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astars-things · 1 day ago

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Hot laps

Y/n Hughes x Lando Norris

where lando convinces Jack and Luke to get in the car with him for a hot laps video

Y/N Hughes had spent enough time in the McLaren garage to know that when her boyfriend, Lando Norris, said, “I have an idea,” it was usually code for a complete and utter disaster waiting to happen.

This time was no exception.

“I think we should get your brothers in the car with me,” Lando had suggested one evening after dinner, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know, give them the full experience.”

Y/N had raised an eyebrow. “Full experience?”

Lando’s grin stretched wider. “Hot laps. Maybe some donuts. Just to see how they handle it.”

Y/N let out an exaggerated groan, already picturing the inevitable chaos. “Lando, my brothers are dramatic. This is going to end badly.”

“That’s what makes it fun,” he shot back with a wink.

And so, that’s how Y/N found herself standing in the McLaren garage with a camera in hand, preparing to document the impending disaster. Her middle brother, Jack Hughes, was already climbing into the passenger seat of the McLaren two-seater, and she could tell from the look on his face he was mentally preparing himself for the ride of his life. Or, more accurately, the ride that would probably end with him in a crumpled heap on the side of the track.

Before anything could happen, Y/N turned to the camera and grinned mischievously.

“For the record, Quinn did not want to take part in this,” she began, holding the camera up with one hand while gesturing with the other. “His exact words were—” she cleared her throat and deepened her voice dramatically to mimic her eldest brother, “—‘I’m too young to die.’”

The McLaren crew laughed, and Y/N could see Jack trying—and failing—to hold back a chuckle as he strapped himself into the seat next to Lando.

Jack shot Lando a look. “If you kill me, I’m coming back as a ghost and haunting you forever. I’ll be the most annoying ghost in the history of ghosts.”

Lando just flashed him a grin that screamed, this is going to be fun. “Hold on tight, Hughes.”

And with that, they were off.

Lando wasted no time, immediately pushing the car to its limits. The engine roared to life as they accelerated down the track, the corners coming up faster than Jack could anticipate. He was gripping the sides of the car so hard his knuckles were turning white, and his yells were muffled by the helmet, but it was clear from the expression on his face that the ride was nothing short of terrifying.

Then came the donuts.

Lando spun the car with ease, the tires screaming as smoke billowed out around them. Jack, on the other hand, was not having it. His hands were gripping the door so tightly he might’ve left indentations in the metal, and he let out a string of profanities that could only be half-heard through the helmet.

When they finally coasted back into the garage, Jack stumbled out of the car like a man who had just survived a warzone. His hair was a mess, his face was slightly pale, and his legs were unsteady, as if he hadn’t quite realized the ground was still solid beneath him.

He turned to Y/N immediately. “He better not be driving like that when you’re in the car,” he said, pointing accusingly at Lando.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh awkwardly, trying not to make eye contact with her boyfriend, who was looking way too pleased with himself.

“Mate,” Lando said with mock innocence, holding his hands up in defense, “I’m a very responsible driver when Y/N’s in the car. Right, babe?”

Jack narrowed his eyes at him. “You better be.”

Y/N just filmed it all, knowing this was pure gold. She’d have a laugh for weeks with this footage.

Next up was Luke.

Unlike Jack, Luke had been excited at first. “I just want to see what it feels like,” he’d told Y/N confidently, full of bravado.

But now, as he strapped himself into the passenger seat, his confidence was starting to waver. The smile on his face was slowly fading, and his fingers were gripping the seatbelt like it was the only thing keeping him from plunging into oblivion.

“Uh, maybe not too fast,” Luke muttered as Lando revved the engine, but of course, Lando either didn’t hear him or decided to ignore it.

And then, they were off.

The McLaren shot forward like a rocket, and Luke was immediately pressed into the seat, his face contorting into something that could only be described as pure terror. The turns were sharp, and the speed was unrelenting, and when Lando added a few donuts into the mix, Luke was officially done.

As they finally coasted back into the garage, Luke was the first to exit the car, stumbling out like a baby giraffe who had just learned to walk. He dropped to his knees, kissing the pit lane floor dramatically.

“I have never been so happy to be back on stable ground,” he mumbled in a voice so full of theatrical relief that even the McLaren crew burst into laughter.

Jack, who was standing nearby, clapped Luke on the back. “You good, buddy?”

Luke glared at him, clearly not in the mood for jokes. “No.”

Meanwhile, Y/N was laughing so hard she had to lean against the nearest car to keep from falling over. The footage was already legendary, and they hadn’t even reviewed it yet.

When they finally sat down to watch the clips, there was no question about it—the video was going viral. It was iconic. Pure comedic gold.

Liked by @.devilsnation_86 @.User7 and others

@.McLaren From the ice to the track...

@.Jackhughes and @.lhughes_06 take on hot laps with @.Landonorris behind the wheel! @.QuinnHughes not wanting to take part because he is "too young to die"

Full video now on our YouTube—featuring Luke kissing the pit lane floor like it’s the Stanley Cup.

View comments

@.PitStopQueen This was the best thing I’ve watched in a while. We need a part two.

@.devilsnation_86 Why is this video funnier than it should be 😭 Luke really thought he saw the light

@.f1andpucklove JACK BEING A PROTECTIVE BROTHER “He better not be driving like that when you’re in the car” 😭😭 protect Y/N at all costs

@.user Quinn saying “I’m too young to die” and opting out is so eldest sibling energy 💀

@.User7 Y/N WHEN IS IT YOUR TURN? 👀💨

→@.Landonorris That’s what I’m saying! Y/N hot lap next? 👀🔥

→@.Jackhughes Absolutely not.

→@.lhughes_06 NOPE.

→@.QuinnHughes Over my dead body.

@.user15 Next episode: Lando gets put on skates and Jack & Luke take their revenge

→@.McLaren we would but we need Lando in one piece for the season

→ @.User7 Not y/n commenting on the McLaren account so it cant be traced back to her

@.f1puckcrossovers I need more hockey players in F1 cars immediately. This is GOLD.

→@.McLaren we are on it don't you worry 🫡

→ @.Y/n_hughes @.colecaufield @.trevorzegras @.alex.turcotte @.NicoHischier @.tysmith

→@.Jackhughes @.Y/n_hughes stop trying to recruit my friends to get into the car with your menace of a boyfriend

→@.trevorzegras I'm down lowkey shit looks fun

→@.Landonorris I'm already plotting. Bring the boys

@.colecaufield Ik a spot we can do donuts this [email protected]

→@.McLaren for legal reasons this is a joke!! Please don’t try this at home!!

→@.user2 Y/n really out here trying to protect lando

→ @.Y/n_hughes 🫡

@.f1puckcrossovers Y/N switching accounts every 5 minutes is honestly my favorite

→@.Landonorris She has two phones – one for the McLaren Insta and one for her personal. I’m just here to make sure she’s not overwhelmed. 😏

→ @.Y/n_hughes Lando you are my king 👑

→@.McLaren Lando please get off my account

Load more comments

*photos are from pinterest I do not own them

Please reblog! Also let me know if you would like a part 2 where y/n is in the car

#send in requests #thanks anon!#jack hughes #luke hughes #quinn hughes #lando norris x y/n #lando norris #y/n hughes x lando norris #f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #formula 1 #f1 #f1 fanfic #fake instagram #ig edit #lando x reader #lando norris imagine

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darkmarkmarauder · 2 days ago

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Bad Intentions - M.R.

enemies to lovers? no, babe. enemies to oops, my legs are open again

You’re going to hell for this.

Maybe not in the biblical sense—not that you particularly care—but in the way that every time you say it’s the last time, you end up right back where you started.

Right back under him. Right back on top of him.

If sin had a name, it would be Mattheo Riddle. And if temptation had a face, it would be the way he looked at you from across the Slytherin common room, slouched in his usual spot, spinning a silver ring between his fingers like he had all the time in the world. Which is why you were now lying in his bed, covered in his cum, next to him. Goddamnit you were weak. And he knew it too.

"You set the rules," Mattheo says, his voice low and quiet. "No feelings. No strings. Just fucking." He tilts his head, studying you. "But tell me, love—why is it that every time I leave your bed, you act like you don’t want me to come back?"

Because you don’t.

Because you do.

But you’ll die before you admit it.

So you scoff, adjusting the strap of your slip dress as you rise from the bed, feeling the dull ache between your thighs—a phantom reminder of his hands, his mouth, his cock. You refuse to look at him as you grab your wand from the nightstand, flicking it to relight the candles he'd blown out hours ago. "I don't act like anything, Riddle. You’re the one still standing here like you’re waiting for me to ask you to stay."

Mattheo watches you with a look that is both amused and dark, the corner of his mouth curling like he knows something you don’t. His hair is a mess from your hands, his chest still rising and falling like he hasn't caught his breath, like he's still trying to steady himself from what you just did to him.

You don’t let yourself stare too long.

He steps closer, ignoring the way you pointedly avoid his gaze. "You always do this," he murmurs, voice laced with something dangerous. "Pretend you don’t give a fuck. Like you don’t have your nails down my back, begging for me, soaking my cock, and then act like I mean nothing once it’s over."

"Because you don’t," you lie smoothly, leaning against the vanity and running a hand through your hair. "We have an arrangement, Riddle. You fuck me, I fuck you, we both get off."

You finally meet his eyes. "You just have a hard time letting go."

He grinned, tilting his head. “That’s rich coming from the girl who keeps letting me fuck her in every dark corner of this goddamn castle.”

Your jaw tightened. You knew it was true. You hated that it was true.

Because every time you told yourself you were done—every time you swore that this was the last time, that you weren’t going to let Mattheo Riddle get under your skin again—you found yourself tangled in him, bodies pressed too close, his hands gripping your hips like he could brand himself into you.

“You look like you’re thinking too hard,” Mattheo laughed, voice thick with amusement.

“I need to leave,” you said, voice lazy, eyes still on the ceiling.

Mattheo sighed dramatically, rolling onto his back. “And yet, you’ll find me again tomorrow night.”

You scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I don’t need to,” he said, grinning at the ceiling. “You do it for me.”

You turned your head then, meeting his gaze, something unreadable flickering behind his dark eyes.

“You’re making this complicated,” you muttered.

He rolled onto his side, propping his head up with his hand. “You’re the one making it complicated.” His eyes traced your features, something softer in them now, but still sharp enough to cut. “What are you so afraid of?”

You sat up, reaching for your clothes, the moment shattered. “Nothing.”

He made a low sound in his throat, something close to disbelief. “Right.”

You turned, glaring at him over your shoulder. “We agreed this was physical. That’s it.”

Mattheo sat up too, the teasing edge gone from his voice when he said, “You can lie to yourself all you want, but you can’t lie to me.”

You clenched your jaw, yanking your shirt over your head. “I don’t know what the fuck you think this is, but you’re wrong.” Godsdammit, you had done everything to keep him at arm’s length. But Mattheo Riddle was an addict, and you were his drug of choice.

“Tell me you don’t feel this,” he said, gripping your wrist before you could leave his bed.

You turned, rolling your eyes. “I don’t.”

Liar.

His gaze flickered down to your lips, then back up, burning into you. “Tell me you don’t think about me when I’m not there.”

You exhaled sharply. “I don’t.”

Liar, liar, liar.

He leaned back against the headboard, running a hand through his dark curls, and gave you a look that made your stomach twist. It wasn’t anger, wasn’t frustration—it was something closer to amusement. Like he knew something you didn’t. Like he had all the time in the world to wait for you to stop running.

So you ended it. Just like that.

"That’s it," you had said, voice firm, ignoring the way your chest ached. "This was never supposed to be anything more. And I’m done."

The muscle in his jaw ticked. He exhaled through his nose, gripping the edge of the bed like he was stopping himself from grabbing you. "Bullshit."

"Call it whatever you want, but we’re done."

You left before he could stop you, slipping out of his bed before the warmth of his body could seduce you into staying. That was the rule. No sleeping over. No post-fuck tenderness. Nothing more.

It lasts all of 2 days. 48 goddamn hours until he finds you in the library, dragging a chair beside you like he owns the place. You don’t even look up from your book.

“I thought we agreed—”

“You agreed,” he interrupts. “I never said shit.”

You sigh, finally glancing at him. He looks fucking good, as usual, and that pisses you off.

“I don’t have time for this,” you murmur.

Mattheo leans closer, his voice dropping low. “I think you do.”

And god, you want to push him away, want to tell him to fuck off, but then his fingers brush against your thigh, and you forget why you were fighting this in the first place.

This. This is a mistake. You snap the book shut so violently it echoes, your nails digging into the cover. You swat his hand away, but he only grins, eyes flickering with something dark, something hungry.

"Touch me again and I’ll break your fingers," you say sweetly.

Mattheo tilts his head, the smirk never leaving his lips. "You’re so fucking mean to me, princess."

"Christ, you’re desperate," you sneer, arching a brow. "What happened? No other sluts to keep you occupied?"

