#martin/fem coded reader

[obscureoperations]

Martin and Whiteface fucking the reader.

if you're doing requests/okay with writing this

Ohhh man..now this is a thot! For some reason I've always pinned Whiteface as being a service bottom..but listen! It was a bit hard to try and get the universes to mesh so I said fuck it..lets goooo! 

~

At times you had to wonder how you found yourself in such situations, but in the moment you couldn't find it in yourself to care. You were on fire, heartbeat hammering against your ribs as you lean back against the familiarity that was Martin. Long nimble fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, keeping you prone-- his tongue moves expertly over your heated flesh. It was too much...the limber sprite was full of surprises. How on earth was he that good with his mouth?

Martin begins to press kisses at the nape of your neck, strong arms wrap around you tightly. Whispering not so sweet nothings against your ear.

"Look at him y/n... he wants to devour you.."

A broken moan escapes your throat, you glance down to see Martin smooth the Jester's bangs away from his face. Splotches of white began to fade revealing bits of his actual skin-- their similarities were uncanny. Like something from one of your fantasies. For the longest time Martin was enough, the boy was actually perfect for you. The two of you understood each other in an a nearly supernatural way. He was everything to you, but the sheer erotic indulgence of having two? How could you possibly refuse?"

Despite the mime’s eerie silence, his breath comes out in heated puffs. Small moans forming at the back of his throat as he begins to stroke himself in full. This was the first time that he was allowed to take you--his usual role in the bedroom was strictly limited to prep and clean up. He knew his place. You would often times find yourself staring at the man-- in quiet fascination as he patches you up after a particularly rough session. He was beautiful that much you could tell despite the make up. Once he removed it they were damn near identical.

You had practically begged Martin for weeks. You only wanted to know if the two of them felt the same. In a way your boyfriend couldn’t be upset, they were both so strangely identical. After a few weeks or so, Martin reluctantly agreed. 

 At least he seemed to be enjoying the view. His hands began to flitter across your torso. Kneading at your breasts almost painfully as another wave of release washes over. 

Spine arching like a bow, Martin takes a moment to cup your chin. Craning your neck back gently, he kisses you softly  “Tell me, y/n.. do you prefer his mouth or mine?” 

Before you have a chance to answer he shifts away, leaving you momentarily cold. Sinking back against the sheets, grasping at the comforter..in your haze, you watch as the mime emerges from between your legs. Bathed in moonlight, you would have sworn that it was Martin, the blotchy greasepaint made it all the more surreal. Your legs ached, the wonderful feeling forming at the pit of your stomach... Martin was prompting you to turn over.

On your hands and knees, staring at the cracking drywall, the Jester enters you with one sharp thrust. You cry out, it was all so blissfully familiar,but now you had Martin watching the two of you like a hawk. You could feel the weight of his attention, eyes glued to your face as he smoothes the bangs away from your eyes.

 All eyes on you as he gently cups your chin, kissing you sweetly. 

“Go on baby.. use it.. “he whispers, rising to his knees. He positions his cock in front of your parted lips.

The jester begins to smooth his hands across your back in a soothing caress as he pick up the pace. You weren’t used to this position, Martin preferred to have you on your back. Face to face. He could see you, and kiss you freely whenever he wanted. The unfamiliar angle causes something inside to ignite, every stroke felt better than the last.

The tip of Martin’s cock probes your lips, out of instinct you take him into your willing mouth. The slight saltiness on your tongue causes a moan to form in your throat.. the familiar taste spurs you on.

You were reeling.. the blunt tips of the jesters nails begin to dig into your hips. His thrusts becoming more erratic. You wondered if he would actually come inside of you. Surprisingly the three of you never discussed it. Would Martin be upset? As if on cue, our boyfriend speaks up. “You should see him.. y/n. H-he’s completely wrecked..” He whispers. You can feel the man tremble behind you, grasping your hips and pumping into you in a frenzy. 

“I think he’s gonna cum soon..y/n..Would you like that? You want him to cum deep inside?” The teasing tone causes your ears to burn, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. You weren’t really in any place to answer, instead you let out a moan, the vibrations causes Martin to cry out, grasping a fistful of your hair. “J--just like that..” he whispers. 

The backs of your thighs and triceps start to burn, your jaw was tired. Somehow the two men had it in them to keep going. Pausing from time to time, Martin releases your mouth to kiss you sweetly, massage your jaw--you were pretty sure the mime was simply edging himself behind you. Removing himself from you entirely, fingers playing over your heated flesh as he teases himself with his other hand. You were still surprised at the curious expression on Martin’s face as he observes Whiteface intently.

 With a sigh he shifts back onto his knees, positioning himself in front of your mouth. As if on cue,The mime follows suit. He enters you sharply, holding your hips in place as he slowly rolls his hips. You were on fire, the preciseness of the angle causes you your knees to grow weak. His breath comes out in heated puffs, barely audible moans and the occasional gasp. You were momentarily regretful you couldn’t see his face. Overcome with the urge to watch him unravel...you knew that one day you would get him to speak.

[1-800-black-readers-r-us]

Character ai chat is rotting my brain... might post some smut for 18th bday😭👍🏾

[httpsserene]

can you do a smau if you want where the reader is a driver and makes music on the side (music like sza or Megan thee stallion and kaliii) and she makes a music video for area codes and all her other music and it has the drivers in it

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 (𝐟𝟏) - 𝐲𝐧. 𝟎

summary: you make hit songs when you’re not driving a formula one car. your fellow drivers love to feature in your music videos. content warning: driver!reader makes music. toxic internet culture. profanity. hateful comments. attempt at humor. fluffy. light angst ig. there's no specific face claim, just pretty black women! ex-haas driver, current aston martin driver!reader. reader is american. seb retires in 2021, fernando is on the grid just not with aston martin. nikita mazepin mention lol. lando norris and george russell get bullied (humor). light british slander. no plot just vibes. pairing: platonic f1 grid x fem!black!driver!reader genre: smau.

from serene: i have a disease and it's called "being unable to make a normal length smau." it's a sickness, idk if i'll ever be abl to fulfill a request without the plot running away from me. anyways, enjoy loves xxx

⌕ join taglist | requests & feedback | table of contents ↻

yn ln signs multi-year contract with aston martin • espn f1 • 2021 post-season

ESPN F1 yn ln has signed a multi-year contract with Aston Martin! The American driver completes the team’s lineup with Lance Stroll. Even though she was an F4, F3, and GP3 Champion, and she won the F2 Championship on her first try with Prema; her F1 career began with unexpected opportunities and last-minute substitutions—becoming a reserve driver for Haas and filling in for Romain Grosjean after his accident in 2020, and then replacing Nikita Mazepin halfway through the 2021 F1 season—an official seat of her own in Formula One was a long time coming and well deserved. Congratulations to yn ln, the first Black woman to race in Formula One!

instagram • yn0 • 2022 pre-season

liked by astonmartinf1, lewishamilton, maxverstappen, sza, and 3,451,967 others

yn0: i have always believed that being an f1 driver would become my reality. it was a never a dream to me because i KNEW i was going to make it here. i’m incredibly thankful to haas for giving my first chance to race in the big league and i will miss all the incredible people who helped me grow and improve while i was there. however, i am extremely grateful and excited to have a seat of my own at aston martin in 2022 and onward. some critics have called me "conceited" to bet on myself, so i made a song just for them < 3

tagged astonmartinf1

view comments

yn0 on sundays, we wear green 💚

➥ user1 you're an inspiration to all women in motorsport, especially women of color 💚💚💚

➥ user2 praying that your aston is quicker than your haas! prove the haters wrong 😤

astonmartinf1: we'll bet on you every race! can't wait to play this in the garage 💚

haasf1team: take care of our songbird 🥲

➥ haasf1team: and keep the tea and honey STOCKED for her vocal cords

➥ user3: i’m gonna cry :(

user4: yeah who paid for her seat? no way she got it off skill. she's never been above p12. f1 has changed for the worse now that a woman's out there. she's a hazard.

➥ user5: incel mindset 😒

➥ user6: bro she was in a haas. reaching p12 in that car is enough of an achievement. better than mazepin ever did, even with his daddy's money 🤷‍♂️

lewishamilton: LFG 💪🏽💪🏽💪🏽 can't wait to see you in the paddock

➥ yn0: lfgggggg 🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️

➥ yn0: i wouldn't be racing at all if i didn't see you do it first :)

sebastianvettel: prove them all wrong and never apologize for it.

➥ yn0: i learned from the best 🥹 happy retirement, seb!

mickschumacher: "no reason to make friends, i'm cool"??? is that line about somebody else or should i be worried 🤨

➥ maxverstappen: yeah let us know 🙄 your seat on the jet can be revoked

➥ yn0: bros...we all know who it's really about

➥ user8: you can say it's about mazepin nobody will be mad at that 🤗🤗🤗

landonorris: wish it was papaya, but i can't wait to see you in green!

➥ yn0: you know what?i think I CAN wait

➥ yn0: i'm actually going to quit f1 rn i think ��

➥ user9: lando stop, get some help

lancestroll: hi teammate!

➥ yn0: hi teammate!

➥ user6: oh,,, this is awkward

charlesleclerc: finally 🙌🏻 i thought you would never drop this song

➥ yn0: the music is more important than my f1 seat to you 🙂

➥ charlesleclerc: encore encore encore 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

georgerussell: i would be happy for you if i didn't know this meant you'll be bullying me every race weekend

➥ alexalbon: she smells your fear which makes you an easy target

➥ alexalbon: CONGRATSSS 🥳🥳🥳🥳

➥ yn0: 🤭

instagram • yn0 • 2022

liked by charlesleclerc, lewishamilton, megantheestallion, and 2,191,042 others

yn0: thee "cognac queen" learns how to celebrate their FIRST EVER f1 points in italy with their honorary prince 🇮🇹 im in my gacccc, i wanna danceeee, come get yo man, come getcho maaaannnnn 🍾🍾🍾

tagged charlesleclerc

view comments

user10: WOOOOOAH WHATS ABOUT TO PLAY 😳

➥ user11: she PUT IT ON HIM last night apparently 🫣

➥ user12: he calling her BACK TO BACK????

astonmartinf1: you only win first points once but you only have one liver. please show up to the paddock next week 🥴

➥ yn0: don't worry admin i'll be there bright and early!

➥ user13: drink responsibly kids alcohol poisoning is not fun

➥ user14: aston martin shouldn't stress. it sounds like charles took very good care of her 😏😏😏

user15: i feel like i shouldn't be allowed to watch that video (i'm 23)

➥ user16: they were having a tiiiiiiiiime out in italy 🫦

➥ user17: if she was all over me like she was on charles i would be asking about marriage. he's so much stronger than i am 🙂‍↔️

charlesleclerc: went courvoisier crazyyyy

➥ charlesleclerc: je suis très fière de toi (i'm very proud of you) ❤️

➥ yn0: thank you charlieee (for the mv too x) 😚

➥ user18: oh so she really got charles thinking that he's her man???

➥ user19: you were DOGGING it? i didn’t know charles had it in him 🐶🐶🐶

user20: ew this is gross. charles is in a happy relationship and we're all going to pretend like yn isn't a homewrecker???

➥ user21: i was waiting to see this comment! this is like proof she used her body to get on the grid 👀

mickschumacher: no way you put charles in a video before me...i thought we were locked in 😞

➥ yn0: mick be so for real. you hate cognac :(

➥ user22: mick said we suffered through haas together and you already forgot about me

landonorris: are you looking for a cognac king?

➥ alexalbon: boys point and laugh 🫵🏼🤣

➥ charlesleclerc: 🫵🏻🤣

➥ maxverstappen: 🫵🏻🤣

➥ georgerussell: 🫵🏻🤣

➥ mickschumacher: 🫵🏻🤣🤣🤣💀

➥ user23: 🫵🏾🤣

lewishamilton: xnda feature when you make it on the podium

➥ yn0: i'll be up there next week.

➥ user24: bring back xnda girl !!! for all of us 🙇🏽‍♀️

instagram • yn0 • 2022

liked by alexalbon, astonmartinf1, maxverstappen, sza, and 4,233,761 others

yn0: my girl is my girl, is your girl, heard that's his girl too...he's like 9 to 5, i'm "the weekend"

tagged alexalbon, lilymhe

view comments

astonmartinf1: highest race finish of your career can you drop a fire song to celebrate 🥵

➥ lancestroll: team karaoke when????

➥ yn0: make it happen and i will show out for y'all 💯

user25: this video was funny af! my favorite song from you so far 😁

➥ user26: yessss i was not expecting her to flip the song in the video like that 🤌🏻💋

➥ user27: the premise of her and alex fighting over lily was perfect 👌🏽

lilymhe: make me lose my mind every weekend 😮‍💨

➥ alexalbon: you take wednesday thurday 🧎🏼‍♂️‍➡️

➥ yn0: then just send her my wayyyyy 🤤

➥ user28: think i got it covered for the weekend 🎤🎶

landonorris: i'm available any day of the week with no other commitments blocking my schedule ☺️

➥ georgerussell: mate this is embarrasing

➥ mickschumacer: lando no wins & no rizz what a shame 😒

➥ user29: MICK CHILLLLL ⁉️⁉️

➥ user30: whatdidhedo to deserve that calm downnnn

➥ charlesleclerc: lando please just listen to the song like everybody else this is painful to see 😣

maxverstappen: you laced this song with something addictive

➥ schecoperez: i hear it on repeat through the wall he is not lying

➥ user31: yn ln gives you wings 🤪

user32: just because lily was in the video and yn made the focus of the song about her doesn't mean that the orginal song is okay? it's not like she stopped singing about being a side chick.

➥ user33: no, it literally IS okay. because lily and alex both said they made the song with her and were happy to be in the video 🙂

➥ user34: i don't know, lily agreeing to the video makes me dislike her

➥ user35: yeah this song was a miss not a good message at all

instagram • danica patrick • 2022

liked by 10,764 others

danicapatrick: “This past weekend the Aston Martin F1 crew celebrated yn’s P5 finish track side and, honestly, that was unnecessary. It’s not like she managed to reach the podium and personally, I feel like she doesn’t take F1 seriously. I mean, it seems like she spends more time making explicit songs than she does preparing for a race weekend. Her little songs are a distraction to the men on the grid and she appears as a promiscuous, immature, and unfocused girl. She’s not the formula one standard, in my opinion.”

I discuss yn ln’s career in the new episode of my podcast, Pretty Intense! Click the link in my bio to hear it all!

tagged prettyintensebydanica

view comments

user36: ms. patrick are you familiar with the idea of having a hobby 🤔

nicorosberg: how are you qualified to be an expert on sky sports?

user37: woman who's never raced in f1 gives her unsolicited opinion on the only black woman to race in f1 😂

user38: danica this screams jealousy girl

user39: nothing is worse than hearing a fellow girl hate like a man smh

user40: "her little songs" disrespectful as hell don't forget one of them charted on billboard's top 10 😤

user41: SHE GOT P5 IN AN ASTON MARTIN how is that not taking f1 seriously????

user42: if her songs were a distraction to the men on the grid aren't they the ones who should be described as unfocused🤫

➥ user42: anyways, yn would be doing us a favor. maybe max wouldn't win as many races if that were the case

instagram • yn0 • 2022 post-season

liked by dominicfike, keithpowers, tchalamet, summerwalker, and 7,988,531 others

yn0: "girls need love," too.

view comments

user43: OH MY GOD the drought is over 😭😭😭

➥ user44: i thought we'd never get another song after the hate she was getting for it 😫

michaelbjordan: are you interested in a private studio session?

➥ landonorris: she don't want u lil bro 🤣

➥ user45: yn's pulling with three photo's and a song,,,teach me your ways

astonmartinf1: the spine tattoo 😍 good choice to get it during the off-season 💚

➥ user46: i misjudged you aston... i thought y'all told her to stop making music glad to see the support is still there :)

mickschumacher: let’s go get some gelato?

➥ yn0: as long as you don’t snitch to my trainer 😚

➥ mickschumacher: i’ll pick you up 😇

➥ landonorris: imma bout to crash TF out ong 💢💢

patriciooward: there's a spot on my side of the garage whenever you want to watch an indycar race

➥ landonorris: oh wow is this really what we're doing pato 😐

➥ user47: the tension in this comment section scares me

jjetas2: if you're near minnesota one day fall through

➥ landonorris: win a superbowl first 🥱😴

➥ user48: LANDO you haven't won a race or a championship either 😭

judebellingham: have you gotten any better at football since the last time we spoke?

➥ landonorris: knew i supported man united for a reason 😒

lore_musetti: call me if you want a real italian to give you a tour of italy x

➥ landonorris: didn't know an italian could disrespect charles like that honestly 🤨

➥ user49: 💀💀💀

instagram • yn0 • 2023

liked by georgerussell, mickschumacher, megantheestallion, and 4,178,063 others

yn0: japanese nightlife captured in my new music video “mamushi” !!! thank uuu yuki-san for being my tour guide 💋💋💋💋💋💋

tagged yukitsunoda

view comments

georgerussell: i quite enjoy this song 😌

➥ alexalbon: bro what

➥ yn0: tEa aND cRuMPets SConEs AnD biScUIts 💂🇬🇧

charlesleclerc: triple platinum in my house rn ⭐️⭐️⭐️

➥ alexandrasaintmleux: i'm responsible for at least a million views on my own 🥱

➥ yn0: 💚💚💚💚💚

user50: at least we know that yn and yuki can qualify for formula drift if they ever lose their f1 seat

➥ user51: 95% of the driving they were doing in that video looked illegal (but fun asl i'm not a buzzkill)

➥ user52: she's a bad influence on yuki 🙄

➥ user53: i don't think you're familiar with yuki tsunoda at all @/user52

maxverstappen: yeah the song is catchy; where's mine 🥱

➥ yn0: damn you're gonna win a third championship this year and you want a song too 😱

➥ yn0: just big and greedy fr 😒

➥ user54: big back attitude

➥ user55: like sheesh leave something for the rest of us 🤯

user50: gets p3 in suzuka driving an aston 🗿-> shrugs when asked how she did it 🗿 -> makes a banger mv in japan with yuki 🗿 -> refuses to elaborate 🗿

pierregasly: yuki explain your behavior in this video

➥ yukitsunoda: no 🤗

➥ user56: maybe he would've told you if you stayed at alphatauri

➥ user57: now you're in an alpine 🫵🏻😭

instagram • yn0 • 2023 post-season

liked by charlesleclerc, logansargeant, glorillathepimp, and 9,337,272 others

yn0: he don't "wanna be" saved don't save him 🤫

tagged maxverstappen

view comments

yn0: i don't need insurance cause a bitch CAN'T WRECK ME

➥ user58: no like she's never been in a crash her entire f1 career 🤓

➥ user59: she's untouchable srs

logansargeant: WHITE BOY WASTED CHANNING TATUM

➥ yn0: hoes love me like justin bieber 👅👅👅

user60: omg an old picture from yn's haas era when max's redbull wasn't a rocket ship 😩

➥ haasf1team: good times

➥ astonmartinf1: 💚💚💚

maxverstappen: you graduated from the max verstappen school of being unstoppable 😼

➥ charlesleclerc: austria 2022

➥ georgerussell: brazil 2022

➥ mickschumacher: my dad’s 7 championships

➥ alexalbon: i have nothing to add (literally)

➥ maxverstappen: out of the five of us we have three total world championships and they're all mine 😐

glorillathepimp: go yn 🥵

➥ yn0: get it glo 👅

➥ user61: i am no better than a man

➥ user62: i want this video tattooed on my eyelids

mickschumacher: i don't wanna be saved don't save me

➥ yn0: on gang 🤞🏾🔒🙅🏾‍♀️

kellypiquet: twenty missed calls...

