air crackled between them, thick with unspoken possibilities. Drew could feel his pulse quicken, every sense heightened as Y/N held his gaze. She was testing him, waiting to see what he'd do.

And for once, Drew didn't think—he just acted.

"Do you want to get out of here?" he asked, his voice low and rough.

Y/N's smile was slow and deliberate. "I thought you'd never ask."

Drew grinned, a mix of nerves and excitement flickering across his face as Y/N tugged him by the hand, leading him back through the terrace door. The pair slipped back into the hallway unnoticed, the music and chatter of the afterparty drowning out their hasty footsteps.

"Are we seriously sneaking our way out right now?" Drew whispered, though the grin he wore betrayed any hesitation.

"Unless you'd rather stay and talk to George Clooney about his favorite vineyards," Y/N teased, looking back at him with a mischievous smile. "Then we need to make haste!"

Drew huffed a quiet laugh. "Okay, fair point. Let's go."

They moved quickly, dodging small clusters of guests and waitstaff like a pair of teenagers sneaking out of school. Every time their eyes met, a fit of laughter threatened to spill out of them.

"Act natural," Y/N mock-coached as they passed one of the party coordinators.

"Yeah, because that's going well," Drew shot back, trying to suppress his smirk.

Finally, they pushed through a side exit and found themselves in the cool night air, away from the golden haze of the afterparty. The parking area was quiet, save for a valet who barely looked up as Y/N called for a car.

"God, I feel like we just got away with murder," Drew muttered, running a hand through his hair as he stood beside her.

Y/N grinned up at him, her cheeks flushed. "Feels kind of good, doesn't it?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah... yeah, it really does."

The car pulled up, and Y/N wasted no time climbing into the backseat. Drew followed, sliding in beside her and shutting the door. The silence in the car was loaded, broken only by the faint hum of the radio and the distant sounds of the city.

"Your hotel, I assume?" Y/N asked, glancing at him.

"Yeah." Drew cleared his throat, suddenly feeling the weight of what they were doing hit him. He glanced at her and added softly, "If that's okay."

Y/N gave him a teasing look. "Wouldn't be here if it wasn't, would I?"

Drew felt the heat rise to his cheeks, and he covered it with a laugh. "Right. Fair point."

The ride to the hotel felt like a blur, the two of them making light conversation as they both tried to ignore the electric undercurrent running between them. When the car finally pulled up to Drew's hotel, he shot Y/N a nervous glance.

"You sure about this?" he asked quietly.

Y/N's lips twitched into a smirk as she leaned closer, her voice low and teasing. "You're not getting cold feet, are you?"

"Definitely not," Drew said quickly, earning another quiet laugh from her.

They hurried through the lobby—heads down, hands brushing but never fully touching. Drew felt like his heart was pounding in his ears as they reached the elevator. The moment the doors slid shut, Y/N let out a giggle, biting her lower lip.

"We look so suspicious right now," she whispered.

"You look suspicious," Drew shot back with a grin. "I look like someone trying not to have a heart attack."

She rolled her eyes playfully, stepping closer to him. "Relax, Golden Globe winner. No one's paying attention to us."

"That's the problem," Drew muttered under his breath, earning another soft laugh from her.

The elevator dinged, and they stepped onto Drew's floor. He fumbled briefly with the keycard as Y/N watched, clearly entertained by how flustered he'd become.

"Need help?" she teased.

"I've got it," Drew replied quickly, finally getting the door open. He held it for her as she stepped inside, and he followed, shutting it behind them.

The hotel room was simple and sleek, the lights dim as Drew tossed his keycard onto the desk. He turned to find Y/N standing near the window, looking out at the glittering cityscape. She turned to face him, her expression softer now, though still full of that familiar mischief.

But it was like something had switched in the air. Drew leaning back against the door as he studied her.

"So," he began, his voice quiet but laced with an edge that made her stomach twist, "I bet you think you're calling the shots tonight?"

Y/N raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. "I mean, I guess we'll see who's running this show, won't we?"

Drew pushed off the door, taking a slow step toward her. His movements were deliberate, almost predatory, and Y/N found herself instinctively taking a small step back. But she wasn't about to let him see her falter. She leaned forward slightly, her lips quirking into a smirk.

"You walk like you own the place," she said, her tone teasing. "But I bet you're all talk."

Drew stopped just inches away from her, his breath warm against her skin. He lifted a hand, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone who seemed so intent on dominating the situation.

"Careful, Y/N," he warned softly, his voice almost a whisper. "You might be surprised at what I'm capable of."

His fingers trailed down her neck, and she shivered despite herself. What is this? she wondered, her earlier confidence beginning to waver. There was something magnetic about him, something that pulled her in despite her best efforts to maintain control.

"Or maybe," she countered, tilting her chin up defiantly, "you're just trying to scare me."

Drew's lips twitched into a smile, but there was no warmth in it. "Maybe I am," he admitted, his voice dropping lower. "But why don't we find out?"

Before she could respond, his hands were on her hips, pulling her closer until their bodies pressed together. Y/N gasped softly, her pulse quickening as his proximity overwhelmed her senses. His lips were so close to hers, his breath mingling with hers, and she couldn't help but tilt her face upward, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

"You're playing a dangerous game," he murmured, his voice rough and intimate. "And I'm not one for playing games."

Y/N swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of how much taller and stronger he was than her. But she wasn't about to back down. "Good," she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "Because I like a challenge."

Drew's eyes darkened, and without warning, he dipped his head, capturing her lips in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was commanding, urgent, and left no room for doubt about who was in charge. Y/N's hands flew to his shoulders, gripping tightly as she tried to steady herself against the wave of desire that washed over her.

His tongue traced the seam of her lips, demanding entry, and she parted them instinctively, allowing him access. The kiss deepened, grew more intense, and Y/N felt her knees weaken. Drew held her firmly, his hands sliding up her sides to cup her face, angling her head to deepen the connection.

When he finally pulled away, Y/N was breathless, her cheeks flushed and her chest rising and falling rapidly. She blinked up at him, dazed and disoriented, and realized with a jolt that she'd completely underestimated him.

"As wonderful as that was," Drew said, his voice husky and raw. "I think I need to go slower. Test your limits."

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she stared up at him, realisation dawning. He's not bluffing, she thought, her earlier confidence faltering. Drew was lethal, charming, and utterly in control, and she had walked right into his trap.

"What do you want from me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Drew's lips curved into a wicked smile as he leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "Everything."

His hand slid from her hip to the small of her back, pressing her closer against him. The heat between them was electric, a palpable tension that threatened to ignite at any moment.

Y/N's breath came in short bursts as she tilted her head up, her lips parted in anticipation. He's not going to kiss me, she thought, not yet. But the way his eyes darkened, the way his fingers flexed against her skin, told her she was wrong. He was going to do exactly what he wanted, and she was going to let him.

"Tell me what you want," he murmured, his lips hovering just inches from hers. "Tell me how much you like this."

She hesitated for a split second, but only a split second. Her boldness was ingrained, a survival mechanism honed by years of attention and expectation. "I like it," she said, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. "I like that you're taking control."

Drew's smile was slow, predatory. "Good girl," he said, the words soft but laced with authority. He kissed her then, a deep, bruising kiss that left no room for doubt. His tongue swept into her mouth, demanding, exploring, claiming. Y/N melted into him, her hands gripping his shoulders for balance as the world around her dissolved into sensation.

When he finally pulled away, they were both breathless. Drew stared down at her, his blue eyes gleaming with something that made her stomach twist. "You're not in control here, sweetheart," he said, his tone conversational but firm. "Not anymore."

Y/N swallowed hard, her earlier confidence faltering. He's right, she realised. I walked into this thinking I could handle him, but he's handling me. And God, it was intoxicating.