Mattheo grins, entirely unfazed. If anything, he looks even more entertained. "Oh, plenty. But none of them are you."

His fingers press into your thigh again, inching higher. You open your mouth—maybe to tell him to fuck off, maybe to tell him to keep going—but then he slips his fingers past the hem of your skirt, past the lace of your panties, and presses right against your already-soaked cunt.

His lips twitch, eyes dark and full of something dangerous. Lust, possession, the sheer thrill of getting away with something you shouldn’t.

“Fucking knew it,” he murmurs, fingers dragging along the inside of your thigh, parting them under the table.

Your breath catches, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of reacting—of letting him see how badly he gets to you. Instead, you tilt your head, feigning boredom, like his fingers slipping between your legs isn’t already setting you on fire.

“You’re pathetic,” you whisper, just to see that glint of irritation flash across his face, just to keep him on edge.

“You’re wet,” he counters smoothly, fingers pressing against your clit, right over the lace of your panties. “So what does that make you?”

Your nails dig into the wooden chair.

Bastard.

The library is dim, the massive shelves creating darkened corners, but you’re not alone. There are people nearby, just a few tables over. Ravenclaws studying for exams. A group of Slytherins murmuring about next week’s match. Anyone could see if they looked over at the wrong moment. And Mattheo knows it.

His fingers dip beneath your panties, brushing through your slick folds, teasing you just enough to make your breath hitch.

His mouth brushes your ear. “If you want me to stop, just say the word.”

He’s testing you. Waiting to see if you’ll break first. But he should know by now—you don’t break.

You shift in your seat, parting your legs just a little more, a silent dare. Go on, then.

Mattheo’s breath shudders. His restraint is hanging by a thread, you can feel it.

And you? You decide to cut the thread entirely.

Your hand slides beneath the table, fingers wrapping around his wrist—not to stop him, but to push him deeper against you.

Mattheo curses under his breath. His control snaps.

He shoves your panties aside, two fingers sliding inside you with an ease that makes your stomach clench, makes your grip on his wrist tighten.

Still, you keep your face impassive. Cool. Unbothered.

But when he crooks his fingers just right, dragging along that spot inside you that makes your thighs tense—a quiet soft moan escapes through your lips.

And he fucking hears it.

He smirks, his free hand coming up to tilt your chin toward him, forcing you to meet his gaze. His pupils are blown wide, his cocky smirk laced with something darker.

“You were saying?”

Your heart is hammering, your body betraying you—but you refuse to let him win so easily.

You lean in, your lips just brushing his ear, voice smooth. “I was saying… if you don’t hurry up and make me cum, I’m walking out of here and finishing myself off in the dorms.”

Mattheo growls.

It’s quiet, low in his throat, but fuck, it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard.

His fingers slam into you, harder, faster, his thumb rubbing messy, tight circles over your clit, and it takes everything in you not to moan—not to let everyone in the fucking library know what he’s doing to you.

You clutch the edge of the table so hard your knuckles ache, your legs trembling under the weight of your own pleasure.

You’re right there, on the edge, seconds away from—

“Excuse me?”

A voice. Too close.

Your stomach drops. Mattheo’s fingers freeze inside you.

Your head snaps up to see a Ravenclaw prefect standing at the end of the table, arms crossed, brows raised. She’s looking at you both suspiciously, like she knows something is off but can’t quite put her finger on it.

Your breathing is shallow, your pulse pounding.

You keep your face smooth. Calm. You’ve gotten away with worse.

Mattheo? That motherfucker is grinning. His fingers are still inside you. Not moving. Just there. You were going to murder him.

The prefect clears her throat. “The library closes in ten minutes.”

You force a nod. “Got it.”

She doesn’t leave right away, though. She lingers, eyes narrowing slightly, lips parting like she’s about to say something else. Like she’s about to question.

Mattheo, still the absolute bastard that he is, presses his fingers deeper.

Your whole body jerks before you can stop it.

The prefect blinks. “Are you—”

You cut her off. “We’re fine.”

She hesitates, then nods slowly before finally walking away.

Mattheo waits exactly three seconds before leaning in, his breath teasing against your ear.

“You almost got us caught.”

You whirl on him, grabbing his wrist, wrenching his fingers out of you before you can lose your fucking mind.

His eyes darken as you suck his fingers into your mouth, tasting yourself on him, keeping eye contact the entire time.

Mattheo’s breathing goes ragged.

“Fuck.”

Your deathgrip on his wrist tightens, nails biting into his skin, dragging his hand away as you stand. His gaze follows you, pupils blown wide, lips parted, waiting.

You lean down, mouth just brushing his ear.

“If you want to fuck me, Riddle,” you whisper, “you’re gonna have to try harder than that.”

Then, without another word, you grab your book, straighten your skirt, and walk away.

He watches you go, "See you later, Matty," you sing, your innocent voice honey sweet, not sparing him a glance as you leave.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: i want to fuck the both of them

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ ᴄʀᴇᴅ: @ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ

MASTERLIST

#mattheo riddle #mattheo smut #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #slytherin boys x you #slytherin boys #mattheo x you #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin #mattheoxreader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo imagine #mattheo angst #divider creds: cafekitsune

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pedroscurls · 2 days ago

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robbed of you (one-shot)

summary: the days don't get any easier... and today in particular, you're reminded of that fateful day.

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader content warnings: angst (with no happy ending), events in TLOU 2 and that specific scene will set the tone for the story, slight deviation from what happens in that scene, brief mentions of blood and violence, descriptions of grief, no use of y/n. word count: 1.7k a/n: ok, i just wanted to make myself suffer i guess??? this story is set in TLOU 2 after the event so hope that gives y'all some idea of what this story will be lmao. honestly, i listened to robbed by rachel chinouriri and could not stop thinking about joel. maybe i'm trying to prepare myself for what's to come in april lmao. anyway, enjoy <3 song: robbed by rachel chinouriri

“Gotta get up, darlin’,” he whispers into your ear, his strong arms tightening around you from behind. “Annual picnic at the lake.”

“Just a few more minutes,” you mumble sleepily, leaning into him.

He chuckles—it comes deep from his chest and vibrates from behind you; you always loved the sound of his laugh. “Lucky I love you,” he says, peppering kisses along your bare shoulder. “But you know Ellie’s gonna be here any minute.”

“Okay, I’m up,” you giggle, turning around in his arms as you bring your hands to his chest. “That girl can be persistent.”

“And she won’t let us hear the end of it,” he smiles—dimple appearing on his cheek, deep brown eyes sparkling against the sun that peeks through your bedroom window.

“Joel?” you whisper, smile falling from your lips. “Don’t go.”

“Ain’t goin’ anywhere, baby,” he reassures with a smile. “Always gonna be right here.”

You’re about to say something, but your dream shifts dramatically—your mind is replaying that moment all over again. All you can hear is Ellie screaming. All you can feel is the weight of someone else’s body pressing you against that same tiled floor—helpless. All you can see is his bloodied body on the floor with her standing above him with a golf club.

“Joel, get up. Joel, fucking get up!” Ellie pleads, wiggling against her restraint.

Joel’s eye glances at the two of you—those same brown eyes now filled with regret, with fear. With the strength he has left, he flexes his fingers and tries to reach out for you—his girls. He’s helpless. He can’t save you. He can’t save Ellie. He’s going to die.

“Please stop! Please don’t do this.” Ellie continues. “Joel, please get up.”

Then almost as if it’s slow motion, you see her bring the golf club down his skull and his body stops moving—eyes now falling shut. The raise of his chest ceases immediately. Joel’s dead. Joel’s gone. The man you love is killed right before your eyes.

“Joel, baby…” you mumble, tears now streaking down your cheeks.

“Nooo!” Ellie yells, sobbing.

Suddenly, you jerk awake and sit up in bed—chest tight, breath caught in your throat, and you look around the room haphazardly. Tears now fill your eyes and you reach over to rest your hand on the unoccupied space—his side of the bed has been empty for six months now.

The sun peeks through the bedroom window and you bring your legs up to your chest, letting out a loud sob into your knees. Annual picnic, you think. The first picnic without him. How could it already be six months? It still felt like yesterday that both you and Ellie lost him.

You had joined Ellie on her trek to find Abby and the rest of the group. Neither of you talked about him—fueled by anger, pain, grief, and the need to avenge his death. Ellie had told you that killing her would not bring him back, that it wouldn’t make you feel any better—Joel would have been proud of his baby girl.

“Don’t,” Ellie says. You’re bruised and cut up after having had a physical altercation with Abby. “H–He’s not coming back. This isn’t going to bring him back.”

“He’s dead!” you yell—the unresolved grief, the feelings that you tried so hard to push deep down now coming back up without warning. Tears are strolling down your cheeks and your grip around Abby’s neck tightens. “She killed him! Right in front of us, Ellie… We weren’t supposed to lose him. He wasn’t—,” a sob catches in your throat and you look down at the young woman, frail and defeated, with a pleading gaze in your direction.

“Y–You took him away from us,” you say through gritted teeth. “He was only doing what he thought was right and he kept that with him all these years! H–He never meant to hurt anyone, never meant to kill anyone…” You squeeze tighter and Abby begins to squirm against your grip. “He was only protecting the people he loved.”

“Stop!” Ellie begs, running over to you and pulling on your arm. “He wouldn’t want this!”

You look at Ellie and for a brief moment, you see him—the man who you would now spend the rest of your days thinking about, reliving the memories you shared instead of creating new ones with him. “Ellie…”

She stares into your eyes, tears falling from her own face. She looks like the young girl you remember all those years ago when she had first come to Jackson with Joel. “It ends here,” she says.

You shut your eyes and see Joel—he’s smiling at you, almost nodding in agreement. Then suddenly, you release your grip around Abby and shove her aside, falling back into the water. “Go,” you whisper through tears. “Just take him and go.”

Ellie sits next to you in the water and you gather her into your arms—for the first time since losing him, you both begin to let out all of the pent up emotions that you and Ellie had pushed aside.

“He’d be so proud of you,” you tell her, holding her face against the crook of your neck.

Ellie looks up at you and she cries harder.

Your world ended when you lost him six months ago. Nothing had been the same since coming back to Jackson—heart broken and now an empty home that felt too big for just you. The minute you stepped into the house, you felt your legs buckle underneath you. Everything was untouched—remnants of Joel scattered around. Empty mug of coffee on the kitchen counter. Unfinished guitar in his woodworking room. Reading glasses on his nightstand.

How could the world continue on when yours ended the day you lost him?

Since coming back from California, you have tried to keep yourself busy. Tried to take your mind off the lingering fact that you would only end the day in an empty home. A home that you once shared with a man that had given you hope in an otherwise hopeless world.

Ellie wanted to give you your space and even when Dina started to show more and more, you couldn’t bring yourself to go to their house. It just made you sad…because you knew that Joel wasn’t here to see this. Joel wasn’t going to be here to see this baby grow up.

The promises you made to each other—broken, but not by choice.

“I promise, baby,” he had said. “I will always fight to come home to you.”

It echoes in your mind now as you gather the blankets and pull it over your head, curling into a ball. Even with the sun shining through your window, your world remained dark. Dull. Empty.

How could you enjoy every day knowing that he isn’t here to enjoy it with?

You shut your eyes tightly, gripping the blanket in a tight grip as you feel a sob begin to catch in your throat. Sometimes, if you close your eyes and focus hard enough, you can hear him. Can see him. Can feel him.

“I–I can’t do this without you,” you whisper into the empty void. To no one. Tears fall from the corners of your eyes and streaks down your cheeks. “How do I keep going, Joel? How–,” you let out a loud whimper. “You shouldn’t have left. You shouldn’t have–.”

“Shh now, darlin’.” You can hear him—a figment of your imagination. “Just breathe f’me, okay?”

You inhale deeply and then let out a shaky exhale slowly. It doesn’t help, just makes your cry harder.

“M’sorry. M’so so sorry.”

“I love you. I’m fucking sorry,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

Suddenly, you feel a featherlight tingle across your cheek and it makes you open your eyes wide. You can’t see in the darkness underneath your blanket, but you don’t bother to lift it over your head. This—in the dark, alone and away from everyone else—is where you feel closest to him.

“Today’s our annual picnic,” you mumble. “The first one without you. The first summer without you. The many firsts without you.”

And then the tingle happens again. It encourages you to continue, but you can feel the ache and weight in your chest—grief, sorrow, regret all encompassing.

“I just–I just want you here,” you say quietly. “You made my world brighter. I know that may not seem like it considering how we met, but you did. You gave me so much hope, Joel, and now… Now I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to keep on living, to keep on moving forward without you. I–I can’t imagine moving on in my life without you.”

“You will be okay, darlin’.” Another tingle, a light touch and it raises goosebumps along your arm. “And I’ll always be here. Ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

You shut your eyes tightly again and can feel your chest tightening with each breath. You try to curl further into yourself—trying to disappear, to wake up from this nightmare of your life. Behind closed eyelids, you see him—smiling so big, dimple on his right cheek, brown eyes sparkling against the sunlight that glimmers across the water of the lake. It’s a memory from before, a memory from your annual picnic with him and Ellie.