➥ yn0: i would like to initiate a trade! i offer: max :) in return i receive: my twin p 🤲🏾

➥ kellypiquet: i will have a bag packed for her TONIGHT

➥ user63: kelly definitely won in that trade agreement! a childfree night??? sign me the fuck up ‼️

user64: i didn't think it was possible but this song is the worst thing she's ever made 😂

➥ user65: it's weird. max is in a committed relationship with a woman and has bonded with her kid. yn's getting involved with him when she shouldn't be 🤷‍♀️

➥ user66: girl she's been around since wayyyy before kelly as max's friend.

➥ user67: she forced max into friendship when they were karting back when he thought he couldn't have racing friends🥺

➥ user66: trauma bonded besties fr

sky sports f1 • 2024 testing

instagram • yn0 • 2024

liked by natalie_pinkham, danielricciardo, laybankz and 5,438,023 others

yn0: (my honest reaction when the internet can't stop talking shit about me) can't i make fun music videos without being called a homewrecker or a whore? sometimes "girls just wanna" f1 !

view comments

user68: no bc she makes hot girl music and y'all dont appreciate it 🤷🏽‍♀️🤷🏽‍♀️🤷🏽‍♀️

➥ user69: if you don't like her music you're not a baddie i don't make the rules 🙅🏻‍♀️

user70: did she just make the song of the summer 😱😵‍💫☠️

➥ user71: song of the YEAR !!! and people calling her a whore smh

landonorris: what if you make an mv with me and instead of being called a whore i call you my girlfriend?

➥ mickschumacher: corny. delete your account 🚮

➥ user72: i disagree with mick, he ate that up imo 👀

➥ user73: isn't he messing around with that model/actress though…

➥ user74: you mean m*gui lol

➥ yn0: who's that

➥ user74: lando's recent sneaky link or gf i thought

➥ yn0: oh

charlesleclerc: if i were to call you one thing it would not be homewrecker or whore ✊🏻

➥ charlesleclerc: it would be hit-maker because you DO NOT MISS 😩

➥ alexalbon: one could even call her the 🐐

➥ georgerussell: grammy caliber artist

➥ maxverstappen: they compare her to lebron and simone biles in discussion of being the greatest of all time 😌

➥ yn0: just yesterday y'all said i give slut energy (affectionately) 😕

➥ maxverstappen: many things can be true at the same time

➥ charlesleclerc: false ‼️ accusations

sabrinacarpenter: girls just wanna have fun 😋

➥ user75: OMG sabrina what are you doing here

➥ user76: what in the disney channel crossover episode is going on

imessage • yn -> lando

instagram • yn0 • 2024

liked by mclaren, mickschumacher, lewishamilton, laybankz, and 8,765,392 others

yn0: dropping the "tell ur girlfriend" video tonight as celebration for lando's first win (me next please!) i DO NOT codone cheating but the song is too hard for me to pretend like it's not a banger 🤪

tagged landonorris

view comments

landonorris: you look good in papaya 🧡🧡🧡

➥ astonmartinf1: it's a little too much for our tastes 🤢

➥ yn0: i look good in any color but i do happen to prefer green 💚

➥ user77: i think lando's on to smth w the orange tho 🤔

landonorris: that's my girlfriend !!!!

➥ yn0: NO I AM NOT ❌❌❌

➥ yn0: WE WERE ACTING IN THIS MUSIC VIDEO

➥ yn0: LANDO I WILL SUE YOU FOR DEFAMATION 🤬

➥ landonorris: i'll wait for you 😔

➥ mickschumacher: she's so uninterested in you mate 🙃

user78: he gets his first win and a yn ln music video i know he's on cloud nine 😭😭😭

➥ user79: lando how does it feel to be living my dream 😩

oscarpiastri: oh thank god maybe he'll stop talking about you nonstop now that he got a video 🙏🏻

➥ landonorris: bro delete this comment

➥ user80: i screenshotted it too late 🫡

user81: she doesn't condone cheating but makes a song promoting it anyways 😑

➥ user82: she doesn't condone cheating but messes with lando even though she knows he's taken by magui 😑

➥ user83: she doesn't condone cheating but makes a song about it because it sounds fucking fire 🫦👅🔥🔥🔥

alexalbon: great video too much lando for me 😪

➥ georgerussell: he really just ruined the vibe

➥ charlesleclerc: y'all just mad you haven't been in one of her videos yet 🙂‍↔️

➥ maxverstappen: i don't see how you can hate from outside of the club 🤷🏼‍♂️

➥ landonorris: you can't even get in 🫵🏻🤣

twitter • yn0

instagram • yn -> the day ones

instagram • yn0 • 2024 post-season

liked by maxverstappen, fernandoalonso, zhouguanyu24, kaliii and 12,779,436 others

yn0: hoes mad about my roster being INTERNATIONAL smh stay mad and watch the music video for "area codes" it features all the men (my FRIENDS ✨) you'll never have a chance with 😇😚🤗🤭🤤💚💚💚

tagged f1

view comments

user84: no xnda feature but she got lewis in the fucking video

user85: i just wannna know hwo the fuck she got checo to be in the video ���

user86: idc what the haters say: she just said y'all have no motion, no aura, no bitches and what are you gonna do about it 😳😳😱

user89: she got lando and mick in a photo together??? how they've been beefing in her comments for years 😧

➥ user90: can't believe im saying this but esteban did not deserve to be punished like that 😬

georgerussell: i am the one feeding her pasta and lobster btw

➥ yn0: you don't send me money tho :(

➥ georgerussell: you are an f1 driver too you don't need my money 🧐

charlesleclerc: can you leave some talent for the rest of us 😒

➥ yn0: bro u are mozart on your days off be serious

lilymhe: cause why are u never in town 😞

➥ alexalbon: cause she'll steal you from me 😭😫

➥ yn0: i'm pulling up rn lils 🫦

lewishamilton: you want a mercedes or a xnda feature?

➥ yn0: im tryna take the mercedes seat you left behind 👀

➥ user91: omfg toto sign herrrrrrrr ✍️

maxverstappen: anything for my favorite lady 🙇🏼🧎🏼‍♂️

➥ yn0: i gotta go they just lmk that i could pick up my mercedes 🏃🏾‍♀️💨

user92: lando in two photos? sus

➥ landonorris: you said it not me 🤫

➥ mickschumacher: bro you acted like her shadow the entire night don't let it go to your head 😠

fernandoalonso: very fun song!

➥ user93: you too old to be doin all that fernando :/

➥ user94: literally choked when i saw him in the video

logansargeant: hey you did manage to get me in "one of your little music videos" 🤭

➥ yn0: if only they knew that you agreed with a bribe of two zebra cakes

➥ user95: they couldn't fathom the delicacy that is a zebra cake 🤤

yn0: stop pretending to dislike my songs and realize that the boys are my homies. you'll be a lot happier when you come to terms with that 🥱

© httpsserene 2024

[pierregazly]

a diamond's gotta shine ꨄ lance stroll smau

lance stroll x fem!reader

pic credit: pinterest

i know lance is daddy's money through and through (and i love a nepo baby sorry), but he is so 'my love language is gift giving so i'm going to spoil my girlfriend with everything i can' boyfriend material so here's that basically

yourusername

liked by lance_stroll, chloestroll, estebanocon, and 467,891 others

yourusername he ALWAYS let me drive the truck... sorry taylor

view all 1,347 comments

lance_stroll it is not a truck and PLEASE stop eating in the aston martin

lance_stroll at least stop eating in it without me

chloestroll wouldn't want a matcha date with anyone else 💗

liked by yourusername and 462 others

username imagine just casually eating fruit in a literal aston martin??? i dont even eat fruit in my car in fear of everything getting sticky 😭

username i want her life so bad

lance_stroll

tagged yourusername

liked by yourusername, chloestroll, fernandoalo_oficial, and 1,206,708 others

lance_stroll spent the last 2 years with her shoes in my hands after nights out, hoping for a hundred more

view all 9,071 comments

yourusername i am SO obsessed with you

yourusername even after 2 years, gonna be obsessed with u forever lance_stroll wouldn't have it any other way

username the toaster and i have a hot date with the bathtub tonight

username the things i would do to have lance stroll hold my shoes in his million dollar hands after a night out :(

username i want someone to love me even half as much as lance loves y/n ugh

chloestroll i taught you well

yourusername

tagged lance_stroll

liked by lance_stroll, yourfriend, estebanocon, and 450,687 others

yourusername all i asked for was a picture, and he decided to give me 2 years of his life and his heart. i'll love you til my lungs give out.

view all 3,491 comments

username all she asked for was a PICTURE 😭 and he gave her his heart 😭 and she'll love him til her lungs give out 😭

username im literally throwing up, sobbing, screaming, dying at this caption

lance_stroll my heart has been yours since the day you blew my breath away

liked by 5,782 users

username i usually hate lovey-dovey couples but these two... girl they got me wanting to be adopted frfr

username im calling it... girlypop's gonna have a ring by year 3 for sure

lance_stroll

liked by yourusername, mickschumacher, chloestroll, and 203,456 others

lance_stroll yeehaw

view all 2,340 comments

username this is such a look... are we sure this man isn't from alberta

yourusername i will save all the horses if it means i get to ride this cowboy

username y/n.... estebanocon there are children on this app

username i was literally waiting for that y/n comment... these two are disgustingly unhinged

yourusername has added a story

liked by lance_stroll, chloestroll, and others

replies

lance_stroll why didn't you post the pic of both of us in the bath :(

yourusername i wasn't trying to traumatize your family my love lance_stroll u posted that you're going to 'ride this cowboy' but a pic of me in the bath is too much?

yourusername

tagged lance_stroll

liked by lance_stroll, scottyjames31, chloestroll, and 102,340 others

yourusername do you think i get to meet emily in paris or am i stuck with lance

view all 1,341 comments

lance_stroll i just bought you that croissant and coffee and this is what i get as thanks????

yourusername i am so obsessed w u im sorry my favourite cowboy 🥺

username this is so wholesome lance is so boyfriend coded im crying

username y/n is literally living her best life ever i want to be her so bad

scottyjames31 i just know all of these photos were taken at least 75 times

yourusername mind ur own business scotty

lance_stroll and yourusername

liked by chloestroll, estebanocon, mickschumacher and 2,304,550 others

lance_stroll watching you walk down the aisle will make me the luckiest man alive

view all 6,789 comments

estebanocon did you pay her to say yes?? congratulations you two 🥂

chloestroll even though i helped plan this entire thing i STILL cried on the phone. so happy for you both!!

username this man bought her like 5k worth of goodies and then put a RING that's probably worth my yearly salary on her finger??? god has chosen his favourite

yourusername im so lucky to be the one you've chosen to spend the rest of your life with. je t'aime 💗

taglist

@leclercdream @myescapefromthislife @leclerces

i didnt tag anyone that specifically requested in the replies to be tagged for 'to live for the hope of it all' and all its parts (mostly bc idk how taglists work and i dont wanna bother yall), so if you'd like to be on my taglist for everything please send me a quick ask/dm (or u can just reply and say you'd like to be tagged for everything)! thank you for all the love

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: when Maddie had mentioned to Wally her plan to follow Simon when he confronted you, Wally had supported her one hundred and ten percent. after all, he'd always been sure there was more to you than met the eye.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.3

Wally had had his suspicions about you since your sophomore year.

Not that he'd admitted it to anyone, not after forty years of disappointment when looks that had seemed deliberate had just been coincidence.

He'd been entering the assembly hall, alone, no one ahead of or behind him, as you were leaving. The presence of the freshman and sophomore gym instructors suggested some kind of group activity had just taken place, corroborated by the ruddiness of your cheeks and the damp ends of your hair.

You'd been fingering through the pile of loose papers you'd held, a look of deep concentration on your face, and had just been about to walk into through Wally when—

"S'cuse me."

You'd sidestepped him on your way out without looking up. It'd taken him so off-guard that he'd failed to react. By the time he'd thought to go after you, it'd been too late. You'd caught up to your friends and had turned the corner just as Mr. Martin had called out to him, gesturing Wally over to join the others for that afternoon's session.

The following day, he'd tracked you down; hovered over you during first period, slid into the unoccupied space at your lunch table, and even sat with you when you'd stayed behind after school to work in the library. He'd done everything he could think of to garner a reaction from you, from monologuing through your Math quiz—he'd felt guilty about your C- for a week afterward—to jumping out from the shadows when you weren't looking and yelling in your ear.

Nothing. No missteps or wide eyes or held breaths, n o t h i n g. Not even a twitch.

He would've let the whole thing go and never thought about you again had it not been for the rare—albeit could be serendipitous—responses you sometimes let slip.

Like the time he'd scooted his chair right into your space, knee pressed against yours under the table in the library. Wally had draped an arm along the back of your seat, his fingers tapping a rhythm on the plastic (Frida's I Know There's Something Going On, sped up to match the tempo of Wally's restlessness). You'd been hunched over Slaughterhouse-Five, Wally reading over your shoulder, when he'd noticed your hand.

Specifically, an angry-looking scar that crawled along the bone beneath your pinky, from knuckle to wrist. Too pale to be recent, but too visible to have happened in the distant past. He'd acted without thinking, traced the fingers of his free hand down the length of the scar, and muttered, "What happened to you, pretty girl?"

When he'd glanced at your face, you'd been staring at your hand, expression tight as if reliving the moment you'd incurred the wound.

It didn't have to mean anything, Wally could've chalked it up to right question, right time, except that you'd suddenly shoved your chair back, the angry scrape of metal against linoleum drawing the librarian's attention, and had gathered your things in a hurry.

You'd been upset. And though Wally couldn't be sure, he'd felt that it'd been his fault. You'd pivoted toward him, stopped, changed your mind halfway through the motion, and repositioned yourself to slip around your chair the other way. An action Wally had been too apologetic to count as a victory.

He'd stumbled after you, watched you seek out your friend—Xavier, Wally recalled—in the music room and ask for a lift home.

"No questions asked." You'd told Xavier, like some sort of code that, given how the other people around him reacted, only Xavier could decipher.

"Wait, I'm sorry, I won't bring it up again!" Wally had been so close to...to something. Maybe not a full admission or a conversation or a just-for-him smile, but something. Something real. He'd just wanted to experience someone who hadn't been encouraged to write their own obituary, fuck, had he really screwed up that bad?

You'd climbed into Xavier's truck and leaned your head against the window. Eyes, watery and filled with sorrow, fixed purposefully above Wally's head in what Wally had interpreted as a final plea to be left alone.

So, wrought with guilt and confusion and a splintered sense of loss, that had been the last time Wally had sought you out in pursuit of uncovering whatever magic you might've possessed...

...Until yesterday. He'd intercepted Maddie when she'd been marching toward the cafeteria, clearly on a mission as she'd bobbed and weaved through the lunch rush of students to keep up with her guy friend.

"What's going on?" Wally had asked, following Maddie's gaze as she'd surveyed guy-friend leaning over to talk to someone. When guy-friend had moved aside to let that someone stand, Wally had been pleasantly surprised to see it'd been you.

"Simon's going to talk to her." Maddie had explained, "I...overheard him telling Nicole."

Wally hadn't known who Nicole was. Regardless, "Cool. You think it's about how you died?"

"Yeah.    Sure." Maddie had moved to trail you and Simon, spun around at the last second to face Wally, and said, "I don't know yet. It could be nothing." She'd started to walk backward, waved stiffly, "I'll. See you later."

It'd been a clear dismissal, a silent request for privacy, which Wally had been happy to oblige. Mostly. He'd stepped outside after counting to ten Mississippi and found a spot near the bike racks, curious about what you'd do when Maddie appeared in the bus shelter Simon had hustled you into.

Truthfully, Wally had expected that it wouldn't be much, given how you'd failed to react to him in the past, and he'd been right. You'd listened to Simon, appeared suitably confused, and then—

No way.

You'd looked directly at him. Had paused in skimming the area to look at him. There hadn't been anyone close enough to Wally for it to have been another fluke.

"She can see me." He'd gasped, shoving his hands in his pockets, and, fuck it, Maddie hadn't outright asked Wally not to get too close; a loophole Wally had been willing to exploit in favor of finally getting the truth out of you. He'd strode to the bus shelter, witnessed your demeanor visibly stiffen when he'd peered through the glass.

You could see him.

In his excitement, Wally had missed how Maddie had curled into herself on the bench like a wilted flower, and how Simon hadn't pressed any buttons on his phone to accept a call; Wally had been too preoccupied, practically floating after you as you'd returned to the school.

"Do what you want," He'd said, "but I'm not going anywhere until you admit it." It'd been a promise to himself that he'd voiced out loud. Belatedly, the words had hit his ears and he'd almost stuttered an apology at how threatening it'd sounded.

Almost. Because you'd been struggling with your lock, cheeks pinking, pillowy lower lip caught between your teeth; flustered and frustrated and oh so pretty. He hadn't been able to help himself, hand moving of its own volition, metal to a magnet, and he'd skimmed his fingers up the gentle curve of your spine, from your lower back to between your shoulder blades.

Your breath had hitched, perfect and sweet, and when had he leaned in? Your mouth closening as you'd slowly turned your head toward him. Wally had lifted his other hand to rest against your throat, thumb smoothing the soft underside of your jaw, heart pounding, warmth coiling low in his belly, twisting, needing—

💥BANG💥

Wally had jolted out of whatever trance he'd fallen into and stepped back, regarding your interaction with your curvy goth friend in a daze. That'd been weird. Well, the weirdest thing in a sea of weird things that Wally had encountered since his debut in the metaphysical world. It'd been hypnotic, his actions guided by invisible strings, brain taking a backseat while instinct took the wheel.

He'd never felt that kind of pull toward anyone, alive or dead.

What the hell?

Answers had had to wait, Wally unable to think up a good enough excuse to skip Group. Until he knew exactly what was going on, he didn't want to shine a stage light on you. So, he'd attended, participated as much as he'd thought would keep Mr. Martin and the others from suspecting anything, and had had to refrain from bolting like a bat out of hell as soon as Mr. Martin had released them.

He'd had to find you, figure this out, touch you, kiss you, taste you—but you'd been smart and, according to your curvy goth friend, you'd bailed on your last class, "To pick up shit for her mom. Seriously, she needs to reinforce her boundaries before I do it for her."

If that's how you wanted to play this, Alright, baby, we'll do this your way, Wally thought the next morning, stretching the sleep from his limbs. Whatever had happened when he'd touched you yesterday had affected you both, of that Wally was sure.

And if you'd felt even a third of what he had, he knew it wouldn't be long before you two were drawn together once again.

💀___________________________

PART TWO - PART FOUR

also available on AO3!

MATERLIST

[murdrdocs]

ethan's world !

☼ fluff ☽ smut (16+) ☁︎ suggestive ⛈ dark content (17+) full masterlist

note: fem! and gn! labels are given based on the use of pronouns and anatomy; fem! fics use 'she/her' or labels such as 'girl' as well as explicit afab anatomy, GN! has no use of gendered pronouns or labels and anatomy is ambigious

ethan gives you a call as ghostface ⛈ ☁︎ fem!

ethan has a dark look in his eyes, but you like it that way ☁︎ GN!

ethan landry is your proclaimed enemy, but he's pretty hot GN!

nothing quite like having a boyfriend who'll murder for you ☁︎ GN!

you're ethan's dream girl ☁︎ fem!

ethan needs you to see just how good you look when you're being fucked ☽ fem!

you teach ethan how to kiss ☼ fem!