Drew didn't wait for her response. Instead, he turned her gently, positioning her with her back to him. Her heart raced as she felt his body press against hers, his chest warm and solid against her spine. His hand cupped her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple through the fabric of her dress. She gasped, arching into his touch.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, his voice rumbling against her ear.

She nodded quickly, too caught up in the sensations to form words.

"Good," he said, his grip tightening momentarily before he released her. Y/N blinked, confused, as Drew stepped back. He moved to the bed, sitting down and leaning back on his elbows, his legs stretched out in front of him. His gaze was intense, predatory, as he watched her.

"Take off your dress," he said simply.

The command hit her like a bolt of lightning. Y/N hesitated, her hands moving instinctively to the zipper at the back of her gown. She glanced at Drew, expecting... something. A smile, maybe, or a reassuring word. But his expression remained unchanged, a mask of calm dominance.

He's serious, she thought, her pulse quickening. He wants me to do this for him.

Slowly, deliberately, she began to unzip her dress. The fabric slid down her shoulders, pooling at her hips. She shrugged it off, letting it fall to the floor in a heap. Beneath it, she wore only a lace bra and matching panties, the delicate garments doing little to conceal her arousal.

Drew's eyes roamed over her body, lingering on the curve of her waist, the swell of her breasts, the slight tremble in her thighs. "Beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with approval. "But not enough."

Y/N's brow furrowed. "What—"

"Shh," he interrupted, raising a hand to silence her. "Don't talk. Just listen."

Her breath caught in her throat as Drew leaned forward, his movements fluid and precise. He reached out, his fingers brushing against the strap of her bra. With a flick of his wrist, he sent it sliding down her arm. Her nipples tightened immediately, peaking under his scrutiny.

"Perfect," he said, his voice a low purr. He cupped her breast in his hand, squeezing gently. Y/N bit her lip to stifle a moan, her legs trembling beneath her.

Drew's free hand reached for the waistband of her panties, tugging them downward until they clung to her hips. He paused there, his fingers tracing the edge of the fabric before hooking his thumbs into the sides and pulling them down her legs.

Y/N stood before him completely exposed, her cheeks burning with embarrassment and arousal. Drew's gaze was relentless, unapologetic, as he took in every inch of her.

"Turn around," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.

She obeyed, her movements stiff with nervousness. When she faced away from him, Drew's hands returned to her body, one stroking down her spine while the other traced the curve of her ass.

"So beautiful," he whispered, his breath hot against her skin. He pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck, his lips lingering as his hands explored her body with increasing boldness.

Y/N's knees nearly buckled beneath her. This is happening, she thought, her brain struggling to keep up with the intensity of the moment. He's really doing this.

Without warning, Drew spun her around and pushed her backward onto the bed. Y/N landed with a soft thud, her heart pounding as she looked up at him. Drew loomed over her, his expression dark and commanding.

"Spread your legs," he ordered, his voice sharp and clipped.

Y/N hesitated, her mind racing. Is this what I want? The question flashed through her mind, but the answer was already there, buried beneath the haze of desire clouding her judgment.

She spread her legs, her breathing shallow and uneven. Drew's eyes flicked down, noting her readiness with a smirk.

"Good girl," he said, the words dripping with approval. He knelt between her thighs, his fingers skimming the inside of her knee before moving upward. Y/N's breath hitched as his touch neared her core, her body tensing in anticipation.

And then, quite suddenly, he stopped.

"Wait," he said, his voice firm.

Y/N blinked up at him, confusion and frustration warring within her. "What?" she managed to whisper.

Drew's smile was wicked, almost cruel. "I need to hear you say it."

"Say what?"

His fingers pressed against her inner thigh, applying just enough pressure to make her squirm. "Tell me what you want," he demanded. "Tell me how much you need this."

Y/N's cheeks flushed crimson, her confidence faltering under his unrelenting gaze. "I... I don't know," she stammered, her voice barely audible.

Drew's expression hardened, his hand withdrawing from her thigh. "Then we're done here."

"No!" she cried, desperation clawing at her throat. "Please, Drew, I—"

"Say it," he interrupted, his voice a low growl.

She hesitated, her pride warring with her need. But she needed this, more than she cared to admit. "Please," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I... I need you to fuck me."

At her admission, Drew's control snapped. His hands and lips were everywhere, leaving no part of her untouched, no moment unexplored.

And within a split-second, he pushed into her, filling her completely. She gasped, her body adjusting to his size, her muscles tightening around him. Drew began to move, his rhythm slow and steady, building the tension once more. He watched her face intently, reading every twitch and moan, adjusting his movements to maximise her pleasure. It was as if he could feel every sensation she was experiencing, as if they were connected in a way that went beyond the physical.

He leaned down, capturing her mouth in another bruising kiss. His hand found her clit, his thumb circling it in time with his thrusts.

The cacophony of sounds filled the room: slick skin connecting, Y/N's breathless whimpers and cries of pure pleasure, Drew's soft moans. But to them it sounded like a symphony; a truly bewitching one.

"Y/N," Drew said her name like a prayer, his voice ragged with volatile emotions. "Look at me."

She obeyed, meeting his gaze as tears of ecstasy blurred her vision. This was it, she realised. This was what she'd been missing. The raw, unfiltered connection, the trust, the surrender.

"Don't look away," he commanded, his voice fierce but tender. "Stay with me."

She nodded, her breathing shallow as she clung to him, her body tense with anticipation. And then, as if on cue, her climax hit her like a tidal wave, her entire body convulsing with pleasure as she screamed his name.

Drew followed soon after, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he poured himself into her, his body shuddering with release. For a moment, they lay there in silence, their hearts pounding in sync.

"So," she said quietly, breaking the silence. "Not a bad way to celebrate your first Golden Globe win, is it?"

Drew let out a soft laugh, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Not bad at all."

Y/N grinned, lifting her head to look at him. "Good. Because I plan on reminding you about this night for years."

Drew rolled his eyes, though he was smiling. "You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"

"Not a chance."

Drew shook his head, pulling her closer. "You're the worst."

"And yet, here we are," Y/N teased, settling back against him.

Drew couldn't argue with that. As he lay there, listening to her quiet breathing and staring up at the ceiling, he couldn't help but think that this was, without a doubt, the best night of his life.

(dividers by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

i had SO much fun writing this request and i REALLY got carried away XD i hope this wasn’t too long, and was exactly what you wanted my lovely :) request are going to be open for the next 24 hours so get some in if you have anymore everyone !! <3

thinking of starting a tag list if anybody’s interested? as always, hearts and reblogs are always appreciated <3

[monstersholygrail]

Imagine being an Bartender in the free use city, customers giving double the tip *wink*

Working as a Bartender in the Free Use City was never really that bad of a gig. Sure, you got hit on more than the usual bartender and sometimes the lines got backed up because you were busy fucking someone, but all in all it wasn’t that bad.

One would think the night life in a Free Use City would get even more wild compared to the day life. But during your time here you quickly found it to be the opposite. As the sun set it seemed like the people began to calm. Probably growing tired from a busy day of fucking. But there were always a handful of monsters whose appetites were never quite filled…

A knock rings on the bar counter, immediately catching your attention. You wipe down a glass and put it away, turning toward the counter to see a Tentacle Monster waiting, an easy grin on his face.

“Can I just have a shot of tequila, sweet thing?” He asks, voice as smooth as silk and his tone dripping with the promise that he definitely doesn’t just want a shot.

You raise a brow at him but nod anyway. He was hot as fucking hell. If he wanted more than a shot you sure weren’t going to be the one to shoot him down. Your lips quirk to the side, mirroring his expression.

“Sure thing,” you murmur as you pour the drink.

The whole thing takes about three seconds of you pouring the drink and two seconds for you to pass it. Tentacle Monster doesn’t look away from your gaze as he picks up the glass and downs it with a single gulp. He puts it back down and the clang of glass on wood has you jumping, your every nerve aware of him.