The days haven’t gotten any easier. Instead, each day is harder than the last and each day you’re always left wondering how you can keep pushing forward. Joel’s absence—his death—has left a gaping hole in your heart that only he could fill.

Your heart would never be able to stop mourning.

You feel yourself begin to drift into a light sleep—your sobs quieting slowly. You meet him in your dreams—it’s a whole other life that you find yourself escaping to every chance you could get. Because in your dreams, he’s here with you. He’s alive.

“So, we gonna get up before Ellie barges in here?” he grins. Your dream continues from earlier—the sun peeking through the window as his strong arms pull you closer to him.

You nod, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Y–Yeah, but first, can we just lay here for a few minutes? I just–I just want to revel in this moment with you for a bit.”

He nods, presses a soft kiss on your forehead. “Bad dream?”

“The worst,” you answer shakily.

“M’sorry, baby.” Joel tightens his grip around you—it grounds you, makes you feel safe. “Anythin’ I can do?”

You just shake your head and nuzzle your face into his chest. You can feel his heart beating, can feel the warmth of his body, can hear him breathing. “Just stay here with me.”

“Always,” he whispers. “I love you.”

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cowboyemeritus · 3 days ago

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ugh I can’t wait for the mask to become a Whole Thing in all the Perpetua fics

I suspect we’ll probably never see him with it off (bc that’d just be Tobias), so what if he doesn’t take it off in front of others? The possibilities are fucking endless.

Whatever you do, don’t imagine being so close to him that you’re practically sharing breath. Maybe your bodies are pressed together, lips just missing each other, or maybe there’s a little wiggle room, like he’s nervous to touch you. Don’t think about how beautiful those mismatched eyes are, sparkling as they study you from behind the smooth silver mask, studded with little diamonds of water. The rest of his face is bare, skull-paint washed away by the rain, and it’s the most of his skin you’ve ever seen. Still, the temptation, the greedy voice inside of you that calls out for more, is so loud it overpowers the torrent drumming on the tin roof of the First’s dilapidated gardening shed.

A bead of water — or is it nervous sweat? — drips from your temple, and he watches as it slides down your cheek. On impulse, he swipes it away with his thumb when it passes by the corner of your mouth. For once, he’s not wearing those cumbersome clawed gloves (his “Freddy’s,” as everyone calls them behind his back), and the pad of his finger is rougher than you were expecting. Even this little touch is electric, and though the cold is quickly seeping into your bones, you know he’s the reason for your shivering.

It figures that it would come to a head like this. He’s a mysterious one, but has an astounding flair for the dramatic.

“Papa, I-” He silences you, finally, with a kiss. Your eyes flutter shut, a dreamy sigh escaping out of your nose. His lips are soft and a little cold against yours, his touch delicate, like you’re a ripe summer peach he’s afraid to bruise. Through the smell of petrichor you can just barely make out his cologne, clean and powdery. There’s a hint of stubble, and, letting your urges win, you brush your fingers across his jaw, savoring the texture. He takes this as encouragement and presses his mouth into yours a little harder, covering the hand resting in your lap with his own.

A thunderclap booms in the distance, and Perpetua begins to withdraw. You’re not about to let this moment slip away, though, leaning in to preserve the kiss a little longer. He hums into your mouth, paying you back in kind. You remain like this for a while, falling into a push-and-pull sort of rhythm as the climax of the storm draws nearer.

It’s like the Heavens are crashing down to Earth.

He bites at your lower lip. The last of your self control ebbs away, leaving nothing but raw desire in its wake, burning the pit of your stomach like molten rock. More, the voice in your head demands, like a petulant toddler. More, now.

Without thinking, you reach up, fingertips brushing the clasps at his temples. Perpetua stiffens, hands immediately grasping yours and gently pulling them away. He breaks from you, a conflicted look in his eyes, and it makes you want to curl up in a ball and die.

“No,” he says. “Not now.” His eyes dart to the window. “I’m sorry.”

You’re about to ask him why not, after all the back-and-forth, after dancing around each other for months, but then lightning flashes outside. Perpetua tilts his head, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead, before rising to his feet, offering you a hand.

“We should go, before it gets worse.”

Well, shit.

#my writing #the band ghost #the band ghost x reader #papa v perpetua x reader #I am SO NORMAL about him I promise #ugh the angst!!!!! the possibilities!!!!#show him to me Tobias SHOW HIM TO ME #sorry I’m hammered rn #shorts

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luvbazkrekker · 20 hours ago

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SANJI HEADCANONS!

—HOW HE LOVES;;

- all for nothing;; sanji doesn’t do half-measures. If he loves you, he loves you w/ everything he has. He will drop everything to make sure you are happy, sometimes at the cost of his own well-being.

- romance is second nature to him;; Not in a fake, performative way. He just genuinely enjoys making you feel adored. Expect small gestures such as a cup of tea made just how you like it, a flower tucked behind your ear, a hand on your waist when no one’s watching .. etc

- Food is His Love Language;; He will learn your cravings before you even realize you have them. Stressing out? Here’s your favorite dish. Had a long day? He’s already making something warm and comforting. Nothing says “I love you” like a perfectly plated meal with your name written in sauce.

- Always Touching You;; Nothing overbearing, just little things, fingers brushing yours when he hands you a plate, a hand at the small of your back, adjusting your collar because “Tch, you can’t just walk around looking like that.” It’s his way of staying connected.

-Sanji is the embodiment of a walking romance novel at first;; Expect dramatic gestures—roses, candlelit dinners (even if it’s just on the Sunny), and calling you every pet name under the sun (mon amour, darling, my love—it never stops).

- His flirting is still constant, but he gets flustered when you flirt back;; If you casually say something like, “You’re handsome, you know that?” this man will short-circuit. Starts stammering, suddenly can’t make eye contact he was NOT prepared.

—DATING SANJI MEANS..

Late-Night Conversations in the Kitchen;; When the ship is quiet, you’ll find him there, brewing tea or making something light. If you’re up too, he’ll pull out a chair, pour you a drink, and just talk. Those moments feel intimate—just you, him, and the soft glow of the kitchen dim lights.

Being Taken Care of (Even If You Don’t Ask);; Cold? He’s draping his jacket over your shoulders. Feeling sick? He’s already making soup. Had a rough day? His fingers are in your hair, massaging your scalp as he hums quietly.

Dealing with His Stubbornness – He will absolutely not admit when he needs help. You’ll have to learn how to trick him into resting. Maybe you tell him you “just want company” so he’ll sit down next to you. Maybe you grab his wrist before he can light another cigarette and just hold it until he sighs and relents. He won’t say it, but he appreciates it more than he can put into words.

- Watching Him Go from Sweet to Deadly in Seconds;; You know he’s the most charming, caring person, but the moment someone disrespects you? That’s gone. His voice gets low, his smile sharp, and the guy who was just flirting w/ you suddenly finds himself face down on the floor.

—HIS FLAWS;;

- Bottles up emotions;; Acts fine until he explodes—either sharp words or total isolation.

- Stubborn as hell;; Will die on a hill even when he’s wrong.

- Self-destructive;; Would rather suffer alone than let others get hurt (Whole Cake Island, anyone?).

- Overthinks everything;; Acts smooth, but internally spiraling (“Did I sound dumb? Are they mad?”).

- Jealous but won’t admit it;; Plays it cool until someone flirts with you—then suddenly all touchy.

First time making these, it’s just some thoughts… lmk if you want anyone else too!!! :D

#vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji #sanji #one piece #headcanon

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xoxorory · 4 hours ago

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Always With You

— Percy Jackson x Fem!Reader Fanfic Genre: Humor | Fluff | Universe: Percy Jackson & The Olympians Word Count: ~3.2K (I'M SUCH A YAPPER LOL) Requested:@simpingmyassoff

Rumors Suck.

Camp Half-Blood had two guarantees:

A monster attack at the worst possible time.

Gossip spreading faster than an Hermes kid stealing your wallet.

I usually didn’t give a damn about rumors. People talked all the time, whispering nonsense about quests, secret romances, or how I once beat a kid from Ares’ cabin in an arm-wrestling match. (That one was true, by the way). Most of the time, I either laughed them off or, if they annoyed me enough, handled the situation… directly.

But this time? The rumor was about me. And worse? It actually got to me.

—"You’re, like, way too clingy with Jackson," a girl from Aphrodite’s cabin had said, twirling her hair with fake innocence. —"Like, it’s a little embarrassing to watch," another added, voice dripping with fake sympathy. —"If you keep it up, he’s totally gonna get tired of you and, y’know… want space."

I had laughed in their faces, of course. That was my natural defense mechanism. But now… I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

What if they were right?

Operation: Be Less Clingy (And Probably Die)

I decided to test their theory.

For the first time in forever, I didn’t steal Percy’s hoodie in the morning. I didn’t drape myself over him during sword-fighting practice. I didn’t sneak my hand into his when we walked together. I didn’t—gods help me—hug him like an octopus every chance I got.

And it was… awful.

I felt like a smoker trying to quit cold turkey. Every time I saw Percy, my body physically wanted to reach for him, to mess with his hair, to poke his stupid sea-green eyes, to wrap myself around him like I always did.

But nope.

I had self-control.

I had boundaries.

I was so freaking miserable.

Percy Notices. Obviously.

Percy was a dumbass sometimes, but he wasn’t stupid.

By day three of Operation: Be a Distant, Independent Woman Who Definitely Wasn’t Dying Inside, he had clearly caught on.

Normally, I would find him first thing in the morning, steal his stolen coffee (yes, double theft), and make fun of his bedhead. Instead, I stayed in my cabin, hoping he wouldn’t notice my absence.

But of course, Percy Jackson noticed.

—"Since when did you go full emo?" His voice startled me as I sat on the dock, dipping my feet into the lake.

I sighed. Of course he found me.

—"Go away, Jackson."

—"Nope."

He plopped down beside me and bumped my shoulder, expecting me to shove him back like I always did.

I didn’t.

Silence.

I could feel him staring at me.

—"Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to cause a scene?"

I sighed again, staring at my reflection in the water.

—"I just… thought maybe I should give you some space."

Percy frowned.

—"Space? Why the hell would I want that?"

I hesitated.

—"Because maybe I’m too clingy."

There was a beat of silence.

Then Percy laughed. Loudly.

I punched his arm—hard.

—"I’m serious, dumbass!"

He was still grinning, his stupid adorable face glowing with amusement.

—"Babe, love of my life, my antisocial sea monster—if you were too clingy, don’t you think I would’ve told you by now?"

I bit my lip.

—"Well… they said—"

—"They?" Percy’s expression darkened. "Who put that nonsense in your head?"

I hesitated, but he already knew. His jaw clenched, and I swear I saw his fingers twitch like he was ready to summon Riptide and go on a murder spree.

Hot. But beside the point.

Percy turned to me, grabbing my face between his hands.

—"Listen carefully, because I’m only saying this once. You are my favorite person in this entire camp. If it were up to me, you’d be stuck to me like a damn remora 24/7."

My brain short-circuited.

—"...Really?"

He nodded, seriously.

—"Actually… now that you mention it, I have been feeling kinda abandoned." He sighed dramatically. "Where are my hugs? My spontaneous kisses? My surprise attacks of affection?"

I stared at him, my heart doing stupid things.

—"You don’t get tired of me?"

He grinned.

—"Never."

And just like that, the weight on my chest vanished.

Without thinking, I launched myself at him, wrapping my arms and legs around him in the octopus hug I had desperately missed.

—"There’s my koala!" Percy laughed, holding me effortlessly.

—"Shut up," I muttered into his neck.

He just chuckled, running his hand through my hair.

—"That’s more like it."

Karma Comes Fast (and I Enjoy It Too Much)

Look. I’m not a vindictive person.

But when someone messes with me? Whatever.

When someone messes with me and Percy?

They better start praying.

The next day, I noticed the same Aphrodite girls lurking around, watching us like hawks, probably waiting to see if I’d go back to keeping my distance.

Spoiler alert: I didn’t.

But Percy? He had an even better idea.

As they walked past, he spoke just loud enough for them to hear:

—"You know,babe, I think we should spend more time together. Maybe start sleeping in the same cabin."

I barely held back a laugh.

—"Isn’t that against the rules?" I asked, playing along.

Percy shrugged.

—"Since when do we care about rules?"

From the corner of my eye, I saw the girls freeze. One of them actually gasped.

I lived for this.

But Percy wasn’t done.

He turned to them, voice dripping with petty revenge.

—"Oh, by the way," he said, smirking. "You know what’s funny? People who never had a chance with me acting like they get a say in my relationship."

They paled. One of them choked on her own spit. Then they scurried off, whispering frantically.

I turned to him, thoroughly impressed.

—"That was evil, Jackson."

He grinned.

—"They messed with my girl. Now they know what happens when someone tries to get between us."

I smirked, yanking him closer by the collar.

—"You know what?" I murmured. "I am clingy."