"no, no, no, you sweet, dumb thing" ☽ fem!

ethan loves being your boyfriend, of course he has to brag GN!

ethan's clingy, you love it ☼ GN!

you and ethan get in an argument, sex is the best apology ☽ GN!

ethan's your pookie wookie ☼ GN! blk coded

as ghostface, ethan has a massive confidence boost ⛈ ☽ GN!

someone hurts you, so ethan hurts them ⛈ GN!

your bestfriend, ethan, confesses his feelings ☼ GN!

being a meeks-martin and dating ethan ☼ GN!

ethan's a pussy whipped perv ☁︎ fem!

mean!ethan likes edging you ☽ fem!

ethan's a munch ☽ fem!

you take ethan's virginity, satisfied to hear his whimpers ☽ GN!

ethan cries during sex, you love it ☽ GN!

mean!ethan has a corruption kink ⛈ ☽ fem!

ethan hates you so much that he loves you ⛈ GN!

ethan gives into your teasing sexts ☽ GN!

you and ethan are both subs, that'll work ☽ GN!

ethan eats you out while you game for him ☽ fem!

you teach ethan how to finger you ☽ fem!

ethan cums in your underwear before class ☽ fem!

your student, ethan, is a bit of a creep ☽⛈ fem!

you're tired, mindy accuses you of being gf, ethan denies ☼ GN!

you're kinkier than ethan expects, he is too dense to notice ☁︎

about ethan's porn twitter account ☁︎

about rafe cameron and ethan tag teaming you ☁︎ GN!

"my lipstick's smudged" with ethan ☼ GN!

ethan helps you, and watches bluey, during your period GN!

you tell ethan about your CNC kink ☁︎ ⛈ GN!

ethan's obsessed with your tits ☁︎ GN!

NSFW! alphabet w/ ethan ☁︎⛈ fem!

you have to take care of a "baby" with ethan GN!

you catch ethan jerking off with your panties ☽ GN!

ethan helps you fall asleep w/ oral ☽ fem!

before ethan can be gf with you, he has to lose his virginity ☽ fem!

protective softdom!ethan and bimbo!reader ☼ fem!

bimbo!reader finds ethan's gf mask ☁︎ ethan tutoring bimbo!reader

ethan's taller than you and likes to remind you constantly ☼ GN!

ethan can't keep his hands off of you in public ☽ fem!

ethan thinks you're so pretty when you're overstimulated ☽ fem!

professor landry has a thing for one of his students ☁︎ GN!

ethan is superrrr clingy GN!

more about clingy ethan ☼ even more abt clingy ethan ☼

st post demogorgan scene but with ethan fem! ☼

going against rules, you and camp counselor!ethan fuck ☽

headcannons for camp counselor!ethan ☁︎

ethan is so boyfriend you take to prom GN! ☼

studying with ethan ... but not much studying GN!

ethan helps you with panic attacks GN! ☼

ethan in different romcoms GN! ☼

weirdly enough, your boyfriend says he'll kill for you ? GN! ⛈

ethan makes you clean his knife GN! ⛈

perv!ethan fem!⛈

ethan relates to 'she' by tyler, the creator fem! ⛈

dating quinn but her brother has a thing for you fem! ☁︎

ethan mocks your moans when you're overstimulated fem! ☽

teasing ethan for the hell of it GN! ☁︎

mean!ethan gives head for his own pleasure fem! ☽

being the youngest meeks-martin and fooling around with ethan GN! ☼

being ghostface, and crazy, with ethan GN! ☁︎ ⛈

'kill bill' from your pov towards ethan GN! ☁︎ ⛈

ethan is too shy to ask for sex GN! ☁︎

ethan walks you home fem! ☽

about ethan's attitude GN! ☽

stepbro!ethan masterlist ⛈

[preciouslandmermaid]

🕸🕷 my heart is a hornet's nest 🕸🕷

Pairing: Insomniac Peter Parker/Spider-Man x Fem!Reader (code name: “Huntress” + she is Kraven’s daughter)

Rating: T

Summary:  It's been thirteen months since Kraven was killed by Venom. Despite everything, you're still in the city and helping a nerd - named Peter - in his garage try and save the world. It's hard to ascertain where your old life as a hunter ends and your new life begins. Somedays you can't even tell if you're moving forward or not. But, the pull you feel towards Peter is magnetic. And it's bound to end in catastrophe if you pursue him.

Even as part-time Spider-Man, Peter knows his relationships with others puts them at risk. He doesn’t want to throw you back into the carnage, into the fray, to the wolves you claim to be so comfortable around. He can't risk it. He can't risk you. And the long nights in his garage are really, really starting to wear at him.

Prompt: "Are you afraid of me?" / "Do I look afraid?"

tags: enemies to Lovers/enemies to friends to lovers, no use of y/n, secret identity, unresolved romantic tension, first kiss, light angst, slow burn, mutual pining !!

🕷🕷 ( read on ao3 ) 🕷🕷

Kraven snaps your name like a whip.

“You’ll oversee this one, huntress.” he says without looking away from the screen.

A mixture of pride and trepidation curdles beneath your skin. Kraven is trusting you, but he trusts plenty of his hunters. You lick your lips. The transfer of Martin Li. You promise Kraven that you’ll put the team together and leave before the hour.

No one questions Kraven’s decision. You don’t get special treatment purely because you’re his blood. In fact, if you look closely (which you won’t), you’d say that Kraven treats you worse than his other hunters. He expects—he demands – more of you.

There will be a target on your back when Kraven completes his hunt and finds a worthy enough predator to kill him. But that’s nothing new. You’ve had a target on your back since you were young enough to understand the way of the world; predator and prey, hunter and hunted, kill or be killed.

You lift your arm-- THUNK!—the throwing knife hits its bullseye.

“Huntress,” a hunter named Erik approached you, “you want five VTOLs?”

THUNK! This one is a little off-center and you blame Erik for distracting you. You exhale, balancing your weight, and lining up your shot. Erik is bold. Kraven named you the leader of Li’s abduction. He shouldn’t be asking questions. Your eyes narrow.

You pivot on your heel, fast as a viper’s strike, and flashing silver spins through the air. It’s beautiful.

Erik makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat.

Your throwing knife wobbles from where its pinned Erik’s hood to the wall. His eyes flick to the blade. He’s lucky you didn’t miss. Otherwise the blade would’ve sank into his throat or he would lack an ear for the mission ahead.

“That’s what I said,” you yank the knife from the wood, freeing him, “wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Erik says, voice tight and clipped, and his eyes darken. You know he is loyal to Kraven, not you. If he managed to kill you – Kraven would be disappointed, but he wouldn’t mourn you. Nature is cruel and so is your father. You sheath your throwing knives while keeping one eye on the hunter.

Erik hasn’t left which means he could be planning his next move. You tense and wait for the inevitable blow. Come on, you think, try it. You’d be happy to fight off your frazzled, nervous energy. You should probably conserve your strength in case things with Martin Li go bad.

Erik nods, “huntress,” and leaves.

You roll your shoulders and return to the weapons cache. I’ll bring Martin Li to Kraven and he’ll have his wonderful fight. He’ll achieve his dream.

Nothing will go wrong. Nothing could. You’ve been planning this for months.

******

Peter wobbles to his feet, his head ringing. Whoever these guys are—they’re serious. The tech they’re using is insane. Invisible drones. Laser swords. What’s next? A few giant mecha-robots intent on crushing Harlem? He shouldn’t think about it – he doesn’t want to jinx it.

He stares into the face of the capable, dangerous stranger with smoke burning his nostrils and scalding his throat.

Dark soot clings to your clothes, your expression venomous and focused, furrowed and tight. The light frames you, bouncing off the east river in sparks, and refracting over the small throwing knives clutched between your knuckles. She’s fast, like really fast. Fast enough that he’s concerned you have a spider-sense of your own. Who the hell are these guys? Miles kicks a drone in mid-air and metal-on-metal crunches together like a compacted soda can.

Peter jumps before the blade can slice through him. It whistles through the air, hits and – literally bounces! -- off a metal pole. His lenses widen. He twists his body. His nerves ignite with impending danger, but he’s in the already dodging the first blade.

He’s Spider-Man.

He can’t stop physics.

Your second blade cuts through the air and burns when it cuts his shoulder. He lands on his feet, a sharp inhale drawn through his teeth, and resists the urge to check the injury. She can’t have that many knives on her!

Your lips quirk, “are you afraid of me?”

“Do I look afraid?”

“Hard to say,” you make a gesture around your face, “with the mask and all.”

“Where’s yours?” he propels through the air with his webs slung behind him, “I thought--” you deflect his punch, “most bad guys—” you stumble backward when he kicks your chest, but recover quickly, “want to keep their identities a secret.”

“I have no shame in who I am,” your leg swings over his head.

“So uhhh...who are you?” he quips. His palms land flat on the cold, metal surface and his spine curves, his body moving like a question mark, and avoiding the onslaught of your assault.

“Serious question!” he says a little louder this time while your silver knife dances through the light as it carves his webs into flimsy pieces.

A burst of green flares flash against the gray smoke. His heart flips. The raft jolts to the side. They’re going to drag the ship underwater! The heavy-duty spears punch through the metal as if it was made of tissue paper.

“We gotta get this ship free!”

Peter spares a final glance over his shoulder and you leap from the other side. Are you landing on another boat? A life raft? Are you going to swim away? He has no clue. He can’t spare any further brain cells on it though. He slides down the tilted raft toward the giant spears that function like fish-hooks into the industrial, military transport raft.

***

It’s been approximately thirteen months since Kraven met his end.

You’ve found that keeping count provides some strange, twisted comfort. You wake up, check your calendar, and strike another tally mark into the wall. It feels good to carve the line into the sheet-rock, little flecks of white catching on your thumb and falling like cremated remains onto the hardwood floor and clinging to your socks.

Sometimes you run into old hunters, vying for territory, and hoping to claim some scraps that Kraven left behind. Many, however, fled to Kraven’s homeland to play out the tragedy of a power vacuum and continue Kraven’s legacy.

None of them have impressed you. Not the ones that have sought you out, hoping to kill Kraven’s kin, and earn glory. And definitely not the ones who you’ve run into accidentally. Those are the worst. They’re cowards. They’re mice. You stumble upon them, trying to eat the crumbs off Kraven’s table, and your retribution is swift and bloody and a pain in the ass to clean up.

You wonder what Peter Parker would say if he knew. You pull your sweater over your head. Peter, the nerd running a research foundation out of his garage, happens to be your only...well, friend is the wrong word...but he’s your only something in this city.

You aren’t supposed to have ‘somethings’. Attachments, as Kraven would call them. Attachments made you weak. You thought it was hypocritical for your father preach this advice when he had a wife and multiple children. Not anymore though, you finish lacing up your boots, everyone’s dead now except for me.

The cassette clicks with a satisfying ‘CLUNK’ into the player and you slide your headphones over your ears. The player was a gift from Peter. No. Gift is the wrong word. It’s on a loan.

“What’s this?” You cradled the cassette player, “it looks ancient.” You twisted the sharp-grooved circles. They remind you of strange teeth. You click the play and pause button. It’s clunky. It’s right-angles and lackluster chrome and the buttons make noise.

It’s the antithesis of the technology you grew up with around Kraven.

You love it.

Peter rolls his chair over to you, “it’s not ancient. Maybe vintage. God, do we call it vintage?” he sounds so baffled that you almost smile, “you know, record players and vinyl are making a big comeback so it’s only a matter of time before Walkman do too.”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond, “do you want it?”

“Huh?”

“I’m not using it obviously.” He smiles, “I think I have a few cassettes lying around and there’s no shortage of music shops in Brooklyn.”

Your fingers tighten around the device. The wild part of you, the part that Kraven nurtured through violence and toxic loyalty, wants to throw the device on the ground. See how sturdy it is and compare it to the tactical, military-grade equipment you grew up with. How many pieces will it break into? A dozen?

You gaze into Peter’s earnest face. His eyes are warm, light mahogany. There are soft lines that kiss the corners of his eyes. You think when he is old, he will have many wrinkles around his eyes, and it takes a second longer than normal for your lungs to refill.

“I’ll borrow it,” you say, unable to accept his random kindness, “and return it before our work is done.”

“Great!” Peter coughs, rubbing the back of his neck, “I mean, that sounds good.”

The cassette clicks, whirring warm in your palm, and switching the song. The subway rushes past in a gust of tepid, moist air that smells both stale and greasy. You scan the crowd. The citizens range from individuals wearing jean jackets with sewn patches, to baggy street wear, to plastic bags on shoes, to gym athletics and smart watches.

Someone gets on the train wearing a camouflage parka. Your spine stiffens. Your fingers twitch to the weapons hidden inside your coat. Do I know your face? You shift your body and peer at the subway windows, allowing the ghostly transparent reflection to reveal the stranger’s face.

As you wait for the right angle, the right lighting, you consider your options. Tail them out of the train—could be a trap, but their numbers are never that high. Get close, press the blade to the artery in their thigh, let them see your face before you sink the blade in and leave on the next stop. The timing would be tricky, but not impossible. Not for you. Bail on Pete and spend the next several days tracking the stranger until you’ve found and confirmed their hideout. An ambush. Quick and silent.

The stranger coughs into their sleeve and your fingers fall away from your knife.

You’re glad Pete isn’t here. You’ve never traveled together and you likely never will. It’s safer that way. It keeps him out of your personal life.

“That’s the problem with attachments,” you mumble to yourself, “you start wondering what they might say if they knew you.”

*****

Pete rubs his eyes with his fists, “do you hear birds or is that just in my head?”

You don’t lift your head from the microscope, “it’s birds.”

He yawns. There have been plenty of late nights in his garage shared with you, but this one feels different.

Maybe it’s because of the mercurial light flickering along the planes of your face.

Maybe it’s the notes by your hands, the edges of your fingers smeared black from ink.

Maybe it’s the unplugged headphone wire dangling from your throat and brushing ever-so-often against your exposed collarbones.

Shit. He blinks, looking away. He can’t get mixed up. He’s grateful to you. You donated the notes first, but then pieces of Kraven’s equipment, and then...you came around more and more. You wanted to see what he was doing, wanted to see his progress, or ‘see how helpful your notes are.’ He likes it. He likes having you around.

But, even as part-time Spider-Man, Peter knows his relationships with others puts them at risk. He doesn’t want to risk you too. And it’s not because you can’t fight. To him, you’re finding your place outside of Kraven’s shadow and he doesn’t want to mess that up. He doesn’t want to throw you back into the carnage, into the fray, to the wolves you claim to be so comfortable around.

The sequences before him blur into gibberish. He peeks up through his hair back to you.

Your name is the first word out of his mouth, followed shortly by “you’re bleeding!”

“I tried to catch the sample,” your voice is laced with frustration, “I can’t believe I dropped it.”

“It’s fine,” he opens the first-aid kit that’s stowed beneath the desk, “let me see.”

***

You blink at Peter. Earnest, helpful, kind Peter. You cradle your hand to your chest. It stings, but you’ve faced hornets stronger than this. The tiny shards of glass bounce colorful reflections from the holiday lights strung around Peter’s garage. The wild voice tells you to dig the shards out with your nails.

The blood is starting to stain the hem of your sweater.

Peter doesn’t blink. He doesn’t flinch away. His offered hand holding the gauze doesn’t shake.

You swallow. Why isn’t he shying away from the woman made of shrapnel? Doesn’t he know you’re lethal?

“What?” his eyebrows lift, “are you afraid of me? Or is it medical care in general?” soft humor folds into his brown eyes, “I promise my co-pays are reasonable.”

His words shatter the stiffness of your muscles.

You say, “do I look afraid?” you extend your bloody hand to him.

His fingers curl lightly and gently around your wrist. He flushes the wounds with water before plucking the glass out with a pair of tweezers. His brow furrows in concentration. Your neck prickles and a tingling sensation travels down your spine.

You’ve seen his furrowed brow a hundred times. However, you’ve never experienced it as the subject. Peter holds an antiseptic wipe between his long fingers. His touch is unbearably gentle and you wish you had something to compare it to.

“This might hurt a bit,” the soft, low rumble of his voice is strangely intimate.

The words fall out of your mouth, “I’m used to it.”

“Are we going to unpack that?” He slides the wipe across your angry, throbbing skin.

“No,” your lips twitch, “unless you have a psychology degree I’m unaware of.”

You’re fascinated by the way his fingers move along yours, light and precise, carefully wiping away the blood and wrapping your hand in gauze.

He says, “maybe it’s time for a career change.”

You smile. “What career?”

Peter chuckles, “okay, I walked into that one.”

His eyes lift to yours and his jaw slackens, like he’s finally caught the creature stalking him in the woods, and his fingers twitch on your wrist. The charged moment hangs undisturbed in the air, sending signals through the ether and rearranging the flow of blood in your veins.

His cheeks flush rosy and sweet. The pink hue reminds you of that pivotal morning a few months ago when Spider-Man gave you a sunrise and Pete’s number and a hope for a different future. Your fingers curl into his. And the carefully wrapped gauze prevents you from feeling the warmth of his palm. The wild voice tells you to rip the bandages off and run home. Your knees bump into his.

There’s always so little distance between you.

It’s a small garage, after all.

You tilt forward and hear Pete’s sharp inhale. There isn’t a moment of hesitation. Not for you. You know when to strike, when to move, and when to hide. It’s been drilled into you since birth. Hesitation is a lack of courage, in confidence, and you’ve never lacked either of those.

Peter’s mouth collides with yours.

Your ever-present and paranoid guard slips and you close your eyes to savor it—savor him.

The pliant softness of his lips melds into yours and your exhale shudders between your lips. His hand slides from your throat and holds your cheek, his thumb pressed into your cheekbone, and your hip bumps into the side of his workbench when you stand.

Peter remains on the stool, his neck arched, and his lithe legs part for you to enter the space between them. The thrill illuminates your chest like a red flare against a black sky. His lips play against yours, eager and a little clumsy, and you clutch the front of his wrinkled cotton shirt.

He mumbles your name.

“Shh,” you nose skims along his, recapturing his lips, because you think words might ruin it. The hanging lights flash their merry little dance. There’s fragments of glass under your boots. Ink stains your fingers, blood stains your sweater, and Peter’s tongue stains your lips.

You’ve experienced blood lust. You’ve felt it pounding through your ears and sharpening your focus into razor-thin virulence. You’re familiar with the excitement of a good hunt, a worthy opponent, a well-matched fight. Spider-Man, you think, I’ve felt this with him. But those were mixed with violence, and blood, and bruises.

This – this moment with Peter – is wholly different. Your heart pumps the same blood, pushing it through arteries and valves, but your hands move to caress, to clutch, and stroke through the fine strands of his hair. Your lungs tremble, not in pain, but in elation. The passion rolls through you in waves of syrup and brushes your skin like branches of fir.

Peter’s phone buzzes – loud and incessant – and he groans before tearing his mouth from yours. His cheeks are ruddy, eyes bright, and his chest heaves with hungry gulps of air. You’re glad to know you aren’t the only one affected by the strong pull of – whatever this is – between you.

“Sorry, I’ve gotta--” he lifts the phone from the table, “hello?”

You watch Peter’s face while he talks on the phone. He’s too expressive. He’d make a terrible hunter. And probably a bad poker player, too. You want to kiss him again just for the hell of it. And feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your palms, feel his breath mingling with yours, his tongue and the blunt force of his teeth.

“I have to go out, um, do you want to come with?” he tilts his chin toward the garage door, “we could – uh – get something to eat along the way?”

You hands twitch at your sides. Your coat, draped on the desk chair, is laden with hidden pockets for knives and darts and small vials of poison. An arsenal for protection, an arsenal for vengeance, the truth of your soul. A soul that Peter cannot – should not – bear witness to.

“Can’t.”

His expression deflates, but he recovers with an easy-going smile.

He shakes his head, “that’s cool,” and says, “another time then.”

You make a noncommittal sound.

***

You finish setting up the tripwire at your apartment door and wipe your palms on your sweatpants. The windowpanes glisten with raindrops, painting the empty corners dark blue, and blurring the myriad of ever-changing traffic lights.

You scratch beneath your ear, upsetting your headphones, and flop onto the couch. The cassette whirs like a little hamster running through its wheel as the song fills your head and blocks out the honking below. You’ve grown to like the city of noise, the city that never sleeps. It’s a concrete jungle. A unique hunting ground.