His eyes simmer with lust and yours are just as dark with need. His tentacles shift restlessly. You notice the way they crawl toward you before they fall back as if they have a mind of their own and he has to restrain them.

“You know, you have provided me with such wonderful service. You deserve more than just a tip,” he rasps, leaning in closer to you.

It’s like you’re under his spell as you lean forward too. Neither of you stopping until you can smell the alcohol he just drank on his breath. For some reason it only turns you on further. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and you can practically taste his drink.

“Like a double tip?”

Tentacle Monster chuckles, his smirk only widening as his eyes flicker over your features. Catching every little expression you make. Seeing the need written all over your face.

You cry out loudly, bucking wildly on the Tentacle Monster’s tentacles in the storage closet of the bar. Your eyes roll back as three of his slick lengths pump their way inside your holes, stretching you further than you thought you could take.

“T-this is definitely more than a double t-t-tip,” you stammer, the jostling of his tentacles breaking up your speech.

More of them curl around your waist and your arms, helping to slam you back down on his sensitive tentacles. He chuckles darkly, getting a deep satisfaction watching you become a mess on him.

“More than a double and more than the tip,” he growls out, picking up the pace.

You throw your head back, releasing a strangled scream of pleasure. You try and keep up with his frantic pace as much as you can but your body starts to shake as you grow closer to the edge. All you can do is sag against him and let him take you for the ride of your life. His tentacles reaching further inside of you than any monster in this city ever has before.

He makes a mess of your mind and your body, fucking you dumb and boneless. His tentacles are the only keeping your plush form upward as they tighten around your body and piston deep inside your tight heat. The second his tentacles suction onto your walls, stimulating your nerves in a way you swear nearly sends you to heaven, you’re coming all over him. Your body explodes in a euphoric haze of bliss and weak moans spill from your lips.

Tentacle Monster continues to thrust his tentacles deep within your core. Your hole clenches around his tentacles as he slips a few more smaller ones inside of you, body so sensitive but so eager. His movements grow more sloppy as you do and a second later he’s shooting his cum as far inside of you as his tentacles can reach. You moan as he fills you up even more, even spurt of cum has you twitching around him.

A lazy fucked out smile rests on your face. Even as Tentacle Monster loosens his hold and you smack down against his chest. Light airy giggles leave you and it takes all your strength to lift up a hand and wave.

“Hope you enjoyed my service here with you today, come again soon,” you mumble in your practiced customer service voice.

His tentacles pulse inside of you and you gasp, your body prickling with the desire that seems to grow in the room once more. You feel his tentacles tease at your skin and curl inside of you, turning you on all over again.

“Cum again you say?”

[pathologicalreid]

prisoner | s.r.

in which you and Spencer conduct a custodial interview with a serial killer - Spencer's first since he was released

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: post prison reid, fwb but also mutual pining, serial killers, prison, panic attack, chiromancy word count: 3.66k a/n: i originally came up with this idea in 2023 😭 😭 it's about time i finished it lol. definitely suffers from exposition overload but i don't caaaaare.

Fourteen times.

You had asked him fourteen times if he thought he was going to be okay doing the custodial interview. No one else was available to do it, but you still had your reservations. Sending Spencer to a prison felt wrong, even if he wasn’t on the inside of the bars anymore.

Without telling him the reason, Emily elected to send you with him to the facility, she said it was because you had never done one before, but you knew it was deeper than that. “How many victims?” You asked, not taking your eyes off the road as you drove to the destination.

“Eight,” Spencer answered, looking through the case file. The killer had asked for the interview, hoping to be transferred to a minimum-security facility. The odds weren’t good, but you needed to oblige the request even if it wouldn’t prove successful.

You hummed, turning down the road, you pulled up to the security station. Presenting your credentials to the guard, he lifted the gate for you, and you found your reserved parking. “Do you want to take the lead?” You asked him, trying to gauge how he was doing.

Nodding, Spencer got out of the SUV. You shut off the engine and followed suit. “Unless it doesn’t seem like he’s responding to me, I’d rather not present him with someone who fits in with his victim pool.”

“And they say chivalry is dead,” you said sardonically, grabbing your bag from the backseat before locking the car and following Spencer inside.

The two of you went through security, locking up your weapons and going through metal detectors. It wasn’t until you went inside the first gate that you noticed it; Spencer was fiddling with the belt loop of his slacks. “I can feel you staring,” he whispered so only you could hear. You watched his posture relax when the gate buzzed and opened in front of him.

You smiled softly, “I can see you fidgeting,” you responded. At work, the two of you were merely coworkers who knew each other really well, so you couldn’t just reach out and take his hand. Not that you’d want to, in a prison full of serial killers.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, implying that he wasn’t right now. The smile fell off your face as the two of you followed the guard into the warden’s office.

At the sight of you, the warden stood and smiled, “You must be Agents Y/L/N and Reid, thank you for making the trip down here.”

Raising your eyebrows, you reach out your hand for the warden to shake, “He’s Dr. Reid, actually.” You corrected, seeing as Spencer didn’t seem to have noticed.

“Ah, my apologies, Dr. Reid,” he responded kindly, gesturing for the two of you to follow him.

Spencer gently brushed your hand as you followed the warden. It was so subtle that someone else could’ve brushed it off as an accident, but Spencer Reid never did anything without purpose.

“Marshal Lukins is the most prolific killer we’ve had in my time here, we aren’t expecting anything to come of this, but you know as well as I do that we have to humor the psychos,” Warden McCall told you, stopping in front of a gate and calling out for it to be opened.

You raised your eyebrows, deciding against telling the warden that Lukins profiled as a sociopath, not a psychopath. “How’s his behavior been here?”

The warden shrugged, “He won’t be winning any merit badges any time soon, that’s for sure. Spends most of his time in solitary, really.”

“His file said he had gotten into an altercation with another prisoner, what was that about?” Spencer asked.

McCall cleared his throat, “turf war. You know, prison gangs can get rowdy. Especially when they find out the feds are coming.”

You raised your eyebrows, grateful you couldn’t see Spencer’s expression. “Oh, yeah,” he said quietly.

Then you were in front of a serial killer, someone who had been put away years ago, but the way he looked at you sent shivers down your spine. “Marshal Lukins?” You confirmed.

“Why hello, pretty lady,” Lukins responded, rising from the chair. His legs were chained to the ground, but his hands were free.

Behind you, Spencer cleared his throat, “Sit down,” he ordered. Taking a tone of authority that you weren’t sure you’d ever heard from him.

Taking your seat across from Lukins, you looked him in the eyes, “You may call me Agent Y/L/N.” 

Your interviewee shrugged, “I’ll call you whatever I want in my mind later.”

Ignoring the hairs that stood up on the back of your neck, you rolled your eyes at the skeevy pervert. “If you want to be transferred, you’re not making a very good first impression,” Spencer intervened, likely aware of your discomfort.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first criminal to make a pass at you, and in your line of work, it likely wouldn’t be the last.

“I’m not much worried about first impressions, people usually have a first opinion about me before they even hear my voice,” he responded, leaning back in the chair.

You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from responding, yeah, that happens when you murder eight women. “What would you rather our opinion of you be? That you’re misunderstood? Did you find god in prison, Marshal?” You asked him.

He leaned over the table ever so slightly, yellowed teeth flashing beneath the fluorescent light that hung above the interrogation table, “Would you like me to show him to you?”

Raising your eyebrows, you maintained a bored disposition while flipping open your files, “No.”

With custodials like this, you weren’t allowed to have photos in your files. Lukins was a sexual sadist, and the profile that Aaron Hotchner had put together was damning, describing the man in front of you to a T. He even got the age correct, right down to the receding hairline. Even though Lukins was in prison, you’d never provide him with visual aids to relive his crimes.