He grinned before kissing me.

—"Good. Never change."

I'm such a yapper lol. I actually had this one hald written already LOLL

#girlblog #girl blogging!#writing in the floor of my room #curly haired thoughts #silly teen #pjo fandom #send reqs #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson the love of my life

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howlingday · 3 days ago

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Replacing Jaune?

Jaune: Nice work, Huntsman~!

Oscar: You, too, Huntsman!

FNDM: HEY! YOU! HUNTSMAN!

Jaune: I don't need to explain why that's confusing.

FNDM: You! The original one! Don't you see what's going on?!

Jaune: The US is crashing out?

FNDM: NO! I mean, yeah, but NO! With the other guy! There can't be two Huntsman! That doesn't make any sense!

Oscar: Dude, there's already huntsmen and huntresses, and they've been around way before any of us.

FNDM: Oh, come on! Can't you see it? You're being replaced!

Oscar: Really?

Jaune: Alright, let's calm down here. I'm not being replaced.

FNDM: Yes, you are! You're being replaced and you're just letting it happen-

Jaune: (Chuckles)

Jaune: (Whispers) Hey! Hey!

FNDM: Huh?

Jaune: Shut up!

FNDM: But- But I'm just saying that-

Jaune: Listen to me. He's not replacing me.

FNDM: Okay, but he-

Jaune: I'm replacing me... with him.

FNDM: ...W-What?

Jaune: DON'T YOU FUCK THIS FOR ME.

FNDM: But- But why?!

Jaune: BECAUSE I'M TIRED MAN! I've been doing this shit since the first Volume! I've been the male lead of this series since Monty Oum was still voicing Lie Ren!

FNDM: Okay, fair, I guess, but-

Jaune: All these years and you know what it's gotten me? DEATH! Everyone I've ever known and loved has either died, come back, and then died again! I'VE DIED! I'M MORE DEATH THAN MAN!

FNDM: Shit, man...

Jaune: I mean, this is my one and only ticket! Do you have any idea how rare it is for someone to just show up at your door, just as clueless about Remnant as you are, with the exact same dreams- Like, not just made up as a fucking angst sponge or a self-insert- I mean, this is my one and only shot here, man!

Oscar: Whoa, whoa, whoa! You completely left that part out!

Jaune: Fucking shit! See what you did? You're scaring him away!

Oscar: You said it would just be punching bad guys and killing monsters. I don't want to see people die!

Jaune: Oh, so now you don't want to see your loved ones dying right in front of you? Then do you even WANT to be the Huntsman?!

Oscar: Nah. Imma do my own thing.

Jaune: ...What are you doing?

Oscar: What I said I was. Imma do my own thing. That's, like- That's like a thing I say. It's something I say.

Jaune: Yeah, but that's something everybody says. Like, is this your catchphrase? Because if it is, then we definitely need to work on it.

Oscar: Oh, yeah? And what's your catchphrase?

Jaune: Y'know, it's- It's go forward.

Oscar: That's not a catchphrase.

Jaune: It's totally a catchphrase!

Oscar: No, it's a mantra. It's not a reactionary phrase.

Jaune: What, and "Imma do my own thing" is?

Oscar: Yeah, but like- I do my own thing.

Jaune: Yeah, and I go forward.

Oscar: Yeah, but everyone goes forward. It's how people walk.

Jaune: True, but not everyone can go forward so easily. There's sometimes limits to what you can do.

Oscar: Oh, yeah? What kind of limits?

Jaune: Well, my dad used to say-

Oscar: Oh, don't you fucking start with your dad- I swear to the Brothers!

FNDM: ALRIGHT, ENOUGH! You can have a replacement all you want, but just look at this guy! He's all wrong!

Jaune: Any particular reason you feel that way?

FNDM: What, do I have to spell it out for you? HE'S COLORED!

Oscar: WHAT?!

Jaune: THE FUCK?!

FNDM: The Huntsman is supposed to be White and Black!

Oscar: ...Oh.

FNDM: I mean, no offense, but we all remember the last time you had color in your outfit, with all the Rusted Knight bullcrap. Everyone knows a Colored Huntsman is a Bad Huntsman!

Oscar: ...

Jaune: ...There are a lot of layers to why what you just said is wrong.

KRAKOOM!

Jaune: Tyrian?!

Tyrian: Well, well, what do we have here? Sorry for the dramatic STING, Huntsman~!

Oscar: Not this guy again...

Tyrian: I'm especially glad to see you two, because I have a new friend I'd like to introduce you to. Meet the new Callows on the scene; my sister, THALIA CALLOWS~!

Thalia: Sorry for the dramatic STING, Huntsman~!

Tyrian: N-No, hon, I just used that pun already.

Jaune: That's, uh...

Oscar: What?

FNDM: AGH, C'MON, DUDE! Really?! A friggin' chick?! Don't you see you're being replaced!

Tyrian: ...I am? (Stabbed through the chest) AGH! (Dies)

Thalia: (Cackles)

Jaune: Okay, that time, you were right.

Oscar: Yeah, that was clearly her plan from the start.

Jaune: 100%! I mean, they were even wearing the same outfit!

Oscar: Just red flags everywhere!

Jaune: Definitely!

Oscar: Man, the lengths people will go to just so they can be the only one.

Jaune: Right.

Oscar: ...

ZAAAP!

Jaune: OW! WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!

Oscar: Sorry! I was just checking!

Jaune: CHECKING WHAT?!

#rwby #jaune arc #oscar pine #solid jj #tyrian callows #hey look one of my ocs is back #my oc #my ocs #thalia callows

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fancyfeathers · 10 hours ago

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LOVE THE TIM IDEA!!! Thank you for the food!!!

What funny is that when the death is announced both Jason and Dick would both internally and outwardly roll their eyes. Because 1) they knew it 2) Dramatic much?

Their thoughts quickly come to an halt when their darlings start getting Very Distressed. When they manage to get them home they definitely are inconsolable. Sooooo they tell their darlings that no, their sister isn’t dead their brother is just Very Dramatic and Impatient.

Yandere!Batfam Hunger Games AU

Dick's darling literally cannot breathe when she found out because of how hard she, Jason's darling was just in pure shock, she could not get herself to move let alone eat or bathe. Dick and Jason are not supposed to tell them anything, just let the cameras film their pain for the world to see, but eventually it becomes too much and they have to tell them the truth.

Tim's upset at his brothers, and his sisters-in-law are angry at Tim. There cannot be one family dinner without one of them making a remark at Tim after he keeps her sister locked up like a caged bird, not letting them see her or eat with the rest of them even if dinner is being held at his home. This is almost always in a headache for everyone, Tim looking exhausted as he goes upstairs to bring a plate of food up to his darling, either Dick or Jason dragging their darling home to deal with their misbehavior, and then Bruce and his darling having to deal with the tense air as they leave in silence.

Spoilers for Sunrise on the Reaping beneath the cut!!!

I also think for a while after her death, her mentor from the games was also in so much pain. As I mentioned in this post, her mentor was Beetee Latier and if you are familiar with the Hunger Games, he was forced to mentor his own son in the 50th Hunger Games as well and I think Tim's darling reminds him of his dead son, becoming like his daughter. So having her survive the games and then die afterward hurts so horribly. Then of course he eventually finds out she is alive and gets the idea to loop her sisters in on the rebellion and get revenge for what the Capitol has done to them.

#yandere dc headcanon #yandere dc x reader #yandere dc #yandere batfam #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfamily x reader #yandere batfamily #yandere dick grayson #yandere dick grayson x reader #yandere jason todd #yandere jason todd x reader #yandere tim drake x reader #yandere tim drake #yandere damian wayne x reader #yandere damian wayne #yandere bruce wayne x reader #yandere bruce wayne

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jes3icasriley · 3 hours ago

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late night confessions - tlou

paring - Ellie Williams x fem!reader/ Ellie Williams x miller!reader

summary: Ellie had been drowning in a feeling she could no longer ignore—was it love? It gnawed at her, restless and undeniable, until she finally turned to Tommy for advice, knowing Joel would lose his mind if he found out. Tommy’s answer was simple: get up and confess. And so, she did—knocking on your window, heart pounding, ready to spill everything.

Ellie knew she was screwed ever since she saw you standing alongside Joel and Tess. Not in the life-or-death kind of way—not like when she was running from infected, dodging bullets, or nearly dying by a group of hunters. No, this was worse. These were feelings. And worse than that, they were feelings for you—Joel’s daughter.

Which meant she was really screwed.

She didn’t know when it started. Maybe it was the first time you stood up for her against Joel, saying she wasn’t some dumb kid who needed to be babysat. Maybe it was the way you laughed—really laughed—when she made some dumb joke. Or maybe it was just you, always you, existing in a way that made her heart do things it shouldn’t be doing.

But there was no way in hell she was telling Jesse or Dina about it. Jesse would make fun of her for life, and Dina? Dina would absolutely run straight to you with the biggest, dumbest grin on her face. So Ellie did what any completely rational person would do in her situation—she went to Tommy.

The decision was made in a panic. She hadn’t even planned it. One minute she was helping him kill stragglers out on patrol, and the next, she was blurting out, “I think I’m dying.”

Tommy had blinked at her, understandably confused. “Uh… what?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me..” Ellie mumbled, dragging her hands down her face. “I feel all… weird. It’s like where my stomach does this thing…like, like a tummy ache or some shit—whenever I see her, and my hands get all sweaty, and my mouth just stops working!”

Tommy frowned. “Who’s ‘her’?”

Ellie looked at him, looking around the area, almost seeming to want to ignore that question until she gulped. She sighed, cursing at herself, then actually telling Tommy.

“Yn..” she whispered, mostly to herself. Tommy moved his head to the side, giving Ellie that look like “speak up, I can’t hear shit” so she did just that.

“Urgh… y/n, okay? I don’t know, it’s… Complicated.”

Tommy stared at her for a long moment before a slow, knowing grin spread across his face. “Ohh. Ohhh.” He nodded, clearly enjoying this way too much. “You got yourself a little crush, huh?”

Ellie groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what? Like the truth?” Tommy smirked, nudging her with his elbow. “Wow, Ellie. You really went and fell for good old y/n? You sure you’re not actually dying?”

Ellie let out a dramatic sigh, flopping back against a nearby tree. “Might as well be. If Joel finds out, he’s gonna kill me.”

Tommy chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, he won’t kill ya. Probably just glare at you real hard until you wither away.”

Ellie groaned again. “Not helping.”

“Alright, alright.” Tommy held up his hands in surrender. “Look, it’s simple—if she makes you all sweaty and dumb, you like her.”

“Wow. Thanks, Doc,” Ellie deadpanned.

“You want my advice or not, smartass?”

Ellie huffed but nodded.

“Just tell her.”

Ellie made a noise like she was physically in pain. “Are you insane? Joel would totally kill me. He’d turn me into boots, Tommy.”

Tommy shook his head with a small snort. “C’mon, Joel ain’t that bad.”

Ellie cocked her head towards him, giving Tommy a deadpan look.

“…Alright, yeah, he’s that bad,” Tommy admitted, laughing. “But I’ll tell you what—if he tries anything, I’ll take the blame. Tell him I put you up to it.”

Ellie stared at him, eyes wide with genuine horror. “You would die.”

Tommy grinned. “Eh, maybe. But it’d be funny.”

With that so-called “advice,” it led her to now. Standing outside your window like some creep, hands sweating, heart racing, trying to convince herself not to run away.

She knocked—too loud, too aggressive—before immediately panicking and knocking again, this time way too soft. She cursed herself, looking around the night of Jackson.

Maybe she still had time to run away and forget even confessing—until a few seconds passed before the curtain shifted, and then suddenly, there you were. Sleepy-eyed, confused, and unfairly pretty even in an old shirt and sweatpants.

“Ellie?” Your voice was groggy, and God, why did you have to sound cute right now? “What are you doing?”

Ellie opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again.

Shit. She should’ve planned this out.

“Okay, uh—so, funny story.” Ellie scratched the back of her neck, shifting on her feet. “You know how, like, sometimes you think you’re dying, but it turns out you have, like, emotions?”

You blinked. “Ellie, what—”

“I like you,” Ellie blurted, then immediately winced. “I-mean yeah, I like you. A whole lot actually. And I didn’t know what the hell was going on until Tommy—yeah, Tommy—explained it, which, by the way, super embarrassing—”

“Ellie.”

“—but then I figured I should tell you before I implode or Joel literally murders me—”

“Ellie!”

She finally shut up.

You just stared at her for a long moment, eyes scanning her face like you were trying to make sense of her rambling. Then—before she could fully process what was happening—you reached out, grabbed the collar of her hoodie, and pulled her forward, pressing your lips against hers.

Ellie froze.

Oh.

She barely had time to react before you pulled back, searching her face with an expression she couldn’t quite place. “Does that answer your whole… thing?”

Ellie, who was still short-circuiting, managed to let out a very intelligent, “Huh?”