Tap, tap, tap --

You jerk upright and your head whirls to the noise. Spider-Man perches on the ledge of your window, his red and blue suit shiny and dripping. You cautiously close the distance and begin to disarm the trap before unlatching it. It creaks noisily as it slides open and old paint chips cling to the windowsill.

The cool wet air is tinged with the scent of exhaust fumes.

“Weird time to visit,” you say.

“I was in the neighborhood.” He slips through the window like a salmon and lands soundlessly on the hardwood floor.

You’re going to have to move. You don’t want Spider-Man keeping tabs on you.

“But this isn’t a social call,” he continues, “I need your help with something.”

You lift one eyebrow, “I’m not a mercenary,” then you add, “and even if I was, I doubt you could afford me.”

Spider-Man laughs. “It’s nothing like that!”

You fold your arms across your chest. Spider-Man gives you the vague details of a criminal that he’s had trouble tracking down, could use your expertise, and fighting skills, and so and so forth. It’s a good pitch, you’ll give him partial credit for effort, but you’re not interested in becoming a vigilante – or a hero.

“So, what do you say? We’ve teamed up before.”

Against the symbiote. But, your motivations were selfish. You weren’t helping Spider-Man or trying to save the city. You were weakening Venom.

“No thanks.”

“What?” His lenses widen, “seriously? After my whole speech and everything?”

“Try a power point next time.” You shrug, “I’m retired. No more fighting for me.”

Spider-Man glances around your apartment and there’s evidence of your hypocrisy across every surface. A case of black, tactical arrowheads sits on your coffee table. There’s several target posters hanging on the wall across from your couch with pockmarks embedded into the paper. There’s unfinished gadgets and an open toolbox on the floor near the kitchen where you like to eat breakfast and tinker.

“You’re a bad liar,” there’s a smile in his voice, “just this once, huntress, that’s all. For old times sake.”

You muster the energy to glare at him, but it lacks true heat. “You mean the old times when I was actively trying to kill you?”

Spider-Man shrugs languidly, “we all have bad days.”

That wildness, the hunter that lives inside you, under your skin and in the marrow of your bones is grinding its teeth and trashing into your ribs. It’s hard to determine where you begin and the hunter ends or if they’re destined to forever be intertwined.

You’re a wildcat, unable to be truly domesticated and all your attempts have been in vain.

But, then you remember the warmth of Peter’s lips, his gentle hands, and genuine laughter. You tell yourself, there is room for softness inside of me, for even tigers can purr.

You tell Spider-Man to wait while you get dressed.

“One time,” you hold up a finger, “that’s it.”

“One time.” he agrees with a nod.

Together, you rush into the monotone rain-soaked evening for your first hunt since Kraven’s death.

[kisha-myers]

This fanfic is a fem-reader. Sorry for the confusion and not specifying I'm a noob when it comes to this 🥲

If you want to be apart of the tag list, PLEASE let me know via a DM or by commenting below!

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CALL OF DUTY NOR ITS CHARACTERS/OPERATORS

TW: Abuse, alcoholism, depictions of DV, and Kidnapping- they're vague and brief for the most part but if you're someone who struggles with that kind of thing then PLEASE do not read.

Chapter Four: Johnny Johnny - Yes Lieutenant?

You weren't entirely sure how long it had taken to get onto base, you were too lost in your thoughts to really be concerned about it. Your mind was a cacophony of erratic thoughts, a haphazardly blended mess of the harsh reality you currently resided in. You were so out of it you didn't even question how they got you onto base without your identification card. In this moment you were trying to fight within yourself, to keep yourself calm no matter how viciously your heart thundered in your chest. That little voice in the back of your mind that some likened to a conscious took no time in listing all the horrendous possibilities that could be in store for you. You'd seen the news articles about women being murdered by unhinged military men - you weren't unaware for the most part of what others were capable of.

Perhaps your anxiousness had started in your early years, from the persistent drilling into your head by your own father about staying vigilant and prepared. He had certainly done his best to paint gruesome pictures into your skull of the very many things men, in particular, were able to do to someone of your stature. It only got worse as you got older and went through puberty.

In the back of your ambiguous memory vault you recalled the first time a boy had ever come to your door to ask you to one of your schools dances. Roy Martin, a boy you had spent countless hours with in the library studying together during free period - you liked him enough that you were willing to accept his request, excited even, until your father showed up from work. You still remember the way his eyes narrowed in suspicion, his military training to read a person's body language kicking into overdrive as he scanned Roy from head to toe. You'd be lying to yourself if you said he wasn't scared - Roy had practically pissed himself at the barrage of question your father fired off at him.

'When is the dance? How long does it last? Will it be adequately lit? Are there chaperones? What's the dress code? What are your intentions with my daughter?' You found it embarrassing at the time, having your ex-military father bombard your classmate like that over something you'd found so simple, benign even. Your father of course, thought otherwise. He'd sat you down at the dinner table, the polished oak covered in printouts of victims of domestic violence, assaults, even kidnappings. The pictures you recalled, unsettled you so much you ended up throwing up. Hours he had you spend at the table, examine each picture with a fine tooth comb as he detailed what had happened.

'Men are pigs sweetheart. They'll use and abuse you until you have nothing left to give them. It's why I've decided to put you in martial arts. No more tennis - starting tomorrow you'll be spending a your time at the dojo learning to protect yourself.' That revelation had made you so angry you launched yourself from the table so hard and fast your chair toppled over, the hard Crack of the wood against the laminate floor echoing through the room.

'What!?' You cried out, utter disbelief evident in both your tone and twisted facial features. You shook your head fervently, refusing to believe that he could do this to you - tennis had been your coping method for quite some time now, and to think he'd be so cruel as to rip that from your grasp over a boy... well it was enough to send you over the deep end. That was the first time you had ever spat the words 'I hate you' to him, effectively silence any and all responses he had ready to give you. The hurt that had crashed through his eyes had your heart shattering into multiple pieces, but you were too angry at the time to really care. That was also the same night you learned that your father was a raging alcoholic, suffering from ptsd that the VA refused to help him get treatment for.

The yelling, you recollected, had been terrifying. Your mother had come home later that evening, tired from her twelve hour shift at the local hospital, to find your father passed out in a pool of his own vomit in the kitchen. A bottle of Hennessey Whiskey still grasped in his hand. The argument ensued once she had shaken him awake, berating him for being so careless; What would you have done had you discovered him in that state? Worse yet, what would your little sisters have done? Needless to say that that night you didn't get much sleep - you were far too wound up from such intense emotions you couldn't process thoroughly yet on your own to calm your mind long enough to relax.

Your mind continued to spiral, bringing up memories you'd long since forgotten - funny what the mind was capable of doing to your own psyche. Your fingertips returned to their caressing of the fabric seats as the humvee crawled to a stop, using your sense of touch as a way to distract yourself from your always wandering mind. The fabric, you decided, was almost the equivalent in texture to the fur of a raccoon. Not too soft but not too rough - a strangely functional texture that both made you relax and feel uncomfortable. A conundrum, you mused, as you let the pads of your finger tips migrate lower. The feel of chilled though smooth pleather both confused and intrigued you, sparking your curiosity - you weren't sure why though, it was common for vehicles to have both per seat.

Perhaps it was because you had assumed consistency with the fabrication of the vehicle in which the manufacturers would simply have the fabric continuous to its base. It had made sense to you in the moment, however now that you let your mind drift down this path, you surmised it would be better to have a material much easier to clean should the need ever arise. You could imagine the gruesome things this particular piece of heavy machinery had seen, but you refused to dwell on it lest your mind conjure up nameless faces of lives lost whilst inside its steel framed interior.

You inner turmoil was cut short, graciously so as the humvee finally came to a full stop. Painful LED lights illuminated the helipad you'd arrived at - why they had stopped here you'd never know, nor did you particularly want to. You simply wanted rest - at least you'd hope that your mind would calm enough to allow you some moments of solace. You predicted that it wouldn't be so, but the hope remained regardless. König glanced back at you as Ghost clambered steadily from the vehicle, slamming the door with enough force it rocked slightly. He released an noise from the back of his throat that you assumed was done from being unamused by such an calloused act of masculinity. Whether intentional or not, it left you wondering just how strong the man was to be able to make such a large and seemingly immovable object such as this move like that.

You pushed those thoughts aside for now, opting to put a pin in it and return to the subject when you had at least a few hours of sleep under your metaphorical belt. Your eyes peaked up through your lashes at König, watching as he scanned the area seemingly leisurely. You figured this was the way they operated out in the field too - one of them being in the fray of things whilst the other remained out of the way, a lookout of sorts - perhaps a sniper considering he wore the hood of one. You could picture him as one, holding the rifle in his rather impressively large and languid hands, perched high up in a tower or even a hill, shrouded in foliage.

You weren't privy to know the details of what Johnny did as a member of his task force, all you knew was that the team itself was incredibly important and many foreign governments relied on them. Johnny was a naturally bubbly person though he had a way of being serious that sent a shiver of unease down your spine. You'd seen him flip that switch several times, and each time it was scarier than the last. That was the way of a soldier, you concluded, being able to flip that switch to turn off needless emotions. It wouldn't make much sense to have a bubbly killing machine frolicking through the daisies on his way to annihilate the enemy.

You suppressed a giggle from the image you'd conjured up of Johnny clad in his tactical gear skipping merrily through a meadow of wild flowers, laughing his obnoxiously loud laugh gunning town hostiles. You pressed your lips together, nibbling on them with your teeth slightly, wanting to keep the smile from your face - how were you to be cross with the very man you were just daydreaming about platonically when you couldn't keep a straight face?

A hand on your thigh brought you out of your humorous daze, your eyes narrowing in slight offense at the gloved skeletal hand touching bar skin. Slowly you moved your gaze to meet Ghost's hazel ones, raising a brow slightly in question - you had been so far out of it you hadn't even heard your door being opened nor the way he had cleared his throat twice.

"Captain wants a word with you before Johnny takes you to the barracks. Won't be long, he's straightforward enough to get his point across." You simply gave him a curt nod in response, carefully wrapping your fingers around his impressively thick wrist, and removing his hand from your thigh. The fabric of his gloves, you noted, was softer than you'd assumed - the material reminding you subtly of fleece or maybe it was velvet? You wondered, for a moment, if there was a specific purpose for this - was it easier to clean? Did he have poor circulation? Did his hands get easily cold? You didn't know, and you weren't brave enough to ask him outright. Perhaps you could pester Johnny about it later - if he didn't have to be apart of this meeting though you naturally assumed he would be.

Ghost carefully stepped back, removing his wrist from your grasp far gentler than you could have ever imagined the brute could manage. He rested his left forearm amongst the top edge of edge of door, his right gloved hand being shoved into his pocket as he nodded his head to the right - you took this as an indication he wanted you to exit and go off towards on of the brightly lit pop up buildings just left of the massive landing pad.

You climbed out of the vehicle far less graceful that he did, stumbling slightly once your bare feet made contact with the rough asphalt. A chill ran up your body, feet immediately going cold from the frigid touch of wind that blew against your bared skin. You hadn't realized your slippers had slip off your feet whilst you were in the throws of a minor anxiety attack,, something you were sure you'd be irritated over later when you were alone in the barracks. A shiver left your body trembling for a moment, goosebumps rousing across your flesh like domino's being tipped over. You were definitely berating yourself for not dressing warmer though you knew it wasn't exactly fair to do so - how were you to know that your complex would suddenly burst into flames due to an imbecile? Ah well, there wasn't anything you could do about it now - you were already here in the now, you might as well make the most of it.

Quickly your feet carried you to the building Ghost had indicated to you from behind, calling out what number in particular would be on the building and subsequently, which office to go to. You were familiar with this section however, Johnny had taken you here during his half-assed tour of base to meet his Captain - it had amused you at the time, now? Not so much. You hadn't the foggiest idea as to why Captain Price would want to speak with you - hopefully you weren't unintentionally in trouble, you couldn't handle a scolding from a man you equated to a father figure even though you weren't one of his subordinates.

Your bare feet slapped against the foux marble floor, your eyes downcast like a petulant child preparing for the worst scolding of their lives. Your face remained somber, though your teeth worried your bottom lip every so often. The closer you got to his office, the more your stomach wishes to reject its contents in its entirety. Yes, you decided, you would definitely start taking your medication the moment you got to return to your apartment.

Ghost watched her walk away, his eyes lingering slightly on the way her hips swayed - he liked it, more than he'd care to ever admit out loud. He closed the door to the humvee, shoving both hands into his pockets as he did a 180 turn, leaning his back against the very door he had just closed. König climbed out of the vehicle, going over to Ghost and mimicking his stance though opting to cross his arms across his chest.

"She's anxious - about what your Captain wants to speak with her about." He observed, his glacial eyes returning to the very door you had just disappeared through. Ghost merely grunted in agreement, his eyes scanning through every face hunting for the obnoxious sergeant he so badly wanted to strangle. He may be crass and curt, incredibly blunt and hostile most of the time, but even he knew to never stand a woman up. He wasn't a ladies man - he didn't do callouse one night stands often, nor did he exactly date - König and his relationship being the exception to all of his rules due to him being an active member of KorTac and understanding what this line of work consisted of.

Johnny on the other hand was the absolute definition of a man whore. If it walked, talked and showed an interest in him, he bedded it -truly it shocked him on how (at least he assumed) that Johnny hadn't slept with you. You were a stunning creation, a skittish little masterpiece of the best kind - the Mona Lisa to his Leonardo da Vinci. The more he contemplated reasons as to why Johnny wouldn't have wanted to bed you, the more confused and, albeit annoyed he got. His silent brooding was interrupted by a fist bumping into his shoulder, an indignant grunt passing from between his lips as he glanced up.

There Johnny was, in all his detestable glory, sending a wink off to a curvy brunette with disheveled hair. Of course he had been getting his rocks off - it'd fully explain why he was late to meeting them here.

"Lt, König, where's the lass gone? Scared her off, eh?" His Scottish brogue breaking through the tense silence, his happy-go-lucky unbothered tone sending both masked men into a boiling fury.

"You and I need to have a word, Johnny, about how a gentleman treats a lady." Ghost replied, his voice dropping a full octave and sending a wave of dread through the Scot. He simply nodded, effectively gulping before following along behind his superior, shooting a 'save me please' look towards König who simple gave back a wave.

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish, was certainly about to learn a valuable lesson, one Ghost and König both knew he'd never forget.

Tag List

@lianyanhongcheng

@kdkj122920

@grizzersmamma

@treehuggingzealot

[stitched-mouth-vs-the-world]

Stranger Things Masterlist

Notes: Anyone you don’t see here, I don’t write for. I don’t write for the kids, sorry.

Codes

🦋 = Headcannons

💄 = Fem Reader

☘️ = GN Reader

🌷 = Fic

🖤 = Angst

🏳️‍🌈 = Gay

✨= Fluff

🌚 = NSFW

—-///—-

Eddie Munson

To Be Continued…

Steve Harrington

To Be Continued…

Joyce Byers

To Be Continued…

Karen Wheeler

To Be Continued…

008 / Kali

To Be Continued…

Dr Martin Brenner

Papa’s Pet 🌚💄🌷

001 / Henry Creel / Peter Ballard / Vecna

To Be Continued…

[70svampyr]

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄-𝐎-𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊

this is just a little short story i wrote about a favorite vampire guy of mine :) this was originally supposed to follow more of novel martin's character, but....it didn't really go as planned. this is like 4k+ words so fair warning.

WARNINGS! coded perverted old man to young woman (very brief), creep martin, fem! reader (originally supposed to be gender neutral but then it steered to fem, so sorry about that!), lots of use of staring at the back of your head, mediocre writing, shit dialogue, ooc martin

edit: let's not talk about the change of season (from winter to fall). just...ignore that please.

The streets of Braddock stood scarce in the wintry night, soft, thick blankets of snow piled on top of rooftops and deserted sidewalks as if Christmas draped over the town in a wooly white duvet. Trees stood barren within the perpetual pastures of ivory, icicles dangling from the naked branches like blades draping off a shelf. Dumptrucks took over the region like keepers patrolling a royal palace that held a family of monarchs and rulers, goddesses and princes, all bathing in golds and riches. But instead of pools of gems and jewels, dust sufficed the area and soot made a home within the various crevices of the stone. Marveling over the dingy expanse around you, you felt a drop of bitterness collide with you, little by little until it morphed into a cascade. The soles of your shoes trampled on diminutive stones and laid out twigs, fracturing each aspect in half like lead. You couldn't help but cringe at the reverberating racket; it was too quiet to make noise at this late hour, but you had important places to be.

Picking up the pace, your slow jogging melded into an Olympics-like run. Left and right all you saw were shrouds of milky white, and it only reminded you of your current position; running late to a job interview. Although not unforgivably, the bustling image of getting stuck on a train filled to the brim with residents preserved in your mind and left a sour taste in your mouth. Yet, there wasn't much self-blame reserved inside your heart. Your career as a starving artist in the '70s wasn't easy cash, believe it or not. It was sapping up your energy, days and nights forked out on a single canvas you'll hardly sell for a couple of bucks. It didn't only starve you of food, but also the necessity to sleep. With that being said, this whole issue of promptly getting out the door stood as the idiotic consequence of ultimately being able to obtain some shuteye the other night, driving you late for an important meeting that might just save your currency. If it weren't for your maddening alarm clock, you'd likely be facing the gates of hell. You could already visualize the look of pure dissatisfaction on the authority's countenance, sewed on like a scowl and aimed directly at you like knives. Shivers ran up your spine at the thought.

Your eyes frequently traced back and forth towards your wristwatch, studying the time every five minutes to make sure you wouldn't miss your ride. The little hand seemed to taunt you with every step you took, the prospering paranoia that you'll reach the train station a minute late prowling over you. With every ounce of stamina in your bones, you ran as fast as you could to achieve the risk at hand. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. The grating reminder pounded in your ears like volleyballs ricocheting off the pavement. A cool breeze abruptly dropped in and took the drudgery to add to your list of troubles, fouling up your frizzy hair and blocking your eyesight. Having to halt your momentum, you hurled the tide of hair out of your face and spat out any loose strands raiding the innards of your mouth, groaning in aggravation and repugnance. 'Splendid, just splendid.'

Letting off with a sigh, you continued to march your way towards the desired train station, hastily looking back at your watch and detecting you only have a few minutes left until your train departed. Without another interruption, you ran all the way to the depot, hoping with every bit of strength you had that you'd get there in time.

─

As the trees danced with the wind and the fall leaves scattered on the pavement like mice, you watched in dismay as your train carried in the last of the luggage from the final person to board. 'No, no, no, no!' But no matter how loud you yelled at yourself to shift and make your department, you knew it was no use the moment the conductor latched the aisle doors and blew his whistle like a banshee. By then, smoke was already surging through the chimney and the wheels were hot on the rails, clicking and clacking until your vision only consisted of what looked like old film tangled together into a running slide show where one photograph barely lingered for a second, before the next polaroid made an entrance. It stayed like that til there was no more of the steaming railcar, and the railways sat empty where you stood.

"Fuck, not again..." you slumped your head low in defeat, the weight of the circumstances sinking in on you and driving the soles on your shoes to slip up on the ashy platform, your knees buckling. Tears of frustration were imperiled to leak from your eyes, but you held them back, picking back up your head and skimming the station. You acknowledged an old man, mid-70s perhaps, standing near the perimeter of the scaffold, wearing a conductor's uniform and an old trolley hat. He appeared to be doing nothing crucial at the minute, so you took that as some kind of cue for help and didn't waste another second, ambling in his direction.