“Why did you request this interview if you weren’t interested in playing nice?” Spencer asked, setting his own files on the table in front of him, but he refrained from opening them. He managed to memorize their contents on the drive from Quantico, enabling him to weaponize his memory.

Lukins put his hands up in mock surrender, “I was hoping they’d send me someone nice to look at, make a good conversation with, and boy am I glad I took that chance.”

Spencer clasped his hands together and set them on the steel table, “Thank you,” he responded, keeping himself stone-faced in the presence of the killer.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” the criminal in front of you snapped, jutting his chin in your direction.

Bored, your partner spoke up again, “Yes, you are,” he corrected. You were unable to communicate with Spencer without tipping off Lukins, so you let him continue, trusting that he knew where he was going with this. “In your trial, you said all of your victims were your sheep,” Spencer recalled from the file, “Is that why you shaved their heads before gutting them?”

Lukins scoffed, bored easily within the confines of the interview, “My sheep were my friends, but every sheep needs a wolf. Isn’t that right, Bo Peep?” He asked you, meeting your gaze despite the fact that Spencer all but told him not to engage with you.

You narrowed your gaze at him, tilting your head innocently, “Would you have let me be one of your sheep?”

He gave you a look that made you feel like you needed a shower, “You would’ve been a nice addition, could’ve rounded out my numbers.”

He reached out a hand, trying to take a piece of your hair between his grimy fingers, but you stood up quickly, stepping back from the table and almost tripping over your chair in response.

A few prison guards came in at the sudden movement, and Spencer had a vice-like grip on Lukins’ wrist, keeping him away from you. Tossing his arm back at him, Spencer glared at the killer, “No touching,” he instructed, looking back at you to check-in. He opened the door to the room, ushering you out before looking at the guards, “I want him in cuffs.”

With a hand on the small of your back, Spencer herded you to the private space that the two of you were expected to inhabit for the day. “Hey,” you spoke to him once the door was shut behind you.

Spencer was filled to the brim with nervous energy, shaking out his hands in an attempt to expel his nerves, “We should just go back to Quantico.” He shook his head, brown curls fanning out around his face, “There’s no way he can tell us anything that will get us to endorse his transfer.”

Watching him like this made your chest ache, and you had no idea what to do with that emotion. Your relationship with Spencer was strictly horizontal—usually—and you found yourself floundering when it came to how to act outside of bed. You wanted to take his hand, desperate to run your fingers over his knuckles and find the familiar callus from where his pencil rests on his finger, but you just couldn’t get yourself to reach out.

You hadn’t known Spencer before he was arrested in Mexico, but you made your mark on him without ever letting him lay his eyes on you. You sent letters to him along with the rest of the team, refraining from talking about cases and instead choosing to use your letters as a personal diary, chronicling your first three months with the Behavioral Analysis Unit with your prison pen pal. Periodically, you put money in his commissary account, despite the rest of the team telling you that you shouldn’t feel inclined to.

Pressing your lips into a thin line, your eyes tracked his pacing in the conference room before you started to voice your concern, “We have to go back in, Reid.” You grabbed a water bottle from the counter and twisted the cap off before handing it to him.

He took the water begrudgingly, glaring at you as he did so, “Why do we have to go back in, exactly?” After taking a sip of the water, he handed it to you so you could have some. You could’ve grabbed your own, but surely this was quicker.

“Lukins said I would’ve rounded out his numbers,” you told him, nervously fiddling with the cap of the water bottle as you waited for him to get it.

Spencer adjusted his tie, pulling the silk fabric further from his neck, “Yeah, I heard him.” It bothered him, the slightest implication that you were endangered in that interview room put him on edge, but all you could do was sit down and watch him.

You sighed, “We only have a record of eight victims. We don’t know what he’s rounding to, but that’s at least two more bodies that we don’t know about.” Lukins could be rounding up to ten, which would be the closest option, or you were looking at the possibility of a considerably higher body count. Your fear was that he would use those additional kills as a bartering tool to get a transfer.

He stopped in his tracks while he processed what you were telling him. Spencer turned to you, lips parted before he nodded, eventually agreeing with you even if it pained him to do so. “We should call Emily and let her know what’s going on,” he told you, taking a seat across from you and placing his head in his hands. “I’m gonna step outside for a second,” he said, getting up just as quickly as he took a seat and swinging the door open, leaving you alone in the conference room.

Holding your tongue, you stopped yourself from voicing your approval, even though you did think some fresh air would be good for him. Instead, you watched the door click shut before fishing your phone out of your pocket, tapping on Emily’s contact before bringing the phone to your ear.

“How’s it going?” Emily asked you as soon as she answered, and you couldn’t help but picture your unit chief waiting by her phone, hoping to hear from you or Spencer.

You sighed, inadvertently cluing her into how the custodial interview was going, “We might have a problem,” you told her. Continuing on to explain what had happened between you and Marshal Lukins, all the way up through your discovery that he might have a higher victim count.

Prentiss clicked her tongue on the other end of the line, “What does Spencer think?”

The question didn’t come as a surprise to you, neither did the fact that her inflection told you that she was sneakily trying to ask you how Spencer was. Wiping your free palm along the fabric of your pants, you leaned against the table, “Reid thinks Lukins is out for blood.” You opened your mouth to continue but were interrupted by an alarm being tripped, your head snapped up as lights started to flash on the walls.

“What’s going on?” Emily questioned you over the phone, but you could barely hear her over the blare of the alarm, a low-pitched buzzing sound that made your brain feel like it was vibrating within your skull.

Clambering to your feet, you grabbed your water bottle and walked out of the room, slamming the door shut behind you as you looked aimlessly around the prison for someone who could offer you an explanation. “I’ve gotta go,” you blurted into the receiver, stuffing your phone in your pocket and making your way to the front of the prison, ignoring the men who shouted at you from behind bars.

You looked down the walkway, watching as the failsafe on the doors was triggered and they slowly started to shut, triggering you to try and make a run for it. “Y/N,” Spencer called out your name, picking up his own pace from the opposite direction.

It didn’t take you long to realize that you weren’t going to make it, skidding to a halt as the bars clicked shut in front of you. You weren’t scared until you watched Spencer pull at the door, frantically trying to slide it open, “Reid,” you said his name, trying to get his attention. “Reid,” you shouted that time, trying to make sure he heard you over the alarm.

He didn’t pause to look at you, he simply continued to pull at the bars.

“Spence,” you said desperately, and that time his eyes snapped to yours. Wide brown eyes bore into yours as you placed one of your hands on his, both of them encircling the bar. “It’s not going to open,” you reminded him. A fact he was well aware of but didn’t want to acknowledge.

Silently, he leaned back into the wall, sliding down the side of it and looking up at the ceiling, pulling at his tie again, this time taking it all the way off. “It’s a lockdown,” he panted helplessly, “They’re in a lockdown.”

You nodded softly, having drawn that conclusion on your own, “It’s okay,” you told him softly, reaching through the bars and taking one of his hands in yours. “You’re alright, Spence,” you continued, your tone bordering on a coo.

He pulled his knees to his chest and slung his free arm over his legs, hugging himself.

It broke your heart to watch him like this. You pointed in the direction he came from, “Look. Hey, you could be free to leave, I’m the one who’s locked in,” you told him, highlighting the fact that the bars were blocking you, but Spencer could make his way back to the entryway.

“Not helping,” he told you, his voice almost a gasp as he tried to regulate his breathing.

Your shoulder’s slumped forward slightly, “I’m sorry. What can I do?”

Spencer just shook his head, squeezing your hand in response when you started sweeping your thumb over his knuckles. You ignored the buzzing of your phone in your pocket as you watched him, completely focused on making sure he was okay before you did anything else.

With your free hand, you grabbed the water bottle that you took from the conference room and slipped it through the bars. “Here, take this,” you murmured, setting it on the ground next to him when he didn’t take the bottle from you.