You laughed—soft, amused, ridiculously fond. Your cheeks matching her flushed ones, Ellie staring at you, then your lips again.

“I guess you can say I like you too?”

“I guess? What does that mean–”

“I’m kidding, I really–really like you too.”

Ellie blinked. Then blinked again.

Then—“Holy shit.”

You grinned, tugging her inside before Joel could wake up and murder her on the spot. Your hands still on her collar, pressing your lips against her cheek, a soft hitch coming out of Ellie.

You pulled back, your eyes scanning Ellie’s freckled cheeks and nose, turning a bright pink color as she placed her hand on the spot where you kissed her. Then, the stupidest—goofiest grin appeared on her face as she leaned in and pressed her lips against yours. You cupped her cheeks in your hands, deepening the kiss as the nerves left Ellie’s system and melted into the kiss.

Maybe, confessing wasn’t such a bad thing after all?

hiiI! So this is my first post, hoped you guys enjoyed it! And thank you soo soo sooo much for reading!

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nightmare-niko · 8 hours ago

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Party Lights and Warm Smiles [Nishimura Riki x reader]

자 이젠 내게 기대 정말로 이젠 내게 기대 정말로 왜 넌 웃기만 해 내 맘을 몰라줘 왜 넌 이젠 내게 기대 정말 이젠 내게 기대 정말

Warnings: alcohol consumption, other than that nothing-- rlly cute fluff

A/n: i know this one took so long to come out and for that, I'm sooo sorry!!!! but I hope you enjoy it!!!

Copying or translating my writing is not allowed. If you see my work on another site it is stolen. Reblogs are appreciated and encouraged!

You weren't one to frequent parties with your Friends. But one party every once in a while wouldn’t hurt. It's not that you didn't like people— you loved People. You had plenty of Friends, many of them were at the party you were on your way too.

As you sat in the passenger seat of your Friends car you wondered if the night was going to be as fun as she was assuring you it would be.

"Girl, I can hear you overthinking from here.” Yunjin teases you from the driver's seat— not bothering to take her eyes off the road.

You laugh lightly, "You know I don’t go to these parties like that... I'm just nervous I guess.”

"Does a certain boy have anything to do with your nerves?"

“You mean the boy who doesn't want anything to do with me? Yeah totally!”

“Oh, c'mon! Don’t be like that! Riki is just…kinda like that…”

"Yeah like that helps," You shrug as Yunjin finds a place to park her car.

She puts the car in part and turns to face you. “How about this— I'll talk to the guys and see what can figure out— Maybe then we'll know once and for all What our next steps should be.”

You sigh, grasping her hand in yours. "I love you Yunjin— like you're the best I swear!”

Yunjin gives Your hand a light squeeze, “I try baby I try. Now let's go have some fun!”

The bass from the music playing inside shakes through the frat house steps as you and Yunjin approach the door hand in hand. The smell of alcohol, weed, and cheap cologne harasses your nostrils as the bright multi-colored lights flash to the beat of the music playing. Happily, you great all of your friends scattered around the house. Tipsy girl after tipsy girl hanging off of your shoulders as you engage in fun small talk.

You follow Yunjin into the kitchen for a drink— pushing passed the drunk partygoers.

"oh my god! Y/N you came!!!" A voice rings. From across the messy kitchen.

You gasp excitedly, "Ah! Sunoo!!!! Hi!!!!" You give the boy a tight hug.

He pulls away, "I feel like I haven’t seen You in ages! How have you been?"

“Oh you know— class, studying and more studying,” You shrug.

"Sunoo, tell her she needs to come out more-- maybe she'll listen to you.” Yujin hands you a solo cup of whatever she decided to mix For you. When you take a sip— immediately growing chest hair at how strong it is.

“You really should! We all miss seeing you! Even Riki has been asking about you.”

“HE WHAT?! Ahem- I mean - he what?"

“Yeah, girl? He was all like— has anyone heard from Y/N? I haven't seen her around in a while."

"Oh, that sounds like someone's crush isn't as one-sided as it seems!" Yunjin takes a sip of her drink.

"Oh yeah no, Riki is like so into You.”

You and Yunjin Share a look— excitement shoots through your veins. Maybe it was the alcohol— but you felt like you could conquer the world!

"So what I'm hearing is, you have got to talk to him!" Yunjin begins to look around the kitchen- maybe Niki was hidden among the crowd.

"If I see him I'll Strike up a conversation... maybe.”

You're two friends groan rather dramatically.

"I you don't do it now, you're not gonna!" Yunjin whines.

"And then you'll die alone! " Sunoo adds With a Shrug.

You laugh at your two friends "Oh my goodness! Okay fine, I'll look for him!” You down your drink and hand the empty cup to Yunjin before disappearing into the calamity.

It wasn’t going to be that difficult to find Riki. While he typically frequented these parties, alone in the corner. He keeps up his nonchalant image. You had a theory that it was all a front - You had known him in grade school, and he was anything but a moody nonchalant bad boy.

A voice calls from the crowd, you watch as Jake emerges from the sea of people.

"Jake! Hey! How've you been?!" You hadn't realized how you'd been studying and working So much that you hadn't seen your Friends in a long time.

“I’ve been good! Actually in glad you're here! Niki heard you showed face and his been looking for you!”

“Oh! That’s perfect because I've been looking for him!"

"Yeah, well! When you find him -" You cut him off before he can continue.

“Wait! You don't know Where he is?!"

Jake laughs sheepishly "Yeah... I lost him like ten minutes ago— sorry! Ask around! I'm sure you’ll find him!!” Before you could even respond, someone you don't recognize pulls him away.

You curse to yourself— how the hell were you going to find him if he wasn’t in his default spot?! Continuing to wander around the party you run into many of your and Riki's shared Friends, to no avail. Do you just throw in the towel and return to your girls? Or do you Keep looking? You chew on your bottom lip, scanning the area for what seems like the hundredth time.

Maybe this was all a sick prank and Riki wasn't even at this party. Maybe-

The flow of negative thoughts abruptly halts as you Find a balcony door. Through the glass, you lock eyes with the man you’ve been searching for god knows how long. Frantically, you push the door open and step onto the balcony. The chill of the winter night makes the hair on your exposed arms Stand up.

"I've been looking for you for like half an hour!" You exclaim at the boy in front of you.

“You've been looking for me?!" Riki points at himself before turning the hand to you. "I've been looking for you!"

"I Know you have! Jake told me!" You slide the door closed, "though it doesn't look like you're looking that hard. What are you doing out here? " “I was just about to completely give up on my search." Riki takes a seat on the patio furniture nearby. "I was going to just freeze my sorrows away," he shrugs.

“Why were you looking for me?” You plop down beside him. You admire his side profile as he stares into the night sky. "I just haven't seen you in a while, that's all. Why were you looking for me?" He turns to look at you, and you swear you feel your heart Stop in its place.

“Oh, uhm-" Now it's your turn to look out into the night. A Part of you hopes you'll find an answer to his question in the stars, but alas. “I just wanted to see you, I guess...”

“You guess?”

"No, I know - Sunoo told me you had been asking about me." It takes everything in you to meet his eyes again. The proximity makes your heart flutter like a jar of butterflies.

"Yeah, I hadn't Seen you in a while. I guess I just -" He ducks his head— Its hard to tell because of the poor lighting of the balcony but you swear you see a blush begin to Kiss up his neck.

"Missed me?" You tease him, nudging his shoulder with yours.

He laughs softly, "Yeah, I guess?”

"You guess?" You mimic his question from a moment ago.

He looks up to meet Your eyes again, "no, I Know"

"Well, here I am,” You smile at him sweetly.

"Here you are," Riki's soft gaze bures into yours.

“You know, if you wanted to see me you could have just texted me," you feel yourself begin to blush as Riki seems to be taking in every detail of your face.

"That is true... I guess I didn't think of that," He admits. The wind of the night blows, and you shiver aggressively. Without hesitation, Riki takes off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders.

"Well next time you miss me— give me a call.” His jacket smells of his cologne you revel in the scent.

"How have you been?"

You shrug, just studying and working... and more studying. Living the highlife,” you joke. "What about you, handsome?”

Niki lets out a choked laugh, "the same.” He runs his ring-clad hand through his hair. “Did Sunoo tell you anything else?"

"What? Like how you— the group's bad boy seems to be smitten with little old me?" You tease, giggling at his shocked expression.

"He told you that?!"

You nod, "It's cute really. This whole time I thought you just thought of me as a friend.”

"Wait... you?" You lock eyes with him again, "You like me?"

"could you blame me?? You're So cool and mysterious— any girl would be in my shoes.”

"Mysterious?" He echos, "You think I'm mysterious?"

“Oh like it's not a part of your nonchalant act. ‘Look at me! I'm so emo and cool! And the girl I like can't even tell because I'm so nonchalant,” You mock him.

Riki laughs, "Ouch! I See how it is, miss ‘rainbows and sunshine’, miss ‘any guy would be So lucky to have you like him’. “ He leans his shoulder into yours.

"Would any guy be including you?" You find Yourself wanting to be closer to him- wanting to kiss him.

"Of course, it would," His voice is low.

You hum, "Well then I guess it's your lucky day~" You lean in to meet his lips with yours in a gentle Kiss.

"Does this mean you'll come to more of these?" You laugh, "what? Was this just a plan to get me to come to your parties more?"

Riki laughs with you," Of course not. I just wanna Spend more time with you.”

”maybe we can just hang out... No party.”

He nods, "I'd love that."

YourUsername

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YourUsername partied a lil too hard last night !!

Ni_ki05

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Ni_ki05 🍻🍻🍻

Tag list (If you want to be added just lmk!): @nallasstuff @chmpgneprblem @qoopeeya @lilybellalana @sleepysongbirdsings

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userluhna · 4 hours ago

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INHO BEFORE THE GAME —headcanons

hwang inho x hwang junho x f!reader (platonic!)

junho x f!reader series masterlist

warnings: inho before the game, inho being protective, big brother figure, y/n and junho being eighteen ish, i need their reunion in s3 make junho and inho hug please. english isn’t my first language

words: 750

enjoy :)

—

inho had always been quieter than junho when they were younger. he preferred to observe, silently taking in everything around him.

but when it came to teasing the two of you, he didn’t hold back. it was easier when you were kids—you’d ask dumb questions, and he’d answer without even knowing if he was right. by the time you realized he was lying, it was always too late.

“oh yeah, well, i lied,” he’d say casually, smiling proudly.

“what? come on, i’ve been telling people this my whole life!” junho would scoff. you always laughed, already having figured it out before junho.

inho loved messing with both of you.

“come on, just say i’m your favorite,” you teased once, smirking.

“yeah, but don’t tell him.”

junho turned, shocked. “how??”

“she’s just less annoying.” inho replied, completely straight-faced.

junho spent the next ten minutes dramatically arguing about how he was obviously the favorite, the best brother, and the best friend anyone could ever have. you and inho just exchanged amused glances, barely holding back your laughter.

he loved to read. sometimes, when you were at his apartment—because it was way more comfortable than your own—he would sit in his chair, quietly flipping through a book while you curled up on the couch, reading your own or watching a film.

he had always been protective of the two of you. junho, because he was his little brother—the person he would do anything to protect. and you, the girl who had once just been junho’s friend but had somehow become something more, someone inho felt the need to look after. at first, he didn’t care much. you were just another kid hanging around junho. but as time passed, he saw glimpses of himself in you. it was subtle at first—the way you held things in, the way you watched people closely without saying much.

but everything changed when he found out about your family—how you had been left behind. it made his heart ache because, to him, family was everything. it wasn’t just about blood. it was about the people you chose.

so you grew closer.

“you okay?” he’d ask when you were quiet for too long. his voice was never harsh, never demanding.

“yeah,” you’d say, offering a small smile.

sometimes, he pushed a little, knowing you needed to talk. but most of the time, he just sat beside you—maybe resting a hand on your shoulder, waiting until you were ready. if junho told him you’d had a rough day, he’d check in on you, offering his apartment as a place to stay when things got bad at home. junho would stay by your side, too. always.

inho always looked out for junho, making sure he ate enough, had warm clothes in the winter, and stayed safe. sometimes, he’d slip a little money into junho’s pocket, even when he barely had enough for himself.

“just take it.”

“no, i’m fine—”

“shut up and take it.”

junho rolled his eyes but never gave it back. inho knew he wouldn’t.

some nights, inho came home exhausted from work and just collapsed onto the couch without saying a word. junho would sit beside him, not teasing for once, just existing in the same space, letting him breathe. even if inho never said it out loud, junho knew—his brother would die for him without hesitation.

inho showed love in small, quiet ways.

with his wife, it was remembering how she liked her coffee. stepping closer to the road so she’d be safe. reaching for her hand under the table and giving it a small squeeze.

“you don’t talk much,” she had once teased him, smiling.

“you talk enough for both of us,” he had replied, completely deadpan, making her laugh.

she balanced him out. where he was steady, she was warmth. where he was quiet, she was laughter.

and beyond all the teasing, beyond the silence, beyond the words he didn’t always say—there was something deeper.

you were family.

and inho always took care of his family.