"Excuse me, sir? Sir?" your pitched voice cracked the stillness of the ambiance and appeared to unduly shatter the man's trans, his figure jumping in a startled fright. Nevertheless, the male didn't come off appalled when he caught your head-tilted pose. With a gruff cough, he quickly readjusted the glasses perched upon the bridge of his nose and spoke in a hoarse voice; "May I help you?" He trailed your figure up and down and you almost grimaced. Regardless, you kept a stoic facade and a courteous tone. "Can you tell me where the next train leads to?" Your words came out low and smooth, cautious not to shout at his face merely to be passed a prohibition. It took a minute or two for the old geezer to eventually materialize a response, wrinkles expanding in size the wider he opened his jaws; "Uh, I believe the next ride stops in Munhall, but it won't get here until midnight at the earliest." Voice equally as hoarse as last time. You slightly cringed at his response, briefly glancing around the station before exhaling a soft sigh. "At least it's Munhall...Thank you for your time." You responded, the first half spoken in a faded whisper.

"Why of course, anything for a lovely young lady." His smile feigned innocence, but the stare in his inky swarthy eyes told you another tale. Lending a brisk archaic smile, you twisted your head away from the man and stuck your tongue out in disgust, quickly walking away from the trolley hat wielder and claiming a spot on one of the sorted-out benches. The October air was cool and cast an icy breeze, making you quiver as if the wind stole your essence. Curse words stood on the edge of your tongue as you examined your attire. A raven plaid skirt that barely reached your knees topped with a basic white blouse, and polished (although heavily roughed up) red heels adorning your feet. So insistent on getting out the door as quickly as possible, you completely forgot to bring a long overcoat to keep you bundled up from the harsh weather. And with the fact you missed your train anyway, you were even more peeved.

So much for speed.

Releasing the millionth sigh that night, you watched as red, yellow, and orange leaves scraped against the turf before being abruptly stripped away by the wind. Dying and already dead trees stood within your vision, as loose strands of your hair knotted themselves, intertwining each other. The clock snagged snugly on your wrist ticked like a speeding parade, the noise eventually beginning to sound like nails on a chalkboard. You already had a gift for thin forbearance, but it felt like it was being sawed into a slim sheer segment of scrap, and was seconds away from snapping entirely. You craned your neck back until it brushed the crown of the bench, just to have the 'pop!' sound damper the upcoming 'tick'. Rolling your head as well, your eyes stood shut before you heard the sound of something heavy plop down on the vacant space next to you, following after the rasp of the bench like someone arranged their whole weight onto it.

Veering your head towards the source of the intrusion, your eyes were met with tresses of dark brown hair, equally brown eyes, and the fairest cloth of skin you've ever seen. You could define it as a man not under the age of seventeen nor over the age of twenty. He wore a solemn look on his face as if he had just come back from a dispiriting phone call or a long yelling session with his boss. Whatever the case may be, (could've also been just his face), he resembled a flower with scarcely enough petals to encompass him, leaving him to be less desirable to the naked eye. Thereupon further scrutinizing, you didn't pay much heed afterward to the sudden male that chose to sit next to you and not the other empty bench four feet away, endorsing to fiddle with your fingers instead. But even as you observed your hands fidgeting with each other, you couldn't put back the underwhelming feeling of someone's eyes burning holes into the back of your skull. Letting your novelty get the best of you, you turned around to come across the same dark brown eyes staring right at you, until they swiftly broke the brief eye contact.

'Was he staring at me?'

Now double crept out, you eventually looked away from the male and deliberately tried to disregard the burning, licking feeling of gapes boring into you like waves crashing on the sand. Yet, as mentioned, you carried very slim patience, and your deceitful ignorance eventually ran out, like thorns finally emerging on a plant's stalk that once looked as innocuous as a leaf. Snapping your head back toward the male next to you, you were sharp enough to startle him in his seat and speak words dripping with aggravation. "Could you stop that!" each syllabus panning out gradually and ostensibly. This resulted in a blank stare from the brunette, never blinking as if he had just witnessed a phantom. "Please..." you meekly added, playing the polite cards down so that it would perhaps drive him to stop looking at you so oddly, possibly even get up from his seat and sit at the next bench over. However, it didn't. He kept on staring, and if you weren't already troubled by the earlier route of events, you certainly were now.

Your brows furrowed in annoyance and even distress at the calling moment, no sign of remission or in-attentiveness clear on your face. Not a single word broke from the youngster, utter silence prevailed over the imaginable barrier stuck between you two. A hefty 'huff' fled your lips before you turned your head away for the second time. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you were hoping to keep it that way. But, suddenly, soft words crawled up the border and anchored in your ear with a feeble 'thud'. In fact, they were so softly spoken you'd believe you wouldn't have heard him if a gust of wind flew by. "Sorry. I...didn't mean to stare." He said it with such caution that you almost began to feel bad for snapping. Almost. Smoothing out the wrinkles rippling on your skirt, you let out a hushed sigh before allowing your [e/c] eyes to meet his. "It's nothing, don't worry about it. But keep in mind it's rude, kid." You responded with vigor, not aware of how the male subtly flinched at the word "kid" and the honeydew in his eyes grew darker.

But as quick as it came, it was gone the moment you ceased your flattening movements and straightened out your back.

A gauche stillness befell the two of you. Now that you've spoken to each other and ended it on such short notice, you felt as if you should keep the conversation running. The pang of guilt was beginning to rub on you more as his silk-like voice replayed in your mind like a broken record. He sounded so fragile, just a teenage boy not yet figuring out what he's gonna do with his life. At least he struck you as a teenager, maybe about nineteen. You began to grind on your lip subconsciously, grasping the fabric of your plaid skirt and bunching it up into a ball, holding it in the root of your palm. Without even meaning to this time, your eyes traced over his lower figure and took notes on his apparel. A taupe overcoat and a multi-colored striped shirt appeared to carry a gray-tinted palette. A pair of navy blue bell bottoms covered up the figure of his legs and to finish it off a pair of tattered Converse. Just by reckoning with his attire, he seemed like any regular person waiting for their train to arrive.

Oh, you were so wrong.

─

Martin had an eye out for prey, casually steering his honey-browns around a store, a parking lot, or even a flickering street simply to find what he needed. Insanity taking over his headspace while he allows himself to pick innocent individuals one by one until he laid sights on someone worthy to cease his urges. When the time was right, he would strike and claim his feed like the filthy predator he was. However, playing the role as the snarling unsightly beast was heinous, not "cool" or "thrilling" like the movies depict it to be. The feel of his fingertips and body getting shakier as he attempted his best to not drop his syringe was a tedious task that came along with it. Having to stalk his prey for some time just to be able to get to know their daily routine, where they live, and what they're like as a person was never his favorite part-time. It was boring and violating. Regardless he didn't have a choice, no matter how disgusted he may feel sometimes after the deed is over and done with. Martin wished he was never like this, never had the deviant craving for human blood. It was the sickness, he'd constantly remind himself. But even then that was no good of an excuse for all the further, malicious things he has done to people. Women, to be exact.

─

The boy glazed his eyes over your structure, discreetly admiring how...pretty you looked at the moment. (Yeah, he was a bit pissed off at you for calling him "kid", but that was such a small thing to get irritated at.) Disheveled hair seems to tip-tap dance across your face as you swatted the loose strands away like they were swarming bees. You weren't as fetching as a lot of girls he catches just absentmindedly walking down the street, sure, but those women were boring pretty. You were some kind of unique pretty. Like a silver ballerina mixed into a crowd of pink ones. Or that one piece of tableware with fair carvings left in a bundle of dull silverware. Martin noticed the way you fidgeted with your hands, the way your eyes crossed him shortly before piloting away; one of the perks of being a hunter he imagined. It almost looked as if you were building up the courage to speak to him, but he could never foresee you frankly desiring to immerse in small talk after the not-so-polite exchange you both had.

Over the last few days of continuously visiting you, acknowledging your presence withal you seemed to never acknowledge his, Martin's picked up a few small, meager traits of yours. Traits that added vitality and personality to your portrait, keeping it from being dull and ineligible. He noticed the habits you hoisted; collecting remote horror film video tapes to watch at home, and the fact you have a knack for constructing beautiful painted sculptures and leaving them out on display in the indifferent public. The thought of coming up to you and buying one of your artworks slipped inside his head more than once, but he knew he couldn't. However, where he sits right now, precisely next to you, knowing you have finally acknowledged his existence, left him squirming in his seat. From what he knows, you were not one to engage with a stranger, forbid someone that left a bad note, so that made him wonder what was making you so flustered. Why did you look so anxious at the moment? The curiosity was dining on him from the inside.

─

It was still for quite some time before you eventually grew sick of the silent ambiance. The creeping guilt crawling all over your skin was beginning to become too much to bear. So you finally took up the risk of opening up your mouth. "Where are you headed to?" It was a simple question, a harmless conversation starter, one that you hoped was profitable enough for the strange brunette to look up at you and answer honestly. Or not, he could lie if he wanted to, you weren't one to stop him and frankly couldn't care what response he would give you, truthful or not. You just needed the eight little legs of shame to get off of you. Thankfully, it did lift his chin a bit to where his eyes were now making contact with yours. He examined you quizzically as if he wasn't sure you actually uttered to him in a none bitter and biting manner. Yet, once he was certain you did with a tiny reassuring node from you, he answered; "Pittsburgh." It came out in a feeble puddle of words, just as softly spoken as the last, but you caught it anyway.

"Pittsburgh? I heard that's a glamorous-looking city, I was thinking of visiting it sometime myself when I finally have the chance and money." A resonating laugh coursed toward the end of your sentence, knowing damn well you'll never get the money for that sort of experience. That attribute was transparent to Martin, however. All he heard was a smooth buttery laugh coming from your lips by something you had said. Whatever it was, it wasn't comical, but the sound of your laughter made the corners of his own lips grow nonetheless. Once your laughter died down, you recognized the way it came out so aimlessly and the boy next to you had no idea why you were flaring out in fits. You felt embarrassment surge through you in large stakes. "S-sorry, I didn't mean to laugh. Pardon my confusing antics..." You began apologizing for your rude mannerisms, stuttering some, until you ended up trailing off your sentence out and realizing you have yet to retrieve the male's name. "I'm so sorry, but I haven't quite caught your name?" An eyebrow quirked on your complexion, as you patiently waited for him to give his name out.

Martin took a moment to process the inquiry, too immersed in the sound of your voice as he subtly grew envious of how soothing and...pretty it was. To be frank, he's always been fairly jealous of your euphonious voice; having already heard it more than enough. "Martin," He finally said, "and it's okay. I didn't mind hearing you laugh. I- I actually quite liked it. I like a lot of things about you." Now it was his turn to feel large spurts of embarrassment, a bright red growing on his pale countenance till it reached the tip of his ears. His eyes raced to you and all he was greeted with was a nuanced uncomfortable look on your face, and suddenly felt the warmth radiating off of you nearing further and further away as he took note that you were adding some more leeway between the two of you. Martin's chest swelled as an undergrowth of bitterness began to boil beneath his gut. You were scooting away from him, rightfully so, and he knew that, but you were scooting away from him. Not a fraction of his heart, soul, and mind appreciated that. Pins and needles poked and prodded at him as the wavering guilt increased and rubbed salt on his wounds, jabbing harsher and harsher until he felt like he was on the border of bursting into flames.

Oh for god's sake, why is he behaving so obsessively? The kind of fixation he feels towards the nameless women he targets exclusively for their blood is different. Like the kind of different where he picks up a bittersweet coffee and sticks his tongue out as the liquid scorned his palette, yet you're the warm, sweet honey that smoothly flows down his throat, the residue keeping him content. But why? Why does he have this burning desire to just envelop you in his arms and never let go? Martin felt he didn't want you solely for your blood, but for you.

A sense of apprehension rippled through you as the boy (you know now as "Martin") stared at you with an illegible gaze. You were right back at square one, letting the cool drift run past you in strides, and feeling the searing sensation of eyes at the back of your head. The redeemable guilt from earlier was beginning to fade away, but not thoroughly as you made an effort to alleviate yourself deep inside. He was just trying to compliment you, that's all. You honestly felt relatively flattered. It was just the way he chose to conclude it that put you on edge. It sounded...almost stalkerish, but you tried to put that creeping thought behind you. "Oh-, well, thank you. That's...That's very kind of you." You forced a grin at him, straining to give him false consolation. All he did in response was lend a tiny nod, his eyes not once leaving yours. A shudder drove up your spine at the indirect contact, the sense of alarm ascending and the loud banging at your head comprising. "Get out of there!" cried loudly in the back of your skull, forming cracks within the bone and rendering a terrible headache to shape.

'God...what time is it...'

As if the gods from up above heard your plea, the sound of wheels clanging on rails penetrated your senses and the scent of smoke and iron invaded your nose. You would've never considered the smell of smoke or iron comforting until now. Momentarily after the cues of the next train arriving, the large caravan came into sight, steam pouring from the chimney and replenishing the station. The aisle doors unlocked and people shortly crammed the depot with their bags and luggage. You didn't waste a second getting up from your seat the moment fewer and fewer visitors and residents stood in the area. The yelling of the conductors instructed the next baggage of people on what to do briefly after. You hung on every word until the conductors wrapped it up, letting you turn around and set your eyes on the spot Martin poised at.

"Well thank you for your company, I greatly apprec─" However, before you could even finish, your brain processed the sight in front of you; the young brunette, nowhere to be seen, and all that sat was a vacant bench. You scanned over the entire depot, wondering if he was anywhere nearby, yet finding no tresses of brown hair or blanched skin. It was like he evaporated into a haze, his body merging into a puddle of smoke before no traces of evidence fled behind. "Huh..." was all you managed to say at the odd fruition. Settling to not ponder on it anymore, you quickly stepped foot into your department with your bag in hand. This time, not discerning an ounce of the gloaming pools of madness staring at you with enviable bloodlust between the bushes, waiting for the next opportunity to make an entrance.

took me a whole 2 months to finish this, but I finally achieved it. constructive criticism is greatly appreciated :) ty for taking the time to read, I hope this looks a little better in your eyes than it does in mine lol. -cora

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ I'm An Aston Martin

♥ masterlist | request rules | based on this request

♥ pairing: mark webber x fernando alonso x fem!singer!reader (+ some platonic grid)

♥ synopsis: something that may shock a new f1 fan is the way the grid absolutely fanboys over you. who could be surprised though? everyone is a y/n fan. even when they say they're not, they are. this proves to be true when rumors of you dating a driver spread around the paddock

♥ smau (crack) - fc: taylor swift - none of the pictures are mine

♥ warnings: swearing and suggestive jokes !!!

♥ a/n: to the anon that requested this ily sm. I've been working on this for days and lowkey love it lmao. I also just realized how many singer!reader smaus I've made so I hope ya'll are enjoying them lmao (btw this follows an imaginary timeline so the dates for albums will be different than irl)

liked by oliviarodrigo, imdylanobrien, georgerussell63 and 1,203,538 more

theindustryupdates Y/n L/n performing 'Vigilante Shit' on the opening night of her tour !!!

view comments

user6 MOTHER IS MO 👏 THER 👏 ING

user1 she ate I fear

user13 I love that this is a fan account but it's followed by all her friends and half the f1 grid

user4 dylan in the likes

user9 @/user4 I still don't know where he comes in with drums in snow on the beach but 😭

user5 go girl give us nothing

user8 "they say looks can kill and I might try" she kept that promise

user2 4+4 = ATE

user7 I'm obsessed with her

user12 george in the likes

user10 I bet he’s trying to get tickets as we speak

user14 ok but are we gonna talk about brina and gracie headlining ???

user15 guys I’m still SOBBING to the great war

user12 its so brocedes coded

user15 @/user12 SO TRUE !!!

user22 queen shit

-Finish The Lyrics: McLaren Video-

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by charles_leclerc, francisca.gomes, pierregasly, and 658,942 more

alexandrasaintmleux feeling pretty at eras

view comments

charles_leclerc THE prettiest

♡ by original poster

user6 no bc how is her dress purple and silver at the same time

user1 YOUR DRESS 😍

user10 who’s gonna eras tour double date with me

oscarpiastri @/landonorris volunteers as tribute

user2 she’s so enchanted coded

danielricciardo I'm jealous

user8 how is she so gorgeous

user4 "I go back to wanting dudes who give nothing" CHARLES PUT IN SOME EFFORT 🗣

user7 FRRR its giving Hailey and Justin

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by jackantonoff, aarondessner, aussiegrit and 1,304,585 more

yourusername Here to bring 'Speak Now' to the Eras tour 💜! I'm so glad to have this album back and I am incredibly excited to show you all my six new vault tracks. Thank you to @/jackantanoff @/paramore and @/falloutboy for your collaboration with me. I hope you all enjoy!

view comments

yelyahwilliams thank YOU for inviting us out <3 we'll see you at the launch party

♡ by original poster

falloutboy honored to work with you

♡ by original poster

user8 guys I'm not sure I can live through dear john again 😔

user7 real 😭

user13 I wonder who her team is gonna invite to the launch

user2 I hope loscar gets to go

yn.nation 👀

user2 @/yn.nation is this foreshadowing

user5 begging someone to pull out their tiktok live during this 🙏

user10 wouldn't be the craziest shit I've seen on a live tbh

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, sabrinacarpenter, conangray and 1,047,483 more

yn.nation thank you to everyone who showed up to the launch party! it means so much to us that you took time out of your day to celebrate with the team. here's some special guests we saw today <3

view comments

user1 EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP THE GRID IS AT THE SPEAK NOW LAUNCH PARTY

user9 THIS IS NOT A DRILL THIS IS NOT A FUCKING DRILL

user3 I'm gonna need a landolog as soon as possible

user7 hear me out y/n x fernando

user13 why- why do I see it?

user2 NAH 💀

user15 BAHHAHA

user11 new crack ship

user16 out of all the f1 ships this is certainly one of them

user22 all my worlds are colliding

user14 sabrina and gracie ?!?!?

user10 new favorite nando pic

user6 im literally obsessed with him 😭

user4 OK YES all my favorite people are there but are we gonna talk about the vault tracks???

user8 foolish one 🛐

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

-2023 Azerbaijan Grand Prix-

“Fernando Alonso has just gone fourth fastest. He's driving like a… well he's driving like a getaway car.”

Martin and Crofty giggled throughout the entirety of FP1, constantly making references to your songs. The two, along with the entire stadium that day, could only think about one thing: the Fernando Alonso Dating Rumors. This wasn't just a couple of jokes in the comments of your posts, no no no. It had made its rounds on all sorts of gossip pages and was all anyone could talk about.

The allusions to the rumors continued as Fernando completed a flying lap.

“Maybe that’s Alonso's style, maybe at the end they’ll say... would’ve could’ve should’ve; and maybe I’ll stop the Y/n L/n references at some stage.” 

It was safe to say no one would be shutting up about this anytime soon.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by yourusername, jensonbutton, fernandoalo_oficial and 402,583 more

aussiegrit life lately

view comments

jensonbutton you still go to bars? aren't you like 80

♡ by yourusername

aussiegrit 🖕

oscarpiastri and you didn't even include me in your monthly photos wrapped

landonorris yea get in line

user9 who's the girl 😭

user4 I'm so jealous of her omg

user7 am I tweaking or is y/n just casually talking to the drivers now

user13 no yea she definitely created a new timeline branch

user2 fernando in the likes.

user3 welcome back webbonso

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1, and 593,605 more

aussiegrit @/maxverstappen1 so when's the playdate with jimmy and sassy?

view comments

charles_leclerc can leo come too?

maxverstappen1 no ❤️

user7 the soft launch !?

oscarpiastri I taught him that

user13 guys that is 100% y/n in the second photo.

user1 the other pictures are literally her cats

user8 @/fernandoalo_oficial come get your girl

user3 @/fernandoalo_oficial come get your man!!!

user4 were all being unreasonably calm over the fact that @/yourusername IS DATING MARK WEBBER.