He visibly relaxed when the alarm stopped going off, but the lights were still flashing, which offered somewhat of an explanation as to why the door hadn’t opened yet.

You fiddled with his hand, opening up his palm and tracing the lines on his hand with your index finger, “Have you ever had your palm read?” You asked him, twisting your head to get a better look at it.

He looked at you, the panicked look in his eyes had subsided, promptly replaced with incredulity, “When have I ever struck you as the kind of person who would get my palm read?”

Shrugging, you slowly traced his love line, “You like Halloween, I thought maybe you’d let your curiosity get the best of you.” Although you supposed if Spencer really wanted to have his palm read, he’d just do it yourself. “When I was in college, my summer job was reading palms in a booth at an amusement park,” you informed him.

Spencer chuckled at your revelation, and the sound made your heart sing, “That is… oddly endearing.”

Nodding, you looked at his hand again, “Chiromancy says men were born with their left hand, and their right is what they accumulate throughout life,” you told him softly, sliding your other hand through the bar.

“Actually, I was born with both of my hands,” Spencer responded, a teasing lilt in his voice.

You rolled your eyes, studying his left hand intently, “You have water hands,” you said, showing him his own palm as if he’d never seen it before.

Spencer raised his eyebrows at you, “Well, now you’re just making things up,” he openly teased you that time, but he didn’t pull his hand away.

Humming, you furrowed your brows and pointed at his hand, “This is your head line,” you explained. “See how it’s long and straight? It sort of tapers off before the end of your palm—that means you tend to think realistically.”

“I could’ve told you that,” he challenged, but his eyes were following along as you pointed at his palm.

You shook your head and sighed, “Here’s your life line,” you said, pointing to a different line and tracing it with your fingertip. “It’s straight and goes down to the edge of your palm, which means you’re cautious about relationships,” you continued softly, leaning your head against one of the bars of the door.

He was silent after that one, briefly taking his bottom lip between his teeth and looking down at his hand. You could tell that even though he didn’t quite believe what you were saying, he was perfectly fine with humoring you.

“This is your fate line,” you told him, entirely expecting to lose him the moment you began discussing fate. “It’s broken down the middle and curved in different directions, and that means you’re prone to a lot of changes in life. Changes influenced by external forces.”

Gently, Spencer pulled his hand away from yours, flexing his hand before looking down at it, “You’ve officially lost me.”

The corner of your mouth quirked up, “I’m surprised you lasted this long.” Just long enough apparently, the doors buzzed soon after, and you withdrew your hands from the slots as the bars slid into a hole in the wall.

Spencer got up first, dusting off his hands before he extended a hand to help you up. Your hand lingered in his for just a moment too long, the exchange oddly intimate for the two of you before his arms dropped to his side, “Thank you,” he murmured, a shy smile on his face.

Shrugging, you crossed your arms in front of your stomach, “There’s nothing to thank, Reid.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that it was disappointment that flashed across his face at your reply.

The warden had rather unceremoniously asked the two of you to leave, citing security concerns and letting you know that he’d be in contact with Emily to reschedule. Emily had called you six times during the lockdown, but you’d texted her once everything was clear.

Which left you heading back to the SUV with Spencer, there were prisoners out in the yard, so he walked on the inside, blocking your body from the view of the inmates. “Are you alright?” You asked him, feeling more free to inquire now that you were in the open air.

He nodded, “I’m fine, I just really wasn’t expecting something like that to happen when I asked Emily to send me on this custodial.”

Your footsteps faltered at his words, “You asked to go on this custodial?”

Spencer frowned, “I was on this case originally ten years ago, so I asked Emily to let me go.”

“And she said yes?” You asked incredulously.

Spencer opened the back door for you to place your bag in, “Not initially, but eventually she realized that I’d be her only option if she wanted to get it done today.” He shut the door and shoved his hands in his pockets, “It’s a lot earlier than I thought we’d be getting back, do you want to stop and get lunch on the way back to Quantico?”

Your eyes went wide and you were grateful that he couldn’t see your expression, “Uh, sure. Why not?”

“Perfect,” he said, “Maybe I can get you to tell me why you avoided reading my love line.”

[ddejavvu]

hmmm mean!logan who makes a GREAT brat tamer, who will give your ass a quick slap in public for embarrassing him or talking back to him and gets you over his lap the moment you’re alone to really let you have it

bro… I need a hard, firm hand to show me who’s boss lmao

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

contents/warnings: smut, minors dni, mean!logan, spanking, brat taming, don't like don't read.

"I want some." You appeal to Logan one day, glancing at the rather intimidating drink in his hand. It's straight liquor, no sweet syrups or even ice to tamp down the effects. He drinks hard, something he's built a tolerance to over his long life, aided by his remarkable healing abilities. What he drinks makes your eyes water and your throat itch, but today you're feeling brave- perhaps from the drink in your own hand.

"No." He says simply, raising his glass to his lips and taking a hefty swig. It lowers the volume of liquor in the glass substantially, but he swallows it like it's water. You watch as the muscles in his neck contract slightly with the motion of his throat, and perhaps they tense at the sharp taste, but he remains mostly reactionless to the drink he's downing. You, however, would be tipping over.

"Come on, please? Just a little bit? I just want to try." You plead, bracing your hands on his arm in hopes that he'll take pity on you. But he doesn't, and all that's sent your way is a warning glance.

"Nothing bad's gonna happen." You insist, "If I get all loopy you can just take me home."

"I said no." His voice is gruff, and something indignant sparks in your chest. Fine. You're a grown woman- you can order one yourself. You've seen Logan order it a thousand times, you know it by heart and you'll pay for it yourself. He can't stop you.

You spin with a huff towards the bar, stalking towards the bartender with determination that Logan should be afraid of. Seconds before you can reach the bar, your fingertips inches away from the smooth, albeit sticky surface, Logan's hand grips your arm tight, and you feel a sharp, stinging sensation against your skin as he lands a harsh smack on your ass.

The slap is rough, tough, and forceful, just the way Logan manhandles you into the dingy hallway that leads to the bathrooms. It's cut off from the crowd but you can still hear the patrons inside, mere feet away as Logan's scowl bores down on you.

"What did I fucking say?"

"You said no, like you control me," You scoff, "You're not my dad! I'm well over 21, Logan, I can drink whatever I want!"

"Not when I plan on fucking you into the mattress tonight, stupid." He snarls, and your stomach flips with an intensity you know you'll be feeling all night long, "You don't think there's a reason I'm trying to keep you sober? Those fruity little drinks don't do shit that water can't fix. If you downed one of these you'd be sick for a week.”

"I thought-" You start, but he plows on, undeterred.

"You think I care what you drink? Knock yourself out, cowgirl," He snickers, his irritation gone but not forgotten as he condescends, "If you wanna shoot shit that'll make your head spin, then do it. But not tonight. I want you to remember my name so you can scream it."

[yanderenightmare]

Modern day soft (well, as soft as he gets lol) bf sukuna hcs PLEASEEEEEE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

Ryomen Sukuna

♡ TW: NSFW, underskirt peaking, ish innocent reader, not really hcs but anyway

♡ fem reader

He starts liking you by chance and entirely against his own will. Having a girlfriend is not something he had in mind.

He'd have girls then and there, don't get him wrong, easy one-night stands out on the town if and when he urged for it—even had a couple of sluts on demand he was familiar with—girls he knew would let him fuck them the way he wanted to, but they weren't any special.

And then there's you, who, by all means, shouldn't be any special either. But goddamn, you stick out like a sore thumb, how could he not notice you? The way you handle the back alley bar as if it's a cozy little day café with your fresh-out-of-college appeal, he can't help but think—what on earth is a sweet thing like you doing working here at the wrong side of town after hours?