#hwang jun ho #hwang jun ho x reader #hwang junho #hwang junho x reader #squid game #squid game headcanons #squid game x reader #hwang inho x reader #hwang inho #hwang in ho #hwang in ho x reader

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charmed-quill · 2 days ago

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The Art of Desire//B.B x Reader Ch 11

authors note at the end of the chapter

summary: Benedict Bridgerton longs for more than society’s expectations, drawn instead to art and freedom. Y/N, a fiercely talented but struggling artist, fights for recognition in a world that dismisses women of her class. When their paths cross, fascination sparks—a shared passion for art bridging the divide between privilege and survival. But their growing connection threatens them both in a world where reputation is everything. As scandal looms and duty calls, they must choose: conform to society’s rules or risk everything for love, ambition, and the art that brought them together.

word count: 2.3k

Prev.

Next.

Chapter 11 - Under the Arch

The air between them was thick with unsaid things.

Y/N stood frozen, her lips parted, the moonlight catching the trembling curve of her jaw. Benedict’s hand, still extended with the velvet box, had begun to shake ever so slightly, though his voice remained steady when he spoke.

“I love you,” he said, softer than she’d ever heard him. “And I want to spend my life with you. That’s all this is. That’s all I’m asking.”

She didn’t respond.

Not right away.

Instead, she looked at the ring as though it were a snare disguised in gold. Her eyes brimmed with something raw and unbearable, but when she finally opened her mouth, the words came out like stone.

“No.”

Benedict blinked. “What?”

“No,” she said again, firmer this time, though her voice cracked at the edges. “I can’t marry you.”

He slowly lowered the box, something flickering in his expression. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

The air between them shuddered.

He exhaled, sharp and disbelieving. “Why?”

“Because it would destroy me.”

His jaw tightened. “That’s dramatic.”

“No. That’s the truth,” she hissed. “You don’t understand what you’re asking. You don’t know what it would mean for someone like me to become your wife.”

“You’re someone I love,” he snapped. “That’s what it means.”

“You’re someone I would lose myself inside of,” she shot back. “And when the newness fades, when the whispers grow cruel, you’ll move on. You’ll regret choosing someone like me.”

“I would never regret you.”

She laughed bitterly. “Because you haven’t had to. Because you still think love is enough.”

“And you,” he growled, “are so terrified of being loved that you’d rather be alone than take one goddamn step toward happiness.”

“I’ve earned my aloneness!” she shouted, tears slipping free now. “I fought for it. Bled for it. I crawled out of hell with nothing, and I built myself into someone without needing anyone else.”

“And now you’re punishing me for it,” he said, voice rising, his own eyes shining. “For wanting to give you something better.”

“Better?” she spat. “You think what I have isn’t good enough? That I’m just waiting to be rescued like some sad, tragic little stray?”

“I think you’re afraid,” he snapped. “Afraid of letting someone hold you. Afraid of what it means to need.”

She took a step forward, fury burning in her throat. “Needing someone is how women die, Benedict. Maybe not in body, but in every other way. They disappear. They vanish into men’s names and men’s homes and men’s lives, and they stop existing as anything other than someone’s wife.”

“You wouldn’t vanish,” he growled, stepping toward her. “I wouldn’t let you.”

“It’s not up to you,” she screamed. “It never is. That’s the point.”

They stood inches apart now, both breathing hard, the air between them scorched and brittle.

“I offered you everything,” he said through clenched teeth. “My name. My heart. And you’re throwing it away because you’re too proud to admit you want it.”

“And you’re too spoiled to understand why someone wouldn’t,” she snapped.

The silence that followed was sudden and cutting.

His mouth opened and closed. “So that’s what you think of me.”

She flinched. “Benedict…”

But the damage was done.

He stepped back, every line of him rigid, his expression unreadable.

“Fine,” he said, voice flat. “If you’re so determined to ruin this before it ever had a chance, go ahead. Run back to your empty flat and your paint-stained floors and tell yourself that it’s freedom.”

Tears ran hot down her cheeks now. “Don’t do that. Don’t mock the life I built.”

“I would have joined you in it,” he said, barely louder than a whisper. “You never even gave me the chance.”

She stood there, trembling, arms wrapped around herself like armour.

And then, slowly, she turned.

And walked away.

Benedict watched her disappear into the dark, his fists clenched, the ring box still open in his hand.

Not because she didn’t love him.

But because she did.

And it still wasn’t enough.

The garden was still.

eerily so.

The kind of silence that follows a storm, when the wind holds its breath and the earth aches from all it has endured.

Benedict stood rooted beneath the arch, the last echoes of their fight still hanging in the air like the memory of thunder. His chest heaved in the quiet, each breath shallower than the last, though he didn’t know whether it was rage, grief, or simply disbelief that had hollowed him out so completely.

The ring box was still clutched in his hand, closed now, though his fingers pressed against it so tightly it might have broken. He stared down at it for a long moment before dropping his arm to his side.

The garden, once romantic and golden, now felt suffocating. The lanterns above flickered, casting the hedges in ghosted shadows. The gravel crunched under his boots as he took a step, then another, pacing like a man lost in a dream he could not wake from.

He had imagined this night a thousand ways.

Not once had he imagined it ending like this—alone, abandoned, and angry.

Angry at her.

Angry at himself.

How had it gone so wrong?

He sat heavily on the cold stone bench beneath the archway, running a hand through his hair, breath hitching with every exhale.

“I thought she loved me,” he whispered aloud.

But love hadn’t been enough.

He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying to will away the memory of her retreating figure, her voice rising in pain and fear and fury. He’d seen women cry before. He’d broken hearts, too—shamefully. But this was different. This wasn’t vanity or regret.

This was loss.

Deep. Hollowing. Unforgiving.

His ears rang with her words.

You’ll regret choosing someone like me.

I want to stay myself.

I don’t trust anyone to carry me and not crush me under the weight.

She had given him every reason she could. And still, a small, broken part of him wondered if he’d just failed to love her the way she needed.

A soft sound behind the hedge made him jolt.

He stood quickly, spine straightening with the last dregs of pride, wiping his sleeve quickly across his cheek. “Who’s there?” he snapped, sharper than he meant.

A beat passed.

And then—“Benedict.”

He froze.

Violet emerged from the shadows, slow and quiet, her hands folded in front of her. She looked ethereal in the moonlight, her gown a pale shade of blue that almost glowed in the silver air. But her face, her expression, that was what undid him.

There was no judgment there. Only deep, maternal knowing.

She had heard.

Of course, she had.

She always did.

They didn’t speak for a long moment. The garden breathed around them. Benedict looked down at the gravel path, ashamed of the tears already hot behind his eyes.

But Violet said nothing.

She only stepped closer, until they stood nearly toe to toe.

“I ruined it,” Benedict murmured hoarsely, barely recognizing the sound of his voice. “I ruined everything.”

Violet tilted her head, her eyes glassy. “No,” she said gently. “You loved.”

And just like that, he crumbled.

His chest caved in, the weight too much to bear. He let out a sound that was half a sob, half a breath, and Violet moved without hesitation, wrapping her arms around him.

He fell into her like a child.

Like he had when he scraped his knee as a boy or buried his face in her skirts after a nightmare. She was smaller than he remembered—slighter, older—but her embrace was the same.

He didn’t even realise he was crying until he felt the wetness on his cheeks.

Violet stroked his hair with a mother’s patience, her touch light but steady. “Let it out, my love,” she murmured.

And he did.

He wept, not with grace, not with restraint, but like a man who had opened every part of himself and been left standing in the wreckage.

For a long while, they stood like that. She said nothing more, and he couldn’t. The garden around them was quiet, but the ache between them pulsed like a second heartbeat.

“I thought if I just loved her enough,” he whispered finally, voice ragged, “she’d stay.”

Violet pressed a kiss to his temple, her own eyes shining. “Some hearts take longer to believe they are safe.”

And Benedict, who had always believed love was meant to be beautiful, finally began to understand that sometimes, it could be cruel, too.

–

Y/N walked.

She had no recollection of leaving the garden, no memory of slipping through the hedgerow, past the ballroom, the velvet, the gold, the music. It blurred around her like a dream being scrubbed from her mind too quickly.

But now, with the cold air slicing against her bare shoulders, she walked.

The streets of Mayfair, so grand and glittering only an hour ago, felt foreign in the dark. Gas lamps flickered in pools of ochre. Shadows danced at the corners of cobblestone alleys. The city, ever alive, paid her no mind. A woman in a gown meant for another life, walking alone in the night.

Her slippers scuffed softly against the pavement, the hem of her borrowed gown trailing behind her like ghost-silk. She should have taken a carriage. She should have gone back to Eloise. She should have done something.

But all she could do was walk.

Her arms wrapped around herself, clutching her elbows. The silver comb in her hair had started to come loose, and with every step, her curls fell a little further down her back. She didn't fix it. She let herself unravel.

Because that was the only thing that felt real now.

The conversation looped in her head—again and again and again. His voice. His eyes. The quiet desperation in the way he said her name.

And her voice, sharp and trembling, throwing his love back at him like it was something to be afraid of.

I can’t marry you.

She winced, squeezing her eyes shut.

It was the right choice.

It was.

She had made the decision she had to make. For both of them.

Hadn’t she?

But the ache in her chest wouldn’t stop. Not with the cold, not with distance, not with time.

She’d seen the look in his eyes when she walked away. It would haunt her. It already did.

“I did the right thing,” she whispered aloud, her breath visible in the night air.

Because love wasn’t enough. Not for the world they lived in. Not for the kind of man he was, the kind of family he came from.

And not for someone like her.

She turned onto a quieter street, the familiar scent of coal smoke and fish brine wrapping around her like a shroud. She was close to Whitechapel now. Closer to home.

Home.

The cracked windowpane. The hearth barely warmed in the winter. The easel in the corner, always waiting.

She had built a life there.

Small. Imperfect. But hers.

No man had given it to her. No man could take it away.

That was what mattered.

She blinked, hard. Her throat tightened.

A memory surfaced. One she hadn’t thought of in years.

She was sixteen, sitting cross-legged on a straw mat in her father’s study. He had been reading to her, Milton or Locke, something dense, and she had been sketching in the margins of the newspaper. Her mother had walked in with tea, smiled at the mess, and kissed her father on the forehead. The kind of kiss that said: we are safe. We are whole.

Y/N had once believed in that kind of love.

But that belief died with them.

She’d never forget the sound of boots on the stairs. The slam of the door. The man who called himself her uncle by marriage, the sneer on his face when he said, “You don’t belong here anymore.”

She remembered begging. Not for much, just time. A few days. A place to stay.

And he had laughed.

“You’re pretty enough to make do. Someone’ll take you in.”

She had slept in stairwells that winter. Learned how to steal bread without being seen. Learned how to keep her head down, her voice low, her smile just sharp enough to keep others at bay.

Love was not safety. Love was not permanent.

Love was a lever. A trapdoor. A wound waiting to open.

Benedict meant it, she thought now, hugging herself tighter. He did. But meaning something doesn’t make it last.

He would have given her everything. And one day—when the world whispered too loudly, when his mother sighed too deeply when society turned its back—he would have given her less. Not because he wanted to. But because that’s how the world worked.

And she would be left with nothing again.

Just like before.

Tears burned behind her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall.

She reached Whitechapel just before two in the morning, her feet sore, her gown muddied at the hem. The gas lamps here flickered lower, the buildings worn but familiar. Her flat waited in quiet stillness above the alley shop.

Y/N climbed the stairs in silence, teeth clenched, heart in tatters.

As she closed the door behind her, the familiar creak of the hinges greeted her. She leaned back against the wood, eyes falling closed.

It would pass.

The ache would dull. The memory would soften. And she would move forward, just as she always had.

Alone. But safe.

Safe from needing. From losing. From hoping.Even if it meant giving up the only man who had ever made her believe, if only for a moment, that she might be loved exactly as she was.

a/n: only a short one tonight but important. In another universe, y/n says yes and lets herself be loved. but alas, she is our avoidant attached queen :( also in another universe (that was actually almost this one) y/n says yes but leaves him at the altar, but I thought that would be too mean.

#bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fic #bridgerton x reader #reader insert #slow burn romance #forbidden love #class divide

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irishironclad · 8 hours ago

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TTOI - Chapter Two - Labour Draft

“Niko,” Natasha said, she tried to sound exasperated, but she couldn’t hide her smile. Just him standing near her was enough to put her at ease. “What are you doing here? Finally decided to stop skipping the labour draft?”

“Ha! As if they’d put my name in their damn list, nah, I’m working something of a business opportunity, and ‘course servicing these fine working gentlemen here,” Niko said, he took a last drag on his cigarette and flicked it away. Immediately fishing out another one and offering it to Natasha. “Smoke?”

“You know I don’t,” Natasha said, crossing her arms and frowning at him.