-December 2023-

liked by yourusername, aussiegrit, fernandoalo_oficial and 1,569,538 more

jackantanoff working on something special

view comments

user2 jack what does this mean

user2 JACK WTF DOES THIS MEAN

user5 not mark and fernando fighting over her

user7 I would be too tbh

user3 they're so real for that

oliviarodrigo so excited

♡ by yourusername

jensonbutton do I get invited to the launch party this time or will you forget about me again

yourusername aww jenson

yourusername I'll always forget about you 🥰

user8 I love their dynamic

user10 she's keeping us FED

georgerussell63 I'm sat

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by yourusername, aussiegrit, jensonbutton and 1,394,584 more

fernandoalo_oficial mi amors @/yourusername @/aussiegrit

view comments

yourusername te amo ❤️

aussiegrit love you

jensonbutton do you need a fourth?

user7 sorry guys I pretty much just passed out

user13 DID YOU ALL SEE JENSONS DELETED COMMENT 💀

user9 SCREAM

user10 THIS CANT BE REAL

user1 mark and fernando!? THATS THE DREAM. user5 there’s so much to unpack here 😭

lilyzneimer see you soon <3

♡ by yourusername

[obscureoperations]

Virgin MC having her first time with Martin and losing her virginity with him.

What would happen👀?

A lot anon... a whole lot.. lmao.

I just feel that Martin would be a very attentive lover, intune with his partner's every desire. Ensuring that they were comfortable and that their pleasure came first. For the given scenario I'm gonna say that Martin himself is not a virgin. He had Abby, the only woman he’s ever slept with. An actual wake person.

I feel that he might have been a bundle of nerves the first time, the intimacy simply wasn’t there. It was all her instructing him on just what to do. He wished he could be doing it with someone he actually loved. But time moved quickly, and he just needed to know. She pretty much taught him everything about pleasing a woman. Even then, the experience still felt somehow lacking. 

He wanted to take his time with you, not wanting to push too far. You were always willing to please him, in numerous ways. At times it left him grasping at the sheets. You claimed You just “wanted to make him feel good.." but he often wondered about you. He only wanted to please you...or possibly return the favour--but you always managed to come up with an excuse.

You had a headache, or you were on the rag. Most times, you just had a really long day. At one point Martin feared that he was taking too much from you without giving anything in return. He was starting to wonder why you actually liked him.

It all made sense when the two of you stood out on the porch, leisurely chatting about your day. Your hand slips progressively closer to his, and Martin draws you into a heated kiss.

You were on fire, heartbeat hammering against your ribs as you attempt to deepen the kiss. Feather soft kisses across your cheeks and eyelids.

"Y/n... I just wish you would let me.."

"Let you what...Martin?"

You can feel him sigh, as he moves to draw you close.

"Take care of you.." He whispers. His right hand flitters beneath the hem of your shirt.

You begin to tremble, the butterflies in your stomach fluttering against each other in a frenzy.. You had no idea why you didn't want to tell him. After all, it wasn't that big of a deal. You had evaded the topic for long enough, the words finally manage to spill out.

"Martin, I'm a virgin.."

~

Your eyes flutter open after another small release. You were finally able to focus on his face. Absolutely gorgeous in the throes of passion. Kiss bruised lips parted in a silent moan, splotches of red painted across his cheeks.Your eyes drift down to the faint muscles of his chest..flexing in time with his motions.

fuckk...

Was it supposed to feel that good? Each thrust seemed to grow progressively better than the last. The sound of your name as he pistons his hips. Surely he had to be feeling it too.

~

No less than an hour before, the two of you were sprawled out on the couch.  Some cheesy horror film plays on in the background. You were supposed to be going out to see a film, but you had other ideas. You just wanted to watch it spray once again. Preferably all over your face. The blunt way you  propositioned him had him blushing and fumbling with his belt. You loved the way you could get him flustered, he still had no idea about your secret. For some reason you felt you had to prove yourself in a way. You had no problem getting him off.

He was so close, you could actually feel him start to tremble as a commercial about Tide laundry plays in the background. You continue to tease the tip of his cock with your tongue, all the while the beautiful noises continue to flow.

“O-oh yes-ss y/n.. just like that..” He whispers. The sound of his voice causes you to press your thighs together. Something was brewing inside of you, you needed to feel him completely. You had no idea why yo were so nervous to tell him. If he asked again, surely you would say yes.

Moments before his release, he prys you away from him, lovingly caressing your cheeks.Tracing his thumb along your lower lip, gathering up stray bits of saliva.

“Y/n..please just talk to me.. tell me what you need.”

~

The look on his face causes you to tremble as a wave of pleasure courses through your frame. Eyes filled with adoration a his fingers lightly caress your cheeks. 

“S-so beautiful y/n... you feel so.good...”

~

The two of you had undressed in a frenzy, the late afternoon sun beaming in  through the curtains. His lips were everywhere, lovingly tracing over your features, teeth sinking into the flesh of your neck.

“ Just lay back sweetheart” he whispers, his fingers move expertly between your legs. 

You settle back against the pillows, crossing your arms over your eyes ad he pries your legs apart. Completely open and on display, he continues to tease you with his fingers. 

“Y/n...look at me.”

You let out something between a sigh and a groan. Reluctantly, you pull your arms away from your face. Martin was watching you meticulously. Slowly working you over with his hand before bringing his fingers to his mouth. You wanted to disappear. A sinful moan escapes his lips before he leans in, peppering kisses across your belly. Keeping your thighs lewdly displayed, his lips finally move to your sex.

Pins and needles, with control issues  abundant--you felt so helpless in that moment. Just what was he doing with his mouth..why did it feel so good? All you could do was meld back against the sheets.

~

You were panting, inner thighs trembling around his waist..you needed him to get closer. Press deeper, a small whimper escapes your throat,, and his lips are on yours in an instant. All tongue scraping over teeth as his arms snake beneath you to draw you near. The lewd sound of flesh against slickened flesh causes your ears to burn. His breath coming out in heated puffs directly against your neck

You were starting to feel funny, the blunt tips of your nails dig into his lower back. The action alone seems to fuel him, he begins to piston his hips in a frenzy--seemingly lost somewhere in the back of his mind. his lips fall open in a silent cry. His hand immediately moves between you, teasing your clit with the pad of his thumb.

Your startled squeak causes him to chuckle before peppering kisses along your hairline.

“Oh y/n..It’s alright... you can let go..”

You didn't want to. You only wanted to prolong all the wonderful sensations. You wished you could snap a photo in your mind, the image of him rocking above you. So lost in his own world, almost in a daze--only snapping back to reality when he would look at you. You could feel the adoration in his gaze. The way he seems to lean in. You knew he was close, you didn’t want him to wait, so you simply close your eyes. Your arms wrap around his neck, keeping him close as he rolls his hips. 

Thoughts and images continue to flash through your mind. The image of him standing behind the register, His flushed expression whenever you would sit across from him at the dinner table. Windblown hair as he’d crawl in through your bedroom window. Martin was actually here with you right now. 

Breath seems to grow elusive as you pull him close to your chest. Small whimpers begin to flow involuntarily.  A final thrust, and you were completely spent. Your teeth dig into the flesh of his neck as your limbs lock around his slender frame. You wanted to keep him there forever. Martin seemed to feel the same.

Hips still rolling to their own accord, he kisses you sweetly. 

“ Perfect, darling.. Just like that..”

[isolemnlyswear]

hello! can i request a modern marauder (you pick) x popstar!fem!reader (while they're still in hogwarts) to the song breathin by ariana grande as if it were the reader's song? <3 <3

breathin

a/n : this is the most specified request i've ever gotten, so it's kinda shitty ! i really have never wrote anything like this - at all - and i didn’t know if the reader was meant to be a muggle or not ????????? so i made them not one. bc you’re anon i cant ask you questions abt your request, so next time please specify!

continued a/n : wow, this is interesting. i dont like it, but !!! hope u enjoy????

warnings : swearing, bad writing

taglist : @oldschoolkiddo @amourtentiaa @anchoeritic @faeinorbit @tomriddleswifey @inks-and-jinx @jxsperhxle @punkrific @the-gazette-of-tea @krasivayadarling @orifortheweeknd @fallin-4-ya @incxndio @daisyyy2516 @hoe4cedricdiggory @vsawyer1989

Remus sighed, glaring at the raven-haired boy beside him.

“What, s’gonna be fun!” Sirius grins, and the lycanthrope who’s refuting him simply laughs.

“Fun? Your idea of fun is a packed concert - full of muggles, nonetheless - for this...popstar woman?” Remus says incredulously, and Sirius raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, ho, ho, this is not any popstar, Moony. Plus, what else are we gonna do over the summer? Sulk around at your parents’ house?” Sirius grins again, and Remus lets out a sigh.

“The latter I can agree with. But who is this girl, anyway?” Remus inquires, and Sirius reaches into his back pocket to acquire his phone. Although Hogwarts doesn't allow modern technology, both Sirius and Remus have their own each for the summers. With how phone-centered the modern world is, they couldn't not.

He swipes through to find a picture of you - one obtained from your Instagram, which has over four million followers - and holds it up to Remus.

“Merlin,” he breathes, eyes scanning the image.

You're wearing a brown leather dress, the shoulders poking up just barely. Your hair is framing your face, legs tucked under you in a half-crouch, and you're looking into the camera with lips perfectly parted. It was one you took for the shoot of your newest album, and a particular favorite of yours.

“Gorgeous, right? She’s really talented, as well.” Sirius grins, looking at his best friend, who is unresponsive, with eyes glued on the screen. “Moony?” he waves a hand over the brunette’s face, who snaps out of his trance.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Sure.” Remus says, blinking a few too many times.

“So, you up for it now?”

“Alright,” Remus replies, nodding at Sirius, who pumps his fists into the air with a grin.

“She's American, but doing a show in London in a few weeks,” Sirius informs, smiling.

“American, huh? How old is she?” Remus asks, settling back into the couch they're perched on.

“That's the best part. She's our age - just turned eighteen.” Sirius grins again, putting his phone away.

“Oh yeah? You say that like she'd notice us. Never gonna happen, Pads.” Remus smiles, shaking his head.

“Expect the unexpected, mon amie.”

---

You're fiddling anxiously with your fingers, hands out of use as someone else is doing your makeup, rather than yourself.

“Almost done, Miss L/N,” Madelyn, your makeup artist, says, brushing a soft highlighter over your cheekbones.

“Mads, I told you that you can call me Y/N. You only do my makeup every day,” you say, closing your eyes as the woman pats highlighter into your inner corner.

“And...” she mists your face with setting spray, “...Done!”

---

About four hours later, your back is facing the crowd that's piled into the venue, stage lights shut off as only the sounds of quiet murmurs and shuffling feet hit your ears.

And then, the lights come on with a thumping click, and you begin the routine that you've practiced time and time again.

The music to your first song, the least vocally challenging of the set, begins, and you turn around with a sway of your hips.

Holding the mic to your mouth, you begin a one-step, two-step rhythm, one that's second nature to you; your eyes survey the crowd, left hand reaching to flip your hair.

The tune changes, and the beat is faster, now, as the lights begin to flash and your voice, in a habitual fashion, changes to match. You stride out rhythmically to the center of the stage.

You crouch in a fluid movement, thankful for the coverage your outfit gives you. It's a black sparkling jumpsuit, bottoms being a high-waisted, glimmering fabric with two side flaps, connected at your stomach to a matching corset-like top.

After a few minutes of usual song/dance routines, followed by cheers from the crowd, you decide it's time for a crowd interaction. It's difficult, resisting the urge to pull out your wand and cast a silencing charm to get the group's attention, but you opt for speech, instead.

"Alright, alright, everybody," you say into the mic with a laugh, eyes scanning the crowd for someone to converse with.

There's one man - his ebony hair is swishing as he speaks - who's bouncing up and down like an eager dog, and you laugh.

"We all excited to be here? In London!" you say, garnering numerous cheers and screams from the group.

"I can tell you are." You walk over to the raven-haired boy, who's in front row, and crouch down. He'd previously cheered extremely loud, confirming his excitement.

The boy makes a loud whoop'ing noise, getting a laugh from his friend.

His friend.

You continue to speak, walking over to someone else, but now your eyes are glued on him.

He looks about your age, with beautifully disheveled sandy brown hair and chocolate eyes. He has numerous scars littering his face, some new and red, some older and whitening.

You can't help but wonder what the scars are from, and you feel a strange attachment to the boy, though you've never spoken before.

And after a while, it's time for your final song. About a thirds of the way through, at your favorite part, you meander back over to the boys.

You lean over, disguising your position as a simple concert move, but you're really staring into the brunette's eyes.

"You remind me of a time when things weren't so complicated." The words fall from your mouth effortlessly, and you're able to search the boy's eyes as you sing. There's a spark in them, a glimmer of light that pulls you in.

"All I need is to see your face." You sing, still singing almost directly to the brunette.

You need to see more of him, you suddenly think. And you continue to sing the song, but all that swims around in your brain is a plan. A plan to erase the mystery behind the boy.

The show comes to a close, but before everyone has left, you pull your manager aside.

"Hey, Martin, this- this is an odd request, but could you ask these two boys to come backstage? That sounds, um, interesting, but would y'mind-"

"What do they look like?" Martin interrupts you, and you sigh in relief.

"One has longer black hair, and the other... sorta sandy brown hair, and some scars on his face. Can you find them from that?"

"I'll try."

You nod and thank him, running backstage to your small lounge and bathroom to await your mysterious visitors, changing quickly into clothes that are more comfortable; a simple silk dress, in a y/f/c hue, and a sweater to go over it.

You fiddle with your wand in your hands, mentally berating yourself.

It was quite a reckless decision, really. It's not like you had a valid reason for inviting these people to such a VIP space such as this. Just because you feel some weird connection to one of them didn't mean you could disregard everything. These boys are probably muggles, and you are not. Merlin, you're getting shipped off to Scotland next year after being home-schooled by your magical parents for eighteen years - just in time for your last year of school -going to a boarding school called Hogwarts (which would be a PR nightmare, but your parents insisted you needed some 'real-life experience').

But amidst your train of thought, you hear a knock at your door - two taps, three taps, your manager's code that it's okay to open the door - and you shove your wand into your (enlarged via Engorgio charm) pocket.

You stride over to the door, fiddling with the hem of your sweater, and open it to see Martin.

"Here they are, Miss L/N." He steps to the side to reveal the two boys, the darker-haired male standing in front, and you refrain from gasping when he steps forward, allowing you full view of the other boy.

The scars on his face are glimmering in the light, and his eyes are warm, pulling you in with every glance. His hair is perfectly tousled, and he's tall, over six foot two, or so you'd guess.

"Come in," you say, stepping aside to allow them entrance. You nod to Martin, signalling him to leave, and he does so, shutting the door and leaving you with the pair.

"Holy shit," the raven-haired boy says, and you realize he's only slightly shorter, about an inch less.

You laugh slightly, gesturing for them to sit down.

"Why are we back here?" the shorter one says, and you smile. He's made himself comfortable, seemingly the more outgoing, but the other one is still standing awkwardly beside you.

"You can relax, I'm not interrogating you," you say, smiling at the taller boy, who seems to let out a breath. "Why don't you introduce yourselves, and then we can talk, okay?"

"I'm Sirius, Sirius Black." The boy runs a hand through his dark hair, grinning.

"Ah, like the constellation? Brightest star in the sky," you say, and he nods.

"I'm, um, Remus. Remus Lupin," the other boy says tentatively, offering a smile.

"Hi, Remus," you say, nodding. "I don't want to assume you know my name, I'm aware you're not American, but considering you're at this concert-"

"Of course, we know your name, we're British, not daft," Sirius says with a playful scoff, and you laugh. "You're Y/N."

"That I am," you say with a giggle, and Remus grins. Your heart stops for a moment, the world coming to a halt as his eyes meet yours.

Sirius clears his throat, and a blush spreads onto the apples of your cheeks. You gulp, looking down.

"So, you didn't answer my question," Sirius starts, tilting his head, but Remus kicks his shin.

"Pads, chill," he whispers, shaking his head. Sirius shakes his head, looking at you.

"It's fine, really. 'M not that interesting, no need to be uptight," you say, smiling again.

"I'd beg to differ," Remus breathes.

After what feels like no time at all, but is really three hours, you've gotten any and all formalities out of the way. Well, all but one - you're still unsure if they're muggles, and they don't know that you're a witch, either.

That is, until Remus gets up to go to the restroom, and something tumbles out of his pocket.

Your first thought is how did something that long fit in a jean pocket, but then you see what it is.

It's a wand, about ten inches, cypress wood, with a small bulb at the end of it. You gasp, and Remus goes pale, stumbling to pick it up.

"Is that-" you start, but Sirius cuts you off.

"It's nothing," he says quickly, but you shake your head.

"That's a wand," you say slowly, and Remus is wide-eyed, nervously fidgeting.

"It-"

"No, no, no," you say, reaching into the pocket of your sweater and pulling out your own. Sirius and Remus simultaneously gasp as you brandish it in your hands, and you grin.

"You're a witch?" Remus asks, jaw slack.

"You're a wizard?" you return, raising an eyebrow.

"Fuck yeah we are!" Sirius says, and you grin.

"What school?" Remus inquires, and you purse your lips.

"I was home-schooled, but this year - for my last one - I'm going to this school called Hogwarts? D'you know it?" you explain, garnering another gasp from the pair.

"That's where we go," Remus says, and your eyes light up.

"Really?!" you ask excitedly.

"Yeah! I guess you'll have some friends when you get there, at least," Remus assures, grinning.

"I bet Remus wishes you had a boyfriend to greet you," Sirius says, disguised with some coughs, and you blush. Remus kicks his friend in the shin again, and turns to you with a sigh.

"Sorry, he doesn't know what he's talking about," he says, and you raise an eyebrow.

"Does he not?" you ask flirtatiously, and it's Remus's turn to blush.

"Uh-"

"We'll just have to see, won't we?" you say with a mischievous grin, one returned by the sandy-haired boy in front of you.

[cauliflowercounty]

Meet Me in the Middle Pt. I (Fred Weasley x fem!Reader)

House: Ilvermorny, your choice

Blood Status: You Choose

Warning: A swear :)

A/N: You’re from the US in this fic!

I/H = Ilvermorny house

-----

“Settle down, students!” Professor McGonagall calls out to the group of 7th years in front of her. She glares over at the twins and Lee who are busy sticking their noses up and imitating her. Once they notice her intense glare, they quiet down, trying to stifle their laughter, still giddy from the start of school energy and being reunited after a long summer apart. 

“This year,” McGonagall begins “we’re initiating a new program in partnership with Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the United States.”

A chorus of murmurs floods through the group.

“For those interested, we are starting a pen friends program. Because of the success of last year in fostering international relationships with the Triwizard tournament, we thought it would be beneficial for both the student body here at Hogwarts and Ilvermorny’s to participate in this new program,” McGonagall explains to the group. All of the seventh years start to whisper to each other excitedly. Many of them comment on how this hadn’t been a possibility before or how they wonder what the wizarding world is like across the pond.

“You’ll receive one pen friend and if you sign up, I expect you to represent Hogwarts well, and remember this is a commitment. Don’t send the person one letter and then never again or there will be consequences,” McGonagall warns everyone. Despite her severe words, people grin with excitement. Fred Weasley thinks about it to himself as all his classmates clamor with excitement. He’d like to have a pen friend from the U.S., but he’s busy wondering if he’ll have the money to send them letters. He and George hadn’t actually sold many of their products yet and he only had just enough money to send letters to his parents back home and the occasional Honeydukes sweet or Zonko’s product. “Postage to the US must cost a lot since owls can’t go that far,” Fred thinks to himself. Maybe giving up the occasional Hogsmeade indulgence would be worth it.

“Cedric would have loved this,” one Hufflepuff near Fred murmurs and everyone falls silent, knowing what the Hufflepuff just said is absolutely true. Everyone in this year definitely felt Cedric’s absence in their year, but in this moment, the air felt heavy with guilt. McGonagall nods in agreement and sets out a paper for sign ups, adding postage will be paid for by Hogwarts and Ilvermorny. Hogwarts students will also write the first letter. Fred smiles in relief. He won’t have to spend all his savings.