Well, at least you can pour a drink. But still, what was the owner thinking hiring someone like you—a little lady in a skirt who can't even reach the top shelves without standing on a stool? It's almost to laugh at, and he would, but... sitting on his usual spot right at the counter, he's able to look straight up your skirt and see your pretty pink panties and that awfully teasing way it cups your cunt.

And it's absurd! Because he's seen and done so many depraved things in his life, seeing up a girl's skirt shouldn't be any different, but then that's exactly it—you were different. Not like any of the sluts he's had on his belt, you're... well... you're many things, but a slut isn't one of them. But he would love to make one out of you.

He gets a little drunker than usual nowadays—always requesting top-shelf stuff. You think he's a real big spender—completely unaware he's doing it all for a glimpse. Sitting there, twirling his bourbon, daydreaming what it would be like to have someone like you in his bed. He bet you would squeal a lot—you seem like the type who'd whimper his name and cling to him. You'd whine if he pulled your hair, cry if he slapped your ass, and be real shy if he made you cum on his tongue.

It's a nice thought. He might have jerked off to the image in favor of calling on one of his arrangements. But a thought was all it was. A girl like you would never do anything like that with a guy like him. After all, working at a shitty place doesn't warrant you need to stoop to the same standards. And you were still no closer to fitting in.

You'd been a little wary of him at first. Always by the counter right next to you—rough voice and a chronic harsh glare. His face tattoos didn't help either—looking like a seasoned gangster even though he couldn't have been all that much older than you.

No matter how much you pour him, he never seems to get very drunk. But it's not all the strange either, given the size of him—bulked and built like a bear. His muscles are so big you can see every cut of them through his tank—it's a surprise the fabric holds. He barely even fits through the door.

But he's a quiet guy. Studious. It seems he's always got something weighing down his mind, and given you're the bartender, and he's your best-paying and most regular customer, it might be high time you took it upon yourself to ask him about it.

"'Penny for your thoughts, big guy?" you ask, rubbing the residue from the bottom of a glass.

He doesn't seem like he's going to answer, and you feel regret for even having asked in the first place—like, geez, why would a rough and tough-looking guy like that share any of his thoughts with you? What were you thinking?

"Why do you work here?"

You stop to look at him, blinking. You didn't exactly expect a question in return. "Uhm," you hum in nonplus, unsure how to answer. But then again, the truth isn't so hard to relay. "I dropped out of college."

You have to giggle at the raised eyebrow he gives you.

"Don't look so shocked," you say, busying yourself with wiping down the dew rings left on the counter. "I just found out it wasn't for me. All those sheep walking the same path, eating the same grass, listening to the same boring shepherd... I thought I'd enjoy being a wolf more."

He scoffs softly, more so in acknowledgment than appraisal, you think, then looks down into his glass—his expression as dour as always, unreadable.

"You don't look like a wolf," he mutters at last, taking an indifferent swig.

Of course, you could have left at that. You knew most people would find your reasoning silly, but if you were to be a wolf, you'd have to flash your teeth, puff your chest, and prove it.

And so you do, "Well, that's 'cause I'm still in sheep's-clothing!" A smirk on your face as you fold your arms atop your chest with a raised chin. "But you better watch out! 'Cause one of these days, you'll walk in here, and I'll be even fiercer-lookin' than you."

That stunts him—even more so than your speech earlier. This time, he isn't even able to keep the surprise off his face. Who would have thought you'd be this brazen? Definitely not very sheep-like, even though you look it.

He scoffs again. Maybe he'll help you out...

"Oh yeah?" he grins—and it's the first time you've seen it. Almost a sneer, but way more charming than that—loud and unapologetic with a voice to match. "How 'bout you come to my parlor after your shift, and we get started on dirtying that pristine sheep fur of yours?"

And to his surprise, you don't even waver.

"It's a date."

That night, you get your first tattoo and your first time seeing stars, being folded flat like fresh laundry, and made to cum on a stranger's tongue piercing until screaming.

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[menagerofmischief]

Nugget Update (MV1)

sumary: y/n's always giddy after getting a nugget update, sure she loves her best boy, but it also has something to do with the cat sitter sending the updates

driver!reader x cat sitter!max verstappen -> habs incoming... series masterlist

cw: not fia approved words, a bit of lance hate (I don't actually hate him), mutual pinning, the grid teasing the reader, lot of appearances from the reader's cat, kissing, kinda mean!reader (to the grid)

wc: 4.1k

a/n: this is my first time writing in 2nd person so bear with me. also, I low key hate this and it may be shit. not proof read!

“Well aren’t you a ball of sunshine?” A voice called out, disturbing the peace - or the closest thing to peace you could have near a Formula 1 track.

Your gaze snapped up, eyes narrowing as you took in the man standing on the entry of the RedBull garage. “Hello, Charles,” you replied, a teasing bite obviously heard in your voice as you crossed your arms over your chest. “I know you wanted to experience what a successful garage looks like but I thought Ferrari had a better hold on you.”

Charles laughs, his eyes crinkling as his lips stretch into a smile. Teasing Charles was always a fun time but that’s all it was, just a bit of fun. It never stretched into something meaner, just two people showing affection by teasing each other.

Charles had been your very first real friend on the grid. The first to offer his hand with a smile and genuinely mean it. The first to congratulate you on a win after getting out of the car or the first to say that the next race would be better. Really, he was your best friend, but you would never tell him that or it would go to his head.

“Funny, very funny.” He said, his accent thick. His eyes slid around the motor home until finally meeting your own. “Lot of drivers are going out for drinks, came by to invite you.”

“I don’t Charles,” you started to say, going through your mental list of excuses, searching for the best one to use to avoid this social interaction.

“Oh come on!” He whined, rolling his eyes. He gave you a look that let you know you could stop thinking about an excuse because he wasn’t going to be buying it. “We won’t stay that long and it’s night race tomorrow so you don’t need to wake up at the crack of dawn.”

You pressed your lips together, the lip gloss previously applied making them slide against each other easily. 

Charles kissed his teeth, nodding his head along. Fine, he’ll play the game. “Some of the WAG’s are coming as well.”

“Are you really trying to lure me out by promising female company?”

“Is it working?”

“Eh,” you shrugged your shoulders. “Will you pay my tab?”

Charles scoffed. “Pay your tab?” He asked, sounding as if you had asked him for his firstborn. “You’re filthy rich! You have a bigger salary than me!”

“Yeah, they do pay world champions a bit extra, comes with the title.” You replied, grinning at him, a wide teasing grin, your eyes twinkling. 

“Fine whatever, I’ll pay your tab.” He said, raising his hands in surrender. “Now go take that suit off and shower, you look disgusting.”

“You look like a trash can threw you up!”

“It threw me up because it saw you!” Charles shouted back in response, his back already turned to you as he walked away, back to the Ferrari garage. 

And that’s how you ended up in the bar, an hour later. Squished in the not too comfortable and definitely not meant to sit so many people, booth. With George’s girlfriend Carmen on your left, and Pierre’s girlfriend Kika on your right, and deep in conversation with both of them. 

You feel your phone vibrate under your hand on the table, and the screen lights up, showing off your wallpaper, a picture of your beloved cat Nugget.

You tune off from the conversation the moment the message arrives, grabbing your phone and pulling it in towards you. Your face lights up, lips stretching into a smile as your eyes focus on the sender ID. Maxie.

Or rather Max. The very cute guy who was your cat sitter whenever you were out and about in the world, chasing the racing track. 

With a quick move of your fingers, you swipe up, opening your phone and going into the message app. Fingers quickly tapping along the screen of your phone as you type out your reply.

With a smile you closed the messages app, pressing your fingers against the button on the side of your phone, watching the screen go black before setting it face down onto the table. As you looked back up, Lando’s amused yet teasing expression caught your eye.