“Your loss. And don’t give me that look, I lead a stressful life,” Niko said, popping the cigarette into his mouth and striking a match on his boot to light it. Natasha rolled her eyes. The crowd slowly trickled away from around them, and it was just Natasha, Niko, and three others.

Natasha was nearly toppled as three kids their weight into a hug. Issac was the oldest, barely fourteen, older than Niko had been when Natasha had met him.

Little Alexi was always by his side, curly brown hair, round cheeks, Niko had found him when he was barely just a toddler; left in the cold by a mother who couldn’t keep him. Nat took special care to hug him back and kiss him on his head.

Then there was Ewa, a tiny wisp of a girl with wavy raven hair and eyes the name colour as Natasha’s. She didn’t speak much, except when it mattered, but she saw everything. Natasha tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, and she smiled when Natasha kissed her on her forehead.

Niko took care of them when no one else wood, lost children of Brudna they were. It was not uncommon for kids to end up parentless and alone, their mums and dads dead from any manner of things or taken away for some minor offence. The boys would often die, or be swept up by Red Guard recruiters looking for an easy way to fill their quotas. The girls, they’d just disappear, sometimes never seen again, sometimes they’d be seen looking strung out, worn; taken in by men who used their bodies for profit. Natasha thought often about how there were not many women in Brudna under the age of twenty-five, only her and little Ewa that she knew of.

Niko had been like them, not lucky like Natasha was to be given to someone kind enough to take her in. He’d survived the cold streets by being clever and very lucky. Which was how they met, he’d snuck into the bins behind the café looking for scraps of mouldy bread, and Natasha, just ten years old, had cried and pleaded with Solotovich to let him inside and feed him what they could. Solotovich had pretended to be stern but still gently offered spoonfuls of soup anyway.

From that day onward they’d seen each other often, and he was the only one that could call her Tasha.

“So, what kind of business opportunity?” Natasha asked.

“An honest and lawful one, I promise.”

“So smuggling then.”

“Oi! Keep your voice down!” Niko said, slightly panicked.

“It’s not like you hide it,” Natasha knew even with the guard agitated they had too many reasons to ignore goods being brought into Brudna.

“Oh, look who's a model citizen over here. Not all of us get a bed to sleep in and a half decent assigned work schedule,” Niko said.

“So what? You’re not going to cut me in?” Natasha dramatically pouted her lips and looked at Niko, she knew it worked when his face grew red, he maintained his composure though and grinned mischievously.

“Who says I haven’t already? Hop up to the kiosk and get your assignment,” Niko’s crooked grin was enough to convince Natasha to go along with it. Besides it was a welcome distraction from the events of that morning.

She went right up to the Overseer kiosk, the men politely letting her cut in line. It was the same young man as always. His blue overcoat was a lot more faded than Edward’s had been.

“Name and number,” he said tiredly, not even looking at her.

“Natasha, two-eight-three-seven-seven,” Natasha said automatically.

The Overseer shuffled some papers, stamped one, he then turned to a machine adjacent to him. He stuck the papers in one after another. The machine whirred loudly, then shuttered with a series of ca-chunk! Noises before it produced a stamped punch card which the officer looked out and announced;

“Cargo hauling, next!”

“Cargo hauling?” Natasha asked, returning to Niko.

“Yeah, easy work, you move cargo from one place to another place,” Niko said. “And would you believe it, me and these three have the same job.”

“Colour me shocked,” Natasha said blankly. “Alright, what’s the hustle?”

“Hustle? Ah! You wound me! I am a good, dutiful citizen of our fair Commonwealth!” Niko put a hand to his chest in mock offence,

Natasha’s eyebrow couldn’t rise any farther. Niko couldn’t grin any more mischievously.

“You’ll see, come on.”

Niko flicked his cigarette, and it was quickly replaced by another one, he led Natasha down a backstreet. Little Ewa held Natasha’s hand as they walked, and the boys joked, shoved, and laughed along the way; it made Natasha smile.

“How’s old man Solotovich then, Nat?” asked Alexi, grinning at her with a mouth full of gaps. His proper teeth would grow in soon.

“As grumpy as ever,” Natasha smiled.

“Ah! Old bear loves to growl, but he's got no bite!” Issac exclaimed

“You’d best talk better of him, I know he leaves bread and meat out for you lot,” Natasha said.

“Begging your pardon, miss, just harmless teasing,” Isaac said in mock gratitude, tipping his cap dramatically. “Send our thanks and regards to Misterz Solotovich.”

“I’m sure he’ll grumble and complain about you freeloading kids all the same,” Natasha laughed, taking the opportunity to tussle Isaac’s messy black hair as he lifted his cap. She then felt a tug on her sleeve, and Nat leaned over, so Ewa could speak softly in her ear.

“Has Misterz Solotovich been able to make the sweet buns?” she asked, those were always the favourite for any kids, but they hadn’t been able to get their hands on the glaze needed for the recipe for months.

“Maybe soon,” Natasha said gently, and Ewa smiled.

The boys continued to joke and holler without reprieve as they all followed Niko, a few angry faces poked out at them from the windows but softened when they saw who it was. They were a recognizable bunch in Brudna, Niko, Natasha, and their kids.

Eventually the narrow alleyway opened, and the buildings ceased to give way to a small dock, gently rocking in the calm filthy waters of Brudna Bay. Rusted ships that looked like they could sink any moment were moored there, and the whole dock was practically empty of people or cargo. Save for a few pallets piled with crates, which were guarded by one lone bored looking Guardsmen.

Niko approached him nonchalantly, pulling a carton of cigarettes from inside his coat and tossing them to the Guard, who caught it just as casually.

“Go and have yourself a break,” Niko said, winking.

The guardsmen shrugged and sauntered off, rifle shouldered, tobacco smoking trailing behind him. Natasha wasn’t surprised, for all their polish and marching in straight lines many Guardsmen had no sense of duty if left to their own devices; their discipline came when they acted in a pack.

“Upstanding citizen, huh?” Natasha asked.

“Of course!” Niko said. “These poor guardsmen, they stand all day and have no break! I’m just giving back to our dutiful servicemen.”

“Uh-huh,” Natasha said. “What’s in the crates?”

“Can’t give away all my secrets, can I?”

“Niko, I’m not moving anything without knowing what it is,” Natasha said. “If this is dru-”

“Oi! Don’t say that!” Niko hushed her, looking wildly around. “What are you nuts?”

“Well, what is it, then?” Natasha asked.

“Alright, have a look if you care so much,” Niko rolled his eyes with a solid kick to the nearest crate which popped open the top. Niko worked his fingers under the lid and pulled it free, revealing piles of burlap sacks tied tightly with twine. Niko worked one open to reveal it stuffed with a fine white powder.

“Niko...” Natasha said tiredly. “I said no d-”

“It isn’t!” Niko looked over his shoulder again, then leaned in to whisper. “It isn’t drugs, it’s sugar.”

“Sugar?” Natasha asked, she leaned forward to inspect it. The sugar rations they occasionally got came in the form of tins or jars of a sort of syrup, never raw sugar. Natasha couldn’t even remember the last time she had seen sugar like this.

“Where does it come from?” Natasha asked.

“Lestille,” Niko said.

“Where?”

“No idea, some island somewhere, and then smuggled into the Commonwealth somehow.”

“Where’s it going to?”

“Now, now,” Niko said. “You know better than to ask questions, listen the job is we gotta pour these bags into barrels and then put them on… that ship right there.”

A small rusted collier with a single smokestack towards the back chugged along through the murky waters until it smoothly pulled into an open dock, mooring itself with its anchor instead of tying off. A man put down a gangplank and stepped onto shore, he seemed to pretend they weren’t there as he lit up a pewter pipe and leaned against a mooring bollard, offering them only a glance from his sea green eyes from under a mariner's cap.

There were barrels on the ship, Issac and Alexi went about moving them off so they could be poured into without trouble. While Natasha, Niko, and Ewa began removing the bags of sugar from the crates and undoing the strangely complicated knots that bound them tightly closed.

As Natasha worked, she glanced over at Niko, watching his hands. His fingers danced along the rope deftly and in quick precise movements he would undo the knot in a blink. Natasha had witnessed the speed and skill he had before, in a picked pocket, a shimmied lock, in how he caught a cigarette deftly from a pack and placed it in his mouth.

His eyes were blue like the water sometimes was on a bright day, and they lit with simple concentration on skilful work, with a sparkle of humour in them as Natasha knew he enjoyed roping her into his schemes. It was all as well, Natasha enjoyed being roped into them.

Natasha wanted to tell him then, of Edward and all that had happened. He’d have ideas, some clever plan to get Edward out. Ever since she’d known him he could read any situation and think his way through it, there was safety in that, an easing of tension. But as alone as they were you never knew who was listening, Natasha glanced around her shoulder. Later, she told herself, tell him later, when they were alone.

It had been just past midday when they started, and by the time they had poured the sugar into the barrels and loaded them onto the boat it was well into the afternoon. They watched the boat quietly depart into the fog, a ghost in the dimming light.

“No need to go back to the draft, we’re supposed to be cargo hauling all day,” Niko said. “How about dinner? My treat.”

“Gunna, get the rest of us some grub, Niko, or just the pretty lady?” Alexi teased.

“You lot get out of here, I’ll feed you parasites later,” Niko.

“Oh, come now! These two worked hard today, they deserve a good meal,” Natasha said.

“Oi, it’s my dime.”

“It is, but can you say no to these faces?” Natasha wrapped her arms around Alexi and Isaac who pouted dramatically, Natasha mimicking their expressions, with Ewa poking her head out from behind them to stare. Nico spluttered on his cigarette.

“Fine, whatever,” he grumbled, his face red, the boys snickered.

“Who would strike you as a parent, huh?” Natasha said, smiling as she approached Niko only to jab him playfully in the ribs.

“Don’t you start,” Niko said, his cheeks even more red. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Do you want food or not?”

“Since you twisted my arm.”

Niko huffed but still walked along with them away from the docks, Natasha allowed herself to forget all about Edward and everything else for just a moment as she playfully hooked her arm into Niko’s. He blushed harder but couldn’t help but grinning at her, Issac and Alexi made mocking coos at them, even Ewa giggled at the display. Suddenly the city didn’t seem so cold and dark.

They navigated twisting backstreets and alleyways until they came across a rather secluded corner. Here, in a thin little strip of street, the proper name of which had been forgotten, was The Kosz.

No Red Guard marched here, and every inch of it were street stalls huddled together, handing out bowls of whatever food could be made hot, many of them peddling trinkets, curios, and shiny baubles galore often pilfered from one place or another. People in Cienma enjoyed the oddity or two when they could afford it. There were tables and bar stools set up, with old oil barrels filled with flames warming the whole corner along with the countless bodies crammed into the place.

Even if the Guard didn’t come here it would be impossible to miss, the sound of talking, haggling and laughter echoed off the stone walls and seemed to carry for miles. It was a bright little spot that radiated warmth and the sound of simple happiness, as if in defiance of the hot slag and angry noise of the factories.

They beelined to a familiar spot, not a stall but a wide open window that peered right into the kitchen inside the home. A wooden plank sat atop a barrel as a countertop and bar stools were set up outside under a patchwork canopy. Inside the kitchen, a bent-over old woman moved about, her head wrapped in a knitted shawl, and her weathered hands working ingredients into a stewpot.

“Babica,” Niko called out sweetly. “How are you, my dear lovely Anastazja?”

“Compliments will get you nowhere with me, boy,” Ana said, peering at Niko with warm brown eyes. “You still owe me for the ruckus your band of troublemakers gave me last week.”

“I believe I thanked you many times to count for you accommodating our late night celebration,” Niko said. He sat down at the bar stool, subtly snaking his hand into the kitchen, fishing for one of the peeled carrots that Ana had on her countertop. For his trouble, he got struck across the knuckles sharply with the spoon Ana wielded.

“Hands outside the window, cap off, and no smoking!” Ana snapped. “And you two boys best sit still if you want food!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Niko said obediently, removing his cap and flicking his cigarette.

“Yes, ma’am!” echoed Isaac and Alexi, mirroring Niko.

“You’re lucky I let you lot even sit,” Ana said. She then looked at Natasha and smiled warmly, reaching over to push the strands of loose brown hair away from Natasha’s eyes affectionately. “And how are you, kochanie?”

“Very good, Babica,” Natasha said. She kissed Ana’s hand. Ana’s other hand reached over to pinch Ewa’s cheek gently.

“You are so thin, my girl! Does Gregory Solotovich not feed you properly?”

“He does his best, but he isn’t as good as you,” Natasha said.

“In another life I would have just married that man and then no one would have to suffer his cooking, alas!” Ana said, returning to her pot to stir it. “What is what is.”

“You’d drive the poor old man insane, you would,” Niko said.

“Keep talking, boy, you won’t get a drop,” Ana said.

“How has business been lately?” Natasha asked.

“Well, there have been better days, there’s always been better days,” Ana said, and an unpleasant look came over her face.

“There’s been trouble?”