“Oi, Freddie,” George nudges him.  “Are you going to sign up?”

Fred nods and rushes up to the paper that his classmates are crowding around. He takes out one of his quills and scratches his signature onto the parchment with a flourish. Returning to his best friends, Lee looks surprised. 

“I didn’t take you for a pen friend sort of guy, mate,” lee comments.

“What can I say, I’m spontaneous,” Fred replies, sure of himself this was the right choice. Leaving the room with George and Lee, Fred heads to his dorm room to start writing his first letter.

When he arrives in his room, he gets out a piece of parchment and sets up a small workspace on his desk.  Just as he sits down, he stops and starts fiddling with his quill. After a few seconds of hesitation, Fred decided to suck it up and start writing.

Hello,

I’m Fred Weasley. I apologise if this letter is a little awkward. It’s my first time ever writing to someone I don’t know at all. I’m in 7th year and I’m a Gryffindor, which values courage and bravery, if you don’t know.  

I have a twin brother. His name is George. We’re like the school pranksters. We currently are developing a line of sweets that make you sick so you can get out of class and other products that people would want like little objects that go off to cause a diversion, We’re also thinking about fireworks, but our main specialty is sweets. It all shows promise.

Georgie and I have never been academics, we’re more pranksters at heart if I’m honest. We’re quite good at charms and enchantments, though. I’m rubbish at potions, though. I hate to be boring, but what’s your favorite subject? I can’t think of anything other than that to ask you, but maybe in a future letter, we can talk about more interesting topics other than school.

Hope to hear from you,

Fred Weasley

Satisfied with his work, Fred folds his letter up and seals it tightly with a wax seal. The next day, he turns it in to McGonagall, who informs him it will be sent within the week. Walking away from McGonagall, Fred starts wondering who his pen friend is.

~

As the following Tuesday rolls around, an unfamiliar owl swoops into the 7th year Gryffindor boys dorms. Attached to its leg is a neatly closed, pristine envelope with “Fred Weasley” written in unfamiliar handwriting.  It hoots loudly at Fred, who scrambles off his bed, knocking a few prototype sweets onto the floor he was just working on with George. 

“Oi! Watch it, Fred!” George protests, but Fed’s already at the window, trying to pry the letter off the owl’s leg. As Fred gets a better look at the letter, he finds the front has been stamped with a MACUSA red stamp reading “INTERNATIONAL” complete with an eagle beside it. Excited, Fred rips open the letter and sits down on his bed, ignoring George who’s trying to get his attention back on the products. Once he’s comfortable, Fred opens up the letter and starts to read.

Hello, Fred Weasley.

I’m y/n. There’s no reason to be sorry that your letter is a bit awkward. Letters like this are out of my comfort zone as well. If it makes you feel any better, your letter felt perfectly natural.

I’m a 6th year in I/H. It’s honestly the best house of all of them. Thunderbird is for adventurers, Pukwudgie is for healers, Wampus is for warriors, and Horned Serpent is for scholars. Fun Fact: Ilvermorny was actually founded by a descendant of Salazar Slytherin and a No-Maj!  

You and your brother must be quite the dynamic duo. Starting a business is no easy feat, but it sounds amazingly interesting. I can’t believe you two were the first to think of sweets that make you sick to get out of class, but I’m glad you two got to the idea first. Please keep me posted on how your other products are coming along! They all sound amazing!

I also like charms and enchantments. My Charms teacher is really awesome. I honestly can’t decide what my favorite subject is. All of them have their ups and downs.

What’s it like at Hogwarts? I hear it’s a castle, but what’s the inside like?

- y/n y/l/n

George looks over at his brother and notices how widely he’s grinning. George notices the “international” stamp on the envelope and realizes what it is and now he’s no longer mad at Fred for knocking the prototypes on the floor as Fred scrambles to grab some parchment to write back.

~

A two and a half months later, you and Fred have exchanged many letters; you’ve exchanges so many you’ve both forgotten what round you’re on. A week ago, Fred sent along some of his products after you told him about the two Wampus bullies in your year, James and Martin, who enjoy tormenting you about your looks, smarts, and everything else under the sun. The package included a box of sparklers and then some sickness-inducing sweets. Alongside the box of charmed sweets, he also sent a box of real chocolates and a note.

The red box with the “W” has the charmed sweets in it! DO NOT EAT UNLESS YOU WANT TO BREAK OUT IN BOILS! The other box has some of my mom’s English toffee for you to try.

Giggling a little from his warning note, you wrote back and thanked him profusely for the gifts and promptly used the sickness sweets on both Wampus lugs, who ran off to the infirmary with large puss-filled growths protruding from their face in embarrassment.  When your dorm mates asked who the real chocolates were from, you feel your heartbeat in your chest as a light blush flushes over your cheeks, thinking of Fred.

Getting out of Potions, you take a walk outside to study as an owl swoops down. You take the letter, recognizing Fred’s handwriting.  

Y/n,

I’m glad the sweets worked. The two of them absolutely deserved it and now we know the boils can last for over 48 hours. That’s valuable information for Georgie and me.

Listen, I don’t want to overstep, but I was wondering if I could know what you look like? We’ve been mailing each other for such a long time and It’s been on my mind. I usually have a face I can put to a name. I’ve enclosed a picture of me in this letter and If you’re comfortable, I was wondering if you’d send one back? No pressure.

F.W.

P.S. The canary creams are a hit!

You look behind the letter and pull out the enclosed picture. You see a tall pale boy with flaming ginger hair. He’s smirking along with someone who looks exactly like him in the background messing with a familiar orange and purple Weasley box. In the picture, Fred has circled the twin in the foreground and labeled it “Fred” and the one in the background “my less handsome brother, George.” You let out a little chuckle. This is exactly what you expected from Fred.

~

A week and a half have passed since Fred sent the letter with the picture in it. With each passing day, Fred worries he’s driven you off with being too forward. He’s considering writing a letter to apologize and beg things can go back to the way it was. he misses writing to you and having to enchant the parchment so it looks scrambles so Umbridge doesn’t read his mail to you about the D.A. and then getting back mail you’ve charmed to look like doodles in a notebook. It was like your own code that you’d both have to undo to read.  

He missed hearing about ilvermorny and your classes. He longed for the day he could hear about the plan you’d set up with Fred’s help for revenge on James and Martin where you’d charm fireworks to go off and chase them around the Ilvermorny grounds until they admitted they were assholes.

George and Lee assured him that he had nothing to worry about, that you probably got busy with school work and will write back soon. Lee also suggested your letter might have gotten lost in the mail, but that thought only made Fred worry. Maybe you had sent a message long ago and you weren’t getting a response because he hadn’t gotten one yet, and maybe he shouldn’t send a letter now because it might pop up once he sends his own letter and he’ll look like an idiot. he can only hope a letter from you is on its way now.

As Fred begins to descend into another pit of worry the next day, an owl comes to land at his side. Fred grabs the letter with fervor, nearly knocking the poor owl off its feet in excitement. The owl hoots angrily in protest at Fred’s sudden movement and flies away after pouting and ruffling its feathers. He rips the envelope open, almost damaging the letter itself. Taking out his wand, he rushes to a bathroom so no member of the inquisitorial squad or Umbridge herself can see him take the charm off the paper that currently has a drawing of a sloth on it.

Dear Freddie,

I’m sorry for not getting back to you in the last week or so. I had a midterm and I didn’t want to let you down by only sending you a scrap of paper saying I had a test. I hope it went well.

Thanks for sharing that picture with me. You and your brother are very cute together. I didn’t expect your hair to be so bright, but then again, I’m not around many people with red hair. I’ve also sent you a picture of me. It was taken during Care of Magical Creatures. The niffler unit was my favorite. They’re like magical platypuses!

I hope it’s what you expected? I don’t know what to say (haha).

Wow! The Canary Creams are working finally? That’s awesome! Did feathers get everywhere? Who was the poor test subject?

I’m glad everything is working out, Freddie.  

- Y/n

Fred smiles down at the paper from within the stall. You’ve always been supportive of the business. You were almost as excited about it as he and George were. He looks down at the picture you’ve sent along with your letter and his heart skips a little bit. 

You’re smiling at the camera with a niffler in your arms. As the picture moves, you laugh as the niffler squirms and tries to reach for the shiny watch on your wrist. As he observes the picture more, he sees there’s a warm twinkling in your eye. you look so happy. Returning to his dorm room, Fred opens his trunk and tucks the photograph into the corner of his trunk next to some logo designs and a family picture with a pair of horns and a monocle drawn on Percy. He smiles. That’s where that picture will stay.

~

Time has passed, yet you and Fred have kept in touch. Fred’s now living above the shop in Diagon Alley with George after their grand escape from Hogwarts, which you supported him through one hundred percent despite never ever meeting.  

Throughout the months, you’ve both been mailing and you’ve helped him develop new products, acting as a remote filter and outside perspective for the twins, which you enjoyed the process of.  

All the while Fred has supported you through your last year at Ilvermorny since you’re a year younger than he is. Even though he didn’t finish school doesn’t mean he can’t support and help you at all.  

Through your letters, you’ve started calling him “your special Freddie,” making Fred’s heart swoop and swoon as he imagines what your voice sounds like saying it to him.  Time goes on and he’s falling, but Fred doesn’t resist it.  You’ve always been there for him and he knows he’ll be there for you through think and thin.  As he realizes he’s in love, he starts to worry that you won’t return his feelings, but even if you don’t he still wants you in his life.  You make him happy.  It’s as simple as that.

After getting up one morning, Fred heads down to the shop to do inventory downstairs. He notices that it’s darker outside today, even more so today than usual. Both he and Georgie have noticed things have been darkening lately with Voldemort and his followers running around Britain, but today is especially dark.  

Fred hears a knock at the door of the shop. The shop was closed today and most of the regulars knew that this wasn’t a time they’d be open. Cautiously, Fred draws his wand and approaches the door, careful to not step into view in case it wasn’t a welcomed guest. Fred peeks around the corner and notices it’s his father. Wand still drawn, he cautiously approaches the door.

“Which twin said ‘honestly woman, you call yourself our mother?’ at the station before my third year?” Fred asks through the glass at the man he thinks is his father, knowing his dad wants to abide by Ministry guidance about identification.

“Fred did,” Mr. Weasley answers but notices how Fred’s face sinks a bit at his response.  “You did. Sorry, Fred.”

Fred cautiously lets him in, not putting his wand away,

“Fred, Dumbledore is dead,” Mr. Weasley explains.  “Snape was the one who carried it out.”

“That tr-” Fred starts, but Mr. Weasley holds his hand up.

“I know, Fred. I just wanted to come by and tell you before you get it from the Prophet. I also wanted to tell you... We’re not safe anymore. The ministry has most likely been infiltrated or will be infiltrated in the next few days. Keep your guard up. With Dumbledore gone, this fight just got much more difficult,” Arthur explains, sighing deeply and rubbing his face.  “I trust you’ll tell George?”

Fred nods as his dad says goodbye and gives him a “see you soon” before apparating away. Fred locks the door and puts down the shutters with his wand. He rushes up the stairs and scribbles on a piece of parchment his last letter to you before the war, explaining what’s happening, that the mail is probably going to be tracked and opened, that things are getting dangerous. He insists that you shouldn’t write back even if it’s tempting and that he’ll write to you once the war is over.  Fred considers signing it “Love, Fred” because this might be the last time he ever writes to you, but doesn’t; he just writes:

See you on the other side of the war, y/n. Stay safe. 

Yours truly, Fred Weasley

-----

Read Part 2 Here!

[theclearblues]

Hades | Chapter 4 | TomHolland

Pairing: Tom Holland X Fem!Reader (Mobster!Tom AU)

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of sex trafficking and slight NSFW

I apologize if the read more tab doesn’t work on mobile

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

Previous | Next

“In what world do you own me, Holland? I may work for you, but you do not have control over me,” her stance was powerful as her eyes dared him to say more.

Oh, how he knew. She was a wild tigress locked down only by a thread tied to a shackle.

Tom glared from his seat, wanting to shout bloody murder at Y/N. Tell her that her employment meant he could make her do whatever he wanted. But as she stood over him, with her eyes filled with a wildfire of entitlement, he wanted nothing but to watch that exact moment over and over. But as Harrison coughed into his fist, Tom was pulled back into reality. Y/N had a secret, and Martin had a motive and he needed to find out what it was. It all tempted his urge to have blood dripping down his hands, seeping between his fingers.

“If you don’t tell me what Rob Martin is talking about, I may just have to let you take the fall.” Tom replied, a smug grin flourishing.

“Yeah? Then what’s stopping you from doing it right now?” Her eyebrows furrowed, face growing cold. Tom didn’t have an answer for her, he couldn’t describe why he felt like he couldn’t

“Harrison, take her back to her room.” Tom said nonchalantly as he rose from his chair and started to walk out of the office. Harrison paraded across the hardwood and tried to escort Y/N towards the door.

“What the fuck is this? You won’t answer me?” She slapped Harrison’s hand away from her shoulder and grabbed Tom’s wrist, “what is it?”

He stopped in his path, looking back at her with a lack of expression, “I’m going to make a plan,” he yanked his arm out of her grip and continued out into the hallway.

+++

Tom decided to go walk in the library, he didn’t read much, but the library was always a place that invited thought. He walked past shelves and shelves of books, none of them dusty due to an invaluable cleaning staff at the estate. While Tom strolled down the shelves of books, he tried to devise a plan. The ultimatum ran through his head like computer code; let Y/N go without a witness, or intervene but risk being investigated. The investigation would start a domino effect of problems, all them resulting in the termination of the Holland mafia, even the legal parts. He pressed his hands into his face, then ran them up through his hair.

Why couldn’t he let Y/N take the fall?

Tom pondered on the question for what seemed like ages. He didn’t love her, there was no reason for him to. He knew that she was beautiful, in her looks and her personality, even when her eyes danced with defiance. Tom knew she deserved more than to get convicted for a crime she did not commit, she deserved more than to go in without support. But at the same time, Tom was not willing to risk everything his family had worked for. So he was left with a gray space he had yet to fill with an alternate solution.

+++

“Harrison! What is going on?” Y/N mind was blazing with thoughts, eyes wild with uncertainty.

“I don’t know, Y/N. We need to find out Martin’s motive,” Harrison spoke with kind eyes, trying to bring peace back into the woman.

“Do you know his plan?”

“No.”

She determined Harrison as a dead end, and that he wanted her to go to her room and leave everyone alone from the way he stood. He loomed over her in height, and he spoke softly but he meant to hint that she should leave. To satisfy him, she walked down the hall and climbed up the staircase to the bedrooms.

After an hour, Y/N had torn the room apart. Bed sheets were pulled off the bed, towels from the bathroom lay scattered around the room, books that had sat peacefully in shelves were open and misplaced. It was a strange habit, but it was what she did when she needed to think. A messy surrounding gave her a sharp mind, where in most cases it would drive people mad. She had thought enough about the plan, but was stuck without a retaliation. She needed to bounce ideas off of someone, Harrison would be fine but he had left the estate and taken the package to the warehouse he spoke about earlier.

Unfortunately, Tom was her only option.

Y/N found him in the library, located at the far end of the East wing of the house. From the double door entrance, there were rows and rows of neatly placed books with their spines facing outwards. The vaulted ceilings were paired with long french windows that let the last few rays of the sunset peek through and illuminate various book titles. The hushed atmosphere was interrupted only by the sound of Tom’s boots clicking against the hardwood and the faint crackle of the fire.Tom was walking through shelves, not looking for anything in particular. His eyes were blank but Y/N could tell his mind was anything but. His back was turned to her as he sauntered down the row, his shoes clicking against the floor.

“My plan is to kill him,” Tom stated ominously, his back still turned.

“Then you’re an idiot,” her laugh floated through the room, bouncing off the walls and returning back to her.

“How so? It would be a simple job, and it would be staged.”

“You believe he doesn’t have an accomplice? Or atleast a confidante?” Y/N challenged his plan, wanting him to think deeper.

“Martin’s a loner, he’s never gotten on with anyone from the club.”

“It doesn’t have to be a friend,” she lowered her voice to a whisper as she walked beside the shelves across from him, “you should know that better than anyone.”

“Hm?” He heard her.

“I’m saying that he wouldn’t do this alone. He knows you’re a violent man, he’d be counting on you to come after him,” she let him think for a moment before continuing.

“Let’s say you did send Harrison or you went yourself to kill him, this is if he hadn’t gotten a tip that you were on the way. You’d kill him, set it up as a suicide, but he’d already sent a copy of everything he meant to expose to his confidante. Someone he barely knew but had the same motive, before you’re back in your office pouring yourself a glass of scotch he’d have every single thing you’re wrapped up in out in the public eye. By the time you’ve drank the glass, the police would be at your door.”

He spun on his heel and leaned against the wood, a grin peeking through his lips, “very good, darling. You aren’t as dense as I thought,” he wet his lips then walked over to the fireplace and sat in one of the leather patent chairs.

He didn’t have a plan, Y/N gathered, but he wanted to test her. She was annoyed with him and the way he toyed with her to make himself feel superior. Though, a part of her was pleased she had passed his test. She settled herself in the chair across from him, crossing her ankles as she adjusted her posture. Y/N looked over to Tom, who was watching her. She saw the opportunity to make her move in their game, a reprisal to his test he pulled on her. She bit her lip as she reached her arms over her head and started to pull off her sweater. Y/N felt the tank top underneath slide up her torso as she pulled at the sweater’s sleeves, revealing her lower stomach. As she hung the sweatshirt over the side of the chair, one of Tom’s men walked into the library cautiously.

“Boss, just wanted to give you an update on the Riley money.” He spoke to Tom with a failed confidence while Y/N observed him. He was relatively young, maybe about 20. He had dark hair that hung over his brow and constantly caused him push it to the side with a free hand.

“Yes please, give us the update.” Y/N answered for Tom, eyes lingering on Tom’s as she spoke.

“Oh, um,” the boy paused, not sure whether to continue so he glanced at Tom, who merely nodded.

“He’s paid 30 of the 35 thousand, said it’d be ready by this Friday.” He was reading a piece of paper in his hand, obviously nervous as his hand shook with each breath.

Tom nodded then waved him away, Y/N stopped him.

“What’s your name?” She asked with a friendly manner, leaning seductively over the arm of the chair.

“Frankie, ma’am.” Frankie’s voice got caught in his throat as he realized he had been caught up in the game between Tom and Y/N and it made sweat rise above his brow.

“Frankie, come here,” she curled her finger, telling him to lean into her. She ran her tongue along her bottom lip and then pressed her teeth into the pink flesh.

Frankie hesitantly bent down, where she grabbed the collar of his shirt and tugged him down to her so his ear to her lips, Frankie swallowed hard as he braced himself for her words.

She whispered so Tom wouldn’t hear, “next time, fucking knock.”

She grinned up at him as she slid her hand from his shirt and beckoned for him to leave. Y/N pushed her hair behind her shoulder, looking over at Tom as she pulled her feet up onto the chair.

“Y/N,” he growled, his hands gripped the side of the chair with so much force his knuckles had turned white. He sucked in a deep breath and exhaled forcefully, a failed attempt of keeping focused.

“Yes, Tommy?” She smirked, knowing the nickname would either push him over the edge or shove him back into his cave, she counted on the former. To her good fortune, it made him jump out of his chair and push her into the back of the cushioned leather she sat in.

“We can’t keep playing this game,” he breathed just under her ear, lowering himself down to the soft skin of her neck, “I know you want me too.” His breath was hot against her, Y/N grabbed at the loose fabric of his shirt and pulled him into her. Her other hand sneaking up his chest and up into his messy curls. His body hovered over hers, Y/N chest began to rise and fall.