You leaned forward against the table, pressing your hands to the wooden surface as you attempted to get a bit closer to the driver on the other side of the table. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Oh nothing,” he said with a laugh. “Just wondering who you’re texting, that’s all.” He intertwined his fingers, elbows pressed against the table and leaned forward as well. “You were all grumpy cat but then you get a message and suddenly you’re all smiles.”

“Grumpy cat?” You scoff, rolling your eyes at the McLaren driver. “I’m not a grumpy cat. And for the record, that was Nugget’s babysitter and he was sending me a picture of Nugget.”

Lando laughs, there’s a twinkle in his eyes that tells you he wants to say more but he holds himself back. “Can I see? I haven’t seen the orange gremlin in so long.”

“That’s very mean,” you say, opening your phone to show him the picture, that Max had sent you. “Nugget would never say that about you.”

“That’s because Nugget can’t speak.” He looks at the screen and his lips twist upward in a smirk. “Who’s Maxie?”

You breathe out through your nose, teeth digging into your bottom lip. When you speak your voice is sharp, it leaves no room for questioning things or an invite to ask more questions. “The cat sitter.”

“I’m sure that’s all he is.” Lando laughs when you show him your middle finger before settling back into your seat and returning to the previously abandoned conversation with the two WAG’s.

The race went pretty smoothly, as always. Starting from pole, keeping the lead the whole race and with a 20s gap to car in P2. Everything after that was pretty much a blur, the interviews, partying through the night with the grid and boarding the jet early in the morning.

The sun already started setting by the time you made it to Monaco. With a sigh you rummaged through your bag, blindly feeling around the stuff inside before your fingers finally wrapped around the keys.

Opening the apartment door you walked inside, gently laying down your suitcase as your eyes settled on the scene in your living room. Right there, laying on your couch, in deep sleep, and cuddling your cat is Max Verstappen. 

His hair had fallen over his eyes and the position he’s in looks rather uncomfortable, you’re sure his body will be aching when he wakes up. His chest was raising and falling with each breath he took, little sighs slipping past his lips. Nugget was cuddled up to him, curled in a ball.

You looked at him for a few moments before starting to move around as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake him up. 

Max had been cat sitting for you for a while now. Half of last season and now half of this one so almost a year. He was a sweet, kinda shy, mostly nerdy guy you ran into in a coffee shop and spilled his coffee. You offered to buy him a new one and he joined you for the coffee and you got to talking when he said he was looking for a job so you offered him to become your pet sitter.

At that point you really did need someone to look after your cat while you were gone, since you had broken up with your ex who usually took care of Nugget while you were away. And you couldn’t leave Nugget with your parents since your father was allergic to cats.

Now, your best friend who had been working in a different country had returned to Monaco and said she’d be more than happy to look after Nugget - but you wanted to keep Max around. 

Already having grown used to coming home after a race weekend to find him there, just existing in your space.

Nugget’s whiskers twitch, his eyes opening and he pulls himself away from Max, stretches out and then trots over to you, rubbing his head against your leg affectionately while purring. He let out a happy, albeit a bit too loud, meow when you picked him up and on the other side of the room Max began stirring from his sleep.

He opened his eyes, a bit confused, and rubbed his knuckles against his eyes to wake up, blinking a few times as his eyes adjusted to the light filling up the room. 

“You’re back,” he says, his voice is gentle, still sleepy and a bit quiet. His eyes meet yours and he offers you a sweet smile that has you immediately smiling back at him. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep, sorry about that.”

“Oh no, it’s no problem,” you reply, running your hand over Nugget’s fur as the cat lay happily in your arms. “You can use the guest bedroom if you’re tired, you know. The couch may be expensive but that doesn’t mean it’s comfortable for sleep.”

“I didn’t want to overstep,” Max said, pulling himself up into a sitting position. You approached the couch and sat down, the cat nestling in your lap and purring in content. Max smiled, reaching out his hand and petting Nugget.

“Nonsense Max, you’re not overstepping.” You cut him off, leaving no room for argument. You always told him to feel at ease in your apartment, that he was welcome to any food in the fridge and free to use the guest room as he pleased but even after all this time there was still a slight air of awkwardness backed up by the fear of going a bit too far.

Max’s eyes settled on you, your own focused on your cat so you didn’t notice him looking. He watched the way you cooed at Nugget, asking if he was a good boy while you were away and petting him gently, and his lips stretched into a small, careful smile.

He spoke before thinking. The words left his mouth before he even finished the thought inside of his head. “I watched the race,” he said, and your eyes instantly snapped up to meet his. He swallowed, already too deep to back down. “It - “ he licked his lips, trying to decide his next words, feeling like his tongue had tied itself up in a knot. “You were spectacular. It was lovely … simply lovely.”

You let out a breath, the corners of your mouth twisting upwards and you gave him a thankful look. Max swore he could feel his heart beating in his throat, and felt his cheeks heat up. “Thank you,” you said, your voice gentle, holding a comforting tone. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. And it’s nice - knowing you watched.”

“It is?”

You bit your lip, teeth scraping against you bottom lip as you looked at him, your brain running faster than the Sauber (like it’s hard) as you tried to come up with a response. “It’s kind of comforting,” you finally said, after what felt like a small forever.

You hummed, looking down at your nails. “I was thinking about bringing Nugget with me to the next race. It’s been a while since he was in the paddock.”

“Oh,” Max said, an edge of confusion noticeable in the tone of his voice. “Does that mean that you don’t need me coming over next week?”

“Actually, I was hoping you would come with.” You say, before you can talk yourself out of making the proposition.

Max tilts his head to the side, kind of like a confused cat and you try your best not to giggle at the mental image. “I’m not sure I’m following.”

“If you wanted to attend the Grand Prix,” you tell him, running the edge of one of your nails along your skin. “Cuz’ I’m still gonna need someone to look after Nugget, and you do that in general so this would just be an added bonus of traveling.”

Max is silent for a few moments and you think he’ll decline. You wouldn't fully blame him if he did, you know what the pressure of the paddock can be like. You’re about to open your mouth, tell him that ‘never mind, it was a stupid idea anyway’ and put him out of the trouble of finding a polite way to decline when he finally speaks. 

“I suppose, if you want me to then yeah, I’ll come along to watch Nugget.” He says, trying to ignore the nervous feeling building up in his chest when you smile at him, a wide happy smile that makes him instantly smile back.

“Great!” You said, the excitement evident in your voice. “Someone from the team will contact you in a while to arrange the tickets and leave the rest to me.” Max nods, he doesn’t trust himself to speak, not with the way his throat is closing up and it makes him feel like he can’t breathe.

“Look at you all giggly,” Charles teased, gently pushing your shoulder with his hand. He wiggled his eyebrows, a laugh slipping past his lips as you glared at him.

“Charles, why don’t you turn around and flash your pretty face to the crowd.” You said, rolling your eyes. You looked at the stadium full of people who were shouting out for their favorite drivers, waving banners and cheering happily. You smiled towards the stadium and lifted your hand up, waving your fingers to the public. “Give them a wave.”

“See, I always knew you thought I was pretty,” Charles replied, waving at the public. The two of you and the rest of the grid were in a wagon, going around the track for the drivers parade, so essentially you were stuck with him for at least five more minutes. “Now, do tell who’s got you smiling like that.”

“Is it Maxie?” Lando asked, the teasing tone evident in his voice. He pushed himself closer to you and Charles, inserting himself into the conversation. 

“Didn’t your mom teach you not to eavesdrop?” 

“No, no!” Charles said, shaking his head as he waved his hand dismissively as you, his full attention now focused on Lando. “Who’s Maxie?”

Lando smiled at him, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “The cat sitter,” he said in a sing-song kind of voice. 

“The one you brought to your garage?” The Ferrari driver asked, his attention back on you. “The pretty one.”