Ana tapped the side of her nose and pointed north-east, towards the Iron Tower. Natasha let the matter drop; it was an old Brudna gesture. It meant I can’t say, the Iron Tower might be listening. It was safer to say nothing, though, the idea of the Guard harassing dear Ana made Natasha’s jaw clench.

Her mood was improved when Ana put a steaming bowl of stew in front of her. The concoction was simple, carrots, onions, and other bits and bobs, with the meat being little more than minced offal; all they could afford in Brudna. But it was warm, filling, and made with love.

They enjoyed their food in peace, Ana watching them contentedly with a smile. She cleaned up her kitchen and packed away the leftover stew into large mason jars which clasped shut, keeping the food warm inside.

“My compliments once more, my lovely Ana,” Niko said, slurping up every last drop. He then reached into his coat pocket, coins jingling in his hand.

“You put the money away, Niko,” Ana said. She took away Niko’s bowl and replaced it with three mason jars. “Take those to the rest of your gang of hooligans.”

“Ana, I have the money to pay you-”

“I don’t want your damn thieving money, Niko, now get out,” Ana said, brandishing her spoon.

“Much obliged,” Niko said, swiping the jars and making a quick getaway.

“One is for Solotovich,” Ana said, she placed ten jars into a box for Natasha to carry. “The rest is for your usual run, I put in an extra one for Adrien and Julia, their poor little one has come down with some sort of pox. I've been trying to get herbs for him, but you know how things have been.”

“Thank you, keep safe,” Natasha said. She leaned forward to give Ana a kiss on the cheek before taking the box and following Niko.

They walked back out into the main street in high spirits, turning towards Natasha’s home.

“A fresh roll from Solotovich would go great with those, Nat,” Isaac said, eyeing the jars of stew in Niko’s arms. “What’s the chances the old man is feeling generous today?”

“Tell you what, you help me hand these out, and I’ll put in a good word with him, deal?”

“You gotta deal!” Alexi said, and the two of them took an equal share each and ran off to hand them out, Niko took Ewa’s hand and followed after his boys.

Fortunately, each home was on the way back to the café, so they made quick work of it. Natasha had always made a habit of running food and other goods to her neighbours, either extras snuck out from the café with Solotovich pretending he didn’t notice, meals made by Ana, or treats smuggled in by Niko. Not everyone had such lucky friends as she, so Natasha had decided to be that friend for them. Besides, the smiles she got was all the payment she needed.

First was Aurelian Proctov, a strange little man that Solotovich always insisted they keep in good favour. He lived in a small dwelling out of sight of the main road, and if you had looked at it, you would have thought it abandoned.

Natasha knocked and was met with a distant “Enter!” She opened the door and went inside, the place was dimly lit by candles and lamps, and every inch of the place was covered in shelves filled to the brim with oddities and curios. Aurelian was a collector of sorts, often sold to the market stalls in the Kosz, and most usefully he could get you anything, no matter how odd or rare; for a price.

Aurelian was at the very back of the building, at his work desk. He’d seemed to have grown smaller from the last time Natasha had seen him, his whole body was crooked from too much sitting and his brown hair tumbling down his face in messy waves.

He was working on some contraption Natasha didn’t recognize. It was a square base with a few dials on it, in the centre of the box extended upwards a thin copper tube at the top of which was some manner or crystal, around the tube were several metal rings oriented in varying degrees around the centre, making a hollow sphere. Natasha blinked and peered closely, as the rings seemed to be suspended in the air with nothing keeping them in place.

“Natasha,” Aurelian said, not looking at her. He was focused, peering through an apparatus of lenses, focusing on the movements he made with a screwdriver which adjusted something or other inside the mechanism. His hazel eyes were lined and tired.

“I brought you soup,” Natasha said, holding up one of the jars.

“Place it on the desk.”

“What are you working on?”

“Adjusting the resonance frequency.”

“Adjusting the what?”

“No matter,” Aurelian said dismissively, Natasha frowned. “Oh, and there’s a package for you.”

“I don’t remember buying anything.”

“This one’s from a secret admirer.”

“Oh really?” Natasha rolled her eyes. “Which one?”

“His name was Charles, I think?”

“I thought this was supposed to be a secret admirer?”

“He didn’t pay me enough for that.”

“Never change, Aurelian, where’s the package?”

“On the shelf somewhere,” Aurelian gestured vaguely.

It took Natasha a few minutes to find it, a small package wrapped in brown paper. She stuffed it inside her coat and made on her way. Admirers weren’t uncommon for her, with so many girls getting plucked young for overseers or disappearing. The pool for women was very low, Natasha was certain half the men who fancied her wouldn’t give her two seconds thought if there were more women around. Though, Charles was different from them, which was the only reason she took the package at all.

She stopped by three other houses on her way, one jar to Kuba Michalik who had lost an arm in a machine once, yet was always willing to offer the other one in help if he could. The next went to Nina Jakubek, who had been born without her hearing, she made a sign with her hands which Natasha had learned meant ‘thank you’. Another jar for Samuel Biedranov, who hands still shook sometimes for need of Fodder, he greeted Natasha warmly like a grandfather might and gave her a small box of nails to give to Solotovich to repair stools and tables with.

Natasha made sure none of them had had any visits or trouble from the Guard recently, like young girls, anyone with bits missing or something broken had a habit of going missing all of a sudden in Brudna. Natasha made a point of checking in on them whenever she could.

Eventually she came to the front step of the Piórkowski residence, and she was greeted by Julia, a lovely middle-aged woman with curly raven hair, who greeted Natasha with a smile but looked very tired.

“Ana told me Sebastian down with the pox,” Natasha said, handing Julia the jars.

“He is the poor thing, rations have been so tight, and I haven’t been able to get him any medicine, the soup ought to perk him up a bit, thank you.”

“How’s the other one coming along?” Natasha asked, Julia smiled and rubbed her swollen abdomen.

“Better than the first one, oh, but I worry about it, Sebastian came out so small…”

“May I?”

“Oh course, dear.”

Natasha smiled and placed her hand gently on the baby bump, she swore she felt movement underneath, she smiled and felt her heart leap at the sign of life.

“I’ll see if I can’t drum up some extra food for you somehow, and medicine for Sebastian.”

“You’re too sweet, Nat,” Julia leaned over to kiss Natasha’s cheek. “But when can I expect to meet your own little one?”

“No time soon, I’ve got enough on my hands as it is.”

“Your time will come soon, dear.”

“I hope so,” Natasha said, a noise caught her attention and she saw Isaac and Alexi pushing each other and laughing down the street as Niko strolled up behind them. She smiled at them and bit Julia a good day.

“Best keep those boys out of trouble,” Julia said, giving Natasha a knowing look. “Be sure to send Adrien back home when you see him! Probably in that café of yours!”

Natasha went back out into the street and the boys ran up to her and took her hands in turn, spinning her sound while giggling, Ewa clung to Niko’s arm smiling at them.

They walked all together, headed towards the café, though Natasha laughed along with the two boys and their jokes, but she couldn’t help the darker thoughts about Edward as they neared her home.

“You’re frowning, what's the matter?” Niko asked. Natasha hesitated, they were close to the café, but the mounting weight of Edward’s presence hung over her. She opened her mouth to let it all spill out but didn’t get the chance.

“You two! Stop!”

The bark of the voice made them stop on instinct, and the sight of two Red Guardsmen marching up to them made them freeze. The one who yelled was an impatient looking officer, a pistol and sabre on his belt and his cap with golden wreaths on its brim. He was accompanied by a rather dull looking private who stood by passively, his rifle held casually in his hands.

The officer stopped in front of them and placed his hands on his hips, glaring at them.

“First of all,” he said, and leaned forward to snatch the cigarette from Niko’s mouth, a look of disgust on his face. “This street is a no-smoking area.”

“I was… unaware of that, sir,” Niko said. His usual confidence died as he stared at the ground, there was no fear, just learned passiveness. He and Natasha had quickly stepped closer on instinct, so the three kids could make themselves less obvious behind them.

“Unaware,” the officer repeated, he crushed the cigarette under his boot before producing a thick handbook from his coat pocket, the Commonwealth state crest - a black eagle with its wings spread - embroidered on its cover. The officer flipped through it and landed on a page.

“Right here, section twenty-four-two, addendum sixty-eight of the Lord Commander’s Orders and Regulations for the Conduct and Responsibilities of the Third Estate; it states that all personnel of the Third Estate shall not consume tobacco within a two-mile radius of a designated labour zone,” The officer turned the book over to show Niko. “You see?”

Natasha knew this routine all too well, most Guardsmen were happy to overlook minor infractions and get on with their day. Then you’d have some like this officer, too eager, too angry, all too willing to swing around the power he’d been handed because it made him feel good. He’d either mellow out with time or be promoted out of the dead-end posting of Brudna. You just had to suffer them best you could.

“No, I do not see, sir,” Niko’s face was flushed. “I can’t read.”

“Of course you can’t,” the officer snapped the book shut in Niko’s face. “Fucking Browncoats. All the same, that is what it says.”

“As you say.”

There was a moment of silence, the Red Guard officer tapping his foot as he stared down Niko with contempt.

“What are you carrying?” he asked.

“It’s-” Before Niko could answer, the officer snatched one of the mason jars from his arms and popped the lid. The hot stew steamed in the cold Cienma air.

“As I suspected,” he said, before tipping the jar over so the precious food poured out and into the gutter, flowing down into the drain along with the filth.

“According to Section Two-Eighty-Five of the L.C.O.R’s-” The officer tossed the mason jar away, the glass shattering against the cobblestone; before taking the other one Niko had and pouring it out too. The private was less gentle about it and merely struck the remaining jars from Natasha’s hands with the butt of his rifle, they hit the ground and cracked open dashing the broth everywhere including all over Natasha’s boots.

“...Meals and foodstuffs not produced or approved by the State shall not be consumed nor distributed in any manner,” the officer said. “And I happen to know that the local approved Abulatorium is not handing out such well put together stew, are they Private?”

“No, sir,” the Private mumbled. Natasha suspected he wasn’t really paying attention. “Was wheat porridge today.”

“Exactly,” the officer pulled out a notebook. “Name and number?”

“Niko Boryaski, two-eight-seven-zero-four,” Niko sighed.

“And you, miss?” the officer said, flipping to another page.

“Natasha, two-eight-three-seven-seven,” Natasha said.

“Last name?”

“None.”

“Fine.” The officer finished writing and ripped out the two tickets. “Since you cannot read… These tickets are to inform you that you have been found in violation of one or more regulations put in place by the Lord Commander and his government; the account of these violations that has been accurately recorded by the Red Guard shall be forwarded to your local Civil Overseer office and based upon review of these violations may significantly increase your liability to the Iron Tower and the Lord Commander. A representative of this office shall contact you should further citations be required in order to correct these violations and assure compliance and the continued safety and stability of The Commonwealth.”

Natasha had been through it before; she knew what all this really meant. They would file away this incident and never bring it up again until she did something they really cared about. That's when they would pull out their papers and bury her in citations. She’d known men brought in for smoking infractions only to be charged with hundreds of petty offences from half a decade ago.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Niko and Natasha said.

The officer handed them both their tickets. When he handed Natasha hers, she managed to look him in the eye. He didn’t look at her with malice, but what must have been solemn conviction. Natasha figured he must have really believed in what he was doing, and would likely sleep tonight without even thinking once on their meeting.

“Carry on, you’re dismissed,” he said, tipping his cap and walking away.

Natasha and Niko were quick to get out of there. The moment they were out of sight, Niko lit a fresh cigarette. He also used the match on both their tickets and tossed the ashes into the gutter. They were of no consequence, just something to shame people with.

“You don’t need to walk me home,” Natasha said as they neared her street. “I’m sure there’s a law against gentlemanly conduct.”

“Come off it,” Niko pulled on his cigarette. “Anyway, you were saying something before that bastard came about, what was it?”

“I’ll let you know later tonight, usual spot, alright?” Natasha said.

“Alright,” Niko said, as they approached the café, “I gotta make some runs anyway… gotta make up for those meals now.”

“Alright, I’ll see you rascals later,” Natasha said. “Come here darlings.”

All three of them approached eagerly, and Natasha Wrapped them in her arms, kissing each on the cheek.

“You stay out of trouble now,” she said.

“Never,” Alexi laughed.

“Not while we’re with this idiot,” Isaac said, jamming a finger in Niko’s direction.

“Watch it, you,” he muttered.

@west-end-lady @redheadedbrunette @bespectacled-ghost @clementimetodie @talesfromgringolandia @borgesperovago @thelegendofsqam @beakedwhalesyo @a-beautiful-crow @paula-of-christ @tinfoil-catholic @kasrkinguardsman n @rose-in-the-snow @supreme-leader-stoat @the-lost-alchemist @holbytlanna @edgar-allan-possum @cheerfullycatholic @cat-a-holic @the-writers-wrench @animeandcatholicism @lady-larklight @beaked-whales-in-exile @angsty-prompt-hole @tildeathiwillwrite @a-frogge-bip-a-smal-beastie

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