“Do I?” she smiled as she said the words. Her eyes looking up to his. The brown in his eyes was smooth like chocolate as the dim light from the fire beside them lit up one side of his face. She tugged on his curls knotted in her hand, his head moving backwards, making him groan. He kissed her neck and sucked lightly, the hand of Y/N’s that wasn’t laced into his hair rested on the top of his belt. Her fingers danced along the thick leather, knuckles brushing against his lower abs. Tom moved his lips to hers, no tongue to begin with but then gradually adding more as time went on. He wasn’t rough like she expected him to be, but soft with his movements. But then, to her surprise he hooked the tip of his tongue under her front teeth, pulling her head forward, like a finger beckoning her closer. Y/N took this as a sign to slip her tongue into his mouth, while she did so she slipped the tip of her fingers under his belt, teasing him. He groaned into her mouth, urging her on, his mouth pressing harder against hers. Y/N was getting engrossed in the moment, moving her tongue expertly. Tom slipped his hand under her tank top, pushing it up higher as he got closer to her breasts. He ran a finger underneath the wire of her bra, threatening to take it off.

Y/N became lost in the moment, all she was thinking about was Tom. The way his body was suspended over hers, how the warmth of his body radiated down on her as she moved her tongue in sync with his. Her hand was about to unbuckle his belt but then his warmth was gone, and suddenly the fire’s warmth was not enough to keep the goose bumps from rising on her arms.

“Nice try, princess,” he muttered. He was walking back over to his chair, smiling to himself as he stared into the fire. The orange light danced along his face, his eyes were in a haze as he watched the flames lick the edge of the stone that contained it. He exhaled harshly, “Martin’s motive, it must have something to do with his personal life. He’s never had a wife or a serious girlfriend. But his father committed suicide when he was 17 and then his mum became a full fledged alcoholic.”

Y/N was annoyed, once again. But she was impressed with his dedication to winning their little competition of taunt. As much as she enjoyed toying with him, Y/N knew they had to formulate a plan, and quickly. “Who was his mother?”

“Um,” he thought for a moment, squinting his eyes, “Penny Martin, journalist for Wallace, a London based newspaper. One of the best.”

“His mother must have taught him a bit on fact finding, and maybe blackmail,” suddenly, Y/N was interested in Rob Martin’s family history, “and his father?”

“David Martin,” he stopped briefly, “I’ve heard that name. Who is he? Why would I know that name?” Tom rubbed his face with his hands and perched himself on the edge of the chair. He pondered for a few minutes, then suddenly got up and walked down an aisle of what was supposed to be books, but were actually thick binders filled with papers.

“These are all the documents of all the people that have worked for my family, all the way from the 19th century to now.” he ran his fingers along a row of binders then stopped on one, and slide it from between two others. Tom flicked through the pages for a while, then walked back over to the chair where he sat. He read over a few pages then snapped the binder shut, Tom turned to Y/N with a look that gave away his sudden understanding of Robert Martin.

“He owed my father over four hundred thousand pounds, he couldn’t pay to cover up his affair with the Lord Chancellor at the time, nor the time he’d spent sex trafficking women from Russia. He couldn’t pay, and when he knew my father had sent men to collect he killed himself. My dad never got around to uncovering all the shit, so nobody really knows about David Martin’s sins.” Tom growled, disgusted with how messy his father had handled the situation. Tom had been taught to never do anything for free, even after they’re six feet under.

“Tom, that’s his motive-”

Tom cut her off, finishing the sentence for her, “he blames me and my family for his father’s suicide.”

Despite the gruesome circumstances, Tom smiled at Y/N softly and she smiled back, this time with nothing but cordiality. Glancing at the grandfather clock behind Y/N, Tom rose from his seat and walked over to where she sat observing him. He kissed the top of her head and silently exited the library, leaving Y/N wondering who Tom Holland was behind the Armani suit and the blood that stained his hands.

TAGLIST:

Add yourself to the Hades taglist

@izigreen @delusionsofnostalgia @helloilovethemcu @dragonqueendany  @musical-whovian @spideytease @marvelkatwoman @lets--be--honest @britneybitch @quackson-queen @cqrstqirs-rosqles @hollandandi @aoonai @fandom-centric-moron @n-erdy-girl @tom-hollands-eyelash @shootingstarsaretearsofheaven @millie170104 @nebulafading @hauntingnightterror @marvelismylifffe @yourwonderbelle @loveappeal506 @sams-hollands @delicate-tom13 @diaryofastudentofficial @emmagan @moodroad @shadowssweetclown  @capsofwinchesters@anxiousdesignerdancerbandlover @kawaiigothfishpasta @quillsbucky @parkerstan

[sassysweetstories]

Shared

Request: “soul-mate au where you feel the other’s emotions. Lydia rejected Stiles and he thought for the longest time that they were soul-mates only to find Lydia with someone else. AND HE’S SUPER SAD AND THE READER CAN FEEL IT!!” 

Ship: mentions of previous Lydia x Stiles, Stiles x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, swearing, flashbacks, fluff, description of panic attack, minor kissing, emotion sharing, blood, fighting, etc. 

Notes: none of these gifs are mine, credit to owners. 

Tagged for all and AU’s:  @bailey-hoover @kiralivelove @thalia-prior-of-ravenclaw@anamcg317 @bellasett @queentiffanyyy @archer-whovian-violinist@beingmadinwonderland @princessisabelle19 @violence-and-velvet @ordinarygirlmeetsfantasticworld @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone 

Stiles P.O.V

[5 months ago] 

When I looked into her beautiful hazel eyes, everything just made sense. Or, at least I thought it did. Her gorgeous strawberry blonde hair fell perfectly onto her shoulders as her hips moved from side to side. How was she always so elegant and regal? Nearly seven years, I’ve known that I loved Lydia Martin. I would do anything for her, give up everything just to see her smile. And we were happy, laughing and joking and bickering like friends, hopefully couples do. The government said soul-mates have something to do with our genetic coding while others said it was because of the gods and goddess who wield it. For a little while I thought it was rubbish. That was until Lydia Martin waltzed into my life. 

For a long time I had wanted to confess to her that she was my soul-mate. There was no doubt in my mind that she was the one person who brought me joy in times of stress. However as time went on, I was starting to lose hope. Lydia’s smile was less when she was with me, not as warm and open as usual. The more cold she became made me frightened and nervous. But I had spent nearly seven years wondering if she felt the same. But if everyone says soul-mates feel and know when they look at one another, why wasn’t she more excited? And then I wish I hadn’t wondered. 

“Stiles, I don’t love you. I don’t even really like you. I only talked to you because Jackson left me and I needed attention.” She snapped at me one day in the middle of the hallway. But it didn’t make sense. “Lydia, I thought- I thought we-” I ask, voice hoarse but hopeful as I feel my heart slowly crumbling. I can’t breath. I feel like I’m suffocating as she mercilessly says, “Stiles, get over yourself. There was nothing between us to begin with. You were just infatuation with me. I’ve found my soul-mate. And he isn’t you.” She turned over her shoulder, her strawberry blonde hair whipping around in the process. A thing in which I once adored but now makes me sick to my stomach. Turning away from the crowded hallway, I push and nudge everyone out of the way to get some place safe. A bathroom, somewhere out of the public eye. 

My breathing is choppy and rigid as I nearly fall into the family bathroom, somehow managing to lock it in the process of my sudden panic attack. My vision is disoriented and blurry as I attempt to reach the sink in hopes that some water could suppress this hellish nightmare that starts to form and fester around me. Everything’s turning black, dark spots plague my vision and my heart feels like it’s about to jump out of my chest, hoping to escape the inevitable. It’s all too much. The sudden odd mixture of cold and hotness, the straight up rejection from the girl whom I thought to have loved. From what little I can make out, a set of hands shakily reach for the handles. It takes me a second to realize that they’re in fact mine. Before I know it, my face is immersed within the water, patting the back of my sweaty neck. 

Your P.O.V

One minute I’m fine and the next I’m heaving for air, like it’ll never come back and it’s my last chance to grab as much of it as I can before it’s too late. I know exactly what this is. A panic attack. I’ve been on the wrong side of it before but this time there wasn’t a reason for it to have triggered, or for me to feel the way that I do. I’m at a small gathering when suddenly the room becomes too packed, like it has shrunk down to the size of a teacup. Usually I’m fine at parties, hell, I’m the party at parties. But right now it feels like someone’s taken a barrel of water and shoved it down my throat. And yet my lungs feel dry and small, almost too tiny for my normal size. Quickly I slip from the bodies and thumping speakers that suddenly have no sound whatsoever, leaning against into the walls as I search in hopes of a secluded area in the house to let this pass. 

Dark spots bounce around my blurry vision as I somehow sneak into the nearest empty bathroom, fiddling with the lock until I hear a successful click. I fall to the ground, flicking the lights in the process to a dim setting. For some weird reason, I’m an odd mixture of sadness and heartbreak. Like I lost a love or a family member of some sort. But I hadn’t to my recollection. It was as if someone was ripping out my insides, putting them back together, only to do it all over again. I can’t stop the tears from escaping as my choppy breathing makes mist form across the white marble floor. Propping my body up on my elbow, I can barely hold up my weight. For the first time in a long time, I feel as though a massive anvil crushes my chest and lungs, tearing me apart, limb by limb. It’s all too much. 

[Now]

It’s been a few months since my panic attack and those months following, I was unbelievably sad. My drastic mood change concerned my friends and family greatly. That was until they came up with a solution that everyone wouldn’t stop talking about, especially my friends. “It’s your soul-mate!” Exclaimed my friend, Dakota, in the middle of our favorite coffee shop. She was hell-bent on said theory, believed it wholeheartedly, too. But it didn’t make sense. People get waves of sadness all the time? Besides, if that were true, how the hell would I even find my soul-mate if we’re feeling the others emotions? How can I locate him? I had hundreds of questions about the theory, all of which weren’t being answered, nor did I expect them to be. Dakota kept on with her sch-peel that I gotta have faith in the universe or whatever. 

But honestly, I wasn’t feeling up to it. This sadness was really getting me down and I hadn’t a clue as to why. Later that day, I went home to find a series of envelopes resting on the kitchen table. Mom must’ve brought the mail in before going out. Rummaging through to see if any belonged to me, I pause on one envelope and my heart drops to the pit of my stomach, face going pale. University College of Admissions. Oh god, this was it. My acceptance letter or my decline.. There’s a fifty fifty chance for either and I can’t breath. I’m tearing apart the package with shaky needy fingers. I toss the outer layer in the trash, holding my breath in anticipation. I open the paper all the way and read. 

Dear (Y/N) (Y/L/N), 

Welcome to the family! We are happy to congratulate you on your acceptance to...

I let the breath out and jaw go slack, gasping in shock. I-I was accepted.. I read it aloud this time and for some reason it feels more real when I hear myself say the words I’ve worked so hard to achieve. I was accepted into the school of my dreams. For the first time in months, my sadness has completely washed away. Overcome by joy. I worked my ass off, fighting through hours of tears, school, a job, bullies, and everything in between to get to this one significant moment. For the first time in a long time, I felt whole and enough, that my time and effort and energy was not overlooked. In fact, it felt like someone had put me on a pedestal for everyone to see the greatness and success I’ve achieved all on my own. 

Stiles P.O.V

When I wake up this morning, I expect to feel as I have felt for the past few months, cold and heartbroken. But for some odd reason, I’m overcome by a sense of joy that I’m brought to automatic tears, happy tears. After everything that’s happened, I have no reason to be or feel happy, and yet, I can’t stop myself from grinning from ear to ear, almost like a kid on Christmas. I cry and laugh, holding my pillow close to my chest before turning on some upbeat music which only make my happiness grow. Why I was feeling this way made little to no sense and made me confused but I was too busy floating on cloud nine to actually care. For some reason, I felt more proud of myself than ever. Like I had put enough time into things such as school, and work, and saving people that I felt warm, almost fuzzy with joy. 

For the first time in what feels like forever, I’m not thinking about Lydia, I’m thinking about me. I’m thinking about my accomplishments and hard work as a member of the pack. I’m going over the moments in my head in which I was independent and confident in my abilities despite my overall clumsiness. The moments where I saved lives, including my own whilst fighting against a threat that was seemingly impossible to defeat. It was like all my reason to wallow had vanished. Lydia was seriously missing out on being with me. But for once, I’m happy that she’s not my soul-mate. If she was, I would have been straight up miserable, following her around like a lost puppy would. I would have succumbed to her manipulative ways and done anything for her. I giggle at the idea of freedom, that I’m my own person. It’s like a blanket of warmth that washes over me. 

But I had to ask the one question that boggled my mind. Why the sudden change in mood? It was not something small, in fact, it was beyond drastic. It was the biggest mood jump I’ve ever had. The next few days, my attitude change shocks not only me, but everyone, as-well. Scott pulls me aside, eyeing my odd, overly happy behavior. “What the hell’s gotten into you?” Even though it’s nice not wallowing in my self pity anymore, the question does scare me because I don’t know the answer to it. I shake my head, still smiling, unable to suppress the joy. “I have no clue but I can’t stop smiling. I don’t know, I just feel- I feel like I’ve accomplished so much. That I’m stronger than I think, that I worked hard to get where I am right now, ya know? I just kinda realized, I don’t need Lydia. That I got where I am because of you and my dad.” 

He nodded and hypothesized the most ridiculous thing in the world. “OH MY GOD! IT HAS TO BE YOUR SOUL-MATE?!” I may be sporting a smile but I can’t help but roll my eyes in detest. But the more I think about it, the less wild it sounds. Lydia had a soul-mate? Maybe that’s why she was shifting moods so often when we were around one another? I take to the internet to search for more answers. When my eyes fall onto the most recent news article, I find myself scanning every words at hyper-speed, eating up as much information on the topic that I can. If soul-mates are real, could this possible have something to do with my drastic emotional fluctuation? I have ten websites open before a new body enters my room. “Son, what are you doing?” Dad asks, leaning against the door wall. “I’m researching soul-mates.” I reply shortly, too immersed in my work to focus on any else. 

All of a sudden, my chair is being pulled back and away from the computer. “Dad- wait- no- what are you-” When he turns the chair to face him, he sits on my bed with a faint smile. “Why don’t you ask your old man instead of some stupid website?” I can’t help but look at him in shock, jaw to the floor as I gape at him. “Wait, you mean they’re real? Soul-mates are real?” He shook his head, laughing before picking up the picture of my mom and him that sat atop my nighttime dresser. “How do you think I met your mother?” Dad looks down at the photo with such light and love in his eyes, I’m taken back by the simple yet delicate moment. I shut up fast, wanting for him to continue. “How did you know she was your soul-mate?” He glanced up at me with a small blush before looking back at the photo, confessing. 

“It all started when I was around your age. I had gotten out of a really rough relationship with this girl who I was certain to be my soul-mate, only to find out that she had been seeing hers behind my back. In all honesty, I couldn’t really be mad. The cheating was bad but they were soul-mates, didn’t make up for the pain though. But I was so heartbroken, I didn’t leave my house for nearly two weeks. And then at the two week mark, my mood completely changed. I was overjoyed and happier than I’d ever been. Except, I had no reason be. My heart had been completely broken but for some reason, I felt fine, more than fine. It was as if everything around me changed, and all I could see were the positives. It was the most angelic feeling in the whole world, nearly indescribable. Not long after, a few days I think, I met her, your mother. And from that day forth, they were the best moments of my life.”

When he’s done talking, my heart hurts with happy thoughts of my father and my mother, hoping, praying, that someday I will have what they had. It surely explained the feelings I’d been getting but I’ve spent too much of my life getting my hopes up, only to be let down, so I don’t. “How did you know it was her for sure?” I can’t help but ask. He looks from me and then down to the picture again before replying. “Soul-mates share emotions. Once I laid eyes on her, for a split second, everything around me went silent. It was as if my heart was finally whole, and I could breath once more. It’s hard to describe but, you just know.” 

Your P.O.V

I have to take a knee to withhold this brand new feeling. My heart is filled up to the brim with love and hope, so much of it I could barely breathe. It wasn’t a bad feeling, actually it was far from it. I can’t stop smiling and I know it’s not because of the acceptance letter. That flame has died and I’ve made peace with it. This, this is something entirely new. Maybe Dakota was right? This could actually be some weird soul-mate thing? I cave in and go to the internet for some answers, scanning and searching through every article that I could possibly get my hands on. Soul-mates Share Emotions: The Literal Bond of Love. One article reads. I can’t help but click on it, fascinated by the title alone. 

“Studies have shown that soul-mates are becoming prominent now, more than ever before! Participants within the study have described their experience as sharing emotions, some of those people changing so drastically that the other’s mood adjusts in the same fashion until the day the two meet. On average, soul-mates will meet within the year their emotions start to inter-mix. If you are looking to find how or when you know whom your soul-mate is, participants have described the feeling as being noiseless and ethereal. That when their eyes meet, time almost freezes and they just knew in their hearts that that person was their soul-mate. Wanna learn more? Click for more!” 

I get out of the tab and lock down the computer. That night I can’t sleep, still bubbly from- well, I don’t really know why I’m so giddy. I’m not saying this is the case, but it very well could be my soul-mate. I hope he’s okay and in a good mood. Lord knows I wouldn’t have wanted to feel what he felt, but evidently I did. But right now, I’m happy to be sharing emotions with him. It’s almost calming and warm to sense what he’s feeling right now. Whatever happened or whomever he spoke to, definitely changed something within him, and maybe within me, too. That soul-mate thing didn’t sound as crazy as I’ve made it out to be. Whether that is my own thought or not, I found myself growing giddy at the thought of finally meeting him, or whomever he was. 

Stiles P.O.V

Caffeine wasn’t exactly what I needed right now, especially considering the fact that I’m wide awake. Something about today just felt right, and it wasn’t because of what my dad and I talked about last night. Glancing around the small, dimly lit cafe, I can’t help but smile at the warm scent that’s greeted my nostrils. It’s too early for a lot of people to be here and I like it that way. I don’t come in here often to notice its beauty and simplicity but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it. I’m not even fully inside before a new feeling washes over me, except, it’s not much of a feeling. It’s nearly impossible to decipher, I don’t even think it’s an emotion at all. I can’t quite put my finger on it until the room grows suspiciously quiet. I can’t hear the obnoxiously loud late machines churning or gurgling to life. 

Nor can I hear the shuffling of boots or orders, names being thrown left and right despite the time of day. It’s completely still, no birds, no noise. It’s so serene. I’m meeting her. This is it. And just like my dad said, I look around the almost barren cafe until I meet her gaze. She’s already looking at me and I feel like my heart’s going to explode out of my chest. My pops was right. She looks absolutely breathing, straight up ethereal, like an angel fallen from heaven. When I look into her deep (y/e/c)’s, they’re the only thing I see. My heart feels warm and whole and beating a thousand miles a minute. “Hi..” I manage to say despite my obvious shock. She smiles, a single tear escaping from her right eye. Instinctively, I wipe the tear away, resting my hand comfortably on her cheek. 

“Hi.. I’m (Y/n).. Your soul-mate..” She says softly. I’m so overwhelmed by emotion that tears escape from my eyes, wrapping my hands in her face, I can’t help but say sweetly. “You’re my soul-mate.. I have a soul-mate.. Oh my god.. I’m the luckiest man alive..” (Y/n) giggles again and I swear she sounds like an angel sent from heaven above. “And I’m Stiles.. Your soul-mate..” When she looks at me, her eyes gleam under the sun that peaked through the cafe windows. “Well Stiles,-” (Y/n) says smoothly. “How ‘bout you and I get to know one another over some coffee and the newest Star Wars movie. But I’m not gonna lie, I’ve already seen two times.” I can’t help but giggle. God, this woman’s going to be the death of me. “Same. And I would be honored.” Looking back at her, my dad was right. Linked emotion gone but love filled my soul. 

(I hope you guys liked it!! I really appreciate the feedback! Please comment below!!)