“Hold up!” Lando almost shouted, raising his hands. “You brought him with you to the Grand Prix?!”

“I didn’t … well I did bring him.” You said with a sigh, there was no escaping this now. “But it’s not like that. He’s here to watch Nugget.”

“And for you to watch him - because boy that is one good arm candy.”

“Charles, your homosexual is showing,” you warned.

“But you’re not denying it,” Charles noted, giving you a smirk.

You rolled your eyes at him but finally gave in. “Yes, I’m not denying it.”

You stepped back into the motor home, your eyes immediately searching for Max and finally you found him talking to your lead engineer. As you approached the two you could start to hear their conversation and quickly realized they were talking about how the car worked and what went on behind the scenes at a Grand Prix. You found it cute that Max was interested in that.

His eyes met yours and his face lit up, the corners of his mouth twisting upwards into a smile. “You’re back!” He said, “After terrorizing everyone around and getting pets, Nugget decided to settle down for a nap. He’s in your driver's room.”

Max gave you a wink after saying that and you had to hold in a giggle. You excused yourself to go to your driver’s room, with Max following behind you. The first thing you noticed when you went inside was Nugget, curled up on the massage bed and sleeping without a care.

The next thing that grabbed your attention was a dozen pastries lined up on a small table next to the couch. They were all individually wrapped in tissues.

“Max,” you said, picking up one of the pastries and unwrapping it. “I really did mean only one pastry, you know?” You bit into the chocolate filled pastry, moaning at the taste of a treat you weren’t usually allowed to have when it was race week. “My trainer will strangle me if he sees.”

“I swear, no one saw anything.” Max said, shuffling over to the couch and sitting down. “I was sneakier than Nugget when he’s stealing my food.”

“Oh, now that’s a very serious claim.” You told him with a laugh, his own laugh echoing back. You picked up one of the wrapped pastries and offered it to him. “Take one, or five. There’s no way I’m eating it all.”

He takes the pastry you’re offering him, his fingers brushing against your own as he takes it from your hand, sending sparks of electricity down your spine. After a second of hesitation you sit down next to him, the two of you eating the treats in comfortable silence.

His thigh nudges against yours and you turn to face him, finding that he’s already looking at you. He smiles and you don’t hesitate to smile back.

The practices go great, P2 in FP1, P1 in FP2 and P1 in FP3. 

The qualifying is where a slight setback shows up, with quali being ended early due to a crash and a red flag, putting you in P10 for the start of the race tomorrow.  

Once the car had rolled back into the pits you wasted no time getting out, putting the steering wheel back into place before storming into your driver’s room. 

You pulled your helmet off, fingers curling into the bottom of your balaclava as you pulled it off, throwing it next to your helmet before bringing your hands up to smooth down your hair. 

“I’m not in the fucking mood, Pepe.” You said without turning around, assuming it was your race engineer coming to talk about the outcome of qualifying. “Fucking Lance and his fucking money made seat - if that little frog screws up another quali, I’ll be the one crashing him out.”

“I’m not Pepe,” the other person in the room says and you instantly turn around, your eyes wide as they meet Max’s blue ones. “And I’m certainly glad I’m not Lance.”

You looked him up and down, eyes trailing over his figure. You took notice of Nugged, cuddled up in his arms and looked at you curiously, and reached your hand out to pet the cat, a long breath slipping past your lips. 

“Sorry,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “I didn’t really mean for you to hear that.”

Max barely heard what you were saying. Too distracted by the sight of you for his brain to properly register your words. Your skin was slightly glistening with sweat, an imprint from where your helmet and balaclava had dug into your skin still visible on your flushed cheeks. Your messy hair, and your chest raising and falling with each breath you took as you were still working on catching up your breath.

Max blinked, finally snapping out of his thoughts and focusing his attention back to what you were saying. “They should have let you finish the lap.” 

“I agree but sadly that’s not how it works.”

Max nodded along, not really knowing what to say to that so he switched to the next topic. “I ran into your friend. He invited you, and me, out for drinks. I think it would be nice to go, you seem like you need a drink.”

“Yeah, I definitely do.” You replied, taking Nugget from his arms and into your own, stroking down the cat’s body. “Which friend?”

“Uh,” Max started, thinking of a way to describe the guy since he couldn’t remember his name. “Wears red, pretty, sounds French.”

You laughed, smiling at him. “That’s Charles. I hope you didn’t tell him he sounds French, he gets offended by that.”

“Then it’s great I kept it to myself.”

You laughed in reply, putting Nugget down to the floor, the cat immediately moving to a cozy corner and curling up into a ball on the floor, shutting his eyes. “The hotel is right next to the track, you can take Nugget back while I shower and then we can go - if you want to.”

“Sounds like a deal,” Max replied with a smile.

You showered and put on a clean set of clothes just in time to meet Max after he finished dropping Nugget back to the hotel, leaving him with toys, food and water. The two of you made your way to the bar to join the rest of the grid for a night out. 

Some of the drivers were playing pool while their girlfriends were engrossed in a conversation so that left you and Max sitting together, sharing drinks and talking.

“I just …” you started, cracking your fingers. “I don’t know, this quali really messed up my mood and I was riding on such a high after the practices going well. It all feels shit now.”

“Maybe you just need more motivation for the race.” Max offered, drinking the rest of the liquor from his glass in one go. 

“You have something in mind, Maxie?” You asked, the nickname slipping past your lips without a thought now that you’ve had a few drinks. 

“How about a kiss if you get on the podium?” He said, his voice suggestive. Normally he never would have dared to say something like that but the alcohol courage really worked wonders. 

Your eyes widened, clearly not expecting him to be so bold or to suggest that. He took your reaction as a bad sign, immediately straightening up as a wave of dread quickly sobered him up.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped out, the expression on his face shifting into a panicked one. “That was stupid. It was thoughtless. It was -”

“A great motivation,” you cut him off, putting a finger up against his lips to silence him. “It was a great motivation.”

His cheeks burned as his eyes met yours. He looked so vulnerable, his bright eyes impossibly wide. “Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“One more corner to go but you’re in the clear,” Pepe’s voice echoed over the radio. You blinked, your eyes focused on the track before you, the checkered flag already visible along with your team gathering in the front. “That’s P1, Y/n. Phenomenal drive today, you deserved it!”

“Thank you,” you said, your voice breathless as you moved your hands, going through the last corner and speeding towards the finish line. “Thank you, Pepe.” You repeated, swallowing your spit. “It was lovely, simply lovely.”

You put the car into P1, getting out and posing for a picture on top of your car. You could hear the shouts, the cheers, the celebration. You took off your helmet, ripping off your balaclava and putting them both into the car before turning around to face the team, eyes searching for a particular face. 

Finally, you spotted Max. Standing besides your engineer, a proud expression on his face as he looked at you with a wide smile. You didn’t hesitate, feet moving before you could think and then you were in front of him, grabbing his shirt and pulling him down, smashing your lips into his.

The kiss was desperate, both of having waited long enough for it. He wrapped his arms around you, the best he could with the fence between you, kissing you back with need. 

You finally pulled away when you felt your lungs burning from the lack of oxygen, learning your forehead against his. Nothing else mattered, not the public, not the team, not the celebration. Only him, finally yours.

“Simply lovely, right?” You asked, your voice breathless.

“Simply lovely!” Max repeated back to you, before kissing you once again. And he really did mean it - everything was simply lovely.

tag list: @formula1-motogpfan @misty-inferno @thelemonque3n @marvel-hotchner @strangemaximoff @folkloresreputation @pippyth3hippy @adharacambridge @theseerbetweenus @sebastianstansblog @tellybearryyyy @six-call @grussellsprout @oikarma @justcharlotte @annimausi

i hope i tagged everyone who said they wanted to be on the tag list. hope you enjoyed this one and keep an eye out for the poll about the next part of the series <3